#can you tell what type of lighting i like

[aimfor-theheart]

to break first

|| mel medarda x reader, jayce talis x reader, viktor x reader || E/18+ || messy dynamics/hurt/comfort || wc: 6k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+

Your lovers are strange, demanding types.

a/n: idk man. but this revived my writing so. pls take it. dividers by @/cafekitsune

tags: messy dynamics, light smut/smut mentioned and implied, implied rough/hate sex, some hurt/comfort, ends on a hopeful note. not beta read/edited.

You've never liked Jayce much.

And you might just be the only person he doesn't like, either.

He plays nice, though, especially around Viktor. You think Jayce has teeth that he tries to hide, but you catch the flash of them from time to time. He smiles at you and it doesn't reach his eyes. It's just shy of contempt.

It makes your grin cheshire and sharp. You like watching him squirm. You like watching him wrestle with his distaste for you, try to keep his teeth hidden. Especially here, at this gala, all gold and sparkling and pristine, for all the world to see.

Bubbling rosé is bright and fruity on your tongue. You're shoulder to shoulder with Viktor, the two of you half-miserable together, stuffed into formal wear and ripped from your respective labs and studios. Which is why Jayce lingers; he's hovering in that annoying way of his. Bumbling a little. He's trying to make Viktor feel more at home but—

You have something Jayce doesn't.

Only you can do that.

You're Viktor's childhood friend, thick as thieves and twice as inseparable. You're an artist from the Undercity—a painter, a poet, a musician. An artistic genius, the world claims, an artistic savant. And one of the rare, lucky few who has been exalted and raised above your station to be paraded around Piltover like some trophy of success from their lowest. It's mostly Viktor's fault, you claim—the moment Heimerdinger found him, he also accidentally found you.

"Ah, if it isn't one of the most brilliant and groundbreaking artists of our generation." A smooth, easy voice floats through your thoughts. You turn your head to find Councilor Medarda, swathed in what could be a starry sky of silk and gold.

She's even more beautiful in person somehow; if you were to paint her, she'd be all easy, graceful lines, curved and long. A lily stem. The arch of a tiger.

"Just the person I was looking for." She muses.

"Me?" You balk, at the same time that Jayce gaps, "Them?!"

You swing your gaze to glare at him and even Viktor wrinkles his nose. Jayce tries to clear his throat, clear the mistake.

Councilor Medarda raises a brow at Jayce, but then her eyes flicker to you, honing in on you. Hazel and gold and reflective; a kaleidoscope of color. And with such—intensity. You feel it in her. Thrumming. "Yes, you." She says smoothly and she smiles in the elegant way of royalty; perfect and mysterious.

"Are you sure you have the right person, Councilor Medarda?" You joke, "you know I'm just—"

"I'm certain. And please—call me Mel. I'd love to commission you for several art pieces to be displayed in the council chambers."

Viktor whistles a little, impressed, though you can tell it's a little dry.

(He both rambles and rants about Councilor Medarda from time to time and you can never tell if he adores her or resents her.)

Jayce startles at this, but again, he tries to play it off. He places his hand on her lower back, "I didn't know the council chambers was looking to display art."

Mel allows his hand to remain, but she tilts her chin up and her eyes flash somewhat—quick, sharp. There's a silent conversation there that you can't decipher.

But you can tell there is something more than just coworkers happening between them.

"I'm looking to display art in the council chambers." Mel then says.

Jayce looks away, cowed somewhat, tail tucked between his legs in a way that makes you smile.

Mel drifts from Jayce's hands, offering her arm to you, "will you walk with me? I'd love to discuss what I have in mind."

If only to steal her away from Jayce, you finally peel yourself away from Viktor's side and the wall. Your shoulder, where it was touching his, goes cold. But Mel's arm is warm as you twine it around yours.

She draws you away from the scientists, into the fray of swirling, dazzling people.

You glance over your shoulder only once and catch Jayce's eyes, and let your smile curl into something a little smug, almost vicious; baring your teeth as if to gloat at his own, still tucked behind his lips.

***

"Mel's an artist." You say to Viktor, offhand. "A good one, too. You should see her paintings—"

Viktor sighs heavily, snatching one of the little tools that you'd been fiddling with out of your hands. "You sound like Jayce."

You wrinkle your face in disgust, reaching back for the tool and grappling with him a moment for it. You press all against each other, squabbling, before you win out and take it back from him. He stares at you, almost in some form of a glare and you stare back, watching his eyes, dark in the low light of the lab. He glances at the tool in your hands like he might try to take it back, and when he moves, you move faster, and hold it out of his reach.

"Are they together?" You ask.

He gives up on the tool.

Then, he lifts his shoulders in some form of a crooked shrug, eyes going skyward. "One can only assume."

"She's out of his league." You sigh, throwing your weight back in the chair in despair.

Viktor snorts at that, returning to his work, "I'm sure few are in league with Councilor Medarda."

His voice is dry. A little brittle.

"I don't know what you have against her." You then venture, speaking more to the ceiling, returning to fiddling with the tool. It twists in your fingers, the sound of metal whirling and softly grinding.

"I have nothing against Councilor Medarda." He says too evenly.

"You know, I've never been able to tell if it's contempt or adoration you have for her." You continue, as if he hadn't said anything to contradict you. "But either way, she gets under your skin."

"She does not—"

"Are you jealous? She took your big, dumb partner away?" You press, twisting and twisting away at the tool.

"No—" Viktor says sharply, but it rings with a note of truth. It's not quite that then.

You pause. And then.

You crack your eye open, "I think she likes me."

Viktor pauses now too, metal clinking quietly with the sudden stop of his work again. He knows that tone of your voice. His face pulls; distaste. Frustration.

(Jealousy.)

His speech is slow as he tries to parse through what to say, "Councilor Medarda is charming and—"

"She invited me to dinner." You say and now you're watching him carefully, "at her personal suite. Just us."

Viktor rounds on you, "you're going to get yourself into trouble."

You can't help but smile, slow and amused, "I feel like it's good for the art—fool around with a politician—"

"You know, I have always wondered if you would learn your lesson," Viktor continues over your monologuing about drama and passion and politics, "—maybe this time, you'll finally learn it."

He snatches the tool from your hands and throws it down on his desk.

"I love learning." You chirp innocently and he shakes his head, face flushed with passion.

He looks at you again when he can, shakes his head some more, some of the irritation fading from his features. He never stays mad at you for long; doesn't have it in him. Besides, he causes his own trouble. Doesn't learn his own lessons. And when the dust settles, the two of you are still here, beside each other. The artist and the scientist, making messes, breaking things—all for some higher purpose only the two of you have ever understood.

(You've loved him your whole life. Sometimes, you think you carry half of the other's ribs inside one another. He must have twelve of yours, and you must have twelve of his—)

You lift your foot, nudging his calf beneath the desk with it, then up to place it in his lap. An olive branch, of some kind. Your affection is unsurprising to him and he sighs. He drops his hand to your ankle. He squeezes.

"She's going to eat you alive." Viktor finally warns.

"One can only hope."

A laugh startles out of him, rough and raspy, before it dissolves into coughing.

You lurch up to give him water, sitting near you, and bring the glass to his lips on reflex, like you used to as children. And on reflex, he drinks—he doesn't try to take the glass from your hands right away or push you away. Instinctively, you care for him, and instinctively, he lets you.

(You think you're the only one he'd ever allow to do this, born out of years of pressed side to side in the same bed, listening to him weather the nights. Born out of years of your love and stubborn care for him.)

After a moment, he lifts his hand and slowly replaces yours.

You hover over him. He sets the glass down. The water is almost gone. You'll replace it for him before you leave the lab.

He settles back into his chair, eyes returning to the pieces in front of him; all the odd metal scattered like little silver stars in front of him against a vast, dark sky. He picks up one, and then another, and tries to fit them together.

Then another. And another.

You watch him twist and turn, put the puzzle together.

He says, "Lately, I feel as if—" his fingers are careful, almost shaking, as he tries to create something of the scattered, broken pieces, "everything is quite fragile. And it's all just going to—" he presses a little too hard, and the metal all splinters apart, clattering back to the desk, "break. At any given moment."

After a moment, he looks up at you, still hovering over him, "I fear you're heading towards a breaking point."

You hum a little.

"What is it you scientists say?" You ask, running your fingers through his dark hair, thick and tousled. You twirl a strand around your finger, let it fall;

"It has to break first, before you can discover anything."

***

You'd say Mel Medarda is a wolf in sheep's clothing, but she doesn't feign anything so harmless or lost as a sheep.

You do think she's—

A little like Jayce, where she hides her teeth. But where Jayce irritates you because he's certainly trying to seem better than he is, or more harmless than he can be, Mel does so with intention. Mel hides her teeth to lure you closer. She doesn't pretend she doesn't have them; she waits until you're in range before you catch a glimpse of them.

And by then, well. It's too late.

You realize this over dinner, as she laments about what art she'd like from you and she's adamant about not censoring you.

(You're known for you controversy; whether in your physical art, your poetry, or music. Once pulled to the light of the Upper City, you refused to let them defang you. Where Jayce pretends he doesn't have teeth, you bare yours proudly, and sometimes wish you could tear the tender parts of Piltover open.

You strive to do it with your art. And while applauded in some vague capacity, you are also kept on a tight leash. Your patrons are warily supportive of you. Your commissions are strict. You're treated the way you think a wild animal is; with utmost care and fear and awe.)

In fact, her only rule for you, is to not hold back.

Which, given the growing tension between the Upper and Lower Cities, you realize this cannot only be from the goodness of her heart or for the integrity of art but—

You tilt your head and consider her.

"Am I a political move, Mel?"

She smiles in that enigmatic way of hers, her teeth flash, "isn't all art?"

You narrow your eyes, "perhaps. I wonder of it's effectiveness when it's employed by the people it often critiques." You lift your chin and pretend to be hurt—or perhaps, mask your hurt within dramatics to make it seem ironic, "and here I thought you really liked me—"

"I do." Mel assures, "I've admired you a great deal from afar. And getting to know you, your mind, it's—" she considers her words, "it's been nothing short of mesmerizing. Astonishing."

She sounds sincere. But you wonder if she always sounds that way.

She can tell she hasn't convinced you because you've never been able to mask your emotions well, so she leans forward and says, "unfortunately, everything I do is a political move, whether I'd like it to be or not. Both can be true—" she says, "I can adore you. And I can also need you to make a public point, wield you like my own elegant weapon."

"Artists make for disobedient weapons, usually." You say.

She laughs a little at that and agrees, "True." And then she lowers her voice, looks at you through the fan of her dark lashes in such a way that seizes you—arrests you, holds you right there, caught, in her heady gaze;

"But I don't need you to be obedient."

"I can never tell if you're trying to seduce me or persuade me." You blurt out, the words running from your mouth like a rabbit from a wolf. Your desire bursts from you like frightened birds taking to flight, like most of what you feel does, all of it spilling out of you in a gush of rawness.

She stands gracefully and again, you think of how you'd draw her—how you'd capture her in a poem or a song. The sharp curve of her waist, the predatory grace she carries effortlessly. You think her song is a croon from the deep part of your chest. You think her poem looks like an hourglass on the page and she slips from your fingers as easy as time does, too.

She rounds the small table to your side.

You look up at her. Your heart kicks up into a quick dance.

She brings the back of her knuckle to your jaw and gently—with all the carefulness in the world, strokes you.

(She touches you the way one does a bird, as if they know it's fragile. Perhaps as if they know it might fly away.

Or maybe she touches you the way one does an animal they're not sure of; will you bite? Will you lean into the touch?)

"Both can be true." She finally answers.

When she kisses you, it's fiercer than you're expecting; a lightning strike, a blow to the heart.

Your teeth come up against hers.

She gasps when you drag her further down to you, greedier than she's ever known, meeting her fierceness with your own, like the clashing of blades, or the destruction of stars.

And you think, if you don't want obedience, then I'll show you.

I'll show you.

***

"What are you playing at?"

Jayce's voice is a vicious little hush in the caverns of the council chambers. Mel has just left you after peaking over your shoulder to view the preliminary sketches.

You lift your head and blink up at Jayce slowly, dragging yourself from your sketch; from your world of art.

(It sets his teeth to grinding because Viktor makes that same look, when he's so deep into his work and Jayce disturbs him. It's a face he finds endearing on both of you, unfortunately. He imagines your minds are in heaven and he's selfish enough to drag you both back down to earth.)

"What do you mean? For the art piece?" You ask, glancing down at your lap, at the series of gestures and lines that you've been lost in. Maybe you're feigning innocence a little. But you want him to say it, if he's going to pick this fight.

Jayce's eyes flash like the too-hot part of the flame.

You have to bite back a smile.

Come on, you think wildly, say it. Let's fight. Here in the chambers, where you try so hard to be their golden boy.

"What are you trying to get out of Mel?" He asks and it makes you laugh outright, because he's dancing around what he really wants to ask.

Your laugh echoes in the hall, bouncing off all this marble and gold. It's out of place here, too loud, too free.

"The better question is what she's trying to get out of me." You say, "do you think I have it in me to manipulate the Mel Medarda?"

He goes quiet at that.

"Are you doing this to get back at me?" He asks after a moment and it's so close to what he wants to ask, so close to what he really wants to talk about.

"She kissed me first." You answer. "Have you had this conversation with her?"

You can tell by the shadow of uncertainty that passes over his face that he hasn't. You stand, easily setting your sketches and pencils aside, and drift nearer to him.

"Oh," you hum, "you didn't know. She didn't mention some plan of seduction to you? Maybe she really does like me."

He rounds on you so sharply that you are genuinely surprised. You gasp when your back hits the wall and he's got you caged in, a snarl on his lips and you finally get to see those teeth of his—

"You just always have to push me, don't you? In all the years I've known you, you've only ever tried to get under my skin. I tried so hard, for so long, for Viktor's sake to get along with you." He says lowly and distantly, you think, does he cage in Mel like this? With his big arms and broad chest? Or does she have him on a tight leash, underneath her?

"This time, I didn't mean it. Surely, you understand—" you say slyly, "when she comes onto you like that, all honey-voiced and half-lidded. She's hard to resist, isn't she?"

The grip he has on your biceps tightens to a point of pain—he'll bruise you. You'll be tender there, where his big hands gripped you, and it only makes you smile.

"Stop it." He snaps.

But you can't help yourself now, because once you've got something between your teeth, you've never been able to let it go;

"I just want to know if she kisses me the same way she kisses you? Does she play nice with you? She's quite fierce with me—"

When Jayce kisses you, it's a crush of aggression.

You laugh into his mouth wildly as he shoves you harder against the wall, teeth mean in the tender part of your bottom lip so that your laughter melts into a groan of pain. Of pleasure.

You claw at his back and wonder if Mel does, too.

You fight and hiss and snarl, show him your teeth when he sinks his into the fluttering pulse at your throat. You try to draw blood. You think he tries to bruise.

And well, you always wanted to see his teeth—

Just never thought you'd end up with a ring of their mark on your neck.

***

You're not really sleeping—nights are long. Days are longer. You're in the studio too much. This art piece is strangling you, wrestling with you and you're losing. Your lovers are strange, demanding types. Jayce comes to you at his lowest, and Mel at her highest. She licks the wounds Jayce leaves on you, purrs about how good you're being for her, goads you into putting up more of a fight that she likes to quell. She asks, have I stolen your bite? Are you going soft on me? Until you try to wrestle with her, too.

Mel subdues you the way snakes do—constricts and tightens and puts all that pressure on you until you just burst.

Until you go slack in her grip.

Jayce takes his anger out on you and he's not so cunning or delicate as her. You think Jayce struggles with you the way he must with his hammers, with high heat and all his strength.

Your art is starting to look like pieces of them; brutal and brilliant and cunning and beautiful. Tricky to capture, even more difficult to mesh together.

You're covered in paint when Viktor comes to visit you, frustrated with the canvas in front of you, which you think you'll end up scrapping again.

(This is the fourth one. You've been trying to fit all the components and pieces together but none of it's working, all of it's a mess. Splintered apart on the canvas. It looks like a disaster on the page.)

"Have you eaten?" Viktor asks as he comes to stand behind you. He gazes at the canvas n front of you.

You sigh heavily. "Have you?" You return.

He snorts at that, "No. I'm coming from the lab and thought I'd check on you—Mel mentioned you were here."

He pauses and then, "that you'd been here. For awhile now."

You hear the layers in his voice; the worry, but then the—

Irritation? Disdain?

"Are you asking me to dinner?" You say instead, dashing the canvas with a sudden great, horrible X. It's your meager attempt at some sort of joke or flirting, but your voice is perhaps too thin for it. You stare at your canvas, now dripping with that great X, the paint slipping down and marring it further.

When you turn to look at Viktor, he regards you warily. He glances at the canvas you've just ruined, and then back to your face.

He takes in your appearance; your disheveled hair and the paint all over your clothes and skin. And then his eyes skip down to your throat, to your arms. All marked up and bruised, unhidden and worn proudly here, in the safety of your art studio.

"Should I be concerned?" Viktor asks instead and you've always loved his bluntness. His lack of tact is like coming home. It's a relief, when you're constantly with Mel and Jayce lately, who talk in riddles and niceties and flowered language that hides their intentions or feelings.

There is a bitterness in Viktor's voice that you know well, too.

"About?" You prod.

"I'm no fool." Viktor answers, "I know you're sleeping with Councilor Medarda."

"Is that all you know?" You return, tilting your head.

"Is there more to know?" Viktor asks, eyeing you.

"Jayce hasn't said anything?"

You watch a strange shadow pass over Viktor's face as he slowly comes to the natural conclusion that you've lead him to. He's right, he is no fool. And then you watch his eyes catch fire, catch jealousy.

"I warned you—" he starts, suddenly.

"And I told you, it's good for the art—" You joke.

"Obviously it isn't!" He snaps, gesturing to the canvas behind you, ruined and glaring at your back. And then he heaves out a rough, agitated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do you ever think of consequences?" He demands.

"Sure," You say, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"You know, they are my colleagues. What am I supposed to do if—?!"

You laugh at that, enough that it startles him out of his beginning tirade. He comes up short and his shoulders bunch with tension as he glares at you.

"Is something funny?" He hisses.

"Your colleagues?" You repeat, "that's all they are to you?"

"Well—yes, technically." He stumbles on his words here.

"Are you jealous, Viktor?" You ask. "You don't have to be."

"I'm not jealous—" He refutes, even as his cheeks grow ruddy. And for a moment, you could be twelve with him again, his face flush as he looks at you after you'd kissed him for the first time because he'd never kissed anyone before. Or twenty-two and drunk, kissing one night under the stars when you felt so lost and disorientated in the Upper City—just wanted to feel like yourself again.

Or now, at thirty-two, staring at the man you've loved your entire life and whatever mess you've made out of everything.

You reach out and touch his cheek, glowing with color, and at first he winces away, but when you persist, he relaxes. He presses his cheek to your open palm and looks at you; raw and frank and so Viktor that you can't help the faint smile that touches your lips. Even as he frowns at you.

"What are you meddling with?" Viktor murmurs, turning his face into your cupped hand. You feel the faint brush of his lips, a little dry, and soft. Warm.

"Apparently our political landscape." You respond and that at least gets a laugh from him. You feel it against you and some spark shimmers through you, shudders and opens itself to you.

(Your desire for Viktor is something always with you, ambient, perhaps dormant, that always resurfaces like the great fins of some horrible, huge monster in dark waters. Your desire for Viktor is a symptom of your love. You've never know what to call it except that, except his.)

"Have I upset you?" You ask now as his laughter fades, and with it his amusement.

He sighs deeply and you feel his breath against your skin. You draw nearer. He leans back onto his crutch only slightly, only for a moment, before he allows you further into his space.

"I don't—" He struggles for the words before admitting, "yes, somewhat. For some reason."

"Are you feeling neglected?" You ask and try very hard to keep your amusement out of your voice, lest you irritate him further. He's always had a jealous streak in him, even as kids. If you made another friend, he would pout until you draped yourself over him and showered him in your attention again.

Even your previous relationships had bred some sort of jealousy in him; he's never liked any of your partners.

(It's so endearing to you that you have to tuck your teeth into your own lip and hum a little.)

You lean towards him, ducking your head so that your nose dips to brush against the line of his jaw. You feel his body shudder more than you see it. His breath goes tight. Your eyes flicker, a flash in the sun-spun light of your art studio;

"Do you want me to kiss you the way Jayce kisses me?" You murmur, your lips hovering over his. You watch his face gutter, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His breath goes shallow.

"Or would you prefer Mel?" You murmur, just before you close the distance and kiss him with a certain fierceness, a meanness that you don't usually have with him. He stumbles back a little with the force of it and your hand that had been holding his cheek, slips into the hair at the nape of his neck.

A groan startles out of him when you tighten your hand into a fist and pull.

You part from the kiss, panting a little, and he looks down at you, eyes molten gold and burning.

You're about to kiss him again, when he murmurs, "I want—" he swallows hard, "I want you to kiss me the way you do—I want—"

You press back into him instantly, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought, with the notion that his desire, his jealousy—

You kiss him like you always have, overeager and desperate and messy. You urge him backwards, towards your workbench, all cluttered with paints. His crutch clatters against the ground uselessly as you grab for each other. You knock over a jar of brushes half-haphazardly placed on the floor.

You're overwhelmed with the thought that his jealousy might've been for you, too.

When he braces his hand against your work bench, he knocks over a cup of paint. You laugh into his mouth as you paw at his stupid, perfectly buttoned vest. When he touches you again, he stains you blue—and later red and violet. Burnished gold and paint so silver it makes the stars look dull.

A mess, he tsks, impossibly fond, as he looks at you and himself and the work space.

At all that you'd done.

***

"You've been pulling strings," Mel says as you lay in her lap, letting her pet and stroke you. Her fingers dance over the ridge of your brow.

You blink up at her slowly, eyes fluttering. "Shouldn't that be my line?" You ask.

"I'm not naive to the way you've been pulling our strings." She muses, fingers tumbling into your hair. She's gentle here, careful as she cards her way through your hair, her fingers nimble.

"Pulling strings is a far too sophisticated thing to call it." You snort and lean into her touch like a cat, preening a little.

"What would you call it?" Mel asks and the smile she wears is less of a mystery to you now, and you can tell there's a fondness to it.

(She does really like you—she is really being sincere, you've learned.)

You think about this for a long moment; you toy with saying a fucking mess. Or digging my own grave. But neither feel quite so full—while true, in many ways, there leaves little room for—

Well, this.

The way she holds you. The cat's curl of her smile, pleased and mischievous. Her fingers, gentle and coaxing, urging you to unfurl and bloom.

Or Viktor's rasping laugh that you can pull out of him. The fondness you hold for him like a pearl held inside a clam, growing and glowing. The way you drape yourself all over him, and he accepts it as easy as the day accepts the sun, or the night accepts the moon into its skies.

And even Jayce and the strangled back-and-forth that the two of you dance; it's still yours. It's still his. And the way he cups your cheek admist the violence or how he let's no one speak ill of you in front of him.

(Or the way Jayce and Viktor's minds work together, or how tactical Jayce and Mel can be; sharpened like daggers and twice as pretty. Or the creativity you pull out of Mel, allowing her to see the world like a boundless piece of art. Or the way Viktor's science influences your art; how your art influences his science. The fierceness you bring out in Jayce—the passion he brings out in you.)

It doesn't quite account for all the parts that make you burn and grow and shake out your great, big wings to fly.

Finally, you say, "it feels like I'm trying to find the melodies and harmonies and how they mesh—or the composition of a painting, or the feeling of a poem, but some of the words are still missing. It feels like when I chase art and try to break it open, to reveal what it wants me to learn—or show me."

"Have you figured it out yet?" She asks and she's genuinely curious, almost quiet in her desire to know.

At that, the door creaks open and there are several hushed whispers before Jayce suddenly strides into the room with all the false confidence in the world. Viktor looks sheepish behind him.

You sit up sharply, trying to detangle yourself from Mel.

"I told you they were here—" Viktor hisses to him, "and we shouldn't—we shouldn't be here."

Jayce isn't listening, though, and he's clearly inflating himself to get out, "I've come on important business of the council."

Mel raises her brows and throws you a sideways glance. She then says, "then come in, Councilor, since it's so important that you've come to my personal quarters. Unannounced."

Jayce at least has the good sense to look a little sheepish now, too. You can't help the laugh that springs out of you.

He throws you a dark look before clearing his throat.

"Councilor Haskel and Salo are seeking to strike down the art deal." Jayce announces and your heart drops a little, sinks in your chest.

You look at Mel. She purposefully keeps her face a mask of coolness. She rolls her shoulder briefly, which is your only tell of irritation or concern.

"Come in, Jayce." Mel finally says, "and you, too, Viktor. Shut the door behind you."

Both wander into the space and it's such a surreal moment, all four of you, for once, in the same room, that you can't help but laugh again.

Mel sighs in a way as if to say, I suppose this would happen eventually.

Jayce and Viktor can't quite look anyone in the eye and they both take uneasy seats int he living room.

Again, you feel like laughing—you're not sure what all the trepidation is for. Each of them have you seen you naked; you have seen them naked.

"What's their angle?" Mel asks, ignoring both Jayce and Viktor's shyness.

Jayce clears his throat, "they don't think it's worthwhile to support an artist from the Undercity at this time."

You wince and Jayce adds, "their words, not mine."

"Well, that won't do." Mel tsks and she suddenly moves to stand, graceful as ever, her robes trailing in a wave of silk and the smell of lillies. She likes to pace when she's thinking, and she pads over the window, to look out at the city.

Eventually, she says, "we'll need a grander plan. Something they can't refuse."

"What are you thinking?" Jayce asks.

She turns and all around her, she's doused in gold light, glowing in the evening sun as if she was born to it. "Perhaps combining some science with it." Now she looks at Viktor, "something symbolic to the current advancements with Hextech, perhaps."

Viktor looks at you, then back at Mel, "I can do that."

"Jayce, I need you to talk to the other Councilors and be sure they're not swayed by Haskel or Salo." She then adds, "and I want more publicity around it—and around our artist and scientist."

Our artist.

Our scientist.

"Ah—" Viktor starts, "I don't want to be in the public eye."

Our, our, our.

"It'll put pressure on Haskel and Salo if the people are behind you both, too." Mel presses gently, though her gaze has softened on him; she's sympathetic to his desires.

To assure him, you chirp, "I can do all the talking."

"Not sure that's our best idea." Jayce remarks.

"I am certain I can name several worse ideas of ours." You quip without thinking, and then you toss one of Mel's throw pillows at him; the beautifully embroidered one that's likely far too expensive and made from the rarest threads.

It hits him with a dull thud. And for a moment, he's shocked. The room is silent.

Still, your heart sings our, our, our.

But then Viktor snorts, before breaking out into his low, soft chuckle. And then the twinkle of Mel's giggles, coupled with your own laughter that bursts from your chest like a bird taking to flight.

And Jayce watches a moment, all of you laugh and smile, and if you could paint him in this moment, you would—

A little awe-struck. Tender around the edges, burnished gold. Breath stolen from him.

(Oh, he does really like you, too. All of you.)

But then laughter rumbles from him, too. And the tension slips from all of you, drains from your bodies with each bubbling sound.

And all of them together—finally together—are the melody you've been looking for, the words you couldn't place. The color on the canvas that finally brings it all together.

It's all the broken pieces like a mosaic, finally put together to create something whole.

And it's all ours, you think, the sun a flare of light and beauty bursting through the room, bathing all of your favorite people in it's gold and glory;

It's all ours.

[cjlouwho]

Twelve Christmases

No specific chapter tags

Read below or on ao3. You can also start from the beginning here.

Day 12: 2031

“What are you doing?”

“Shh!” Tommy waved his hand dramatically as he took a very slow, very precise step. “You're going to wake her up, Evan.”

“She's been out like a light for an hour,” Buck reminded him with a smile, “and I've got music playing in her room. So, what are you doing?”

Tommy lifted a foot, showing Buck the bottom of a black, rubber boot. “A little water and flour,” he explained. “I'm making Santa's footprints.”

Buck crossed his arms, leaning against the living room entryway. “It's sixty degrees outside. Where is this snow coming from?”

Tommy sighed. “It's magic."

“You know that's gonna be a nightmare to clean up tomorrow once it dries.”

“It'll be fine.”

“I'll remind you of that when you're scrubbing.”

“I need more,” Tommy said, ignoring Buck's comments as he stood still as a statue in the middle of the living room. “I have a spray bottle in the kitchen, and a plate with flour on it. Bring it to me, please?”

Buck shook his head, but went and got what Tommy needed. “Please tell me you're not stepping your feet into our good dishes,” he whined on his way back, setting the plate on the ground.

“They're new boots. We'll throw it in the dishwasher. Stay down there, spray my shoes.”

“Is this some new type of fetish for you? I know we're not supposed to judge, but...”

“Evan.”

“Okay, okay, I'm spraying.”

After each foot was sprayed and floured again, Tommy resumed his walk until he reached the front door.

“Seems wrong to not have Santa going up a chimney,” Buck said as Tommy carefully took off his boots.

“We don't have a chimney.”

“I could get a photo of Chimney and tape it to the door.”

“I know you're joking,” Tommy said, stepping closer to Buck, “but if you do that I might start committing violent crimes.”

Buck reached out and felt over Tommy's shirt. “You'd look hot in orange,” he decided as he leaned in for a kiss.

“Wait.” Tommy stopped him right before their lips met. He looked down between them, pointing at Buck's foot. “You're dangerously close to stepping on Santa's footprint.”

The moment ruined, Buck patted Tommy's chest. “I'm gonna bring out her presents.”

“I'm going to put these boots in three garbage bags, wash them when she goes to Maddie's on Friday, and give them to George at work on Saturday.”

“Why are you giving George your boots?”

“What do I need giant, black, rubber boots for?”

“Well, why does George need giant, black, rubber boots?”

“Are we really doing this right now, Evan?”

Buck rolled his eyes, raising his hands in surrender. “Getting the presents now.”

“Watch out for the footprints!” Tommy whisper-yelled as Buck headed down the hall.

Buck's only response was a low groan.

*****

The third time Tommy checked the time it was 4:45. He turned from one side to the other, wrapping his arm around Buck's waist.

“You're supposed to be sleeping,” Buck grumbled.

“Sorry.” Tommy pressed a kiss between Buck's shoulder blades. “I'm excited.”

“Really? Couldn't tell.”

Buck stretched out his legs, then turned over to face Tommy. “You know she's gonna be going nonstop once she wakes up. This is your last chance for rest.”

“She's been wanting that bike for months, Evan. And she already knows how to ride without training wheels. Can you believe that?”

“I can.” Buck brought a hand to Tommy's face, gently stroking his cheek. “You taught her well.”

“You ate the cookies, right?” Tommy asked, and Buck couldn't help but grin at him. He looked like such a child, wide eyed and ready to take on the day.

“I ate the cookies.”

“And the milk?”

“I drank the milk.”

“You think the note was okay?” Tommy asked. “It wasn't too wordy, was it?”

“Tommy,” Buck inched forward, pressing his lips against Tommy's. “Her Christmas will be perfect. You've made sure of that.”

“We've made sure of that,” Tommy corrected, giving him another kiss.

Buck ran his hand down Tommy's arm until he intertwined their hands, squeezing tight. “You okay?” he asked. “I know you're excited, but I- I also know Christmas has a lot of not-so-great memories for you.”

That was an understatement if there ever was one. Christmas of 2025 was one of the best for Tommy. Spent with Evan, his family, and the rest of the 118, the entire day was something out of a storybook. It was overwhelming and, once they got home, Tommy found himself sobbing in the bathroom. When Buck found him, Tommy ended up spilling his guts on every past Christmas.

By the time they were done, Buck promised that if he never wanted to celebrate the holiday again, he wouldn't have to.

But Tommy did. It's all he ever wanted, and he had it now, and it was good and terrifying and a lot to wrap his head around.

Then, they got their daughter, and Christmas had been taken up a notch every year since then. Buck always figured he'd be the one to dive head first into holidays, but Tommy quickly took the reigns, and Buck loved every second of it.

“I'm okay,” Tommy assured him.

“You'll come to me later if you get not okay?”

Tommy nodded. “Promise,” he said, wrapping his and Buck's pinkies together.

Buck scooted in as close as he could, closing his eyes as he entangled their bodies.

Just as Tommy thought he might be able to fall back to sleep, he heard the familiar patter of little feet heading toward their door.

“Get ready,” Buck mumbled against his chest.

The door flung open. “Daddy! Papa! Christmas!” She came running to the bed, jumping right on top of her dads.

“Whoa!” Tommy exclaimed, the both of them scooting back to give her space between them. “It's Christmas?!” he questioned.

“Mhm!”

“Are you sure about that?” Buck asked, cocking his eyebrow.

“I'm sure! Presents, please!” She grabbed both of their hands and began tugging. “Please, please, please!”

*****

Tommy got tears in his eyes as he watched his babygirl squeal when she saw Santa's footprints. He became even more misty when Buck helped her read the letter Santa left her. By the time she was tearing open her presents and screaming at the sight of her new bike, Buck had to put a hand on his back and gently rub up and down, soothing him so he wouldn't break down into full sobs right in front of their daughter.

He never tried to hide his emotions from her, but he also knew she wouldn't really understand her dad hyperventilating with happiness because he loved her so much.

“Can I go ride it?!” she asked, already snapping her helmet on her head.

“The sun's not even up yet,” Buck joked, but he knew he wouldn't win this fight. Tommy was already standing, quickly throwing the wrapping paper into a giant trash bag so they could go.

“Please, Daddy!” she begged, her bottom lip poking out.

He laughed. “I bet Papa is willing to take the first bike shift while I get breakfast ready, aren't you?” he asked, looking up at Tommy with a grin.

“Oh, absolutely!” he answered. “Go put on your shoes and grab a jacket, then we'll go.”

As she ran out of the room, Buck stood, wrapping his arms around Tommy. “Breakfast will take about an hour,” he said as Tommy pressed a kiss to his temple. “That enough time?”

Tommy rested his hands at Buck's lower back. “Yup. I'll take her back out after.”

Buck leaned back enough to look into Tommy's eyes. “You still good?”

Tommy nodded. “I'm great, Evan.”

*****

“Alright." Tommy clapped his hands together after making the final adjustments on her helmet. “You got this?”

“I got this!” she yelled, smiling brightly.

She got ready to take off, but stopped suddenly, leaning over and squeezing her arms around Tommy's waist the best she could.

“Oh!” he breathed out in surprise. He squatted down so he could give her a better hug. “What's this for?” he asked.

“For being the bestest papa ever and ever!”

She gave him a smack of a kiss on the cheek and let go, pushing herself forward and taking off on the bike.

Tommy wiped the tears from his face and started to jog behind her, his heart feeling more full than he ever thought possible.

One day, this would all be a distant memory to her. She may only remember bits and pieces, but she would hold in her heart the way her parents made Christmas as perfect as possible.

And whether she chooses to have a family of her own, or spend the holiday with friends that become family, she will pass the traditions on and Christmas will continue to hold a special place in her heart. Filled with good memories of endless laughter and unconditional love.

Juniper Buckley-Kinard was five years old when her Papa unwittingly taught her that sometimes good things last forever.

[loveesiren]

𝖤𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍 (𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖳𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾)

Rafe Cameron x Reader

a/n: here is the third and perhaps final part? of Emergency Contact. I am open to the idea of writing more for this if you guys have some ideas you want to share with me! Otherwise, thank you so much for enjoying this mini series! I loved writing it and I can't wait to write more for Rafe <3 (Also, please lmk if tags aren't working!)

synopsis: Y/N has always been close to the Cameron family, practically a part of it after years of friendship. Beneath the surface, unspoken feelings simmer between her and Rafe, but neither of them can muster the courage to admit it. When Y/N finally decides to move on, setting her sights on a new man, he’s forced to confront the truth: losing her might cost him more than he ever realized.

warnings: language, angst, drug use (cocaine), alcohol, mention of rehab

wc: 4k+

The days that followed were a blur of beer, late-night adventures, and laughter with the Pogues. You told yourself you were over it, that you didn’t need Rafe’s attitude bringing you down. JJ had become a constant in your life, his arm draped over your shoulder more often than not. However, you still felt an empty hole in your chest.

You supposed you and JJ were a thing now, though you hadn’t put a label on it. He liked showing you off, and you didn’t mind the attention—especially when his lips trailed down your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You let him explore your body, but you always stopped things before they went too far.

JJ didn’t say much about it, but you could tell he was frustrated. Still, he didn’t push you, which you appreciated.

A few nights later, you were sprawled across the couch with the Pogues, laughing as Sarah flailed her arms during a particularly dramatic game of charades. Her phone buzzed rapidly on the table beside you, but she didn’t notice.

“Sarah!” you called, grabbing her phone. “Your dad is blowing up your phone!”

The carefree energy in the room shifted as Sarah snatched her phone from your hands. Her brows furrowed as she read through the missed calls and texts. “Shit…” she muttered, worry creeping into her voice.

“What’s wrong?” Kiara asked, the concern spreading to everyone else.

“My dad can’t get in touch with Rafe,” Sarah said, her tone uneasy. “He’s out of town and freaking out.”

“Is Rafe okay?” you asked, your stomach twisting with sudden anxiety.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Sarah said quickly, but her eyes darted to the screen again. You could tell she wasn’t being entirely honest. “I just need to check on him. I’ll be back soon.” She grabbed her keys and hurried out the door.

You sat there, staring at the spot where Sarah had been. Pulling out your phone, you opened your text thread with Rafe. It had been five days since you’d last heard from him.

Are you okay? you typed, hesitating for only a second before hitting send.

The screen remained blank, no reply. With a heavy sigh, you tucked your phone back into your pocket and turned back to the group.

“I’m sure everything is fine,” JJ said softly, brushing your hair aside to kiss your cheek. He pulled you closer, offering comfort, but it didn’t reach the pit of unease growing in your chest.

“Yeah…” you mumbled, trying to believe him. But your mind was elsewhere.

All you could think about was Rafe.

-

“Rafe?” Sarah’s voice echoed through the house as she stepped inside. The space was dark and suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint thrum of music coming from down the hall. She reached for the light switch, illuminating the chaos around her—Rafe’s belongings strewn across the house like an abandoned battleground.

As she moved into the kitchen, her stomach twisted. Empty liquor bottles were tipped over on the island, surrounded by half-smoked joints and cigarette butts. She frowned, fighting the wave of dread rising in her chest.

“Rafe?” she called out again, louder this time, as she ventured deeper into the house. Her sandals crunched against the sticky floor. The music grew louder as she approached the master bedroom, the sound of heavy metal shaking the walls. It was a genre so foreign to Rafe that it made her pause.

Reaching for the handle, Sarah opened the door slowly, peeking inside. The sight before her made her heart drop.

Rafe sat slumped over his dresser, shirtless, his jeans undone and his hair disheveled. A half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels stood beside him, its sticky contents dripping down the side. He sniffed at the surface of the dresser, the residue of white powder glaring under the dim light.

“Rafe…” Sarah whispered, stepping in to lower the volume on the stereo. The silence that followed was heavy. “I thought you quit,” she said, her voice trembling as she fought back tears. Seeing him like this—broken, lost, a shadow of the brother she thought she’d gotten back—was almost unbearable.

Rafe didn’t look at her. Instead, he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging. “Why’d you do it, Sarah?” he asked, his voice hoarse and low.

“D-Do what?” she stammered, blinking back tears.

He didn’t respond immediately, focusing instead on organizing another line of cocaine with unsteady hands.

“Dad’s worried,” she said, trying to keep her composure. “He told me to check on you. Rafe, what’s wrong? Why are you doing this? Y/N said you’d been acting weird, but I—”

“Y/N…” he interrupted bitterly, spitting out your name like it burned his tongue. “That’s the problem, Sarah.”

Sarah froze, her stomach tightening as Rafe finally turned to look at her. His bloodshot eyes were sunken, the pain etched deep into his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Why’d you hook Y/n up with JJ?” He asked, his voice breaking. “You knew—” He inhaled sharply, as if bracing himself. “You knew I fucking liked her, Sarah! You knew I…”

He trailed off, choking on his words.

Sarah’s lip quivered as she stared at him, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“You know I love her,” Rafe admitted, his voice barely audible as he crumbled to the floor. His back hit the edge of the bed, and he buried his face in his hands. The weight of those words hung heavy in the air. For so long, he’d buried the truth, but now it was out, raw and unfiltered.

Sarah knelt beside him, pulling him into her arms. “Rafe…” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. You never told me…”

Rafe shook his head, his body trembling as he sobbed. “It doesn’t matter. She’s with him now,” he said, his voice cracking. “I ruined everything. I treated her like shit, Sarah. She’s never going to forgive me. Never.”

Sarah held him tighter, her heart breaking for him. She didn’t know what to say, so she just let him cry. His sobs eventually softened, the exhaustion of the past few days finally catching up to him.

She helped him into bed, pulling the covers over him as he drifted into a deep, uneasy sleep. His breathing evened out, the rise and fall of his chest steadying. Sarah lingered for a moment, watching her brother in the dim light. He looked so fragile, so unlike the Rafe she grew up with.

Once she was certain he was asleep, she quietly left the room, leaving the door cracked open behind her. She pulled out her phone and dialed Ward, holding it to her ear as she began to clean up the kitchen.

“Yeah, he’s okay now,” she said, responding to Ward’s worried question. “I’m letting him sleep it off. I’ll get rid of the drugs and clean up the place, but… he’s not okay, Dad. He’s really not.” Her voice broke, but she steadied herself, wiping away a tear.

Ward’s response was short but decisive. “I’ll be on the next flight out.”

Hanging up, Sarah continued to clean, throwing away bottles and sweeping up the debris of her brother’s downward spiral. She was scrubbing the counter when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with your photo, your name glowing brightly.

Sarah hesitated, her hand hovering over the phone. She sighed deeply before answering. “Hey…” she said softly, already knowing this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

You glanced at JJ, passed out on the couch across the room. His frustration earlier had been palpable—trying and failing to get you to sleep with him yet again. But how could you? Your mind was elsewhere, consumed with worry for Rafe. JJ had finally given up and flopped down, his snores starting almost instantly.

You scoffed, clutching your phone tighter in your hand. If JJ truly cared about you, he wouldn’t be pressuring you when you were clearly preoccupied. He wouldn’t be making this about himself. The analog clock on the wall read 2:13 a.m., and each unanswered ring on the phone made your anxiety climb higher.

Finally, Sarah’s soft voice came through. “Hey…”

“Sarah!” you exclaimed, standing up abruptly. “What’s going on? Is Rafe okay?”

There was a long pause, and her hesitation made your stomach drop. “Uhm…” Her voice cracked, and you knew.

“Sarah, what is it?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Yes and no,” she finally said. “He… he relapsed.”

The weight of those words hit you like a freight train. You sank back down into the chair as tears blurred your vision. “Fuck…” you whispered, your voice breaking. You wiped at your face, but the tears kept coming. “I knew something was wrong. I tried, Sarah. I tried to get him to talk to me, but he just—”

“Y/N,” Sarah interrupted, her voice urgent but soft. “Can you just come over? I think he needs you right now.”

Her words stopped you in your tracks. “Me? Why would he need me?”

“Please,” she pleaded, ignoring your question.

You didn’t need to hear more. “I’m on my way,” you said, grabbing your keys and heading out the door.

When you arrived at Rafe’s house, the dim light spilling out from the kitchen was the only sign of life. You stumbled inside to find Sarah sweeping up broken glass, the remnants of Rafe’s spiral.

“Where is he?” you asked, your voice breathless.

“He’s sleeping,” Sarah replied, her tone weary. She leaned against the counter and set the broom aside. “My dad’s flying back in the morning.”

You hesitated, watching her carefully. “Do you know what happened? Why does he… why does he need me?”

Sarah sighed deeply, dropping onto one of the barstools at the island. “I think I might’ve messed up,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, her eyes darting to the floor. “Rafe… he…” She trailed off, struggling to find the words.

“He what, Sarah?” you snapped, your patience wearing thin. “Just say it!”

Sarah’s gaze shot up to meet yours, her voice breaking as she blurted out, “He loves you, okay?!”

Your heart stopped. The air left the room. “What?” you whispered, your voice shaky.

Sarah softened, guilt etched across her face. “He loves you, Y/N. And I didn’t know… I didn’t know how much. I thought it was just some crush. He never made a move, so I figured he didn’t care. I thought setting you up with JJ would be fun, but I-” She sighed, her words tumbling over each other.

“Sarah, stop,” you said, cutting her off. She was spiraling, and you could barely keep up with her frantic explanations. “It’s not your fault.”

The room fell silent, and her words hung heavy in the air. Rafe loved you. He always had. And you—stupid, oblivious you—had missed it.

Sarah studied you for a moment, her tear-filled eyes softening. “Do you love him?” she asked quietly.

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Her lips curved into a brief, sad smile as she wiped at her own tears. “Go to him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when my dad gets back. He’ll probably send him off to rehab again, but… he needs you right now.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile, your heart hammering in your chest as you stood. Sarah returned to her cleaning, giving you the space you needed.

Rafe’s bedroom door creaked softly as you pushed it open, slipping inside. The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. Your gaze landed on him, sprawled across the bed. He looked so vulnerable, so unlike the confident and composed Rafe you’d always known. His chest rose and fell steadily, his lips slightly parted. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead, and his hair was a disheveled mess.

Your heart ached as you stepped closer. You could see the toll the past few days had taken on him—the flushed cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, the faint tremor in his hand even as he slept.

Carefully, you slid into bed beside him, your weight barely shifting the mattress. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. His grip tightened instinctively, and you smiled softly, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“I love you, Rafe,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You didn’t know if he could hear you, but it didn’t matter. For the first time, you let yourself say the words out loud.

And for the first time in days, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Your eyes fluttered open to the early morning sun peeking through the blinds. The air was heavy, a mix of stale whiskey and regret clinging to the room. You turned your head slightly, finding Rafe curled into you. For someone usually so imposing, he looked impossibly small, trembling as the aftershocks of withdrawal rippled through his body.

“Rafe?” you whispered, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead. His cheek was flushed under your palm, warm and slick with sweat.

“It’s freezing…” he mumbled, though his skin burned with fever.

You frowned, heart aching at the sight of him. “Come on, let’s get you in the shower,” you murmured gently.

Helping him out of bed proved to be a challenge. He groaned as you maneuvered him upright, his body heavy and uncoordinated, but you were determined. Once you were in the bathroom you carefully peeled his jeans off, leaving him in his boxers, before guiding him toward the shower.

The sound of the water rushing into the tub filled the space. You adjusted the temperature until it was lukewarm—cool enough to help his fever but not cold enough to make him shiver. As soon as Rafe stepped under the spray, he slumped to the floor of the tub with a heavy groan, his knees drawn up, arms resting limply on them.

You perched on the closed toilet lid, keeping an eye on him. He looked utterly spent, the water coursing over his fevered skin, plastering his messy hair to his forehead. You pulled out your phone to find a text from Sarah.

Dad’s flight is delayed. Won’t make it until tonight.

You exhaled in quiet relief. At least you had more time to be here with Rafe before Ward arrived and took over.

Can you bring me a liquid IV? I’ve got him in the shower, you texted back.

Minutes later, there was a soft knock on the bathroom door. You opened it just enough to see Sarah holding a glass. She handed it to you, her brows furrowed with worry. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s coming down,” you said, taking the glass from her. “He’s got a bit of a fever, but I think he’ll be okay.”

Sarah bit her lip but nodded. “Okay… I’ll make some breakfast,” she said quietly.

“Thanks, Sarah. We’ll be out soon,” you assured her, closing the door again.

You turned back to Rafe, who hadn’t moved from his spot on the shower floor. His shoulders were hunched, the water cascading down his back. Slowly, you crouched by the tub and opened the shower door.

“Rafey,” you coaxed gently, holding the glass out. “I need you to drink this. It’ll help, okay?”

He lifted his eyes to meet yours, glassy and tired, but he obediently took the glass with trembling hands. You guided it to his lips, helping him sip slowly. It took a few minutes, but he managed to finish it, and you set the empty glass aside with a soft smile.

“Good job,” you said softly, brushing your fingers against his damp hair.

Rafe’s voice broke through the quiet. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he rasped.

You shook your head, crouching closer. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“I fucked up,” he sighed, his head dipping forward.

“No, Rafe, I did.” You bit your lip, your voice trembling as you confessed. “I should’ve told you a long time ago… that I love you.”

His head snapped up, his bloodshot blue eyes locking onto yours. “You what?” His voice cracked, almost disbelieving.

You nodded, tears threatening to spill. “I love you, Rafe. And I’m so sorry I didn’t realize sooner. I should’ve known something was wrong. I should’ve been there for you…”

Rafe stared at you, his body frozen as your words sank in. Every chaotic thought in his mind came to a halt, silenced by the sheer weight of your confession. Before either of you could second-guess the moment, he reached out, his strong hand pulling you into the shower with him.

“Rafe—!” you gasped as the water soaked through your clothes, but your protest died on your lips as his mouth found yours.

The kiss was soft yet desperate, his lips trembling against yours, the weight of unspoken years pouring into the moment. It took you a second to process what was happening, but then you melted into him, snaking an arm around his neck and tangling your fingers in his damp hair.

Every problem, every heartache, every unanswered question disappeared as his hands slid up your back, anchoring you to him. He kissed you like you were the air he needed to breathe, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself forget the world outside.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both breathless. His blue eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. Your mascara ran in streaks down your cheeks, and strands of wet hair clung to your face, but none of it mattered.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but steady.

You smiled through your tears, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “I love you too, Rafe.”

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not Ward, not Sarah, not the mistakes or the pain. Just you and Rafe, tangled together, the water washing away everything but the promise of a new beginning.

You and Sarah spent the day nursing Rafe back to health. Between making sure he ate and keeping him hydrated, most of your time was spent curled up with him on the couch. He gravitated toward your warmth, his head resting on your shoulder as Adventure Time played softly on the TV. His apologies spilled out at regular intervals, at least once every thirty minutes, as though they were on a timer.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured for what felt like the hundredth time, his voice barely above a whisper.

You ran your fingers gently through his hair, offering a soft smile. “Rafey, it’s okay. We’ve already forgiven you.”

Sarah chimed in from the kitchen, “She’s right. We just want you to focus on getting better.”

But no matter how much reassurance you both gave him, Rafe couldn’t seem to forgive himself. His relapse haunted him—forcing his dad to cut a business trip short, the anger he’d unleashed on you, the guilt over falling back into old habits. He swore up and down he’d never touch cocaine again, especially now that he had you, but addiction wasn’t that simple. You knew the moment Ward arrived, he would take charge of the situation.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room as you snuggled deeper into Rafe’s arms. Between soft kisses and whispered promises of a future together, you tried to savor the quiet moments. In the kitchen, Sarah hummed softly as she worked on dinner, the smell of roasted potatoes and chicken wafting through the house.

Then, the front door slammed open. The calm shattered as Ward’s heavy footsteps echoed through the house.

“Where is he?” Ward’s voice boomed, sharp with frustration and worry.

Sarah stepped into the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “On the couch with Y/N,” she said quietly, her eyes darting to you and Rafe.

Rafe tensed beside you. You placed a comforting hand on his chest, but he was already pushing the blanket off and rising to his feet.

“Hey, Dad,” he said softly, his voice thick with shame.

Ward’s expression was a mixture of relief and disappointment as his eyes scanned his son. Without a word, he crossed the room and pulled Rafe into a firm embrace. Rafe stiffened at first but then melted into it, his head dropping to Ward’s shoulder.

“Let’s go talk,” Ward said gruffly, his hand gripping Rafe’s shoulder as he guided him toward the master bedroom.

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving you and Sarah in heavy silence. You sat down at the kitchen island, pulling Rafe’s blanket around your shoulders, the lingering warmth proving to be a poor substitute for him.

“Ward’s going to send him away, isn’t he?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sarah sighed as she plated some food and slid it in front of you. “Probably,” she admitted, sitting across from you with her own plate. “I’m sorry about all of this.”

You frowned. “Why are you apologizing?” you asked, absentmindedly poking at a roasted potato.

Sarah hesitated before speaking. “I should’ve known you two were in love. How could I have been so blind? If I hadn’t pushed JJ on you, maybe none of this would’ve happened. This is all my fault.”

You shook your head and reached across the table to take her hands. “Sarah, this isn’t your fault. It’s not your job to play matchmaker. Maybe Rafe and I just ignored what was right in front of us for too long.”

She gave you a small, sheepish smile. “So… you don’t really like JJ?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “JJ’s fine. Kind of a dick though. There’s no connection there. Not like what I feel for Rafe.”

Sarah grinned, her eyes brightening a little. “Maybe one day we’ll be sisters,” she teased.

You chuckled. “Let’s get through tonight first.”

The bedroom door creaked open, and both of you turned as Ward made his way into the kitchen. His expression was firm but calm. “I’m taking him to treatment first thing in the morning,” he announced.

Your heart clenched, but you nodded, understanding. This was what Rafe needed, even if it hurt to let him go.

Ward glanced between you and Sarah before his features softened slightly. “Sarah, why don’t you and I spend the night at Tanneyhill? Give Rafe and Y/N some time alone.”

Sarah smiled and hugged you tightly before gathering her things. “Thank you, Mr. C,” you said, your voice filled with gratitude.

He gave you a small nod. “Call if you need anything,” he said before ushering Sarah out the door.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what would likely be one of the hardest nights of your life. With the house quiet again, you made your way down the hall to Rafe’s bedroom.

You knocked softly before opening the door. Rafe was already in bed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, but when he saw you, a small smile tugged at his lips. He patted the space beside him, inviting you to lay with him.

Climbing into bed, you turned to face him, resting your head on his chest. “How are you feeling?” you asked gently.

“Better. A lot better,” he said, wrapping an arm around you. His smile faltered, replaced by a frown. “But my dad’s not going to let me off easy.”

“It’s okay, Rafey,” you reassured him, lacing your fingers with his. “Take the time you need to get better. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He turned his head to look at you, his blue eyes searching yours for any trace of doubt. “You promise?”

You smiled softly and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Cross my heart.”

A genuine smile broke across his face, something that was rare to find in Rafe Cameron. Holding him close, you let the rhythm of his breathing lull you into a sense of calm. Whatever came next, you’d face it together.

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[beloveds-embrace]

I just recently got into CoD and learning all the story’s and characters, and I absolutely love your Roomemate 141 Series!

I can’t help but think of the holiday season with them, decorating with the boys (John is always happy to help, and doesn’t mind if you tell him to adjust a garland or a wreath a million times, just as long as your happy in the end, he thinks anyway you decorate makes their home look great) or going out shopping (Kyle definitely seems the type to jump at the offer to accompany you, keeping an eye out at all the things you pick up and put down to add to his shopping list to gift to you) or (-if you celebrate Christmas,) going to pick out a tree with the boys?

Johnny is trying to convince you to get the biggest fullest tree after all you should have the absolute best for the holidays…and don’t forget when your decorating it, everyone helps even if you just buy some cheap ornaments for this year because the boys don’t have any particular special ornaments (You picked out a special ornament for each of the boys to give them on Christmas…so it won’t be cheap ornaments on the tree for long…) AND when it’s time to put the Star or Angel or whatever tree topper on the tree, Simon is all the happier to be the one to lift you up to the top so you can put the finishing touch on the tree.

(And don’t think about one of the boys putting up a mistletoe in the hallway that you always walk through so now all of them are trying to get caught underneath it with you… 👀)

Waitt omg this so cute 😭 holiday decorationing means the decor tyrant that you are is fully out and thriving but in all honesty, John doesn’t mind. He loves the boys but Kyle is the one one of them with any sense of home styling but they just never have enough time to shop. But here you are, excited to decorate the space even more than you’ve already done and who is John to even think about saying no? … even if he’s sure the fairy lights are centered, love.

Said fairy lights that you got while shopping with Kyle, who leaves your side for a while and when he returns, he’s brought all your favorite candles and snacks that have run out. Also he 100% has access to your amazon or whatever wishlist so he knows what to get you for Christmas, and still would’ve known what to get even without that wishlist because he’s always so focused on you, your likes and dislikes and what catches your eyes.

Also yes johnny absolutely does try to get the biggest tree 😭 you have to remind him that you live in an apartment and if he really wants that tree then you’d need to take a wall and maybe a good chunk of the ceiling out 💀 he still does manage to convince you to buy a relatively big tree, and rewards you with making his mom’s secret hot chocolate recipe that will have you all cozy and cuddly against his side on the couch <3

Also. Ornament painting with them 🥹 just a fun little activity to have some special ornaments to hang on the tree, and you don’t even notice you are sitting on Simon’s lap while you two are painting. When it’s time to decorate the tree, it’s a group effort that ends with Simon just easily picking you up to place the star/angel on the top. The excited look on your face was absolutely worth it.

And not only do they hang up the misteltoe, they’ll be carrying it and holding it up above whenever they manage to lololol trust that Christmas is only made better with lotsss of kisses <33

[ilysungho]

hii! 30 38 64 67 with taesan pls💗 i love your work

can i be 🌸 anon?

a/n: hi love!! ofc you can be 🌸 anon! welcome to the family <3 tysm for requesting, i'd love to know what you think about this ^-^ wc: 1.1k contains: dom!taesan x sub!reader, friends to lovers?, playful? reader, thigh fucking, lowercase intended, prompts italicized

taesan's lips quivered as you ate the ice cream so seductively under him. you didn't mean to make it so sensual but the twitching in his dick doesn't help. he tried to focus on his own sweet treat, but couldn't let go of the idea of having your lips around him instead.

the way your tongue licked the melting orange juices made him gulp hard. it led him to fix his position, covering up his growing on with the cushion on your couch. his eyes stayed fixed on you, feeling thankful that he sat on top of the couch rather than beside you on the floor. taesan unknowingly bit his lips, head falling back and biting his lower lip at the sight below him.

you had just finished your popsicle, biting on the wooden stick before looking back at him. “hey taesan, have you seen any-” you didn’t expect your friend to be looking at you with such an expression, blinking to make sure you were seeing right. “why are you looking at me like that?”

he cleared his throat and sat up, the cushion still covering him so he doesn’t reveal the tent in his pants. but that doesn’t help when you take said cushion from him and gasp at the sight. you look up at him and blinked a couple times. what am i seeing?

“did i turn you on that much?” not entirely sure how to respond, you were thankful your playful nature took over instantly to help, with the accompaniment of a smirk at his direction.

“you don’t even know.... fuck.” taesan's voice was small as an embarrassed blush crept onto his face, feeling hot from the sudden turn of events. he hid his face in his hands in an attempt to try to calm down, clearing his throat once again. lightly slapping his cheeks, he composed himself before taking a look at you.

that calmness didn’t last long as he watched you lay down on the floor, pulling your thighs together and making a motion telling him to come closer with your index finger. he furrowed his eyebrows, a light smile appearing as he complied.

“you can do what you need to, but you have to buy me another popsicle later. deal?” a sly smile decorated your face as you looked at him.

“are you sure? we’re just friends y/n…”

“and? who else would help you in times of need if not your friend?”

he widened his eyes at your words, switching over to scoffing at you. his one hand grabbed your legs, putting them both over one of his shoulders, with the other hand rubbing your exposed tummy. he reached down and stretched the elastic of your fabric covering your cunt, asking, “how are you so sure that i want you laying down?”

“i know you’ll like any pose i pull. i’ve known you so long; you think i wouldn’t know how you take your flings?”

“oh so you know what i do with my flings?” he smirked while reaching his fingers inside your panty to rub your folds.

“yeah, after all, i don’t like people touching what’s mine. tough, i just watched and said nothing.”

he was baffled at your confession, licking his lips and finally rubbing circles on your clit, making you gasp at the contact. his eyes never left yours as his clothed dick rubbed against your thighs. the soft material of the shorts you wore fell right above your cunt in the position you laid in. he hurriedly pulled off his pants to reveal his cock to himself, hidden behind your thighs.

he bit his lower lip as he put the sensitive tip against the middle of your thighs, making you raise your eyebrows. “i didn’t expect this from you taesan. i thoughts you’d be more of the type to take it rough right away.”

he shook his head at your statement, further pushing into the slit between your legs. “we’re just friends yet you’re thinking about how i’d take you huh?” an amused face stayed on him as the hues of your face changed from a peachy rose to a hot pink.

you could feel his dick against the cloth covering your pussy. that combined with the way his fingers expertly rubbed your clit made your mind feel hazy. his pretty pink tip came in view as it surpassed your thighs, you letting out soft moans and groans as he pulled out just enough to thrust back in through the gap.

he pulled his hand out of your panty now, reaching to grab your boobs. he could feel that you weren’t wearing a bra (bold choice knowing you have a man in the house, but understandable choice considering said man was also your friend). he reached under your shirt now for the same purpose of fondling your breasts while he fucked your thighs.

the sounds you let out were like music to his ears, loving how he made them come out from you as he felt almost every part of you.

“gosh, y/n, you sound so amazing. imagine how amazing you’d sound when i’m fucking you senseless.”

whining at his heavy words, you shook while tightening your core. taesan’s cock continued on, quickly slipping in and out of your thigh gap thanks to his precum coating the insides, acting as lube. your own high was approaching as he took back his hand from under your shirt to reach back into your shorts. he rubbed circles once again on your clit while whispering on about how you both are almost to the edge.

“san… i’m close mmm,” you croaked out while shaking. he increased his speed at your words, making sure to hit every part of your wet bottoms that he could. he knew what lied under but only his hands had gotten a taste of it for now. his licked his lips before kissing your legs on his shoulder. then, he took one of his hands and placed it in front of your thighs, now hitting his palm every time he thrusted through you.

you moaned out his name while convulsing and cumming soon after, finding it hard to come back from your high. on the other hand, taesan used his hand and your thighs to come shortly after, splattering the white essence onto your shirt. you rolled your eyes in slight annoyance before getting up to take off your shirt.

you looked up at your friend after calming down and all you saw was his jaw drop, mostly because of your figure. he bit his lips at the sight, after which he removed the rest of your clothing, pulling you down to have your face against his semi-hard dick. leaning down to you, a low whisper erupted against your ears:

“i’m not done with you yet.”

[frillydolle]

ok idk if u have done this before but what abt low honor arthur x shy/easily flustered reader…been thinking abt this for awhile

lowhonor arthur x shy female reader

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ arthur is a little pervy , suggestive themes?

he was terrifying, mean, and even sadistic man. those rumoured whispers explained a lot about him in that way. there was no remorse from a man like him, no mercy, either. to be one of the worst men that's involved with the infamous gang. the most wanted man within the states, there wasn't a day that he didn't come back with someone's blood on his hands.

he was disgusting and vile. probably the most perverted man u have ever come across, too. his unannounced touching would often catch u off guard. the women in the camp always gave him a sort of a dirty or death state, knowing that kind of man arthur is now ever since the relationship ended between him and mary. that took a toll on him more than people thought.

not with u, though. he knew that gaze made u feel uneasy, made u squirm, almost like a coyote watching its prey. it's like he enjoyed it, too. u weren't the social butterfly. u kept to urself or the small group of girls u would do chores with or u would be often see talking the only man, arthur. to be honest, u were even sure how he felt about u, it's not like many spoke to u.

he made the man stay away from u, but that's a different conversation...

u didn't even need to turn around, knowing who it was coming towards u by their hard footsteps. “hey, babydoll. missed my favourite girl while i was away.” he says with that cocky smirk on his face, leaning against the pole behind u, totally not looking at ur rear while u hand washed some clothes.

“hi morgan, I've been okay.. keepin' busy like-” “good girl. as y'should be. wouldnt want ms. grinshaw gettin' mad atcha.”

she was a terrifying woman, ms. grinshaw.. but not as terrifying as arthur, of course. he was the worst. but arthur liked her a lot. he wasn't sure how to tell, and so he often showed her through his actions... like his weird, perverted touching and words.

he told u to come here, and once u were finished cleaning, of course, u made ur way over to him before he took u round the wagon, no one was there. this was strange but u did sort of like him.. u didn't know why. he was always odd with u, but u did find a small sense of comfort in him every time he brings a small gift to u as he comes back to camp.

“have i ever told ya how pretty y'look? 'course i have.." he says, his tone laced with roughness. his big hand soon glides down to ur waist, gripping the flesh so hard that it light leave a mark later, curse him.

“thank you, arthur-” u reply, feeling ur face rise with heat, squirming slightly under his intense gaze, all embarrassed. “y'know what else would make ya prettier? some little hickeys on yer neck, my girl.”

was he being honest?... well, of course he was. he was a very serious man, not the type to be funny unless it was one of sick jokes. anyway, he could do not that, the two of u were in camp! someone might see u both, ms. grinshaw might catch u or even dutch! and that woukd be a lot more embarrassing than how red ur face is right now.

“arth- we cant, i- we'll get caught- arthur!” ur gentle protests mean nothing as he took a hold of ur wrists, making u back up against the wagon. he inhaled ur scent of lavender and pine, made the man almost crazy.

“lemme mark ya up, so everyone can see how I feel 'bout ye. c'mon sugar, i might be gentle but dont count on it.”

god it was like u couldn't move or couldn't talk, u didn't know what to say, how to react. ur face was all flushed with his words, it wasn't a surprise that he'd be flirting with u now.

and soon, he began toying with the collar of ur blouse. soon that felt to unbutton the top few buttons before he inched closer to mark u up.

[enemiestolovershoe]

hey :) .. i‘m in desperate need for a very fluffy fic with chris and bsf!reader where reader went to the triplets house earlier that day and ever since she was off. she crashed on the couch and as chris went to the kitchen to get some pepsi he saw that the lights are still one and reader is still up. crying. he askes whats wrong (you make something up) and chris is comforting her in the end and they end up cuddling falling asleep on the couch. :) thank you so much

Shattered Trust

Christ Sturniolo x bsf!reader

Summary: After Y/N’s world shatters from betrayal, Chris offers her comfort and support, helping her navigate the painful path of healing and rediscovery.

Words: 5k

Warnings: Angst, Cheating, Emotional Hurt, Mild swearing, Crying, Emotional Distress, Betrayal

The glowing screen of your phone illuminated your tear-streaked face as you typed out a message. Your hands trembled, but you forced yourself to hit send:

Hey, Chris, are you busy?

It only took a few seconds for the reply to pop up.

Not at all. What’s up?

You hesitated, debating whether to tell him the truth or to brush it off as nothing. The thought of sitting in your room, replaying the betrayal over and over, was unbearable. You needed a distraction, somewhere to go, people to be with—people who felt safe.

Can I come over? you finally typed.

Chris’s reply came faster this time.

Of course. We were just about to pick a movie. You coming over for our movie night?

You blinked at the screen. You’d completely forgotten tonight was one of your monthly traditions with the triplets. Normally, the thought would’ve excited you, but now it just felt like a lifeline.

Yeah, movie night sounds good. Be there in 15.

Chris stood in the living room, holding his phone with a faint smile. "Y/N's coming over," he announced to Nick and Matt, who were sprawled across the couch, arguing about which movie to watch.

"Finally," Nick grinned, tossing a piece of popcorn at Matt. "I was about to call her myself. It’s her turn to pick the snacks anyway."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "You sure she doesn’t just want to escape from her crazy family? Remember that time she showed up because her mom and sister were having a screaming match over hair dye?"

Chris shrugged. "I don’t care why she’s coming. She asked, so she’s welcome."

As you drove through the quiet streets, your mind drifted back to the moment everything shattered.

Your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, you corrected yourself—had always been charming, maybe too charming. You’d never questioned his late nights or the way he sometimes avoided your gaze when your sister was around. You’d trusted him completely.

But a week ago, you’d come home early from a canceled lunch with friends, only to find the two of them tangled up on the couch. The image was burned into your memory, along with the sound of their voices stumbling over excuses.

"Y/N, it’s not what it looks like," he’d said, his voice dripping with guilt.

"Seriously?" you’d spat, unable to even look at your sister. "How long has this been going on?"

Your sister had said nothing, just stood there, avoiding your eyes. That silence had hurt more than anything he could’ve said.

Pulling into the Sturniolos’ driveway, you wiped your eyes and practiced a smile in the mirror. The triplets didn’t know what had happened, and you weren’t ready to tell them. Tonight needed to be about something else, anything else.

Chris opened the door before you could even knock. "Hey, you made it!" he greeted, pulling you into a quick hug. "You okay?"

You nodded, forcing your practiced smile. "Yeah, just needed some company."

"Well, you’re in luck," Nick called from the couch, waving the remote. "We were about to watch something, but Matt refuses to watch anything fun. Save us."

"Hey!" Matt protested. "At least I pick movies with actual plots."

"Sure, if by 'plot,' you mean boring dialogue and depressing endings," Nick shot back.

Chris rolled his eyes. "Ignore them. You want something to drink? Snacks? Or just want to settle in and pick the movie?"

You hesitated, but the warmth of their familiar banter started to thaw the icy weight in your chest. "I’ll take snacks and the remote," you said with a weak laugh.

"Now that’s the Y/N we know," Chris said, his smile softening as he led you into the living room.

You flopped onto the couch with a sigh, curling into the corner as Nick and Matt argued over yet another movie choice.

"Okay, but why would we watch Inception right now? It’s like three hours long, and my brain’s not ready for all that," Nick said, waving his hands in exasperation.

"Because it’s a good movie," Matt shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yeah, but good doesn’t mean fun, and I’m in the mood for fun," Nick retorted.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, your first real laugh in what felt like days. "How about The Hangover?" you suggested, cutting through their debate.

Three pairs of eyes turned to you.

"Classic choice," Chris said with an approving nod.

"Finally, someone with taste," Nick said, glaring at Matt.

Matt rolled his eyes. "Fine. At least it’s better than whatever Nick would’ve picked."

"Excuse me, my taste is immaculate," Nick replied, throwing a handful of popcorn in Matt’s direction.

Chris handed you the remote and stood. "I’ll grab some snacks. Pepsi okay?"

"Perfect," you said, your voice soft but grateful.

A few minutes later, Chris returned with a can of Pepsi and a small bowl of your favorite chocolate. He placed them on the table in front of you, giving you a brief, searching look.

"You good?" he asked quietly, his voice low enough that Nick and Matt wouldn’t hear.

You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice. "Thanks, Chris."

He didn’t push further, just gave you a small smile before sitting down next to you.

As the opening credits of The Hangover rolled, you settled into your corner of the couch. Nick had sprawled out on the floor with a blanket, Matt took the recliner, and Chris sat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours.

The room quickly filled with laughter as the movie’s chaotic antics unfolded. For the first time in a week, you felt a little lighter, the ache in your chest dulled by the comfort of their company.

"Okay, but how does no one realize there’s a tiger in the bathroom until it’s too late?" Nick asked between bouts of laughter.

"Because they were all blacked out, genius," Matt replied, tossing a kernel of popcorn at him.

"Still. I would’ve noticed a tiger," Nick said with mock seriousness.

You smiled, shaking your head. "No, you wouldn’t. You’d be too busy freaking out over a missing tooth."

Chris chuckled beside you, his gaze lingering on your face. When you glanced over, he quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the screen.

It happened again a few minutes later during one of the movie’s funniest scenes. You caught Chris watching you out of the corner of your eye, his expression soft, almost worried.

"Chris," you whispered, leaning toward him slightly.

"Yeah?" He looked at you, his face unreadable.

"You don’t have to keep staring. I’m okay," you said, forcing a small smile.

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. "I wasn’t staring."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe a little," he admitted, his voice lowering. "I just… You seem different tonight."

Your stomach twisted at his words, but you quickly shook your head. "Just tired, that’s all."

Chris hesitated but nodded, letting it drop. "Well, if you need anything, just let me know," he said softly.

"Thanks, Chris," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the movie continued, you tried to focus on the humor, on the familiar warmth of being with the triplets. But Chris’s quiet concern lingered in the back of your mind, making you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he saw through the smile you were trying so hard to keep.

As the credits of The Hangover Part III rolled, Matt stretched with a dramatic yawn and stood up.

"Alright, I’m done," he announced, rubbing his eyes. "If I watch one more scene of Alan’s nonsense, I might lose my mind."

"You lost it a long time ago," Nick quipped, earning a glare from Matt.

"Whatever. I’m going to bed. Night, Y/N," Matt said with a small wave before disappearing down the hall.

Nick was quick to follow, gathering his blanket and pillow. "Yeah, I’m out too. Y/N, make sure Chris doesn’t make you watch some artsy indie movie if you guys stay up," he said with a wink.

"Goodnight, Nick," you replied with a soft laugh.

As their doors closed, Chris turned to you. "It’s pretty late," he said, glancing at the clock. "You sure you’re okay to drive? You could crash here if you want."

You hesitated, but the idea of going back home, back to the empty room where every corner reminded you of betrayal, was unbearable. "Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you guys."

"Y/N," Chris said firmly, his eyes meeting yours. "You could never bother us. Stay."

You nodded. "Okay. I’ll take the couch, then."

Chris got up and grabbed a blanket from the hallway closet. He draped it over you carefully, his hand lingering on the back of the couch for a moment. "If you need anything, just knock on my door, alright?"

"I will. Thanks, Chris," you said quietly.

"Goodnight," he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

"Goodnight."

As soon as he was gone, the silence of the room felt overwhelming. You curled up under the blanket, the warm fabric doing little to shield you from the cold ache in your chest.

You pulled out your phone, hoping for a distraction, but the sight of an unread message made your heart sink. It was from your sister.

Why are you ghosting me? We need to talk.

Your breath hitched as the words blurred on the screen. She had the nerve to text you, to act as though everything could be fixed with a conversation. Fresh tears welled up, and before you could stop them, they spilled over.

You pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to muffle the sound of your sobs. The last thing you wanted was for the triplets to hear. They didn’t know, and you weren’t sure you could bring yourself to tell them.

In his room, Chris lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Something about tonight wasn’t sitting right with him. You’d been quiet, more than usual. The message you sent earlier had been short, almost hesitant, and now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen or heard from you all week.

Chris frowned, running a hand through his hair. He hated seeing you like this—guarded, distant. It wasn’t like you to pull away, not from them.

He turned onto his side, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep. But it was no use. His mind kept replaying little moments from the night—the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, the way you flinched when he asked if you were okay, the way you seemed to deflate the second Matt and Nick left the room.

Something was wrong. He didn’t know what, but he was sure of it.

Back in the living room, you wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, but the tears kept coming. The betrayal, the pain, the gnawing guilt of not telling the triplets—it all felt like too much.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block it all out, but sleep wouldn’t come. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw your sister’s name on your screen, her message taunting you, demanding an answer you couldn’t give.

You wanted to tell Chris, Nick, and Matt everything. You wanted to spill it all, to let them comfort you like they always did. But the words felt trapped in your throat, too heavy to say out loud.

And besides, they were probably asleep by now.

What you didn’t know was that Chris wasn’t asleep. He was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, still thinking about you. And something told him he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep tonight.

Chris tossed and turned in his bed, staring at the ceiling for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Sleep just wouldn’t come. His thoughts kept drifting back to you—your forced smiles, the way you’d seemed a little too quiet all night. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

With a sigh, he gave up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, noting the time: 2:37 a.m.

"Great," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

He decided a Pepsi might help, so he padded quietly out of his room and into the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise. The kitchen and living room were joined, and he didn’t want to accidentally wake you.

As he opened the fridge, the faint sound of a muffled sob reached his ears. Chris froze, his hand hovering over the soda can.

He turned his head toward the couch, his brow furrowing. The room was dim, but he could see your figure curled under the blanket, your shoulders trembling.

"Y/N?" he called softly, stepping away from the fridge.

You stiffened, biting your lip to keep any more sounds from escaping. But it was too late—he’d already heard you.

Chris approached the couch slowly, his heart sinking at the sight of you trying to hide your tears. Without a word, he sat down beside you, the couch dipping slightly under his weight.

You turned your head away, wiping at your face furiously, but Chris wasn’t having it. Gently, he laid a hand on your head, his fingers threading through your hair in a soothing motion.

"Hey," he said softly. "What’s wrong, hm?"

"Nothing," you whispered, your voice cracking.

"Y/N," he said firmly, though his tone remained gentle. "Please. Tell me. We both know something’s hurting you. You can tell me anything, I promise."

You shook your head stubbornly, clutching the blanket tighter around yourself.

Chris sighed but didn’t pull away. "Okay," he said after a moment. "How about this? If you don’t want Matt or Nick to know, I won’t tell them. Whatever it is, it’ll stay between us. I swear."

You hesitated, his words making the weight on your chest feel just a little lighter. Taking a shaky breath, you sat up, letting the blanket fall to your lap. Chris stayed close, watching you carefully, his concern etched across his face.

Your eyes fixed on the ceiling as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "Jason cheated."

Chris blinked, his jaw tightening. He opened his mouth to say something, but you held up a hand, stopping him.

"And it wasn’t just with anyone," you continued, your voice breaking. "It was with my sister."

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Chris stared at you, his eyes wide with shock, his mouth slightly open as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard.

You looked down at your lap, your fingers twisting in the blanket. The silence felt suffocating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

Finally, Chris found his voice. "Y/N..." he started, but his words trailed off, as if he didn’t know where to begin.

Chris sat there for a moment, stunned into silence. His mind reeled at your words, trying to process the betrayal you’d just revealed. But as he looked at you—your trembling hands, the tears that streamed down your cheeks—his shock quickly gave way to something else: protectiveness.

Without hesitating, Chris moved closer, sliding an arm around your shoulders. His touch was warm and steady, grounding you even as your emotions threatened to spiral.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t even know what to say… but I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that. Not from him. And definitely not from her."

His words broke something loose inside you, and the tears came harder, pouring down your face and soaking the neckline of your shirt. You buried your face in your hands, your body trembling as you let out the sobs you’d been holding back for days.

"How could they do this to me, Chris?" you choked out between sobs. "My own sister… she knew everything—everything Jason and I had been through. And she still—" You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Chris felt a sharp pang in his chest. Seeing you like this—completely broken—made his blood boil. He wanted to storm out, to confront Jason, to demand answers from your sister, but he knew none of that would help you right now. Right now, you needed him here.

"They’re both selfish," he said firmly, his voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "They didn’t think about you at all, and that’s on them. That’s not your fault, Y/N."

You shook your head, tears still streaming. "But it feels like it is… I keep thinking, ‘What did I do wrong? Was I not enough?’"

Chris grabbed your hands, gently pulling them away from your face. "Hey, stop that. Don’t do that to yourself," he said, his tone more intense now. "Jason cheated because he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to value someone amazing when he has them. And your sister…" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "She’s the one who betrayed you, not the other way around. You’re not to blame for any of this. Not even a little."

You tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. The weight of everything—the betrayal, the heartbreak, the shame—was too much.

Chris seemed to sense that. He didn’t say anything more, just pulled you into a hug, wrapping both arms around you tightly. Your head fell against his chest, and he rested his chin lightly on top of your hair.

"Just let it out," he murmured, stroking your back in soothing circles. "I’m right here. You don’t have to hold it in anymore."

The dam broke. You clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely, your tears soaking into his shirt. Chris didn’t flinch or pull away. If anything, he held you tighter, his hand continuing its steady rhythm on your back.

"It’s okay," he whispered, his voice soft but firm. "Cry as much as you need to. I’m not going anywhere."

And he didn’t. Chris stayed there, holding you like you were the most fragile and important thing in the world. Even as your sobs wracked your body, he remained calm, offering the kind of quiet strength you desperately needed.

Minutes passed, though it felt like time stood still. Slowly, your crying began to subside, your breaths becoming less ragged. But Chris didn’t let go, not until he was sure you were ready.

The warmth of Chris’s embrace began to steady your breathing, though your body still felt heavy with exhaustion. Slowly, you pulled away, your hands resting in your lap as you avoided his gaze. Chris leaned back slightly, giving you space, but his concern didn’t waver.

Your eyes were puffy and swollen from crying, your cheeks streaked with drying tears. Chris reached out, his thumb gently wiping a stray tear that lingered.

He gave you a small, reassuring smile. "Let’s try and get some sleep, okay?" he said softly, his voice warm and steady. "It’s been a lot tonight, but it’s going to get better. I promise."

You nodded wordlessly, lying back down on the couch and pulling the blanket up to your chin. The headache from crying so much throbbed behind your eyes, and you couldn’t deny how tired you felt.

As you settled in, you expected Chris to stand and head back to his room. But instead, he surprised you. Without saying a word, he shifted to lie down behind you, sliding in close and wrapping an arm protectively around your waist.

You stiffened for a moment, startled by the gesture. "Chris… you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to," you protested, your voice soft and hesitant.

Chris’s hold didn’t falter. He rested his chin lightly against the top of your head and hushed you gently. "Shhh," he murmured. "I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. We’ll get through this together, okay? You don’t have to do this alone."

His words, spoken with such quiet determination, made your chest tighten. You felt tears prick at your eyes again, though this time they weren’t from sadness.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Chris." Your voice cracked slightly, but you meant every word.

He gave your waist a small squeeze. "Always," he said simply, his tone carrying a weight of sincerity that made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t in days.

The steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his arm around you, and the comfort of knowing he wasn’t going to leave finally allowed your body to relax. The headache and emotional exhaustion took over, and before you knew it, your eyes fluttered shut.

Chris stayed awake a little longer, watching over you as your breathing evened out. He held you close, his heart breaking a little as he thought about everything you’d gone through. But more than anything, he was determined to be there for you, no matter what it took.

Finally, a small, tired smile crossed his lips as he rested his head against the pillow, letting sleep claim him too—right there with you in his arms.

The morning light crept through the blinds as Nick shuffled groggily into the living room, his eyes barely open. He stretched with a yawn, heading toward the fridge for something to drink. As he turned toward the couch, he froze mid-step.

At first, he blinked a few times, convinced he was still half-asleep. "What the…" he muttered, rubbing his eyes dramatically. The sight before him—Chris curled up behind you on the couch, his arm draped protectively around your waist—was not something he’d ever expected to see.

"Am I dreaming?" he asked aloud to no one in particular. After a moment of staring in disbelief, he turned and bolted down the hall.

"Matt!" Nick hissed, bursting into his brother’s room.

Matt groaned, burying his face in his pillow. "Nick, if this isn’t an emergency, I swear—"

"It is!" Nick interrupted, shaking Matt’s shoulder. "You need to see this. Like, right now."

Reluctantly, Matt sat up, his hair a mess and his expression sour. "This better be good," he grumbled, throwing the blanket off and following Nick back to the living room.

When he caught sight of the two of you on the couch, his annoyance vanished, replaced by wide-eyed surprise.

"Is that…" Matt started, leaning closer to get a better look.

"Yup," Nick whispered, his tone somewhere between shocked and amused.

"Did he finally make a move?" Nick asked, tilting his head.

"I don’t know," Matt replied, scratching the back of his head. "But… doesn’t she have a boyfriend?"

Nick frowned, looking at Matt. "Yeah, she does. At least, I think she does. So… what’s this about?"

Matt shrugged, his brow furrowed. "No clue. But they look pretty cozy."

Nick pulled out his phone, biting his lip to keep from laughing. "Should we ask them? Or should I just take a picture for evidence?"

"Definitely a picture," Matt said, smirking.

Nick nodded, holding his phone up and aiming the camera. Just as he was about to snap the shot, his fingers fumbled, and the phone slipped from his hand.

The loud clatter of the phone hitting the floor echoed through the room, and both you and Chris stirred.

Chris blinked awake first, squinting against the light and taking a second to register what was happening. He glanced down at you still in his arms, then up at Nick and Matt, who were both frozen like deer in headlights.

You woke up a second later, groggy and disoriented. "What’s going on?" you mumbled, sitting up slightly and noticing Chris’s arm still loosely around you.

Nick recovered first, quickly scooping up his phone. "Uh, nothing! Morning! Just… you know… didn’t mean to wake you guys!"

Matt, however, wasn’t as subtle. "So… are we gonna talk about this, or…?" He gestured between the two of you, his brows raised.

Chris rubbed his face, clearly trying to think of a way to explain. "It’s not what it looks like—"

Matt snorted. "Really? ‘Cause it looks like you two were cuddling all night."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Can we not do this right now?"

Nick crossed his arms, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. "Oh, we’re definitely doing this right now."

Chris’s body stiffened as he quickly sat up, his expression suddenly serious. His protective instincts kicked in, and he shot a sharp look at Nick, his voice firm. "No, Nick. Seriously. Drop it. It’s not the time."

Nick froze, blinking in confusion at the sudden change in Chris’s tone. He wasn’t used to hearing his brother so... intense. But before he could ask anything more, his gaze shifted to you.

You had your face hidden in your hands, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. That’s when it hit Nick. It wasn’t just a casual morning moment between friends. Something was wrong.

Matt’s playful smirk faltered, and his eyes softened as he noticed the tears trailing down your face. His teasing nature immediately gave way to concern. "Y/N…?" he began, but Chris cut him off before either of them could say anything else.

"Look, this is serious," Chris said, his voice still low and full of emotion. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he turned toward Nick and Matt. "You guys don’t know what happened."

Nick looked at him, unsure. "What happened?" he asked, his voice quieter now, sensing the weight behind his brother’s words.

Chris glanced over at you, his heart breaking as he saw how upset you were. He didn’t want to push you, but he also knew you needed support. "Y/N gave me permission to tell you guys," he said softly, then turned to face Matt and Nick fully. "Jason—her boyfriend—cheated on her. With her sister."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Matt and Nick both looked at each other in stunned silence, their eyes wide with disbelief.

"Wait, what?" Nick whispered, shaking his head in confusion. "He… cheated on her with her sister?"

Chris nodded, his jaw tight with anger. "Yeah. And I know she’s been trying to keep it together, but it’s been eating her up. She didn’t deserve any of this." His voice cracked slightly, the weight of what you were going through becoming even more apparent as he spoke.

You wiped at your eyes, feeling the sting of their stares but too drained to care. Chris’s hand remained on your back, offering what little comfort he could, but you could tell this was a lot for Matt and Nick to process.

Matt was the first to speak up again, his face hardening. "That’s messed up," he muttered, clearly frustrated. "She doesn’t deserve that." He glanced at you, his expression softening. "Y/N, I’m sorry."

Nick nodded in agreement, though his voice was still filled with disbelief. "I… I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell us sooner?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

You sniffed and looked up, finally meeting their eyes. "I didn’t know how to. It hurt too much. I didn’t want to drag anyone into it." Your voice trembled, but you tried to hold it together. "I just needed some time to figure out what to do."

Chris gave your back another reassuring rub, silently telling you it was okay to let them in. He looked up at Matt and Nick, a heavy sigh escaping him. "She needs our support right now, not questions. So please… just… give her space if she wants it."

Matt nodded solemnly, his usual teasing nature now completely gone. "Yeah, of course," he said, his voice softer than before. "You’ve got it, Y/N. Whatever you need."

Nick hesitated for a moment, then gave you a small, almost apologetic smile. "We’re here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone."

You nodded weakly, still feeling the sting of everything that had happened. But for the first time in what felt like days, you felt a small flicker of hope. With Chris, Matt, and Nick by your side, maybe things would start to get better.

Chris’s arm tightened around you once more, offering the quiet comfort of knowing that, for now, you weren’t alone in this.

The room fell into a quiet calm, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. Matt and Nick gave you the space you needed, no longer pressing you with questions. Instead, they offered small, reassuring smiles, letting you know they were there—ready to support you however you needed.

Chris, still sitting close beside you, rubbed your back comfortingly, his presence a silent promise that he wouldn’t leave your side. The warmth of his touch brought a small, but much-needed sense of peace.

After a few moments of silence, you took a shaky breath and finally looked up at Chris. "I don’t know what to do… or where to go from here," you admitted, your voice still thick with emotion.

Chris met your gaze with understanding in his eyes. "You don’t have to have all the answers right now," he said gently. "We’ll figure it out together. One step at a time."

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words sink in. Maybe you didn’t have the answers yet, but you weren’t alone. With Chris, Matt, and Nick by your side, you knew you had the support to get through this.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice breaking again, but this time with gratitude.

Chris smiled softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Always, Y/N. You’ll never have to go through this alone."

As the day began to unfold, you and the triplets spent the rest of the morning together. No more talk of Jason or your sister—just the comfort of knowing you were surrounded by people who cared. Slowly, the pieces of your heart that had shattered started to heal, one moment, one breath at a time.

And for the first time in a while, you felt a spark of hope for the future, knowing that with time and support, you’d find your way through the pain.

[arixella]

Hello~ I was wondering if you could do a continuation of 'you don't tell them you're hurt' with the members of Cross Guild 🙏🙏🙏

Of courseee I can doo! This one was fun to make!

You get hurt and don't tell them pt.4 ' ft. crocodile, mihawk, buggy

wc: 440 a/n: not proof read luffy, zoro, sanji law, ace, sabo shanks, kid, killer

Crocodile

-Crocodile isn’t the type to fuss, but he’s sharp, and you’re not getting away with hiding an injury from him.

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” His voice is calm but carries a dangerous edge, as if daring you to lie to him.

-Once you admit it, he clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Reckless. Don’t waste my time trying to hide things like this.”

-He handles the situation with cold efficiency, ensuring you’re patched up without much fuss. However, his hands are surprisingly gentle, and he makes sure you’re as comfortable as possible.

-Afterward, he lectures you in his usual gruff tone. “There’s no pride in pretending you’re invincible. You can rely on me.”

-While Crocodile may seem cold, his actions betray his concern. You catch him casually checking on you later, making sure you’re healing properly without drawing attention to it.

-If someone else caused the injury, they’re as good as dead. Crocodile doesn’t make a scene—he just ensures they disappear without a trace. “No one touches what’s mine and walks away.”

-He might not say it out loud, but his subtle protectiveness speaks volumes about how much he cares.

Dracule Mihawk

-Mihawk is impossibly observan, so the second you try to hide an injury, he catches on with an arched brow.

“Hiding something from me? That’s unwise.” His tone is calm but piercing, like he’s already read your mind.

-He examines your injury with precision, his touch light but firm. “You’re fortunate it’s not worse. Carelessness doesn’t suit you.”

-Mihawk insists on personally treating you, pulling out an extensive first-aid kit you didn’t even know he had. “A blade is only as effective as the one wielding it. You should take better care of yourself.”

-Afterward, he pours you a glass of wine and insists you rest, staying close by with his usual composed demeanor. “I won’t tolerate unnecessary risks, especially from you.”

-Though he doesn’t openly fuss, Mihawk keeps a sharp eye on you for days afterward, ensuring you don’t push yourself. His silent care speaks louder than words.

-If the injury was caused by someone else, Mihawk’s cold fury is unmatched. “I’ll handle it,” he says, and you know he means it.

Buggy the Clown

-Buggy doesn’t notice at first, but when he finally realizes you’re hurt, he absolutely freaks out.

“What?! You’re hurt?! Why didn’t you tell me?!” His voice is loud enough to make everyone turn their heads, drawing unnecessary attention.

-He rushes to your side, flailing dramatically and overreacting as usual. “Do I need to call a doctor? Am I supposed to do something?! What if it’s fatal?!”

-Once he calms down (sort of), Buggy genuinely tries his best to help, though his methods are questionable. “Here, let me tie this… uh… is that supposed to be bleeding?”

-Despite his antics, Buggy stays by your side the entire time, even shooing his crew away to make sure you rest. “Don’t you dare move until you’re better, you hear me?!”

-He constantly checks on you, asking a million questions like, “Are you okay? Does it hurt? Do you need anything?” His concern is over-the-top but heartfelt.

-If someone else caused the injury, Buggy flips from dramatic to angry clown mode. He may not be the strongest, but his crew will make sure payback is served. “Nobody messes with my crew—or you!”

-Later, he’s back to his usual self, teasing you about being “so clumsy” while secretly keeping a close watch to make sure you’re really okay.

♡♡♡

[femslash-february]

Welcome to Raptor’s Femslash February Bingo 2025! Round 2: Electric Boogaloo

This year with four different prompt bingo cards—light prompts, dark prompts, spicy prompts, a combined one with all prompts—to celebrate Femslash February 2025. All fandoms, content and warnings welcome! Enjoy! ❤️

Rules and prompts in text form under the Read More!

Rules:

When: all of February

What: focus of your work should be a wlw / femslash / f/f ship, i.e. a ship with two or more female presenting characters, gender bending welcome

How: it’s totally chill, just do a single prompt or aim for bingo(s), whatever you want! You can get your bingos with one fic, with multiple fics, whatever you like. Choose one of the bingo cards and mark what prompts you're using. Interpret the prompts however you'd like.

Any fandoms, any characters, any ships, any content though please tag appropriately, any type of fanwork—fics (no minimum or maximum wordcount!), art, poetry, moodboards... go wild!

Tag #femslash feb bingo when posting it here on Tumblr and mention this blog so we see your posts and can reblog

AI-generated works are NOT allowed

Crossposting with other events allowed

Most of all: have fun!

Prompts in text form

Light prompts: Wilderness Accidental baby acquisition “Tell me again.” Meet ugly Body swap First kiss Mirror History Once in a lifetime “Who else but you?” Wrong number Opposites Token Curse Festival “I’ve been waiting a long time.”

Dark prompts:

“You could have died.” Last kiss Chains Before the fall Attic wife By a thousand cuts “Do you regret it?” Demon Fatal flaw Spite Poisoned Bad neighbors Hunting “And you thought I loved you.” Forbidden Mind control

Spicy prompts:

Begging Rope bondage Shower sex “Does that feel good?” Sex pollen Marking Blindfold Size Difference Breathplay “Stop distracting me.” Power Exchange Dirty Talk “Behave.” Orgasm Denial Praise kink Suspension

[stargazedwinchester]

Stanford ♡ Sam

Summary: You meet your new roommate, Sam Winchester.

Word Count: 1,320

Pairing: Student!Sam, Student!FemReader

My new upload schedule has changed! There will be a new post every Wednesday and Saturday 12:30 GMT (Excluding this one). Part 2 to this will be up Christmas Day meaning there won't be another imagine until the 1st of January. I'm posting this one today because part 2 will be Christmas themed and I don't want to post it late as it'll lose the feel of the story if that makes sense? Anyway, enjoy!

The intricate designs on the walls of Stanford University were unreal. The building’s age exceeds a century; its continued beauty is astonishing. You make your way through the vast arches, looking down at the map of the University provided by senior students standing by the front gate.

‘Dorm 143,’ you hum to yourself, the signs on the walls guiding you in the right direction. You guide your way up the stairs and take a right turn, walking down a lively corridor. You find your room and unlock it with your key, then you’re greeted with a stuffy odour and a plain dorm. Observing the empty space, you plant your bags on the left side of the room. The walls are a boring white and the curtains are bland. There’s no character to this place and you can’t wait to waste your student loan on decorating, so it feels like home.

You open up a window to allow fresh air to flow through, when the door bursts open and the bustle from outside echoes throughout the dorm. A 6 foot something guy balances 2 boxes on top of each other, tossing them on the floor. He doesn’t even notice you before looking up.

“Oh, hey! Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he exclaims, fixing his fringe, smiling at you cordially. He’s wearing a light, muted blue Nike sweatshirt and a suede jacket on top with dark denim jeans and Nike trainers. He’s a very cute guy and you’re unsure whether he’s got the right room.

“Sorry, I’m Sam. Winchester.” He pauses, holding out a hand for you to shake. You take it. You smile back at him. “I’m Y/N. Are you sure you have the right room?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?” He asks and you shrug. “I dunno. You don’t seem the type to study law.” He snickers at your comment, furrowing his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just don’t look the type, that’s all.” You look down at the floor, somewhat embarrassed at what you’ve just said to him. Sam chortles. “Right… Okay.” He says, he turns around and places the boxes he brought in on the right side of the room. You feel very awkward at this point, so you take yourself toward the door to go outside and pick up the rest of your stuff. “Where’re you going?” Sam asks curiously, and you glance at him quickly. “I need to go pick up the rest of my stuff from my car,” you say, “it’s okay. I can get it myself.” You insist and Sam walks toward you. “Let me help you.” He towers over you as he holds the door open. You feel bad if you reject his offer, so you allow him to follow you down to your car, anyway. It could help having an extra pair of hands to bring your things up.

You lead Sam to the pickup truck that you borrowed from your parents, multiple boxes filling the passenger side and even more in the back. Unlocking your car, Sam immediately jumps in and picks up two boxes at a time. You attempt to take two as well, but fail miserably. He chuckles at you. “Here, give it to me,” Sam says, and you carefully place a box on top of the ones he’s already holding.

“So��� What’re you doing for the rest of the day?” He asks, trying to break the silence.

“Well, it’s probably gonna take me a while to unpack my things,” you pause in thought, oblivious to what he’s attempting to ask you. “How come?” You question and he shakes his head lightly. “No reason.” He smiles at you. You reach your door and you let yourselves in. Sam places your boxes on the floor carefully, then leaving the room once more. He tells you he’s going to pick up the remaining boxes and for you to stay there. You turn around and look at Sam’s side. There’s a noticeable difference between yours and Sam’s boxes. He had only brought two whilst you have five overstuffed boxes sitting along your bed frame. You almost feel guilty for him. The minimal amount of stuff he’s brought makes you ponder what his life was like before this, before Stanford became reality.

You pick up his coat that was sprawled out on his bed, his wallet barely hanging out from his pocket. A small, frayed polaroid photo peeks out from inside the wallet, a photo of Sam and another guy with short, brown hair and a dark brown leather jacket. He’s wearing an amulet, it’s a brushed bronze colour on a black chord. They seem happy. You notice some lights in the dim background and a quaint Christmas tree; you assume the photo was taken last year. A gentle smile graces your face at the thought of him sharing Christmas with someone. Disregarding the amount of things he’s brought with him, at least he has family to lean back on and that’s where the best memories are kept.

Sam suddenly strolls in, his eye’s taking a second glance at his polaroid quickly being thrown on the bed. He sets the boxes down and places his hands on his hips. “Were you going through my things?” He scoffs, his eyebrow flicks up in disbelief. “I was tidying your things and a polaroid fell out…” You tell a white lie, nothing that would hurt him. Sam laughs lightly, his deep dimples complimenting his face. “It’s okay. It’s my brother and I,” he starts, picking up the picture and examining it himself. “He’s called Dean. Before last Christmas I hadn’t seen him for 2 years. Our father travels a lot and we never get a chance to get together as a family.” Sam looks at you, some regret lingering in his eyes. Your gaze drops to the floor. You just know that there’s something more going on that he’s not telling you, for obvious reasons. Sam notices the change in topic. “Dean’s an asshole, but he’s my brother. He’s a good guy.” Sam places the polaroid in his wallet and hangs his coat up on the rack at the end of his bed.

A few hours had gone by, and at this point you have given up on putting things away and tidying up. Sam sits on his bed, scribbling something on a notepad. He has been quiet since your interaction earlier. Sam had helped you put your things away, but then gave up when it came to your clothes. You relax on your bed, letting out a deep sigh.

“God, I need to get out.” You complain, Sam not moving an inch. He doesn’t even look at you. You sit up on the bed, looking directly at Sam. “I want to go out.” You repeat, and a smile creeps up on his face. “Then go out,” he starts, “no one’s stopping you.” He then goes back to whatever he was writing on his notepad.

“Come out with me.” You suggest, and he huffs.

“Now, why would I want to do that?”

“Because we’re roommates, Sam. We have to get to know each other.” You explain, hoping that he will give in. He sets his notebook down and stands up. He walks over to grab his coat and passes you yours. “Fine. On one condition.” Sam has a cheeky look on his face that proves he’s about to test the waters.

“Go on,”

“You agree that this will be our first date?” He asks, and your cheeks flush red. “I can’t pass up an opportunity to take a pretty girl out.” He adds, making your heart skip a beat. “Sure, it’s a date. But on one condition,” you copy and he lets out a chuckle. “Yeah?” He moves closer to you, his height clearly showing the difference between you both. “Only if you drive.” You prod at his chest, causing him to recoil playfully.

[two-white-butterflies]

CHANGED | part two

Description: You have found that there are different types of love. Self-serving ones who grovel when abandoned in pity for themselves. However, there is another greater form of love, one that creates life. What happens when your husband uses you in the creation of the rings?

Pairing: Annatar/Reader reincarnation trope that i am a sucker for

PART ONE || (graphic depictions of violence warning!)

Halbrand reminds you of a thing that you once knew... "You remind me of something," you suddenly blurt out.

He raises an eyebrow, non-verbally asking you to continue.

It happened thousands of years ago when all you knew were the green fields of Valinor — carefully tucked under the guiding hands of your ruined mother, Iellas.

Mother would accompany you in gathering the flowers near the valley, and songs of life would play in the background...You could only see the water from where you stood.

"Back then, I had never seen a ship before. My mother was a follower of Lord Ulmo, and every day, he would request my presence. He'd tell me to sing so the fishes of Yavanna would appear to him. I'd strike up a conversation and ask him questions about ships. I always wanted to see one." You smile at the faint memory.

Halbrand seems to be flooded with memories of his own.

"This is hardly a ship." Halbrand chuckles.

"It floats," you looked around with a smile.

.

.

.

After hours of silence, your eyes suddenly light up at the sight of land — the statue of Ulmo!

Something truly divine is at play here, from being forced to return to the Grey Havens to being caught in a shipwreck and landing in Numenor with a man named Halbrand.

This must be the work of Lord Ulmo.

"Ulmo," Halbrand muses, able to recognize the statue in front of you.

"They are a proud nation of seafarers; I assume that you are not fond of the lord of the seas?" You look at him with a knowing smirk.

"It is him who is not fond of me," he scowls.

"You cannot always blame the Valar for your suffering, Halbrand." Your voice turns soft again, optimistic, and filled with faith. Faith is the thing of the righteous, the pure, the clean. Faith is not for people like him. The men standing guard wave down their raft.

Halbrand does not doubt the power of your presence — he is sure they can see that you are an elf. One of the most powerful elves.

You cross your arms, staring at him from head to heel.

He looks nothing like the well-groomed elves of Lindon. His hair was brown and dry. His clothes are torn, wet, and smelling like the sea. There were scars all over his forearm, presumably stretching across his chest and littering his body with cuts and bruises. He did not have a slender body; he had a strong shoulder and the body of a bull.

A shiver runs down your spine, flashes of a man with auburn hair and sea-green eyes...you try to forget your dreams. They are merely visions that you can see due to your overactive imagination.

This is the real world that you are living in, Artanis, you sharply remind yourself. "Thank you for saving me, Halbrand." You thanked — and as if automatically, you press a kiss to his cheek.

Halbrand stares blankly at the ceiling. It has been a week, and not once has the encounter evaded his mind. His existence has been nothing but a black dread for millennia, but the feeling of your lips on his cheek... brought him back to memories he's fought to stay hidden.

He closes his eyes.

He cannot remember your face.

He has forced himself to forget about your features, your voice, your scent — because it was the very thing that Morgoth used to ruin him. The Dark Lord would make up visions, scenarios in which you are the subject of torture, and it ruined him a thousand times more. The sound of your voice against grating steel, the sound of your voice writhing in pain as your skin is stripped from your body.

It haunted him. It continues to haunt him. 

.

.

.

"Mairon, our child will surely adore this bed." You place a hand on the wooden crib, it is littered with paintings of flowers, and a bed made of duck feathers makes it comfortable. 

He hears the joy radiating off your voice. You were in the fifth month of your pregnancy, and the child inside of your belly grew by the minute, according to the healers — the child was big and healthy. Growing with all the light that radiated off you and your husband.

"Tell me already. Is it a son or a daughter?" You pleaded, leaning deeper into his embrace.

An amused chuckle escapes his mouth, pressing baby kisses on the crook of your neck. "It does not matter," he whispers.

"Yes, but I have to think of names." You pouted.

He presses a kiss to your lips.

"Artanis or Inglor, whatever shall it be?" He continues to tease.

"Annoying," your eyes narrowed. He laughs again.

He wraps you in a warm embrace, lingering in your presence. He feels utterly blessed to be alive — to have you waiting for him and the promise of a child that shall be a testament to the love you share. Every day is filled with joy and safety, and he knows that tomorrow shall be the same, for today is the same as yesterday.

He takes a deep breath again.

But he feels like something is missing, that life shouldn't be filled with this tranquil feeling of rest — it should have a purpose, should it not? Knowledge, innovation, making things easier.

He breaks free from the embrace.

He looks at you and — he realizes that your face is paler, no longer shining with the light of the two trees.

"Lover," his voice comes out as a whisper. He places both hands on your shoulders; there is no light hidden behind your eyes. "You are Sauron," his ruined name escapes your mouth.

His gaze trails down to your lower body.

Blood pools on the floor, between your thighs.

"...you chose the darkness over your family. You fell into temptation because you are not strong enough to stand against Illuvatar's test." The voice that comes out of your mouth does not sound like your own — your voice sounds like nothing but a cheap impersonation.

"Lover, please." He begged.

"You wish to return to the Grey Havens to seek salvation, but you are not welcome there, you are not welcome anywhere but the dark void that your master is cast-off to." You continued speaking, eyes boring deep into his. "You are ruined, and you will find no salvation."

"Lover," a whisper escapes his mouth before a cacophony of screams leaves him deaf and breathless.

.

.

.

"Halbrand," you place a hand on his sleeping figure, seeing that tears were falling down his irises, staining his cheeks.

He snaps awake — about to hit you, but you stop him with a hand. "Halbrand, are you well?" You asked with a concerned frown.

He looks around in a confused manner, surprised that he was able to sleep, but sleep never does come for a maia like him. It was nothing but a vision, his subconscious fighting against him, eating him alive with guilt. "What are you doing here?" His voice is rough.

"I wanted to speak, the pendant that you were wearing — I remember it to be the emblem of kings," You informed with a gentle gaze.

"It passed down from my father," he looks to the side. He wonders all the ways he can use you to his benefit. "It is a heirloom." Your lips pursed into a thin line. "I am not related to any king," He raises an eyebrow. He wants that idea inside of your head.

"Well, you have the pendant." You made an observation. Your breath is lodged inside of your throat once you realize his...indescribable stare on your face like he wanted to eat you alive or ravage you.

"Even if you are not king, I require a figurehead, a leader that shall guide men." You continued, certain that he'd accept your generous offer. It is not every day that a man becomes King.

"You would make me a King?" He stares again, licking his bottom lips.

"I do not desire to stay here for long. The darkness marches forward, threatening to engulf the realm with rot. Every moon counts, every day that we spend coddled near the fire, their numbers grow. I am asking you to be their leader, my friend. The man that they can look towards as they raise their banners." You carefully honeyed your words.

"My friend?" He opts to focus on the word that you used to describe him. He looks behooved.

"You are my friend now, for you shall help me." You insisted.

He flicks the blanket off his body, rising in his feet, pretending to march in the other direction. "I've found good work here. I'm not returning to that shite sea." Halbrand turns to look away.

His heart stills for a second; there is a small chance that you will deny his offer and find another human to pester. But, he knows that rejection is the best way to strengthen your faith in him — to make his alibi seem believable once cracks of his facade break.

He cannot seem too optimistic. He needs this to be your idea.

"Think about it, Halbrand." You placed a basket on his bed.

Casting him another glance before exiting his chamber.

"Halbrand," your voice floods his senses.

He pretends not to see you, opting to focus on forging a necklace. He had forged this necklace before when he was still in the Grey Havens. Your favorite flowers are roses...he resists the urge to chuckle. He still cannot understand why your favorite flowers are roses.

He finds roses to be boring, but that certainty is also what draws him to you. He used to be certain of your love. He used to be certain that every day would be the same — and that you would choose him regardless of his sins. He thinks about your spirit trapped in another elf's body — or perhaps a human, a hobbit, or a dwarf.

He thinks about you wrapped in the arms of the sun, and suddenly, Sauron turns back into Mairon, and he cannot bear the thought of you in the arms of someone who is not him.

"Halbrand, are you still there?" You wave your hand in front of his face. "What?" His voice comes out harsher than he intended.

You flinch.

"I'm sorry for interrupting you; I was saying that roses are my favorite kind of flowers." You smiled, showing him your dimples.

His grip on the axe loosens. His breath stills, and in this light, your face and smile look much like his wife. He has to manually fight against the urge to reach for your face and litter your lips with kisses.

She is not my wife, he reminds himself. You are merely an elf that he must use to further his position in Middle Earth. "— I'll buy whatever you're crafting, but you must promise to escort me to Middle Earth." You continued once more with your campaign.

A satisfied smile ghosts his face, but it returns to normal before you can notice. "Unless there is someone in Middle Earth that would be greatly offended seeing you in my company," you winked.

A sigh escapes his mouth.

He reminds himself to add more dimension to this Halbrand character. "I have a wife," he looks away, returning to his craft. "All the more reason to return home," you persuaded.

He does not know where home is.

"The gods have taken her." He says, pounding harder on the metal. Your face drops to the floor. You take a step backward. "Oh," your tone sounds apologetic. "I am sorry, Halbrand." You apologized.

A strange feeling enters his heart at the sound of your apology.

You lift your body until you are sitting on the wooden table, feeling the vibrations of the pounding of metals on your thighs. "When I was younger, I used to make up these scenarios inside of my head," you tried to distract him away from the previous subject.

He looks at you, his eyes a little more forgiving, and a smirk is plastered on his face.

"Well, I still make scenarios in my head, but I assure you that they are not as creative as they once were...Remember that story with my aunt and her husband?" You say, avoiding Sauron's name. "Yes," he nods his head, pretending to have no interest in your story.

He grabs one of the fine tools, beginning to create the intricate details of rose petals. "Mother was her closest friend, and she'd tell me stories. She'd say that my aunt is the fairest of Illuvatar's creations because her fea was strong — she was guided by Yavanna. She fell in love with a maia — one of the few of our kind to do so." You smiled, remembering the story of old.

"Mhm," Halbrand continues.

"All was well until Morgoth came and sang discord into Valinor. He took my aunt's husband, tortured him, and taught him the darkest of crafts. Grief made her feel weaker until she could not find happiness even in the Grey Havens." You stared off to the far distance.

As if the scene happened right in front of you.

Halbrand stopped forging in those very seconds, his glare on you was so intense — his eyes were watery with tears, but you were far too carried off in your story to realize.

"Her fea was not enough for her child's spirit to continue...and my cousin faded. My aunt faded, and she begged in the Halls of Mandos to be freed of this world, but she was brought back to us because our souls are chained to this land. Our family came to Lady Yavanna, and she agreed to grand my aunt a new life, so she shall have no memory of her husband — or her child..." Tears fall from your eyes, staining your cheeks.

You turned to look at him, and he looked away, pretending to have been forging the entire time. "You must understand how much this journey means to me, Halbrand. The darkness has already taken too many of my loved ones. It must end," You persuaded.

In your eyes, he knows nothing of the pain that you feel. Your mother, your friends, your aunt...have all been taken by the darkness.

"We are too weak to stop what has been standing for so long," he clears his throat, his emotions seeping deep inside the necklace that he is forging. He caused his own child's demise. 

"It can be vanquished, I promise." You nodded.

"Lady Artanis?" a herald peeks through the closed doors of the forge.

"I shall speak to you again, Halbrand." You placed a hand on his shoulder, walking away once more.

"What is it, herald?" he hears your voice fade away.

Halbrand places the necklace on your palms. "What is this?" Your eyes narrowed, lips forming into a smile. "I liked your story yesterday. You can have the necklace, I've never been fond of sparkly things." Halbrand tries his best to sound like a lowborn human male.

"Thank you!" You beam with happiness, quickly attempting to place the necklace on your neck — but you struggle because of your hair.

"Let me help you," he blurts out.

You hand the necklace to him, turning around and waiting until the cold metal is securely on your neck.

He lays it on there, flicking your hair away, hooking the gold metal loops together. His calloused fingers dance against your nape, and he shivers. "It is beautiful; you should not have." You whispered, staring intently at the beautiful details of your new necklace.

It is beautiful, lover, you should not have, he remembers the words that exited your mouth a dozen lifetimes ago.

"You are truly blessed with the skill of forging. This type of detail, I have only ever seen Lord Celebrimbor do it." You complimented him. "My father was a smith before he died of sickness." He lied. His father is Eru Illuvatar — and he is now a disowned son.

"— your speech yesterday was convincing. I have decided to take up your offer." He agrees to your proposal.

"Really!" You beam with joy again, wrapping him in a warm embrace.

"The best news that I have heard the entire week!" You cheer, and the humans around you begin to look at you with raised eyebrows. "Easy, lass." He pats your back.

"I promise that the seas will be forgiving. No more of that raft." You smiled, dragging him away from the city center, entwining your fingers together as you began to lead him to the castle.

----

Halbrand finds himself marching inside the Numenorian library. He needs to read all books written about being born again...although he doubts that any of these humans could have written anything about such a divine topic.

His hands land on a book, its cover feels different, almost familiar. He takes the book off the shelf, landing it on the table in front of him. 'Reincarnation by ___, wife of Arnaur.' He reads the author's name has been scratched off the leather, and to his surprise, there is no table of contents — he must skim through all these pages.

A reincarnated soul does not lose their true identity. It is their soul that is changed, not their heart, Lady Yavanna says. The body that holds their spirit shall suffer dreams of the past and their loved ones...the Valar says they will dream of them, too, until their identity is made known. My daughter has been suffering from these dreams. I find myself dreaming of you, my friend. 

Halbrand's eyebrows merged, all the other pages past these were tattered, covered by letters that he recognized as dark speech. He clenches his fist — this book is the only one in the entire world written about reincarnation, and it seems to him that Morgoth got his paws on the author before she was able to finish.

He stares at the cover again. "Wife of Arnaur," he mutters under his breath. The name sounds familiar (and he has been saying familiar a thousand times now.) Arnaur, noble fire. He has said that name before... Who are you, Arnaur?

---- 

"Are you ready to leave, Hal?" You asked, and he nodded.

He carries your shared bag on his back, not much to carry when you came here, almost wearing nothing. You offered a handshake before boarding the ship, "To vanquish the darkness?" You smiled.

"To vanquish the darkness," he flashes an indescribable smile.

As you turn your back to him, his eyes turn dark.

Middle Earth shall kneel to the might of its dark king, from the ocean to the land, from the moon and to the stars. All shall fear his name. 

@louiselouve @justmasblack @anakinishotdoe

[nickeverdeen]

She Can Try | Grown up!Powder x fem!reader

Pairings: Powder x reader (one-sided crush), Vi x reader (dead lover)

Type of fic: Angst

Warnings: Death, high expectations for Powder from Powder, inability to fully move on, jealousy, dead lover, one-sided love

Summary: After Vi died you tried to move on, but no matter how much you tried she still lingered there in the back of your mind, while Powder has been quietly suffering for 10 years of silently loving you.

Idea creator: @imlovewithpixels

Idea: “If nobody makes a fanfic where Reader wa Vi's sweetheart in the alternative timeline and Powder has a oneside crush on her for like 10 years. I'm gonna be forced to do it!

Just hear me out! Reader never move on, always looking for girls or boys that kinda remind them to Vi, and Powder is too scared to make a move, or even recognze her feelings of longing and jealosy. She would never fill the shadow of Vi. But she can try. I'm a sucker for angst, PLEASE”

Premission to use idea: Yes

———————

It had been ten years since the explosion, ten years since Vi was gone.

Powder still remembered the day like it was yesterday—the roar of the part of building breaking, the smell of hextech, the sound of your voice calling Vi’s name through the chaos. The way you had held onto hope long after everyone else had accepted the truth.

Even now, she could see the shadow of that grief in your eyes. It wasn’t as raw as it had been back then, but it lingered, like a scar that refused to fade. You had moved on in some ways—laughing, working, living—but there was always that part of you searching for her in the faces of others.

Powder wasn’t sure when her one-sided crush on you had started. Maybe it had always been there, buried beneath her admiration for you and Vi’s relationship. But after Vi was gone, and you stayed, Powder’s feelings began to grow into something she didn’t understand at first—something bittersweet and impossible.

She could never be Vi.

You would never look at her the way you had looked at her sister.

But still, Powder stayed close. She told herself it was because you were the only connection she had left to Vi, but deep down, she knew it was more than that.

One afternoon sun cast a golden glow over Zaun’s rooftops as you sat in the small workshop you and Powder shared. You were tinkering with a broken device—one of Powder’s gadgets that had malfunctioned during a test run.

“Did you ever figure out why this thing blew up?” you asked, holding it up to inspect the internal wiring.

Powder, sitting cross-legged on the floor nearby, looked up from her sketchpad. “Uh, yeah. I forgot to account for the power surge when the gears shifted.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “Classic Powder.”

She flushed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Hey, at least it didn’t take out half the table this time.”

“Progress,” you teased, setting the gadget aside.

Powder watched as you leaned back in your chair, a faint smile playing on your lips. You always seemed lighter when you were here, surrounded by tools and half-finished projects. It was one of the few places where you could relax, where the weight of the past didn’t seem to press down as heavily.

She wanted to tell you how much she admired you—how much she cared—but the words always got stuck in her throat. Instead, she just stayed close, hoping you would notice her in your own time.

Later that evening, the two of you made your way to one of Zaun’s quieter streets, heading toward a small food stall that Powder loved. The air was cool, and the neon lights from nearby buildings reflected off the damp pavement.

As you walked, you started talking about Vi again.

“She always hated it when I called her soft,” you said, a wistful smile on your face. “But she was. She just hid it under all that bravado.”

Powder nodded, her chest tightening. She hated how much you talked about Vi, not because she didn’t love her sister, but because every word reminded her of what she could never be to you.

“You were good together,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the hum of the city.

You glanced at her, surprised by the light distance in her tone. “We were.”

Powder hesitated, then asked the question she had been avoiding for years. “Do you… do you ever think about moving on?”

You stopped walking, your expression softening. “I’ve tried,” you admitted. “But every time I look at someone, it’s like… I’m searching for her. And that’s not fair to them. Or me.”

Powder looked away, guilt twisting in her stomach. She thought of all the times she had tried to be what you needed—stronger, braver, more like Vi. But no matter what she did, it was never enough.

She would always be a shadow.

That night, as you worked on another project in the workshop, Powder sat across from you, her heart aching.

“Hey,” she said suddenly, her voice shaky.

You looked up, startled by the urgency in her tone. “What’s up?”

“I just… I want you to know that I’m here. For whatever you need. Always.”

You smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “I know, Powder. And I’m grateful for you. More than you realize.”

Powder held onto your hand a moment longer than necessary, her heart pounding. She wanted to tell you everything—to let you know how much you meant to her—but she couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, she gave you a small, bittersweet smile and let go.

She could never fill the shadow of Vi.

But she could try.

[anonymousewrites]

Lavender for Royalty; Sage for Wisdom Christmas Special

Kyoya Ootori x Reader

Christmas Special

            “Is this place really so new to Tamaki? Don’t rich people have Christmas events?” said Haruhi.

            Tamaki had insisted on bringing the Host Club to a commoner’s Christmas Market, so there they were. The lights were dazzling, sweet scents wafted from every corner, and couples and families were walking around together as far as the eye could see. Stalls were set up for every type of gift and cultural holiday food imaginable, and Tamaki was intent on experiencing every single aspect of the market.

            “Christmas events are times for networking,” said (Y/N). “Businesses getting togehtr for goodwill. Gifts show off their wealth and are all tailor-made for each person. They’re not bought where there’s stuff for random people like a place like this.”

            “That’s…impersonal,” said Haruhi.

            “It’s not necessarily impersonal,” said (Y/N). “People can get individualized gifts that their loved ones appreciate. However, Tamakis family…falls on the impersonal.” They smiled. “That’s why he wants to do this with all of us.”

            “Oh,” said Haruhi, looking at Tamaki as he showed off two hats to the twins and shoved them on their heads to “tell the difference.”

            “Takashi, help me reach the tree,” said Honey.

            Mori lifted him up so he could put the star on a small tree.

            “Haruhi, come and look at the gingerbread houses! Teach me how to make one!” said Tamaki.

            “We’re going to make a castle,” said Hikaru and Kaoru.

            Tamaki suddenly looked alarmed. “We have to beat them, Haruhi!” He grabbed her arm. “Come on, come on!” He dragged her over towards the stalls while Haruhi flailed and reached towards (Y/N) for help.

            (Y/N) just chuckled and waved. “Bye, Haruhi.”

            “Wait, no, senpai, help!”

            “Merry Christmas,” sang (Y/N) playfully.

            “Leaving her to fend for herself against Tamaki, how cruel,” said Kyoya.

            “Says our resident Scrooge,” said (Y/N). “At least I went along with Tamaki’s Santa-hat theme.” They smiled. “If you don’t go along with him this year, he’ll put you in a Grinch costume.”

            Kyoya smiled coldly. “He wouldn’t dare.”

            Okay, maybe not, thought (Y/N), a shiver going down their spine. “Well, I plan to enjoy myself. My aunt and uncle love these things. We have a ton of ornaments from people we know because of these stalls, and it means our tree is filled with memories. I want to find another one to remember today with the Host Club.”

            “I’ll accompany you,” said Kyoya. He had no reason to follow Tamaki—he had enough people for his hijinks—so he would go with (Y/N) into the market.

            The pair walked in together, and (Y/N) led the way to the craft stalls filled with ornaments.

            “What would fit us all? A giant heart for flirting with girls?” joked (Y/N).

            “What about money if you’re going in that direction?” said Kyoya.

            “Okay, maybe not,” said (Y/N), chuckling.

            “What if you got an ornament for each host?” said Kyoya.

            “I don’t have the money for that,” said (Y/N) casually. “That’s for gifts.”

            “I’ll pay for them,” said Kyoya.

            “And I pay you back with interest?” said (Y/N).

            Kyoya smiled “innocently.” “That would hardly be in the Christmas spirit.”

            “And you’re embracing it now?” said (Y/N), amused.

            “Why not?” said Kyoya. His smile turned slightly more genuine. “It’s not my tree they’re going on.”

            “Okay, then.” (Y/N) smiled. “If you’re going to help pay, then you have to help pick. That’s the rule.”

            “Very well,” said Kyoya, oddly endeared.

            “Now, Tamaki first,” said (Y/N).

            “Obviously the crown,” said Kyoya. “He insists on calling himself the ‘King.’ ”

            “He does,” chuckled (Y/N), picking up the ornament. “Oh, here’s a piece of cake.”

            “Honey, undoubtedly,” said Kyoya.

            “His is the most obvious,” said (Y/N). “And a katana for Mori. I’ll hang them together.”

            “How about the comedy and tragedy masks for the twins?” said Kyoya.

            “I like it,” said (Y/N), adding to the small pile. “I think the vase for Haruhi.”

            Kyoya smirked. “Very appropriate.”

            (Y/N) chuckled. “Now it’s you…Hm…Glasses or journal. Both are just so you. Or how about a snake? You are the Shadow King, and everyone knows you plant all of the ideas for Tamaki.”

            “Amusing. Should you be the seventies disco ball based on your style, then?” said Kyoya with the same smile of innocence.

            “You joke, but I like it,” said (Y/N). “And I’m choosing the snake for you.”

            “I certainly can’t stop you,” said Kyoya. Except he could. He was paying, after all. But he wouldn’t.

            “You can’t because it’s Christmas,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “I guess I did get into the spirit somewhat,” said Kyoya, handing them the disco ball ornament. His hand brushed theirs. “Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

            “Merry Christmas, Kyoya. Thanks for going around with me,” said (Y/N).

            “Of course. Anytime.” Strangely enough, Kyoya meant it.

Taglist:

@roo024

@jmclouds

@yappydoo

@ramblingsoftheill

@girgal73

@rockerica

@nosoyyo1213

@ritzes28

@grippledee-galaxy

@rory-cakes

@neenieweenie

@k03ume

@constellationguy

@paastaboi

@introvertathome

@chaseyui

[backseatsoldier]

"Broken", Not Stupid - 3

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC (13)

CW: Omegaverse; cult-like situation; dehumanization

Author's Note: If y'all keep feeding the Author Dragon inside me (comments, likes, reblogs), the Author Dragon is going to keep feeding me ideas. So here we GO-

All of the red flags and alarms light up in Simon's head. She said her name is 13.

What the hell kind of place is this?

"Are all of you, the omegas here- do you all have numbers for names?" he asks through gritted teeth.

"Yeah. Weird, right? It was like that in all the facilities I've been in," 13 explains with a shrug.

As if sensing the anger boiling in Simon's mind she shakes her head.

"Not here," she whispers. "If they hear you questioning things, you'll be banned from all Salvation locations with some bullshit reason. You wanna be mad, do it off the property and away from their eyes and ears."

13 pauses for a moment, checking their surroundings before continuing with determination in her eyes.

"Take me in. I'll tell you what I know and can remember. Then you can do what you want with the information."

"What do you mean 'what you can remember'?"

Her hand shoots up, covering his already masked mouth, to stop him.

"Hush! Just... do the paperwork so you can take me in and I'll explain when I'm out of here," she whispers harshly.

Then 13's entire demeanor changes. She becomes... an omega. Then her hand slides down his cheek to his chest and she looks up at him with puppy-love eyes.

"I never thought I'd find an alpha. I'm just so weird and wrong," she pouts.

The scent of one of the beta workers, Jenny, catches Simon's attention. 13 is acting - she must have also smelled Jenny approach. She's putting a lot of trust in someone she just met, but Simon's glad it's him and not any of the other alphas that walked in today.

"Is everything alright, sir? UK-009-0013 isn't usually the... sociable type," Jenny addresses Simon hesitantly.

Jenny's description of 13 makes a look of annoyance flash over 13's face briefly before returning to the puppy-love look. Simon's arm snakes around 13's waist to pull her a bit closer.

"Seems plenty 'sociable' to me," he counters, playing along with 13's act. His free hand comes up to gently cup her cheek. "I'll be taking this omega."

Jenny's jaw drops and her eyes go wide.

"Oh! Um, yes! Of course, sir! I'll get the paperwork started right away," Jenny says, excitment radiating from her as she dashes off.

Once Jenny's gone, 13 steps back and drops her hand from Simon's chest, puppy-love look gone.

"Glad you caught on. Sorry for invading your space so suddenly, though. They get suspicious if we don't seem all lovey-dovey before someone agrees to take us," 13 explains non-chalantly.

"I appreciate the apology, but it's not necessary," Simon says with a dismissive shake of his head. "If it means I can figure out what's going on and get at least one of you safe, I'll do it."

"Knight in shining armor type?" she snorts.

"No. Soldier who's willing to get his hands dirty to keep the world clean," he corrects her firmly.

And he'll gladly get his hands dirty to find out what kind of shady operation Salvation truly is if it means getting all of these omegas to safety.

Masterlist | Part One

Tag list: @lucienofthelakes @lostintransist @demothers-empty-blog

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

The space between

Chapter two: “Kook Life”

ALL RIGHTS TO NETFLIX AND OUTERBANKS

Warnings!: Mentions of violence and fighting! Water boarding and gun violence in this chapter! Please read at your own caution!

I’m thinking of making a taglist! Please comment if you’d like to be on it!

Wattpad:yourgentlegirlfriend

The hurricane hit hard. Nothing that Eves family had ever experienced before, a storm they would not have been able to weather if it wasn’t for Ward Cameron.

Eve felt guilty, a weird feeling constantly stirring in her stomach about the man. Mainly because her father always was willing to talk about work, his work is his pride, his joy, he always is talking about something he’s working on. But since they moved here, he’s been silent, constantly out and around town. Its odd considering he doesn’t even make time for his family anymore.

When the hurricane hit though he was forced to, the front door creaked open, echoing through the whole house.

Eve stood up, fanning herself as she hurried out her bedroom door to see her dad put down a bag of groceries, her hands shoved in her pockets as she walked to the counter and pulled herself up onto it.

“So… How long did they say the power was going to be cut?”

Carlos sighed, shoving all the bread and canned foods into the cabinet- not a good sign.

“They said they have no clue. I went to look at the price of a generator, wondering if I could pull out a loan for one but they are over twenty thousand dollars.”

One thing Eve hated was seeing her dad stressed, she frowned, her legs swinging slightly as she rubbed the back of her neck.

“Why don’t you ask Ward?”

Just as she thought, her dad shot her a dirty look, shaking his head.

“We don’t do handouts in this family, Evelyn and you know that.”

Eve looked down at her legs, putting her hands up in defense at the sound of her full name.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry.”

Carlos walked away down the hall, Eve flinching as the garage door slammed. She hated that she couldn’t help, getting a job in the area was almost impossible. Thankfully they’d been here a month now so it wasn’t as horrible as the first week.

Sarah had invited her over to her house, telling her she could shower and stay at hers till some party at the beach. She claimed it was a tradition.

Finally understanding what Kooks and Pogues meant, she hated it. She knew that economical standpoints were definitely noticeable but to separate them completely? Sarah didn’t agree either thankfully or she wouldn’t even associate with her.

The only reason she hangs around Topper and all of them was for Sarah. Sarah was truthfully the first real friend she’s ever had, she understood her in a way nobody ever has.

Having a dad who is so business oriented and two siblings, absent mother type of thing, Sarah was always her shoulder to cry on. Even though it had only been a month the two were super close.

Eve dug through her drawers, holding her bag in one hand as she shoved some shorts and a bathing suit top, into it followed by a pair of pajama pants and a random shirt.

“Where are you going?”

Eves mom, Jessica asked. Holding a basket of clean water she had saved before the hurricane.

“Dad already said I can go. I’m going to hang out with Sarah.”

Jessica wanted to snap back but knew if Carlos heard she would’ve gotten an ear full. Eve zipped up her backpack as she watched her mom walk away, a sigh of relief leaving her as she slipped the backpack on and hurried out the front door.

Carlos said no using the truck so they could save gas till everything was normal again, so the walk to Sarah’s was pretty far. Her hands gripped at the straps of her backpack as she walked up the dirt road, humming a soft tune.

The walk took her much longer than it should’ve, finally making it to the Cameron’s house, Eve scratched her head as she pushed open the front door. Their lights were on, what, they had a generator?

For once she used the term Kooks in her head. She jogged up the steps and down the long winding hallway and to Sarah’s room, seeing the note on her bed that said she went out for errands and that the phone didn’t work so she couldn’t call to tell her, but to go sit on the boat till she gets back.

Eve sighed and looked out Sarah’s window to see the long dock to the boat. She tugged her shirt off and put her bathing suit top on before she walked back down the steps, almost falling as Rafe met halfway at the staircase.

“Woah slow your roll, going down way too fast.”

Rafe. Great. The last the two had spoken was at the party the night of the dinner, and it ended in her arguing with him on the porch, and thankfully Topper and Sarah stepped in to stop it or she was confident she would’ve beat his ass.

“Nice to see you Rafe.”

“You mooching off us? Because Sarah’s not home..”

Eve rolled her eyes and went to push past him, Rafe stepped sideways, his arm brushing against the railing of the stairs as he blocked her path.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Or are you too busy pretending you don’t hate it here?”

Eve froze, feeling her patience wearing thin. She took a step back, crossing her arms.

“I’m not pretending anything. And if I wanted to mooch, I’d ask Ward for a generator like the rest of this town probably does.”

The smirk faded from Rafe’s face, replaced by something colder and sharper. “Careful, California. You’re out of your element.”

Eve tilted her head, the mocking nickname grating on her nerves. “You think I care? Sarah invited me. So, if you’ve got a problem, take it up with her.”

Rafe chuckled, low and humorless, leaning in slightly as he spoke. “You know, it’s cute how you think Sarah’s on your side. You’re just a fun little project for her. She’ll get bored eventually.”

That struck a nerve. Eve’s fists clenched at her sides, but instead of giving him the reaction he wanted, she forced herself to laugh, her hand tapping at his shoulder as she nodded her head.

“Thanks for your insight Rafe.”

Eve smiled at him, her nose scrunching slightly as she hurried down the steps, walking out the back door, she hadn’t been on a boat for years

Stepping into the boat, Eve let out an audible sigh of relief as the cool air conditioning hit her heated skin. The sensation didn’t last long though, her eyes landed on someone standing in the middle of the cabin, a boy? or maybe a man? Frozen mid-action with scuba gear in his hands.

They locked eyes, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Uh, hey”

He spoke, finally breaking the silence.

“Hi?”

Eve replied her confusion was obvious as her gaze flicked from his face to the scuba gear he clutched awkwardly.

He hesitated before quickly setting the gear down and extending a hand.

“I’m John B. I work for Ward. I, uh, clean the boat.”

The silence that followed was more than uncomfortable, and Eve shifted on her feet before he thankfully spoke again.

“You new around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“Yes.”

The girl said with a small shrug as she sank down into the couch, letting the cool air hit her overly flushed skin.

“Guess I don’t exactly blend in.”

John B chuckled, a genuine, easy laugh that made her crack a small smile. He pulled the scuba tanks over his shoulder, nodding toward her.

“I’ve gotta fill these up for Ward, but it was nice meeting you, Eve.”

“You too,”

She replied, trying not to sound like she was extremely suspicious watching him as he headed out the door.

The longer she sat in the AC, the more she felt herself drifting into sleep, her legs draping over the couch arm as her eyes fluttered closed.

“Sorry, God downtown is packed.”

Sarah’s voice made Eve shoot back up, rubbing her eyes as she looked over to see Sarah slipping her sandals off and walking into the cabin of the boat.

The silence lingered as she thought about her altercation with Rafe, her encounter with John B. Her tongue poked at her cheek as she stared out the window as the boat moved with the very soft waves.

“Does he ever let up?”

Eve asked, breaking the longing silence.

“Who? Rafe?”

Sarah asked as she looked out one of the small windows of the boat, seeing Rafe on the porch.

“No. It’s his full time job to be a pain in the ass to every single person in his life.”

Sarah said laughing as she sat down next to Eve, her legs crossing over hers as she looked over at her.

“But I’m sure you’ve noticed that already?”

“Noticed is the light way to put it, more like I’ve endured it already.”

The two laughed for a bit, but suddenly Sarah stared off into the distance and frowned a bit, her head slumping down into her shoulder.

“He wasn’t always a dick. He’s just always angry at everyone, probably mainly at himself.”

Sarah sighed as she looked over at Eve again.

“I get it. My older brother is the same way. It.. lays in the parents- I'm not saying Ward is a bad dad but.. when these things aren’t talked about, it builds up..”

Sarah just nodded, listening to the water splash against the sides of the boat.

“Do you ever feel like you don’t belong here?”

Eve asked, staring up at the ceiling of the cabin, her hands folded on her chest.

“All the time. That’s why I hang out with you, it’s less complicated.”

——————————————————————

The night fell quickly, Eve and Sarah laughing loudly, echoing through the house as Sarah smudged lipgloss on the girl. Eve had somehow been convinced by Sarah to get her makeup done, she did love makeup but it’s expensive to keep up with.

Sarah turned her around in the chair. Eve blinked at herself in the mirror, smiling. It wasn’t a huge noticeable change.

“It’s just some mascara, lipgloss and blush, bringing out your natural beauty of course.”

Eve nodded as Sarah styled her hair for her. Watching as she grabbed her bag ready to leave, She peaked out the window at the sound of a horn, secretly rolling her eyes as she saw Topper showed up to pick the two up.

She would lie to say she was not excited though, she hadn’t built the courage to go down to the beach alone. So she was thankful Sarah was going to be there.

When they arrived, the glow of a bonfire flickered against the sky, laughter and the hum of conversation filling the air. Socializing wasn’t exactly her strong suit, so Eve sat back, finding an empty log near the edge of the group. From her spot, she watched Sarah and Topper mess around, their relationship being a small comfort from the large group of people in front of her.

As her gaze finally left the two, it landed on a group not too far from her. And of course, there was a familiar face—the boy from the boat. John B?

Eve frowned as she watched the night unfold. Sarah and Topper made their way over to the group, and a blonde boy said something that she couldn’t quite hear. The tension was immediate, the lighthearted mood shifting in an instant.

Eve stood, crossing her arms as she slowly moved closer, trying to make any sense of the situation. Her breath caught when she saw Topper shove John B, the confrontation escalating before anyone could stop it.

“Dirty Pogues!”

Topper yelled, his voice dripping with venom.

Eve’s eyes darted between them, her stomach dropping as John B fought back, shoving Topper back. Within seconds, fists were flying, the fight spiraling out of control as Sarah screamed for them to stop.

Her heart raced as she stood still unable to move, her hands gripping her hair in frustration? Fear?. Topper tackled John B, slamming him into the shallow water with a force that made Eve flinch as she watched. Before she could process what was happening, Topper had John B pinned, his hands shoving his head under the water repeatedly

“Sarah! Get your fucking boyfriend!”

Eve shouted, her voice cracking as panic clawed at her chest, tears springing quickly to her eyes.

She bolted forward, desperate to stop Topper from making it even worse, but strong hands grabbed her upper arms, yanking her back just as quickly as she ran forward. She twisted against the grip, her eyes locked on the scene in front of her.

“He’s drowning him!”

She screamed, her voice drowned out by the chaos, watching John B’s friends panic and Sarah crying.

Everyone gasped and fell silent as the Blonde one ran up to the two, holding a gun to Toppers head. She turned her head to see it was Rafe holding her back, her hands flying to her ears as bullets were fired into the air, as the group argued Rafe dragged her from the beach.

As Rafe pulled Eve away from the chaos, she twisted in his grip, panic flashing across her face.

"Let me go!" she yelled, trying to break free, but his hold was firm.

"Stop squirming," Rafe snapped, his tone sharp but not yelling. "You're not getting involved in pogue mess, trust me Im doing you a favor.”

She stumbled slightly as he tugged her farther from the fire and the sound of raised voices. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she barely felt the crunch of sand beneath her feet as Rafe basically dragged her up a small path leading away from the beach.

Eve wrenched her arm free the moment his grip loosened. "What the hell is wrong with you? He was drowning him, Rafe! You’re just gonna let that happen? That’s YOUR friend!”

"Don’t act like you understand how things work here," Rafe shot back, his voice loud, bouncing off the trees surrounding them. "You don’t get it, Eve. You’re not from here. You don’t know what you just walked into."

"Then tell me, Rafe!" she snapped, frustration spilling over. "Explain it to me, because all I see is a bunch of idiots acting like some stupid town rivalry is more important than their lives!”

He let out a sharp breath, running a hand over his face as if trying to keep himself in check. "Look, I didn’t want you caught up in this. That’s why I pulled you out, okay? You should be thanking me like I said."

"Thanking you?" she echoed in disbelief, shaking her head. "You and your friends are fucking insane.”

Rafe stepped closer, closing the distance between them.

"And you’re way in over your head if you think you can just stand there and play referee. Stick to Sarah, Eve. Stay out of this."

She stared up at him, her defiance faltering for a moment under the weight of his gaze. There was something in his tone an unspoken warning, maybe even concern? That made her hesitate.

“Maybe you should get your priorities straight and check on your sister.”

Eve spat as she roughly nudged past him, her heart pounding out of her chest as she walked up the trail and onto the main road. She didn’t care if she didn’t have a ride home, her eyes fixated on the red and blue lights flashing from the opposite direction. This wasn’t her situation, this wasn’t her life, or her stupid rivalry. All she wanted was to be away from the Cameron’s.

[euphoricsleeplucidity]

Day two of that short series of Christmas-themed Murder Drones fics. I should mention right now that these are all loosely connected and also, Nuziv is the end game but I'm not tagging it for all of these because it isn't focused on until the very last one on Christmas.

ii. Christmas Tree

"N, you are going to topple it," Uzi grumbles, watching as he climbs up the tree. It's large, yeah, but it definitely wobbles as he climbs it, since it's not natural and the only thing actually holding it up is the fact the base is buried in the snow. She and V had sent him to go see if he can find a tree suitable for decorating - and he winded up bringing this thing back. Apparently, he had found it in an abandoned holiday store.

Safe to say, Uzi was impressed that he had managed to carry it all the way back here. They set it up just outside the corpse spire, the fake leaves bristling stiffly in the cold, windy air of Copper-9.

She watches as he finishes putting up the very last ornament along the spiral of Christmas lights, a proud smile on his face. Uzi finds it cute. Uh, not that she'd ever admit that out loud, of course.

"See? It didn't topple," N replies late, climbing back down it.

"Wait until later," V pipes up from beside Uzi, startling her. She didn't even see her come out, 'nor hear her walk up next to her.

She voices as much. "Where did you come from?"

"The pod," V answers without missing a beat, a hand on her hip.

Uzi groans. "No shit," she grumbles under her breath.

"Now we need to put this up!" N says eagerly, and Uzi looks back at him just in time to see him hold up a tree-topper - some type of star ornament, which shines brightly in the moonlight. It's actually quite pretty, the light of the moon hitting it just right to illuminate the more translucent spiky outer edges.

A hand at her back, and she's shoved forward, stumbling to catch herself so that she doesn't fall flat on her face.

"Really?" Uzi snaps, turning her head to glower at V, who looks at her with a toothy grin and smugness written all over her.

"What?" V acts innocent, cocking her head. "You want to do the honors, don't you?"

Before Uzi can berate her, tell her that she did not have to push her like that, N pipes up. "Yeah! Uzi, c'mere," his arms are outstretched, and Uzi can't help the smile that spreads across her face at how happy and excited he looks. It makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know he's enjoying their little Christmas festivities, even if it's just the three of them out here.

With a pep in her step, Uzi approaches and allows herself to be picked up and hoisted over his shoulder. He hands her the tree-topper, and carefully aligns her with the tree. Reaching up, she can just barely make it, her fingers touching the tip… a little further and… voilà! Uzi carefully settles the star at the top of the tree.

"Ta-da!" She giggles. N's energy is evidently infectious.

He brings her down and spins her around in his excitement, and though it's dizzying and he squeezes her a little too tightly, she returns the embrace and buries her face into his jacket to hide her blissful little grin.