#guys it’s a long story but I promise it’s a good one

[plutoslastwords]

I see lando as a single dad too and I was wondering if you’d ever write daughter!reader when she’s a teenager and is going through, well her first menstrual cycle and he’s so completely lost lol

shark week

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: lando has no idea how a woman's body works, baby norris doesn't listen in health class. the outcome? chaos.

warnings: your first period?

w/c: 1.5k

a/n: okay so i know that it may be unrealistic that a 12 year old would have never heard of a period but idc. it works in the story. sorry for being so mia!! school is terrible atm 😩😩 love you all!! promise i am working on the requests xx

~~~

Going to high school in Monaco was not fun at the best of times.

Everyone says that surely it must be great! It’s Monaco! But when you don’t speak the language fluently - though you have got quite good after living there for 12 years of your life - and have just transferred to a new secondary school where you know no one, life isn’t great. 

Everyone in Monaco has one or two parents who are rich and famous in some way, meaning you can’t even pull the famous dad card to get yourself some friends. You’re stuck sitting alone at lunch, and being picked last for every team.

Lando hates it. He hates it so so much. He doesn't think he can stand seeing his baby coming home sad every afternoon, and he hates how sometimes he can’t be there to comfort you when life is feeling especially tough. He’s debated many a time just sending you to a boarding school back in England, where at least you could speak the same language as the kids there, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to cope with being apart from you for that much of the year.

Therefore, both you and your dad just have to cope with the unfortunate situations, hoping and wishing that soon enough you’ll find your own feet and make some friends. 

Back to the fact that school in Monaco isn’t great on the best days, school in Monaco is absolute hell on the worst days.

On this particular day, you were sitting in Maths class, your least favourite, how were you meant to be able to understand maths in French when you didn’t even understand it in English. It was whilst the teacher was going on about something to do with algebra that you decided that you’d had enough, you put your hand up and quickly asked to go to the bathroom, you weren’t bothered about this anymore.

You took your normal long route around school to get to the bathrooms, having no intention of going back to your maths class anytime soon. You finally get to the bathrooms and it is there that you learn that you’re going to die.

You know that it is not normal to have blood in your pants. It can’t be normal. You must be dying. You sit there in shock for a moment, before starting to hyperventilate and presume the worst. 

When looking back, Lando knows that it is probably his fault that you got yourself into this situation. You never really listened in your Health classes, as they were all in French, and so it was probably his responsibility to educate you on what was going to happen at a certain point, but he’s still just a young guy, that was not top of his list of what he wanted to talk to his preteen daughter about!

You sit in the bathroom stall sobbing and shaking, surely this is the end, you were practically waiting for the Grim Reaper himself to come and pluck you away. In your disorientated mind the only thing that you can think to do is call Lando.

“Daddy I’m dying!” You bawl into the phone, the words barely coming out through your intense sobs.

Immediately Lando drops everything he was doing, freezing at your distressed tone, his mind going straight to the worst. “Baby?!? What’s going on, are you okay?!?” He practically shouts down the phone.

“No!!” You sob, “I’m dying!!!! Daddy please pick me up I-” You don’t finish your sentence because enough intense sob comes in the way and you fall back into hysterically crying.

Lando doesn’t even think twice before leaping up from his desk and rushing to grab his car keys. “I’m on my way, my angel, you’re gonna be okay, daddy’s gonna look after you.” He tries to soothe, but the worry in his voice is evident. 

When he arrives you’re still a sobbing mess, but you have to drag your tear stained body out of the cubicle and to the front office in order to be dismissed. When you see Lando you immediately jump into his arms, sobs wracking your body.

“Oh darling…”  He says, brokenly, he hates seeing you like this, “What’s happened, my love?” 

You don’t respond, too distressed, he seems to get the message and manoeuvres you to the car, where he drives home as quick as he can, to get you someplace familiar, hoping that that will soothe you slightly.

It works, partially. By the time that you’re home your sobbing has lessened, but you’re still nowhere near stable, still almost shaking with the fear that you’re feeling. Lando sits you down on the sofa with a glass of water, putting an arm around your shoulders.

“Baby, tell me what’s going on.”

“I-I’m dying!! I’m bleeding and I’m dying!” You sniffle.

Suddenly everything clicks for Lando and then his mind goes completely blank. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit. He was not ready for this day, not ready whatsoever. 

“I-uhm-oh.” He stutters, not knowing what to say. “Y-you’re not dying, sweetheart, okay?”

“Yes I am!!! I’m dying!!!”

He has no idea what to do. He was hoping he had a year or two left before today came, but apparently luck was not on his side. He sits there, staring blankly at you, as you continue to cry. 

“Baby, I promise you you’re not dying, why don’t you go change your clothes and I’ll come up to your room in a sec and we’ll chat, okay?”

You shuffle to your room, still sobbing but if you’re dad seems so confident that you’re okay, then surely that means something…?

Lando paces around in a panic downstairs, waiting for his sister to answer the damn phone. There is no way that he can be doing this with no help.

After a horrible phone call, with a lot of him being laughed at by his sister for having a 12 year old daughter and still knowing fuck all about the menstrual cycle, he feels more prepared to actually talk to you.

You’re sitting in your bed, covered in blankets and watching a movie when he knocks at your door.

“Darling, can I come in?” 

You hum in response, tired from all of the sobbing and therefore not bothered to actually speak. He enters, with a shopping bag in his hand.

“How're you feeling, my angel?”

You shrug, curling up smaller in your blanket ball.

“Oh, baby, you’re okay, I promise, it’s all natural, okay?”

“Doesn’t feel natural…”

“It’s your period, angel. It’s your body getting ready for pregnancy”

You pull a face of absolute horror at that, “I’m pregnant?!??!”

His eyes widen and he backtracks immediately “No, no, no, no, you’re not pregnant, absolutely not.” He shudders at the thought, “It’s just so that maybe, at some point in the future, if you do get pregnant, your body is gonna be prepared…”

“So I’m gonna bleed until I get pregnant?”

“No, no, just for a couple days every month…”

“For how long?”

“Uhm, I’m not sure about that… like until your 40? I don’t know…”

“40?!??!?! I don’t want to bleed every month until I’m 40!!!!”

“I know, baby, but it’s just something that all women have to go through, it’s just a natural part of life, you’ll learn to cope with it…”

You pause, taking in his words, before eventually nodding in understanding, but that doesn’t mean that you’re done talking, much to Lando’s dismay, who’d quite like to get this conversation over and done with.

“So why do I need to bleed to be ready for pregnancy?” You question.

Lando knows this one, he practised it on the phone with his sister, “It’s the wall of your uterus shedding-”

“Ew.”

“Because your body got itself ready to be pregnant, and then obviously the egg was never fertilised.”

“So if I did get pregnant then I wouldn’t get my period?”

“Yes, I think.”

“Hm.”

“It’s all very normal, sweetheart, this just means that you’re healthy, okay?”

“Mhm…”

“Good..” He smiles, “You all good?”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“What am I gonna do now..? With, you know, uhm- I don’t wanna ruin all my underwear…”

“Oh! Yes, that..” He reaches into his bag, “So, uh- these will stick on top of your underwear, and like uh- catch the blood, I guess.. And then you throw them away after wearing them for like 5 hours or so… That sound okay?”

You nod, slightly sceptical, but oh well.

Eventually, Lando leaves to go and do his own thing, and you stew in the knowledge of your new life. After getting yourself showered and cleaned up, as well as trying your new items, you shuffle downstairs, just needing a hug.

“Hey, baby…” Your dad smiles, as he sits on the tv, watching some nonsense reality show.

You don’t reply, just nestling yourself next to him, needing his comforting touch. He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“My baby… getting so big… daddy loves you, more than anything…”

~~~

a/n: fank you for reading!!11 send in any requests xx

[livvyandcaycaytakenselfies]

GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS!! I GOT TO THINKING (obvi) AND WHAT ABOUT AN OVERSEER USER IN TWST?!

Like, user has been alive since the beginning of time, and had a family of their own before they were brutally destroyed and they couldn’t save them?

(User looks around 17is and is a second year in NRC)

So skip to when they are teleported into Twisted wonderland, and they see Diasomnia‘s happy little family of four (ex, Malleus, Lilia, Silver, and Sebek) and they envy it.

She grew close with the four Diasomnia members and after some prodding from Lilia, told them who you are and why your envy came into play.

You told them about the beginning, and how you had four other people with you. The four being based on things in the world they helped with. And how either the mortals or another being (your choice) killed them off.

As if Diasomnia wasn’t obsessed with you before, the Yandere behavior became worse.

It was Lilia who reminded you of Venti

When you look at Lilia, you see your beloved Wind/Anemo Archon of freedom. The man who’s mind is plagued by war but try’s to live his life in freedom through music and love and compassion.

The man who protects his loved ones at all costs (or try’s to) whether it be through blade or words, bone or mind. Lilia is flattered by this, considering all the good things you have said of Barbatos/Venti.

It was Malleus who reminded you or Morax

Malleus with his scary demeanor and dragon relations, the one who just wants to be loved and feel something for once reminds you exactly of your beloved Archon on Geo and Contracts.

Malleus smiles at this and loves it when you talk about how much similar he is to Morax/Zhongli.

It was Silver who reminded you of Tsaritsa

(Note: Reminds you of Tsaritsa before the happenings of the Fatui and since we only have little info on her for now, these are my own personal hc for her)

Silver who reminds you of Tsaritsa

Oh how you loved Tsaritsa…

The Archon of Cyro and Love, this man looks identical to her in features as well even if the colors are slightly different.

Hidden fear of losing the people he loves, had to stone himself to reach his goals, and always has that overwhelming feeling of security but fear wrapping around you in a sleepy hug.

Silver loves you. He loves the idea of you thinking of him being of someone who loved you as so.

It was Sebek who reminded you of Ei

Ah yes, you beloved Ei. The Archon of Electro and Eternity, the stoned face Ei.

Sebek may be a loud mouth, but he has a good heart at the end of the day just like Ei. He wishes to prove himself and honor a promise made (just like Ei) and secretly has that one little thing that bring him security that he loves so much..

Sebek really didn’t know how to react at first, but he did take it was a complement. He asks you to tell him mor of Ei/Beelzibub from time to time. He loves you.

Also let’s have a lil Drabble story here:

You: “Back in my world, they say that hair holds memories.” *que long ass braid going down her back to the floor Rapunzel style*

Lilia: *smiles from the ceiling* “That’s nice beastie, I’m sure it must be true with how long yours is.”

Malleus: *Smiles and pats your head* “What a wonderful thing to have, child of stars.”

Silver: *Smiles sleepily with his hand laced into your from where he lays on the couch* “That’s nice, starlight.”

Sebek: *Nodding his head and smiling in approval* “Such a wonderful thing to have, my lady! Always able to cherish you precious memories of loved ones!”

You: “…”

You: “So somebody get me some scissors, I’m cutting this shit off-“

*Que Mal Mal, Lils, Silv, and See falling from the ceiling, couch, and stumbling.*

everyone: “ABSOLUTELY NOT!!”

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Ain't That a Lotta Love - Chapter 4

A story that starts on the set of the 68 Special, with Elvis and his long-term girlfriend Dorothy Valens. Dorothy has been with Elvis for a long time for good reason - she's no pushover, and she has a habit of getting exactly what she wants. As Elvis' career starts to get back on track, their relationship fundamentally changes too.

Need to catch up? Masterlist is here.

Pairing: Elvis x Dorothy - an OC, his long-term girlfriend

Word count: 2.5K

TWs: Angry!Elvis, angry sex, name-calling, slapping (Dorothy slaps Elvis), possessive kink, Elvis is dominant, Dorothy calls him daddy.

It seems more difficult than usual to get everyone out of the dressing room at the end of the night, and strangely, Steve finds himself being one of the last people there. He spent a lot of the evening talking to Jerry, who he finds the least objectionable of the Mafia, and probably too much time watching Dorothy’s interactions with both Elvis and the rest of the guys. As he’d noticed when he first met her, she flirts to get her way and she always seems to be successful. Everything she does appears to be a calculated technique to unbalance whoever she’s talking to, whether it’s saying something outrageous (he can tell when she’s done that by the expression on their face) or exposing some kind of body part she knows they’ll be interested in. As he carries on his conversation with Jerry, he thinks about her doing the same thing to him. Telling him about the girls, coming way too close to him to light that cigarette, suggesting he get involved in their relationship and making him almost crash the car… And now does she have what she wants? He almost sighs out loud right in the middle of whatever Jerry is currently saying. This whole thing is frying his brain. 

Jerry and Steve are the last people to leave, and as usual Dorothy thanks Jerry for clearing everyone else out with a kiss on the cheek. Elvis is mumbling something about tomorrow’s press conference when she turns and does the same thing to Steve, her soft lips pressing against his slightly stubbly cheek. 

“Night, Steve.”

Poor Steve can’t stop himself from blushing for what seems like the hundredth time today, blood rushing to his face as he thinks about her doing this in front of Elvis, when he doesn’t know what she’s been promising. His blood starts to rush somewhere else, too, thinking about her and Elvis going to bed now, not helped by the other man grabbing his girlfriend around the waist and squeezing her to his side. Fuck. Where did that come from? Steve swallows hard, wishing everyone a good night’s sleep and trying to say something enthusiastic about the press conference, although he has no idea if the words come out in the right order. He’s relieved when he walks through the door with Jerry and knows he’s going back to his car and his house, away from this madness for a few hours. 

“What’ve ya been doin’ to poor old Steve, Dodo?” Elvis asks her, still squeezing her tightly. “He was beet red back there. Ya been teasin’ him again? I need him, y’know, functioning and e’erythin’ fer this press thing tomorrow.”

Dorothy smirks. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

“Well cut it out, baby. I need him.”

Elvis’ tone is a little sharp and she doesn’t like her chances with what she’s about to say next. 

“About Steve…”

“Mmhmm.”

She moves in front of him, her hands on his chest, looking up into his face. She’s so small in her flats that she has to crane her neck to do it, but she has his full attention now. 

“Remember you told me I could choose our next additional… person?”

He frowns, and she can almost see his brain working, trying to figure out what this has to do with Steve. “Sure.”

“What if… um… what if it was Steve?”

He stares at her for a good minute without saying anything. The silence is so long, and his gaze is so intense, that she starts to feel a little afraid. His hands press into her back, holding her so tightly she thinks she might have bruises in the morning. 

“What the fuck?” Is his eventual response, said so coldly that her fear spreads and she starts to wonder if she should try and weasel her way out of this. Maybe she’s underestimated just how easy it would be to persuade him. 

“I just thought, that maybe…” she starts, uncertainly. 

He cuts her off. “You want to fuck Steve. You want to fuck all my friends, or just him?”

She doesn’t know how to respond. Obviously she doesn’t want to fuck the rest of the Mafia. The thought turns her stomach. But she’s not convinced that anything she says right now is going to help. 

Elvis obviously isn’t happy with her silence, one of his hands moving to grip her jaw. “Hm? You want to fuck them all or just him? Answer me, ya little slut.”

Dorothy’s temper flares immediately at the use of the word slut, and she twists her body out of his grip, throwing her head back like a flighty horse to get his hand off her face. Then she slaps him. The sound echoes around the little room. 

“Don’t you fucking calling me a slut!” She rages. “What about all the girls you’ve been with?”

“You’ve been with them all too!” He thunders back, trying to grab her again and missing. 

“Not fucking Ann-Margaret!”

“Don’t you bring her up again! You stupid fucking…” he stops himself calling her a bitch, breath coming in pants now, adrenalin coursing through his veins. This is how they used to fight, when he fucked girls behind her back, before they came to their agreement.

They stare at one another, both panting, both angry, both turned on. It’s seconds before they’re kissing, hands everywhere, bodies pressed together. Elvis grabs her ass, picking her up easily and plonking her down on the lid of the piano, pushing up her dress and tearing at her panties. Another pair ruined. 

“I’m gonna make ya forget all about Steve,” he growls into her ear, as he enters her, roughly. “Fuck ya til ya forget his damn name.”

She whimpers, her head falling back as he starts to fuck her, her back pressing uncomfortably against the hard wood of the piano. She can barely remember the last time he was inside her, never mind the last time he had her like this. Her fingers dig into his hair as he nips at her neck, his teeth grazing her skin, then getting hungrier, biting her and making her yelp. 

Around the time they’d started fighting, Steve had realised he’d forgotten his wallet. He sighs at his own stupidity, and wearily makes his way back into the building. It’s so goddamn late, all he wants to do is sleep, but he shouldn’t really drive without his license. He gets to the door of the dressing room and pauses. The light is still on, and there’s the unmistakable sound of… fucking?

“Who do ya belong to?” Elvis growls again, loud enough so that Steve, standing outside and somehow completely paralysed, can hear every word. 

“You,” Dorothy moans in response as he pounds her against the piano. 

“Who’s fucking pussy is this?” 

“Yours.”

“Yours, who?”

She lets out a pornographic moan as a slight change in angle has his dick hitting her g-spot over and over again. 

“Yours, Daddy. Only yours. Oh FUCK.”

Steve still can’t move. He knows he should turn away and go back to his car but the way her voice sounds, cracking with pleasure, and the strangled, desperate moans that accompany it… he just can’t tear himself away. 

Eventually the orgasm building inside her hits its crescendo, and she’s squealing and flailing her arms around desperately. Her pussy squeezes Elvis’ dick like a vice and he moans too, their pleasured noises mingling with the sound of skin slapping together as he reaches his high, cumming deep inside her.

They’re both quiet as Elvis buries his head in the crook of her neck and she strokes his hair gently. Something about the silence makes Steve realise just what he’s doing, and he decides he’d better go. Wallet be damned. He walks away slowly, thinking of the words he’d heard them say to one another over and over again. Embarrassingly, he has to adjust himself as he gets into the car, his hard-on pressing against his jeans. He shouldn’t have stayed there for so long, and he mentally berates himself for being whatever the listening version of a peeping Tom is. Some kind of pervert, anyway. 

None the wiser, Elvis and Dorothy gradually untangle themselves and silently shower and get ready for bed, communicating through their usual little glances and touches. As they get under the sheets she clings to him, kissing his chest and running her fingers through the little patch of hair there. 

“I love you,” she whispers. 

Elvis runs a hand up her back. “I love you too, Dodo.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She looks up. “El?”

“Yes, baby.”

“I never told you I had a thing about two guys, did I?”

Elvis huffs out a sigh. He should’ve known the Steve subject wouldn’t be closed, but he’s still frustrated. 

“No. Ya didn’t.”

“Thought you’d be jealous.”

“I am.”

She groans, rubbing her head against his chest like a cat. “But I love you, El. I just want to try this. And you love Steve.” She looks up at him, frowning. “It’s not as if I’m asking you to share me with Lamar.”

Elvis can’t help smirking a little. He tries to force the corners of his mouth back down again, but her mock-serious expression is making it very hard not to laugh. 

“If ya ever ask me that,” he replies, poking the end of her nose with his finger as he tries and fails to stay serious, “I’ll tan yer hide lil girl, an’ not in a way you’ll enjoy.”

They look at one another for a beat and then both burst out laughing. She snuggles into him somehow even more. 

“So… is that a yes then?”

Elvis groans. “How do ya do it? How do ya always get whatever ya want?”

It’s her turn to poke the end of his nose now. “Takes one to know one.”

***

Elvis is excited about the press conference. He prods Steve in the side on their way into the room. “Come on, these are always fun,” he declares, before bounding through the door. 

His enthusiasm is infectious, and Steve pushes all thoughts of what he’d heard in the dressing room last night to the back of his mind. He’s wearing the ascot Elvis had bought him and Bones Howe as gifts, and he’s pleased with how it looks. The conference goes well - Elvis has plenty to say, and he alternates between being serious about the show and giving funny, teasing answers. Every time he’s about to give one of the latter he kicks Steve under the table, and it’s all the other man can do not to laugh out loud. 

Elvis isn’t quite sure how he managed to get into such an excellent mood, but he thinks it has to do with the excellent sex he had last night and the fact that Dorothy has been virtually clinging to him ever since. Part of him is wondering if he did actually fuck her hard enough to make her forget about Steve, although he does remember somehow agreeing to let her have some fun with both of them. When he’s not thinking about a way to answer a question that will amuse him and hopefully make the man next to him laugh inappropriately, he’s thinking about Dorothy’s pussy. Of course he’s been intimately acquainted with it for years, but since the girls had been around he tended to fuck them more than her. It’s something he’s starting to regret now, missing out on so much good pussy just for the sake of variety.

He’d taken an upper before the conference, just to make sure he was on form, but it only kicks in properly afterwards, when they’re all celebrating how well everything had gone. Dorothy is sitting on his lap as he talks rapidly at Steve about his chances of persuading the Colonel to let them film in the dressing room. 

“Doubt ya’ll get him ta but y’know it’s worth a try. I mean if anyone can, you can Steve, you’re like a wizard with the fat man or somethin’.”

Steve laughs at being described as a wizard, and is just about to reply when Joe interrupts. “We’re knackered, boss. Think we’re gonna head off, if that’s alright with you?”

Elvis looks up to see the assembled crowd of guys on their feet, shuffling back and forth somewhat awkwardly. They do look beat. His first instinct is to insist that they stay, but then he thinks about how he’d really like to spend a bit more time with Dorothy, and that the guys did tend to get in the way.

“Sure. Hell, why don’tcha all have tomorrow off too?”

Joe's eyebrows shoot up and he looks around, wondering if this is some kind of joke he's not in on. 

“Uh, sure, EP.”

Elvis nods quickly and grins. “Sure y'all can think of somethin’ to do for a day in LA.” He looks over at Dorothy with lust in his eyes and has to bite his tongue not to tell everyone exactly what, or who, he intends to do all day in LA tomorrow. 

“Sure thing, boss,” Joe replies, quickly shepherding the rest of the guys out of the door before Elvis changes his mind.

Steve looks around the room and suddenly realises it’s only the three of them left. Panic rising in his throat he starts babbling about going too. 

“You probably want some time alone, I-I’ll just um… I should go…” He finds himself thinking of their alone time the night before and his face starts to colour. 

Dorothy puts a hand on his arm. “I’d like it if you stayed. You’d… we’d like it if you stayed, wouldn’t we, El?” She tips her head back to look at her boyfriend. 

Elvis nods, silently, although he doesn’t know if he would like it. He wants Dorothy to himself, and the atmosphere in the room is starting to seem charged and a little strange.

“Oh… okay,” Steve mumbles.

Dorothy’s thumb strokes his arm and he tries to get his breathing under control. What the fuck is she planning?

Dorothy sees the look of panic on his face and at the same time feels the irritation radiating off Elvis, underneath her. She has to do something to get this situation back under control. Her control. Make it less weird and more fun. It helps that she’s several drinks in already, and it doesn’t take long for her to think of something, getting up and starting to look around the room for a deck of cards, so that they can play poker. Strip-poker, to be precise. She giggles to herself.

“What’re ya doin’, Dodo?” Elvis sounds annoyed, and it’s probably not helped by the pills he took earlier. His eyes flick around the room at high speed, trying to figure her out, as his heart beats quickly and sweat beads at his temples. 

“Looking for… aha!” She spins around, deck of cards in hand. “These!”

“What on earth for, baby?” He asks, confused. It’s not as if she’s ever been a great lover of card games. 

She grins, wickedly. 

“Strip poker.” 

Taglist:

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[apollabarnes]

that was us part three

quick author's note: originally i wrote this series to coincide only with abby's appearances, so i didn't try and cover the time between abby leaving los angeles and coming back during the train derailment — however, since i've continued writing this series i've realized that what i orginally wrote had a lot of backstory that only existed in my head, but that was very much flavouring the rest of the story. i didn't write the tommy and abby interactions at the hospital as the first time they'd talked since he moved to harbor but all of that backstory stayed off the page. this is part of me trying to correct that, and i'm editing parts one and two to cover more of it. also, i know the hospital is originally part three, but this is sneaking in between chapter two and three (i'll update it on ao3 when i'm at my actual computer and not sneaking onto tumblr during work hours)

a tag for @leashybebes who asked to be tagged if i wrote any more of this!

abby's mom dies and she falls apart. she barely makes it through the funeral, buck holds her together while she's sorting through all of her mom's things and it's just. suffocating. her mom's passport is the last straw — how many things did she put off, thinking there would be more time before she got her diagnosis? how many things has abby put off? she loves being a dispatcher. she loves la. buck is the best thing that's happened to her in close to a decade. there were so many things she was planning to do before she tore her rotator cuff. then it was rehab, trying swimming again, quitting again — pushing off all things she'd thought about doing since she was a kid. tommy had helped with that, given her somewhere safe to recover while she licked her wounds, and still she'd put things off. put them aside and shoved them down and promised herself later, later, later. it's later and she still hasn't done even one of the things she wanted to do when she was younger.

she's going to start with her mom's old travel itinerary. abby packs a bag, buys an airline ticket, tells buck she's leaving. the thought of trying to sublet her apartment or sell it is just too much to deal with right now, so she offers him the apartment because he hates living with his roommates and she's certainly not going to be using it. she tries to be as gentle as she can. abby was stuck for a really long time and buck's the one that got her unstuck. it's a gift she's a hundred percent certain he has no idea he gave her, and she doesn't have the words to thank him for it, so she's gentle instead. buck deserves gentle. he deserves better than her, but she doesn't say that either. he wouldn't take it as the compliment she means it as.

it's a cliché to say that she can feel her heart break when he drops her off at the airport, but clichés become clichés because they're things that are true and universal.

abby sits in the airport lounge and waits for her flight to be called. she very quickly gets bored and pulls out her phone, staring at it. if she texts buck now she'll just turn around, let herself get stuck again. she'd like it, too. she wants to try. she can't stay. she scrolls through her phone contacts, stops on tommy's name. snaps a photo of her drink and the departures screen behind her.

guess who's going to europe?

since when do you text?

apparently phone calls are for fossils.

he didn't actually call you a fossil, did he?

no, of course not, but he's a texter. so. i am too now, i guess.

europe, huh? and a guinness to get you started. so you're headed to ireland.

how'd you guess?

your mom mentioned it a few times. really loved a good brogue and pierce brosnan.

she did, didn't she?

yeah. i'm really sorry, abby. about your mom and the fact i couldn't make it.

thanks. any recommendations for when i'm over there?

i'm more of a desert guy, hang on. i've got an idea.

what is this, a group chat? wait, abby texts?

why is everyone surprised that i text?

sal, abby's looking for places to visit in europe.

hey, sal.

head to italy. stop. eat. come home.

sal, jesus. i was hoping you'd be a little more useful.

well, no, he's got a point tommy, i do love pasta.

jesus, fine, stop — gina says hi, by the way. abby, i've been informed by your ex you're going to ireland first.

someone's got to keep you on track, sal.

you've already got the gift of gab since you're on the phone all day, so you can probably skip the blarney stone. there's the giant's causeway. and all the travel magazines try to rank the castles, but they're all neat.

didn't realise you'd spent so much time in europe, sal.

well, gina's the expert (and dictating some of this to me) but hey. she took me over for our honeymoon and we hit the highlights.

we're both very impressed, sal. how long are you going to be in europe, abby?

i don't know. until i get… inspired.

is the baby hotshot coming with?

i hate it when you two call him that.

we could have used his name if you'd ever given it to us.

and have you track him down at work and crack jokes? i don't think so. abby stares at her phone for a long moment before texting again. no, he's not coming. we broke up.

he broke up with you after your mom died?

forget cracking jokes, we'll track him down at work and break his leg.

thank you for the offer, i think? but i was the one that broke up with him.

why?

was the sex that bad?

because i'm going to europe and i don't know when i'm coming back?

gross, sal. abby, if this kid was really into you, he would have waited.

don't listen to tommy, abby, he's still half-hung up on this girl that dumped him ten years ago.

sal!

sal!

abby gets a solo text almost immediately from tommy, promising to dunk sal's head in the nearest toilet the next time they're in the same place. she laughs to herself, startling when the announcement for her flight comes crackling out of the overhead speakers.

that's my cue, gents. sal, just because you and gina wish tommy would move in doesn't mean you have to project that feeling onto us.

he's just so much better at folding laundry than sal ever is - gina

i'm not running away, we got a call. but i'm really embarrassed to know all three of you.

[losernb]

A Stray's Promise (Part 4)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

A/N: Idk how many parts this is gonna go on for ngl guys... welp I think you guys might enjoy this one (Teehee >3<) also should I post this on ao3???

Your room isn’t massive, but for the Undercity, it’s a damn good space. The walls are covered in a chaotic collage of memories—photographs, scraps of old notes, torn posters, and little trinkets pinned or taped up like pieces of a story only you could understand. Some spots even have doodles drawn directly on the walls, messy but meaningful.

Sevika scans the room, taking it all in, her eyes landing on a particular photograph. It’s of you at twelve years old, stuffing your face with cake, cheeks full and frosting smeared across your chin.

She smirks. “This you?”

You glance over and immediately recognize the picture. You lean against the wall next to her, smiling as you let the memory play in your mind like an old reel.

“Vander made me a birthday cake, the first one I’d had in a while. It wasn’t even my birthday,” you chuckle lightly. “When he heard my birthday had just passed, he threw me a whole party.” You sigh and push yourself up from the wall. 

Sevika frowns, turning her head toward you. “Wait, what?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Guess he felt bad when he found out, so he threw me a party anyway. Cake, candles—the whole thing. Even got Silco to show up and pretend he wasn’t annoyed for a few hours.” You shake your head, laughing. “That was the first time I really felt like I had a family again.”

Sevika stays quiet, staring at the picture like she’s trying to piece something together.

“Sounds nice,” she murmurs.

You nudge her with your elbow, snapping her out of it. “You can laugh at my dumb pictures later,” You say, heading over to the dresser on the other side of the room. “My body is killin’ me so I’m gonna go shower. I don’t know what all you’ve got in that bag but if you need something to wear for the night just grab whatever.”

Sevika raises an eyebrow. “What, you just trust me to pick something?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t have much you can mess up. Just grab a shirt and some sweats or whatever.”

Sevika smirks, stepping toward the dresser. “What if I pick something ridiculous? Like that fancy-looking jacket over there?”

You scoff. “That’s not sleepwear, that’s for looking cool. Try again.”

She hums in thought, opening a drawer and pulling out an old, oversized T-shirt with a half-faded logo on it. “What about this?”

You blink. “That’s… actually my favorite shirt.”

Sevika grins, tossing it over her shoulder. “Oh? Even better.”

You groan, already heading to the bathroom. “Fine, fine. Just make sure you don’t drool all over it in your sleep.”

“No promises,” she teases, settling onto your bed like she already belongs there.

You shake your head with a laugh before closing the bathroom door behind you, leaving Sevika still smirking to herself.

While you shower, Sevika tries to settle down but her mind is racing.The reality of her new situation is sinking in—she’s here, she’s safe, and for the first time in a long while, she doesn’t have to look over her shoulder. She takes down her ponytail, letting her hair fall past her shoulders. She rolls her shoulders and removes her shoes, neatly placing them beside your dresser before letting herself wander around the room.

She continues to explore the things around your room.  There are pictures—some old, some newer—capturing glimpses of laughter, mischief, and moments frozen in time. Some faces she recognizes, others she doesn’t. A few notes and scraps of paper are pinned here and there, little pieces of your life scattered like a puzzle.

Her eyes land on a particularly ridiculous picture of you: mid-laugh, mouth open, food falling off your fork. She chuckles, shaking her head.

"Real graceful, Stray," she mutters under her breath, still smirking.

She keeps looking, fingers ghosting over objects, making silent notes to ask you about certain things later.

She's so focused that she doesn’t hear the bathroom door open. She doesn’t notice you behind her, fresh out of the shower, towel-dried hair slightly messy. You place a hand on her shoulder—

Sevika yelps, body reacting before her mind can catch up. In a blink, she whips around, shoving you back with pure instinct.

You stumble back, landing on your bed with an oof.

“Shit- Stray I’m so sorry!” Sevika practically lunges forward, kneeling beside you, her hands hovering over you like she’s afraid she actually broke something. "Are you okay? I didn’t mean to—"

You groan but brush her off. “Damn Sevika, you’re strong as hell.” You slowly sit up, wincing from the pain of your injuries flaring up.

Sevika’s face twists with guilt, her eyes darting away. “I didn’t mean to do that…” Her voice is quiet again.

“Note to self, don’t sneak up on ya..” You mutter, rubbing the back of your neck. “Don’t worry about me, I was planning on laying down anyway.” You reassure her, sitting up against your pillows. 

She doesn’t respond right away, still looking anywhere but at you. Her fingers twitch against the fabric of her pants, jaw tight like she’s beating herself up over it.

You reach over, placing your hand over hers. She flinches slightly at the contact but doesn’t pull away.

"Hey, I mean it." Your voice is firm, and when she still won’t look at you, you gently tilt her chin up so her gaze meets yours. "I’m fine. Promise."

Sevika searches your face, as if trying to find any sign of dishonesty, but all she sees is sincerity. After a moment, she nods slightly, exhaling some of the tension in her shoulders.

"Go shower," you say, a little softer now. "We’ll get some sleep when you’re done, alright?"

She hesitates for a second longer before finally standing up, giving you one last glance.

"Yeah… alright."

She heads toward the bathroom, and you can’t help but smile as you watch her go. 

Sevika locks the bathroom door behind her and leans against it, exhaling shakily. The adrenaline from earlier is fading, leaving behind a knot in her chest that won’t unravel. She clenches her fists, staring at her reflection in the small, cracked mirror above the sink.

Her own eyes look foreign to her—tired, guarded, but beneath it all, something else. Something raw.

She turns the water on, letting the steam rise as she pulls off her shirt, catching sight of the bruises scattered along her arms and torso. Some fresh, some faded, each one a story she doesn’t want to tell.

The weight of it all crashes down at once.

She grips the edge of the sink, her breath shuddering. She shouldn’t feel this way. She got out. She’s here. She’s safe. But the fear—the exhaustion—it lingers. The idea that someone actually wants her here, that they’d offer her a place to stay without expecting anything in return, it’s overwhelming in a way she can’t process.

Her shoulders shake. Her vision blurs. She presses a hand over her mouth as the sobs force their way up, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. She doesn’t even try to stop them.

Minutes pass.

When she finally steps under the water, she lets it wash over her, trying to drown out the ache in her chest. But even after she scrubs her face, after she takes deep, slow breaths, the evidence remains.

When she emerges from the bathroom, towel still draped around her neck, her eyes are still red-rimmed, her face blotchy. She doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there for a moment, uncertain.

You sit up slightly, eyes scanning her face. Your teasing remark about her taking forever dies on your lips when you take in the lingering dampness on her cheeks, the way she avoids your gaze.

Without a word, you shift over, patting the space beside you. An invitation.

Sevika hesitates, but then, with a quiet exhale, she walks over and sits down next to you.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, voice hoarse, betraying her.

You raise an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Didn’t say you weren’t. Just said to sit your ass down.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Sevika lets out a quiet, shaky breath before stepping forward. She sits next to you, her shoulders still tense, hands gripping the towel in her lap like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

You nudge her lightly with your knee. “Wanna talk about it?”

She swallows hard, staring at the floor. “No,” she admits. “Not yet.”

You nod, as if that answer is enough. “Alright.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The only sound is the faint dripping of water from her hair onto her shirt. You glance at her again, then without thinking, you reach up and start gently rubbing the towel against her damp strands, trying to dry it off.

She tenses at first, then sighs and lets you do it. “You don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” you cut in, a smirk playing at your lips. “Let me take care of you for once.”

Sevika snorts lightly, shaking her head, but she doesn’t pull away. She just sits there, letting you fuss over her like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

After a while, you toss the towel aside and lean back against your pillows. “You’re staying, y’know,” you say, voice softer now. “Not just for a night. Not just until things settle. You’ve got a place here, Sev.”

She presses her lips together, her throat tightening again. She wants to say something—anything—to tell you how much that means. But all that comes out is a quiet, “Yeah.”

You don’t push her for more. You just offer her a small smile before reaching over and flipping off the bedside lamp.

“Alright, get comfy,” you say, stretching out under the covers. “I move a lot in my sleep, so if you wake up with an elbow in your face… sorry in advance.”

Sevika huffs a quiet laugh, lying down beside you.

Sevika shifts under the covers again, trying to find a position that feels right, but the bed is softer than she’s used to. Too soft. She’s spent too many nights on stiff mattresses, in cold, empty spaces, where sleep never came easy. But here? It feels safe.

She’s not sure what to do with that feeling.

She turns her head slightly, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye. You’re sprawled out in the most ungraceful way—one arm thrown above your head, the other tucked under your pillow. Your shirt has ridden up just enough to expose a sliver of skin, and Sevika quickly looks away before her thoughts can betray her.

A smirk tugs at your lips. “Comfy?”

She scoffs, rolling onto her side to face away from you. “You wish.”

You chuckle, voice drowsy and warm. “C’mon, admit it. You like being here.”

Sevika huffs, staring at the ceiling. “It’s not awful.”

“That’s basically a love confession coming from you.”

Your teasing tone makes her roll her eyes, but the words still settle somewhere deep inside her chest, somewhere she can’t quite reach. She isn’t used to this—to lightness, to warmth, to someone teasing her without malice.

After a pause, she hears you shift, propping yourself up on your elbow. She doesn’t have to look to know you’re watching her. The way the air shifts, the way your body angles slightly toward hers—she can feel it.

“Y’know,” you say softly, “you’ve got a nice face when you’re not scowling all the time.”

Sevika scoffs, turning her head slightly toward you. “The hell kind of compliment is that?”

“A true one.”

And then you do something unexpected. You reach out, brushing a strand of her damp hair back behind her ear. It’s a small thing, a simple thing, but it makes her chest tighten. She’s used to rough touches, to fleeting gestures done out of necessity. But this? This is slow. This is deliberate.

Your fingers linger just near her cheek, just for a moment, and she swears she leans into it before she even realizes.

“See?” you murmur. “Told you.”

Sevika doesn’t know what to say. For once, she’s at a loss for words. The silence stretches between you, not uncomfortable, just… charged. You’re looking at her in a way that makes her feel exposed, like you can see through the cracks she’s tried so hard to seal shut.

Her pulse kicks up, and before she can think better of it, she shoves your shoulder—not too hard, but enough to make you laugh as you fall back onto your pillow.

“Go to sleep, Stray,” she mutters, rolling onto her back again.

You grin up at the ceiling, rubbing your shoulder dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. Night, Sev.”

She exhales, long and slow. “Night.” And as she lets herself relax, feeling the warmth of your presence beside her, she realizes—maybe she really does like being here. Maybe she likes you a little too much.

[martyfive]

I'm new here, have you ever gone more in-depth about your ocs lore? Specifically Nomalanga, River, Leo, Chelsea, all those guys??? I've been looking through your oc tag and their designs are so so so interesting and that post of Noma and Tom at their workplace has me so intrigued!! Where do they work?? What do they do??? I wanna learn all about them!!!

hi! first of all, thank you so very much for these questions! i was so shocked someone is actually asking me about my OCs i had to take a breath.

i’m not actively talking about them anywhere, and it’s because i’m stupid i don’t know yet how to do that without spoiling the whole story they’re all a part of. it’s gigantic, but some details reveal everything right away, and i only started working on it recently so i don’t know how to talk about anything. i’m gonna do something with this idea eventually (a book? a comic book? a book with pictures? a concept book? omg) so to spoil it completely feels silly. but i will try to explain at least some of it here anyway!

River (they’re on my user pic) is the first OC i ever came up with (it happened almost ten years ago) and for a long time their story was completely different and more or less used by me as ‘i’m gonna think about this when i feel down’ crying pillow even if i still tried to do something with it. last year wonderful things happened to my brain chemistry, and the story changed. and although River stayed the same, the story they’re a part of became more relevant to me.

this is a story about a giant factory, a machine that although was created to do a good deed in general, sooner or later becomes a tool that passively sponsors the long-lasting war, and a main character that refuses to see and do something about this fact. the factory is so gigantic people live there for generations. kids are being born there, shops do their things, entertainment systems are functioning, etc. but the main thing is, the factory is orbiting the planet. and it’s not Earth. some people living there haven’t seen the planet the factory is working for with their own eyes. and i’m not gonna tell you what the factory’s main objective is.

all the people you mentioned work there, each one different job. for someone the factory is a home (like for Thomas whose family has been living there for the last hundred years) and some feel trapped there (like Leo who’s working her prison term off), but all of them are a part of one giant tale of love, death and space junk.

i don’t know how many years i’m gonna spend talking about their stories, but it feels like my whole life’s work and i promise i will try my best. maybe some of you will stay here to see where this is all going! and this is more than i can ask for.

again, thank you so much for asking!

[grumfield]

i'm humbly begging for tips on how to plot/structure a long-fic 🙏😔

ok please do not take this as law whatever, because I have been told time and time again that my process is insane and very antithetical to a lot of creatives but that’s how I work on literally all of my long projects SO. neuroses be upon ye below the read more.

I’m a hardcore planner and don’t like to start things without clear direction. If I’m planning something long that isn’t a self contained story, this is how I visualize it. It’s sort of the way that weekly serialized TV works, probably because I went to film school and used to want to be a showrunner, so I approach it with the mindset that I am the showrunner of my own weekly serialized one man show

And then each “story” is broken down like this:

(Keep in mind the beats above are very metaphorical. Funhouse just means the key facets of their character are on full display, like evasiveness or whatever, and seeing how they interact with the overall physical events of the world. Bad guys isn’t always bad guys, it’s just the looming threat, like a deadline)

Now onto the actual process. This is through the lens of shippy fics so it’ll usually be using terms/goals within that context!

“The thesis” is the first thing I decide and with and when it comes to fic it’s often a ship. It’s just the overall goal or point of what you’re writing. If you’re writing a shippy fic, your thesis is “X and Y Character get together” and everything that happens within that thesis is ultimately in pursuit of them getting together and then their happily ever after. The complexity of what happens for that to come into fruition is up to you.

“Thing I want to have happen” is usually a progression of a romance beat or the development of the relationship. Awareness of feelings, kissing, sex, etc.

“The story” that happens is the set of circumstances that lead to those beats, and for longfic pacing, I find it best to have each of these be thematically self-contained narratives to push things along.

Here’s an example:

Joe is in love with Brad, and they are in high school. “Story 1” they are paired together for a school project, and by the end Joe realizes that he enjoys Brad’s company, and invites him to his party. “Story 2” is Brad getting ready for the party, working up the courage to go, and then they play spin the bottle. By the end, Brad realizes that he likes kissing Joe. “Story 3” Joe has been avoiding Brad because kissing made him feel weird, but then he finds out they’re rooming together on a school trip. After they spend time together, they mutually realize they like each other and want to date; and screw. Then they go to prom, happily ever after”.

You have 3 separate situations with 3 different developments in Joe and Brad’s relationship. This sort of idea can be expanded to galactic scale, because ultimately when it comes to anything about people, human drama is all relatively the same. I think the important thing for longfics, both for keeping yourself interested and others, is providing some closure for some threads while opening up new doors, and this is conducive to that.

As for the individual story structure, that’s just how I plot everything self contained, it’s Blake Snyder’s Save the Cat Beat Sheet. I like compared to other plotting structures specifically because of “Theme stated, Fun and Games/promise of the premise, midpoint, and dark night of the soul.” I find that each of these are really conducive to understanding how to propel a story forward when you’re stuck, which can happen often when working on big projects.

Theme stated is usually what the characters need to learn, stated by someone else. It’s less a motif present and more of an emotional goal that the protagonist isn’t emotionally aware of and is resistant to. In romance it’s usually “you need to open yourself up more” said by a friend. This is usually a good thing to keep in mind in each scene, because sometimes if you write yourself into a corner; you can fall back on this and try and work out what your character can do next. Is Joe antisocial and needs to learn to trust others? and you’re not sure where to take it? Have him try being avoidant to Brad during their partnership, and Brad push back against that. Additionally, a great way to add drama is to have characters fall back on their old ways/not ingest the lesson of the theme.

Fun and Games/Promise of the Premise: basically just shennanigans that happen based on what you’re setting out to do. If Brad and Joe are working together, it’s the moments that arise from that. Moments where they clash, or go to the library, or one of them skips out on doing the project. Anything that they could experience while working together, as well as the romance implications of that. Bad guys close in is an extension of this—usually a deadline is approaching.

Midpoint: when everything seems great. For example, say you don’t know where to take Brad from the Fun and Games, have them create a really good project! They’re finished working, and realize they enjoy each other.

Dark Night of the Soul: they lose the project, they fight, Brad doesnt show up for the final practice and Joe feels betrayed. Anything that sets them emotionally back to square one, and then something happens to rally them once again to finish their school project.

In a big project, the big emotional issues may not be fully resolved from this, but from a plot basis, it gives you an idea of how to keep plot-based emotional momentum that all works through the ultimate development of the the thesis.

The theme of each arc should be different as they start to learn new things, because rehashing the same material doesn’t keep that momentum you need. So, if Joe learns to open up in arc one, maybe arc 2 is about him examining what he actually wants out of relationships with others.

Fic is a great place to do this because there’s so much shit you can mine for each story arc, and is really rewarding to readers when you bring it into play. And if you run out of that, eventually you can mine older arcs you write and bring their content back into play too. When you do this it basically allows you to have infinite arcs and shit if you want which is fun, and how TV shows go on for ages, for better or for worse

Anyways hope this is as in any way helpful! This is just how I do it haha

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Being someone who read Under The Red Hood and came out with the firm belief that, for Jason, it's not about killing Joker, it's about Jason wanting proof Batman would choose him over the Joker (bc shelia chose the joker). Makes seeing any other media where it's all about just wanting the Joker dead is a teeny bit frustrating. to be honest

Jason could've killed the Joker himself, really, really easily. Jason kidnaps the Joker before the confrontation. I can't open my comic for a reference right now, but it felt like he had the Joker for quite a bit before the confrontation. He had him. He beat him up with a crowbar. He had every single opportunity to kill the Joker himself, but he didn't because that wasn't his goal. Make no mistake, he did plan for the Joker to be dead by the end of it, but do you see what im trying to say here

Edit: If I knew this post was gonna get 1000+ notes I would've tried to word it better or something, this was a rant I made on the way to the grocery store 😭

It's not about making Batman kill either. When Batman says he won't kill, Jason adjusts and goes, 'Let ME kill the Joker or kill me to stop me' instead. The test is all about Batman choosing him. The whole final confrontation is Jason's first death again. The parent, The Joker, and the explosives. It even ends with Jason unable to move as a bomb goes off right next to him again because the parent didn't choose Jason. And instead tried finding an option that'd benefit them and (consequencely) letting the Joker walk, again, lol, lmao <-in agony

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

Asher and I sit in the living room of his apartment. I’ve been here a few times before to hang out with Lex and watch a movie or two, so I know this cluttered space well. Today, I sit on the worn rug with my back against her old couch. She was dragging me to the flea market one Saturday when she spotted it on the curb outside a tall brownstone apartment building. She likes patterns and bright colors, and this couch has both. Though, you wouldn’t have known it when we first looked at it. It wasn’t until she spent the entire afternoon and evening cleaning it with a determination and vigor that only Lex possesses for vintage furniture that the bright yellow color really shone. To me, it looks like something out of a basement room in 1995, but to her it is complete perfection, and it’s cozy, which is what matters most to her.

When I insist that I’m fine on the floor, Asher makes a point to lie down and stretch his body across the sofa behind me, as if to imply I’ll regret it, but I can’t change my mind. But, what he doesn't know, is my reason for choosing to sit on the floor rather than Lex’s famous yellow couch: The sketchbook I caught sight of poking out from the edge of the red-painted pallet-turned-coffee-table.

“Is this yours?” I ask as I pick it up and start flipping through it.

“Yeah, just something I was trying out,” he says nonchalantly, though I feel him sit up, watching me curiously.

The pages are full of different types of grasses and wildflowers, mostly individual ones where he practiced different species from different angles and different stages of life, some with color, some not, some have bugs or grasshoppers on them or bees buzzing around. Then, there are a couple pages with vibrant meadows. There’s one with a lone tree blowing in the breeze, with leaves being carried away. Another with a dog running through, a butterfly on his nose. They’re so intricate and detailed that I feel the need to sneeze just looking at them.

“Ash, these are amazing.”

“Thank you.”

He leans over my shoulder, and I feel my entire left side register his sudden closeness. Pointing to the page he says, “That’s my dog, Jasper. There’s at least one of him in every book I’ve had since I got him.”

“How long have you had him?”

“Uhm,” he pauses to mentally calculate, “almost eight years.”

“Oh wow. Must be tons of them.”

“Hundreds. I have a few books dedicated just to him. When I first got him, I would study him, drawing different parts over and over, his nose, ears, the different expressions of his eyes. For a while, I became completely obsessed with drawing his paws.” He stops to laugh at the memory, “It wasn’t easy either. He’s so energetic, it’s impossible for him to keep still unless he’s sleeping. Even if I do catch him sitting still, he’ll run to me the second he sees me looking at him.”

I just give a quiet chuckle in response. I don’t know anything about dogs. Or art. But I like the way Asher looks when he talks about both. He always lights up, whether he’s animated and excited, or casual and relaxed, the same spark is still there lighting up his face. 

When I don’t say anything, he smiles, lies back on the sofa, “Y’know, I was watching you today.”

I set the sketchbook aside and turn to face him, resting my elbow on the sofa seat, careful not to get close enough to touch him. “You were, huh?”

“Did you know that when you concentrate, you do this thing where you pucker your lips?” He attempts to imitate this thing I supposedly do, but fails when he starts laughing at himself, or at me, probably both.

“I do not.”

“You do,” he lets out a sound that can only be described as a choked giggle, and it makes me spit a laugh.

“So, what, you just stand there and stare at my lips like a creep, or something?”

“It’s hard not to. I’ve never seen anyone do that before. Not like that anyway.” He tries to imitate it again, only to devolve into giggles.

“You do the opposite, y’know.”

“What do you mean, the opposite?”

“When you’re really focused, you suck in your bottom lip and like, hold it between your teeth.”

He takes a moment to try it out and then nods his head when the action feels familiar, “Oh shit, yeah, I do do that, don’t I? Here you are, giving me shit, and it turns out you’re the one staring at my lips.”

“It’s hard not to.” I stop and let the words hang in the air, mostly to see how he’d react, but also because it’s not a lie. Catching him biting his lower lip at work sometimes can be mildly distracting. He nudges my shoulder gently with his leg and says with a grin, “Creep.”

Then, with a raised voice and a wave of his arm he says, “Okay, but the best,” as if it’s now some kind of competition that he’s clearly about to win, “is the singing! The way you like, sing to yourself when you’re working.”

“What about it?”

“Well, for one, it’s cute as hell, but also, if I did that, everyone would be so annoyed with me and tell me to shut up. I don’t know how you get away with it over there.”

I scoff, “No one is gonna tell me to shut up. For one, I’m cute as hell,” I say with a smile, and continue before he can interrupt, “but I don’t know, I can’t help it. I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time. But I think I’m quiet enough that most of them just tune me out by now, and besides, I have an amazing voice.”

“You’re awfully confident about that.”

“I should be. I’m professionally trained.”

“Are you really?”

“Yeah, our parents were very strict about the skills we had to learn growing up, and singing was one of them.”

“Well, shit, now I want to hear you sing for real.”

“I’m not just gonna perform for you, but I’m sure if you hang around me long enough, you will eventually.”

Unsatisfied with that answer, he says, “Hm. Do you ever do karaoke?”

“Yeah, karaoke’s fun. But you can’t just watch me. If we do that, I will make you sing at least one song with me.”

“That’s fair, I’d do that. As long as you promise not to make fun of me if I’m terrible.”

“I’d never.”

“Okay, but now I’m curious, what other secret skills do you have?”

“Uhh, let’s see, there was the singing, and then we had to learn to speak French, fluently—”

“And who’s ‘we’?”

“Oh, me and Dawn, my twin sister.”

“I didn’t know you were twins. I’m going to have follow-up questions, but okay so singing and French, what else?”

I can’t help but smile as his eyes shine with genuine enthusiasm. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone be this excited to know about me. I have to admit, it’s really flattering. I’ve never considered myself to be a very interesting person, especially to someone as charismatic and creative as he is. Somehow, he makes me feel like I am, though, so I continue, “The last one was piano, which was the worst of all of them.”

“Oh my god, right?!” He slams his hand down on the couch so hard that he practically sits up and it makes me jump. “I had to take piano lessons too, and I fucking hated it. Can you still play?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure I could figure it out, but why would I?”

“Good point,” he laughs, “I definitely can’t. Honestly, I don’t even remember how to read music, but don’t tell my dad that.”

“Why would your dad care if you can’t read music?”

“Because he’s a fucking composer!” he announces, with a wave of his arms. “Oh my god, the poor man, though, he really wanted Iris and me to share his love of music. Iris is my sister, by the way, but not a twin, she’s two years older than me. Anyway, neither of us took to it, and we both ended up doing visual arts. She’s a graphic designer, and I make fucking trees for video games.”

“Hey, you do way more than trees! You also make grass and weeds!” I say this with a hint of sarcasm, obviously he’ll do far more than that as the project progresses.

“Right, I fucking love weeds,” it comes out almost aggressive, he clearly means it, and I start to wonder if his casualness about the wildflowers was more of an act that I initially thought. “I tried a bunch of instruments though. He bought me a guitar when I was twelve, ‘cause like, who doesn’t want to learn guitar, right? Me. That’s who. I gave up after a week because my fingers hurt,” he stops for a moment to laugh at himself and I marvel at his smile as it stretches from ear-to-ear, his gray eyes bright and intense, “and THEN,” his words coming out quicker and more animated as he goes on, “he was like ‘alright well the kid’s got rhythm at least, how about the drums?’ And like, okay, the drums were fun and all, but I just couldn’t care less. I’d fuck around on them, but I had no interest in learning to be a good drummer. The best he was ever going to get out of me was dancing. Otherwise, I just want to put my headphones on and draw.”

“Well, I’m glad you pursued your passion in the end because you really are talented. The detail you put into your work, it’s the best I’ve seen.”

“Aw, well, shit, thank you,” he extends his hand out, but it comes just short of my arm, so he tugs the sleeve of my cardigan gently with his fingers and holds onto it. I think my compliment caught him off guard because he’s no longer laughing and his voice is softer now, “and, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. My dad is the sweetest, most supportive man in the world. If anything, I think I was a bit spoiled. I feel a little guilty that he kept investing in these instruments that I would just toss aside. There’s no way I can disappoint him further by admitting I don’t even know how to read music anymore.”

“Don’t worry,” I assure him, “your secret is safe with me.”

I’m acutely aware that his leg is resting against me now, and he’s rolling the fabric of my sleeve between his thumb and middle finger. Normally, I would have already scooted away from the sofa. Pivoted my body so the conversation could continue, but so that I could not be touched. But I don’t feel any need to do that. Not with him. His affection is so subtle and absent-minded; I can tell he’s just feeling comfortable with me. Something about that makes me feel comfortable with him too.

What really takes me by surprise, though, is that I want more. I want to lie next to him on the couch, to rest my head on his chest, to feel him run his fingers through my hair while he watches tv and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat keeps my own calm and quiet. Somewhere deep inside, I know exactly how it would feel, and I ache for it.

“Hey,” he tugs on my sleeve, pulling me out of my thoughts, “where did you go?”

“I’m right here,” I tell him.

“You left for a minute there. What were you thinking about?”

I’m not really sure how to answer the question. I try, but I can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound ridiculous, so no words come out.

He cocks his head to the side a bit, looking curious, and says, “I can’t read you. It’s like your thoughts and feelings are written all over your face, but I don’t speak the language, so I can’t decipher your expressions.”

“Ahh,” he sits up with a groan and covers his face with his hands, “fuck, I’m sorry. That sounded really lame, and I regretted it as soon as it came out. Please, just tell me what you were thinking about, distract me from my embarrassment.”

I chuckle quietly. I don’t think what he said was that lame. I know what he meant. But his current state of vulnerability gives me just enough courage to attempt to answer his question, so I give it my best shot.

“I was just thinking that it feels like I’ve known you for years. Not that I’m feeding you some line about how it feels like we’ve known each other forever or something. But you just feel… familiar? I guess. Like, you know when you watch a movie that you haven’t seen in years. You don’t remember it, and you don’t know what happens, but you remember what's happening as it’s happening. Like déjà vu but not. I don’t know. I’m not making sense.” I give up and let my head fall forward onto the couch to hide my face, “maybe I should go before we continue to embarrass ourselves more.”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he moves his hand to the top of my head and runs his fingers through my hair. It feels exactly the way I knew it would. The way his long fingers run across my scalp, then curl and pull on the strands gently toward the ends, letting them fall little by little. Somehow, I know the feel of his hands as well as my own. I freeze, trying not to move or make a sound. It’s almost as though, if I don’t acknowledge the act, I can ensure he doesn’t stop. And I don’t want him to.

But he does. The sudden tension in my body makes him pull away, “I’m sorry. Was that okay?”

I lift my head up and soften, “Yeah, it was okay. Unexpected, but it was nice.”

“Okay, good. I know I can be a bit touchy-feely sometimes, so if I ever make you uncomfortable, you can tell me. But I’ll be better about asking you first.”

“Thank you,” I say with a nod.

“Of course,” the words come out so gentle and quiet, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a such a sweet half smile that it makes me melt a little. And then he adds, “I really like hanging out with you, Atlas.”

I am officially a puddle on the floor. “Me too.”

Prev // Next

✨I wanna give a HUGE shoutout to @madebycoffee for creating the poses for this scene!! They are so perfect, I literally sobbed when I put them in my game 😭 It means so much to me to be able to bring this scene to life the way I imagined it. I absolutely adore you, Coffee, and I am forever grateful to have met you and to have the opportunity to share this love of writing and sims with you!! Thank you for loving my boys and for making this moment possible for them! 💖

[adrift-in-thyme]

I need to know. First is probably touch starved thanks to all the shit that happened to him before his death, right? Which of the chain make it their mission to fix it?

Ok so I saw this ask, sat down, and started writing. So I hope you don’t mind but I’ll be answering your question in fic form

(And it’s more than 1k so I’m just gonna…hide it beneath the cut lol)

Sky breathes in deep and closes his eyes. The tantalizing smell of pumpkin soup wafts to his nostrils, mingling with the smokiness of the fire. The sounds of its crackling and the cheery talk of his companions reach his ears, and he smiles.

It’s been a long, tiring day for them all, but moments like this make it well worth it. The bruises from today’s battles may still ache, and the cuts still sting, yet at the end of it, they have one another.

He allows himself another moment of dark bliss, then opens his eyes. Taking in the sight of the heroes only makes his smile grow.

Across the fire Wild grins and nudges Twilight with his elbow, both of them chuckling over some shared joke. Legend and Warriors sit shoulder to shoulder. Their friendly teasing can be heard from where Sky sits. Wind has settled down beside Time, and though Sky can’t make out what their conversation is about, it seems like the older hero is telling the sailor a story.

Four sits off to the side, engrossed in a book, a soft smile on his face. And Hyrule joins in Twilight and Wild’s conversation now, the laughter growing louder at his cheeky contribution.

Everyone seems happy and light. Perhaps, more so than they have been for a while.

…well, maybe not everyone. Sky sits upright abruptly, scanning the camp for their little group’s newest member. He could have sworn the hero had been right here moments ago. Where had he slipped off to?

Aha.

Sky catches sight of the now familiar silhouette, dark and shadowy against the light of the moon. First sits a short distance away, back to the camp, face upturned to take in the sky. His cape floats lazily upon the breeze.

The Skyloftian takes another glance around the group and makes his decision. He rises.

Though First is much more at ease with the other heroes now, he can still be a bit aloof. Not that Sky blames him. Being with a group can be difficult, especially when constant danger is added to the mix. And after everything the knight has been through his behavior makes sense.

Still, Sky can’t bring himself to believe First actually wants to be alone. He’s seen the yearning in his eyes when he sees the others teasing one another, hugging one another, easy and companionable as family members. And he’s not the only one either.

“There’s no way he doesn’t actually want to sit with us,” Wild had whispered one day when First had broken away yet again to sit alone. “Going as long as he did without anyone even touching him? It’s torture.”

Time had nodded, expression solemn but understanding. “He’s scared. Give him time.”

So, Sky had given him time. Time to adjust and learn to trust them, time to find his footing in a time that was not his own. But First hadn’t stopped putting distance between himself and the others. And Sky is tired of waiting

It’s clear that the knight needs someone else to make the first step. So, tonight he intends to do just that.

It worked with Legend. If he’s lucky, it’ll work with First too.

And so, leaving the comfort of the fire behind, he walks to First’s side.

First doesn’t startle at his approach, but he does turn at the sound of his footsteps. He looks up at him, gaze sharp and cold. If he weren’t accustomed to it by now, Sky would likely turn tail and rush back to the others.

“Hi,” he says, instead, holding up a hand in a little wave. “Mind if I join you?”

Instantly, First’s expression softens.

“Of course not.”

He gestures toward the spot beside him. Sky settles down, sliding close so his shoulder bumps First’s. Though the knight tenses slightly, he doesn’t move away. The Skyloftian is more than happy to count that as a win.

“What’re you doing over here by yourself?” he asks, casually. “It’s much warmer by the fire.”

First hums. He’s looking at the sky again, pale hair and skin giving him an almost otherworldly look beneath the moon’s glow.

“You can see the stars better from here.”

Sky knows that’s a lie. The stars are bright enough to be seen from virtually any angle and the little clearing they’ve made their camp in is among the best. But he lets it slide.

“They’re beautiful,” he says and First nods.

“Every age of Hyrule is unique and their skies are no exception.” A smile tugs at First’s lips. “But somehow the stars are always the same.”

Sky grins. He knows well the comfort of Hyrule’s skies. The same constellations he once gazed at from atop the academy can be seen from Lon Lon Ranch or the Dueling Peaks.

“It’s true. See?” He points and First follows the direction of his finger. “There’s the Loftwing Constellation I used to see on Skyloft. It’s always been my favorite.”

First’s smile grows a bit larger, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders.

“It’s mine too.”

Emboldened, Sky gestures to another cluster of stars.

“I’ve gotta admit, though, I’ve always been fond of the First Hero.”

First stares at the constellation for a moment. Then, with a chuckle, he shakes his head.

“Now, you're just flattering me.”

He shivers a little and Sky takes the opportunity to scoot closer.

“Here,” he says, untying his sailcloth. He stretches it so both he and First are enveloped in its warmth. “This will keep the cold out.”

First drags his gaze down from his star-gazing to skewer him with a questioning look. Sky meets it with a kind smile, and after a moment the hero relaxes. Carefully, he grasps his end, pulling it snugly over his shoulders. And Sky might be imagining it, but he’s almost certain First leans against him just a bit.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Sky can’t keep back the grin that lifts his lips.

“My pleasure.”

They sit in silence for a moment, bodies pressed close, eyes trained on the heavens above. Then, First breaks it.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. I appreciate the gesture, truly. But it is unnecessary.”

“Do what?” Sky asks, nonchalantly. “I just felt like spending some time with my predecessor.”

First turns to him, studying him in the darkness. Sky can tell without even looking at his face, that he doesn’t believe him. And after a few very awkward minutes pass he realizes something more genuine is in order.

“I like being with you, First,” he says, gently. He places a hand on First’s shoulder and the knight stiffens. Even in the dark, he can see the fractures in his usually guarded expression. “We all do. You don’t have to be alone.”

Something flits across First’s face, come and gone too fast for Sky to catch it. But before either of them can say anything more, Wild’s cheery voice rings out across the clearing.

“Dinner’s ready! Hurry on over unless you want us to eat it all!”

First looks away, quickly.

“I suppose we’d best head back,” he says, tone suspiciously level. “I don’t doubt their ability to scarf down everything in that pot.”

He doesn’t move, however, and Sky decides to take another chance. He gives him a gentle nudge.

“You’re right, we should go.”

Rising, he secures the clasp on the sailcloth once more. Something like remorse flashes across First’s face, but it is gone as quickly as it came. And when Sky turns to head back to camp, he follows him without comment.

Wild is ladling out generous portions of soup when they arrive. He hands them both bowls with a grin.

“It’s Twi’s recipe,” he says, “or more Yeto’s. Either way, don’t worry, I made seconds.”

Sky gives him an answering grin of his own. “Thanks, Champion.” He turns to First and waves a hand. “Come on, you can sit by me.”

The knight hesitates a moment, looking at the log the other heroes have made their seats upon with a mix of longing and trepidation. Then, he nods.

Sky settles down beside Legend, sending the veteran a smile as he does so. That sets First between him and Twilight.

The rancher greets First with a genial nod, which the knight returns as he sits down. Despite his easy movements and relaxed expression, however, Sky can feel the tension that radiates off of him in waves. But as they begin to eat and the conversation turns to favorite battle strategies, he slowly starts to relax.

And when they finish their meal and sleepiness brings their conversations to a lazier pace, the other heroes start to shift positions.

Slowly, they drift over as they always do, seeking the warmth and comfort of close proximity. But unlike other nights, where they usually group together in twos and threes, the heroes decide to form a giant cuddle pile. Even Time joins, though he sticks to the outskirts of it, his head resting on Warriors’ shoulder.

Everyone else snuggles close, lazily mumbling complaints about bony elbows and knees, and sighing as they find comfortable positions.

And First finds himself smack in the center of it all.

He sends Sky an almost worried glance as Wind squeezes between him and the rancher. The sailor huddles close, with a wide yawn.

“This was your plan the whole time, wasn’t it?” The knight whispers, accusingly. But even as he says it, Wind tugs at his cape, cuddling into its warmth. His expression softens and he reaches down, tucking the sailor in more comfortably.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Sky sees the rancher try and fail to hold back a smile.

“I didn’t plan anything,” he replies, innocently. “I think the soup just made everyone extra sleepy. Right, Twilight?”

Twilight nods. “Nothing puts you to sleep like a good bowl of soup. And Yeto’s is the best. Better than a sleep potion, I’d say.”

From First’s expression he doesn’t believe either of them. Regardless, he doesn’t complain after that.

And when his eyelids droop, he finally allows his head to drop onto Sky’s shoulder. Gently, Sky pulls the sailcloth over his shoulders once more. The knight blows out a small sigh of contentment and snuggles closer.

Sky smiles, reveling in this small victory.

“Goodnight, First,” he whispers, settling in and letting his eyes slip closed.

When First replies his words are slurred and thick with sleep. But Sky can hear the smile in them anyway.

“Goodnight, Sky.”

[vv-ispy]

.

[marklikely]

really love amateur Internet horror as a whole like its a great medium for passion projects and creativity but if there's one thing id like to never ever see in the space again its "legitimately good subtle story but we added a scary monster that runs at you BWAH!!"

[sweet-as-an-angel]

MW2 Reaction To You Being Their Controversially Young Girlfriend

Warnings: Implied Smut, Legal Age Gap, Age Gap Relationships, Daddy Kink, Older Man/Younger Woman, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Possessive MW2, Degradation, Mention of Corruption, Mentions of Innocence, Mentions of Naivety, Praise Kink (M Giving), Implied Choking Kink, Angry Sex, Groping, Brat Taming, Man Handling/Woman Handling, Dumbification Kink, Gentle MW2, Rough MW2, Self-Consciousness, Mentions of Blood/Injury, Insecurity, Profanity, Pet Names, Fem Pronouns Used For Reader.

Ghost

Pretends he doesn’t care about the age gap, but he secretly does.

You’d never know it, but he worries that he’s roping you into a relationship – a long-term one at that – when you should be out, meeting guys, gaining life experience.

He also fears that, in some way, he’s corrupting you, that his selfish desire to keep you close to him will lead to you being targeted or you eventually resenting him.

It doesn’t matter how many times you tell him otherwise, he’s still going to worry about you.

There are a few ways you can put his mind at ease, though. Namely of the bedroom variety.

More on this later 👀.

He spoils you silly, absolutely rotten. Anything that catches that pretty little eye of yours and he’s already got it gift wrapped. He feels it’s the least he can do after you’ve shown  him that life isn’t just an endless cycle of suffering – an infinitum of anguish – that he does deserve happiness and a chance at love.

Very gentle during sex. Unless you ask him not to be.

Expect a lot of praise in bed.

Many a night have you found yourself pinned under Simon, his mouth to your ear as he pants, moaning, telling you how you’re “Such a good girl, taking me so well,” while he fills you with long, languid strokes.

Other times, he’s not so gentle.

Oftentimes, usually as a result of purposefully making Ghost jealous, have you been pinned against a hard surface – one of convenience rather than comfort – with Simon at your back, the tent in his pants catching you.

His voice is deep, husking and carnal as he reminds you who you belong to.

“Like having your pretty little cunt ravaged by an older man, don’t you, Love.”

He’s very protective of you.

He sometimes construes your young age as innocence, naivete. Hence, he never lets you out of his sight when you’re out together.

Scary dog privileges.

Absolutely feral, down bad for you: you only have to do or say the most minimal of things to make him melt, to become a slave to his adoration for you.

That being said, he’s paranoid that one day you’ll see him as he views himself and leave him for someone better – someone you deserve. Someone younger.

He’s damaged goods, you still have your whole life to live. And yet you stay with him, promise him that he’s the only man you’ll ever love.

As stated earlier, Simon can be persuaded of your dedication to him via special, particular means.

However, if you play into his insecurities, even to get a rise out of him, he’ll pounce on you, grab your wrists and pin you to a wall, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him.

And, beneath dark lashes and darker eyes, he makes a promise to you.

“Oh, you think a younger lover can pleasure you like I can?” he says, his head tilting. “Don’t you worry, Darling. I’ll fuck that idea outta that pretty little head of yours until the only thing rattling around in there is me.”

König

Somewhat insecure in your relationship. Especially when he gets disapproving glances and glares from passers-by when they note the very obvious age difference between the two of you.

But, his love for you can overcome any measure of anguish, social or otherwise.

He’s the gentlest giant you could ever hope to meet, both in and out of bed.

When he feels like it.

He treats you like you’re innocent and pure, shielding your eyes from graphic scenes on TV and gruesome stories in the newspaper.

Sometimes he has to remind himself that you’re a fully-grown woman, even if you are younger than him.

You send him absolutely feral whenever you wear his clothes btw.

Seeing as any one of his shirts could be your nightdress, he calls you his “Minnie Maus”, and treats you as such.

Pls sit on his lap, he’ll only be able to die happy once you do.

He fears judgement from others whenever you enact PDA, so to make up for his lack of willing to be physical with you in public, there isn’t a moment where you’re without him at home.

Extended periods of time in your presence tend to send him a bit…funny.

A little bit silly.

And by silly, I mean there’s a single thread of humanity keeping him from tearing your clothes off at any given second.

Especially if he’s seen a younger guy looking at you earlier in the day.

One of the few times he’ll get physical with you in public is whenever he catches someone looking at you with a glaze over their eyes he knows all too well.

He approaches you from behind, slipping a pythonic arm about your waist and pulling you into him.

Only now does your admirer look away, leave the premises entirely, once they catch sight of König’s gargantuan proportions and the rabid look in his eye.

Once you get home, he’s on you before you can even shut the door.

It’s times like these that König doesn’t feel insecure about the age gap between you.

Because he knows, no matter how little you’re willing to admit it, that nobody will ever be able to make you scream and cry and tremble like he can.

“Did you like that boy’s attention earlier, Maus?” he says, his eyes cattish and voice serpentine. He bears down on you, his hand about your throat as the other travels under your skirt.

“Is my love not enough? Are my affections wasted on you?”

His eyes glint in the dim light of the bedroom. His teeth look sharper – primal – in the low glow of the bedside lamp.

“No matter. I’ll make you remember how much you need me,” he presses into you. The bulge between his legs feels far too big for you to take.

“Inch by bloody inch.”

Valeria

You’re her little Angel, her Goddess, the light of her life and her reason for living.

That does not exempt you from her teasing, however.

Sexual or otherwise.

She’s particularly fond of randomly grabbing your backside when she’s walking past, or smacking it so hard that you yelp and she’s grinning from ear to ear.

Even if you use your puppy-dog eyes on her, disobedience is not accepted under her roof.

In fact, trying to wriggle out of any punishment she has planned is enough to make her grab you and pin you to a wall, her grip unrelenting as she sucks and bites your neck, leaving harsh red marks and a sense of helplessness as she does what she pleases with you.

“Don’t go fucking around behind my back again, Chiquita,” she tells you, her nose touching yours and her eyes black. She brings her knee between your legs, pressing into you.

“Or next time I won’t just stop at your throat.”

She loves dressing you up in the finest clothing money (and a ghastly reputation) can buy.

She thrives on having you hanging off her arm like a dog on a leash; she gets to show you off to her subordinates and business partners who know they’ll never even have the thought of having a chance with you entertained.

Valeria’s mood can fluctuate in bed.

Sometimes, she treats you like a common whore she found on the street, fucking every ounce of rage, hate and venom into you until some part of you’s left bleeding as Valeria’s panting on top of you, her lips to your cheeks as she kisses your tears away with a whiplash-inducing gentleness she seemed incapable of minutes ago.

Most of the time, she’s loving and kind, putting your needs above her own.

Sure, she still teases you, makes you work for her love and dedication, but you know she’d do anything for you.

You can tell in her tone as she tells you of how she would “Scorch the earth if only to find a fragment of you in the wreckage.”

You disappearing or being taken from her is her biggest fear, and at night she holds you tightly against her chest, your buffer against the world she would sooner see in flames than relinquish you to.

Price

He’s so father-coded fr.

He calls you his little girl, his Princess, Love, Darling, Dollie — anything that highlights your fragile nature.

Shows you off to his friends just so he can show them what they’re missing. He adores the feeling of you curling further into him under the eyes of his task force, the look in their eyes relating something savage, primal, as they look at your bare thighs – the pinnacle of which shadowed by John’s shirt – and watch something they can never have, never touch.

John hides his insecurity well, but he does secretly worry about the age gap.

Especially when he watches younger men looking at you in ways he does.

The difference being that, while they offered you the world and would give you nothing, you are John’s world.

When you can tell John’s feeling worried, comforting him is a surprisingly easy task.

A kiss to the temple and the promise that he’s the only man for you is usually enough to put his mind at ease and make his face break out into a smile.

On the rare occasion it isn’t, however, alternative methods are at your disposal.

E.g. screaming John’s name into the night as your nails drag down the expanse of his back, bodies scorching as he brings you to tears with his touch and his unrelenting pace.

He will absolutely hold his rank/age over you when he’s like this, no longer a point of contention or shame for him as he tells you he’s the “Only one who can make you whimper like a fuckin’ dog,”

“Such a good girl for me, my good little cocksleeve,” he rasps in your ear as he bounces you on top of him, his hands about your waist, preventing you from fleeing or falling off.

“God, you’re so beautiful — so— fuck— gorgeous.” He’s panting, gasping, growling.

“And all mine.”

Horangi

You’re the only thing that matters to him.

At this point, he only remains as a military contractor to ensure that he can keep you in the style to which you are accustomed.

Calls you 자기야 (Jagiya – Honey, Darling).

His favourite thing to do is sit you between his legs and wrap around you like armour.

In case you couldn’t tell, he’s highly protective of you.

You can make him do absolutely anything — he’s at your beck and call.

You can get him to buy you anything if you give him what he likes to call ‘kitten eyes’ eyes.

Even if you’re being a brat, he remains calm and treats you like his little angel, his sweetpea.

Unless you push him too far.

At which point, he won’t hesitate to tame you if you try your luck.

He’ll have you bent over his lap, holding you down with his forearm as he turns your thighs and backside red-raw with the slap of his belt.

“Don’t start crying now, 자기 — you brought this on yourself.”

He never fails in the aftercare department, though.

Always filling your head with words of affirmation as he bathes you, carrying you to bed and tending to your skin with soothing creams and soft touches.

Hong-jin goes super feral crazy when you call him 오빠.

A common honorific used towards any man older than the person using it.

Even if you don’t understand the implications of it, Hong-jin does. And yes, it does tend to make him a bit silly.

Silly enough to know that he’s not going to last long and needs to get home ASAP to deal with…something.

Which he also makes your problem, pressing messy, desperate kisses to your lips as he tries to get his shirt off, your hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat skyrocketing.

“I need you, (Y/N),” he says, breathless, almost growling. Yet, his eyes are wide, pleading. A doe-eyed prince with the aura of a wolf king. “And I’ll have every inch of you.”

Alejandro

Pre-established passionate lover.

One who is fiercely protective over you.

If anyone — and I mean anyone — catcalls you, makes passes at you, or even looks at you in the wrong way, Alejandro makes sure to enact righteous fury upon them.

He’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re 110% satisfied, regardless of context.

You want a new wardrobe ? It’s done. A new car ? All yours. You need Alejandro now and it can’t wait ? Why, how can he say no when you whine like that, when you tug at his sleeve and tuck your head against his shoulder.

He calls you “mi Princesa” and makes sure everybody knows you’re his and he’s yours.

A thorough lover is how you might describe him.

Especially after he’s so willing to bend you against the nearest surface to get you off, no matter the time of day.

You can bring him to his knees with just a look. Turn him from the most respected soldier in his department into a feral wolf.

Which, if you play your cards right, can end very well for both of you.

Alejandro likes to play a game whenever you’re riding him.

He grabs you by your hips and anchors you on top of him.

“Let’s see how long you can hold on for, mi Corazón,” he says, flashing you a sultry smile before he’s bucking into you at the pace of a mechanical rodeo horse at full speed.

“Holding on” can mean anything from not being pounded off Ale’s hips to staving off your orgasm for as long as you can.

Failure to do either is when you see Alejandro at his most wicked. When he’s all teeth, a shark’s grin, his eyes dark and his voice low as he tells you that he needs to “Train your endurance. How else are you going to take me again, hm?”

Needless to say, you’ll be lucky to be able to get out of bed the next day.

Rodolfo

His heart beats only for you. And as a result, he treats you like royalty.

As he should.

You want it ? You got it. 

In abundance.

You have the best of everything and Rudy loves nothing more than seeing your face light up when you receive one of his many gifts.

That, and having you sat on his lap, raking your fingers through his hair as he tells you about his day.

He omits the more gruesome details, fearing he’ll taint you with the blood on his hands if he doesn’t.

Speaking of lap-sitting, it’s your one-way ticket to an eventful afternoon with Rudy.

Cockwarming is his go-to, your legs wrapped about his waist as he fills out reams of paperwork, pressing kisses to your shoulder and telling you “What a good girl you’re being, mi amor,”

Be prepared for a tidal wave of praise for doing the bare minimum.

It doesn’t matter if Rudy’s topping or bottoming, he’s going to let you know how you’re making him feel, how nobody will ever ensnare him like you do.

“I love you,” he rasps, eyes half-lidded and skin glistening with sweat as you take him.

“I love you, I love you so much–” He growls, back arching into you as you catch a sensitive area. His chest is heaving and his eyes are dark.

“I’ll never let anyone else have you.”

Graves

This guy was made to have a controversially young girlfriend.

Calls you “Babydoll”, “Babygirl”, “Little Lady”, etc.

He unironically refers to himself as “Daddy”.

E.g. “You were eyein’n up that necklace for a while, Darlin’…” His hand slips to the crotch of his jeans, rocking his bulge into his palm.

“Maybe if you ask Daddy real nicely, he’ll get it for you.”

He’s actually very caring. He’d buy you the world if it meant seeing you smile.

He never expects anything from you in return.

He just can’t pass up the opportunity to have you in his arms, to touch you.

Graves can tend to go overboard with the gifts, though.

Calls you “young thing” when he’s feeling humourous.

On the flip-side, he can (and will) use your age gap against you. Like Price, but more Southern.

He’ll be very condescending when he’s mad, tending to use terms that undermine how intelligent and capable you really are.

“If you’d just listened to me and gotten it through your tiny head that I’m doing what’s best for you, we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

On the flip-flip-side, he uses your age gap as a jumping-off point into…dubious activities.

#1 dumbification kink enjoyer.

He’s a switch with top lean, what can I say.

“Can’t do anything without me, can you, Sweetheart.” It’s not a question. His eyes are too serious, too stern, for it to be. He’s  pounding into you, hands either side of your head, caging you beneath him.

Between his panting, he presses a wet, uncoordinated kiss to your lips.

“I’ll make sure you can’t even think without me by the time I’m done with you.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad

[theshelteredbrat]

hey notes thingy

I need motivation or I fear i might not make it to summer

No limits except the comment section must be full sentences, no random keyboard smash, numbers, or emoji.

15- Ill ask my crush out to the dance (its in a week)

30-Ill start drinking water more

50-Ill try to eat healthier

70-Ill come out to a few people as Nonbinary

100-Ill start using Charlie in school

125-Ill try to go to bed earlier

150-Ill attempt to talk to a close friend about my mental health

200-(this will probably be as far as it gets.) I'll work on my art

250-Ill write a whole page on one of my wip stories

300-Ill plant little wildflowers and watch them grow! Hopefully they'll bring me some joy

350-Ill go beyond basic exercise and actually do what's good for my body.

400-Ill have a contest with myself to see how long I can go without trying to be closer to death. (Walking as close to the cars as possible, stabbing myself with safety pins, etc)

500-Ill try to find a trusted adult to ask about my mental health

600-Ultimate sign to sit down and study French

650-Ill learn a new song on my violin

700-Ill try to secretly buy a chest binder

800-Ill try to secretly buy a cheap phone

850-Ill start saving up money to move out as soon as I graduate

900-Ill throw away some self harm tools

950-Ill talk with a trusted adult about my suicidal thoughts

1000-Ill talk to my parents about my mental health and hopefully getting some help

No pressure, it js didn't work last time and I don't have a will to live so haha. Knock yourselves out

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH, YOU GUYS HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH THIS MEANS TO ME. I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO DO THESE ALL RIGHT AWAY BUT ILL TRY, I PROMISE. TYSM.

[luveline]

could you write bombshell!reader getting a tattoo of spencer’s name or something that reminds her of him and his reaction please?

“Why are you kissing me?” you mumble, your voice hoarse with sleep. 

They’re light kisses. “I’m going now,” Spencer says, matching your quiet tone. 

“No.” 

You wrap your arm behind his neck and feel his hair against your wrist. His nose and lips warm your jaw. 

“Yes.” He kisses your jaw. “I have to go, but I didn’t wanna leave without a kiss.” 

That’s really sweet, he’s so sweet, you’re so tired. “Please don’t go, Spencer.” 

“I have to go.” He readjusts your hugging to hum against your temple, distinctly content despite your pleading. “I’ll be back by six for dinner, promise.” 

“Promise,” you say.

You get to keep him for a few minutes, regardless. His neck must sing bent as he is over you but he doesn’t relent, doesn’t move until you encourage his face back to kiss just under his bottom lip. “Sorry, I’m making you late,” you whisper. 

“No, no, I accounted for this. You’re on my agenda.” 

“How much time did you allot?” you ask through a smile. 

“Seventeen minutes. That’s how long we usually hug in the morning.” 

“Gotta get that time down,” you say. 

“Or up.” He holds your face. You turn your head into his touch and keep him for just another half a minute. 

“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes flutter closed again, “you can leave, I’m gonna go back to sleep.” 

“Good idea.” He kisses you, and he says goodbye. You’re sleeping again before he’s even left your room

When you wake properly, you still feel loved, like a sunburn but with less stinging. There’s something very special about your boy; something permanent about the way he loves. You can’t imagine he’ll ever stop loving you like this, he’s embedded you so deeply into his life and his routines (and you’d beg him to keep you if he ever changed his mind). That in itself is crazy. You can’t have imagined begging a guy to let you stay, but for Spencer, you would.  

When he comes home that night, half an hour before six, you have no regrets. 

You hadn’t noticed how he was dressed when he left, but he looks lovely in just a simple t-shirt and jeans. Remarkably casual for him, you used to think he only wore t-shirts to bed, but the older he gets the better propensity he has for comfort. What makes it for you is the cardigan. 

“You look nice,” you praise, more than satisfied when the first thing he does after he takes off his shoes is lean down to hug you where you’re sitting on his couch. 

“Thank you.” He pats your back and pulls away. “You’re beautiful,” he says with ease, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Good day?” 

Your lips pucker into a twist. 

“What?” he asks. 

Unfortunately, he sounds deeply worried. 

“No, it’s nothing, I just hurt my arm. Can you have a look?” 

Spencer takes your arm. “What did you do?” he asks, pulling the sleeve of your shirt carefully up to your elbow. The Saran wrap confuses him, until it doesn’t, and he grins at your skin, before frowning again. His flickering emotions worry you, until he says, “Is that mine?” 

You hold your arm in the light. “Of course it’s yours?” 

It’s just a few words from a note he wrote you, perhaps too soon into your relationship for sweetness, and yet one you kept anyways. He told you the story of the I Love You lighthouse, or rather, the Minot Ledge lighthouse, and how the man who lived there had to live on a different island to his family while tending the lighthouse, so he would flash the light once, then four times, and then three times, one flash for every letter of each corresponding word: I love you. The note was left on your dresser. You’d slept together the night before, but he had to leave early. Nowadays he wakes you up, but  back then he’d been too shy. 

I want to be able to do that for you but I can’t find a lighthouse in D.C. that will let me in to try. I’ll keep looking. 

“I’ll keep looking,” Spencer reads. His thumb heistates just under your small font.

“It’s from that note you left me.”

“I know, I remember.” He does his awful frowny face where his eyelids lower and you're sure he’ll never smile again, he looks that upset. “You know this is permanent?”

“They do tend to be,” you say with a lovelorn sigh. 

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should kiss you, or hug you, or… I don’t know why you’d do this.”

“But it’s okay?” you ask. It could make for a very awkward conversation if he doesn't like it.

“It’s perfect.” He holds your gaze. “You’re perfect.”

He acts like your tattoo is a gaping wound as he moves in to hug you, careful of your new ink, but relentless in the tightness of his arms behind your back. You laugh, then squeal at his insistence, a giggly girly thing that nobody else should ever hear but him. He doesn’t make fun of you, just squeezes you to him, his face pressed so hard to yours you can feel his cheekbones. 

“Now I just have to say something romantic for you to get tattooed and we’ll be equal again.’

“So we aren’t equal?”

“Um, no way.” Your laugh is self-satisfied and breathless. You turn your lips to his cheek. “I love you. I’m gonna build you a lighthouse.”

“Can’t believe you kept that note.”

“I have a whole shoebox of them. I love that you write them.”

He stops holding himself up, half on the couch and half in your lap as he hugs you with every bit of strength in his arms.

[alg3a]

auspicious (pt. 1)

jayce x f!reader x viktor / jayvik x f!reader

4k, sfw for now, no use of y/n

description: Viktor and Jayce’s new lab assistant is the hottest topic at a council gala. After defending herself all night, an accidental confession leads to tension in the workplace.

warnings: suggestive content, brief and light misogyny (don’t worry), manipulative reader, lab assistant dynamic, basically the last third is foreplay.

a/n: This is my first ever tumblr fic! If you guys would like, i will add an nsfw second part.

Update: second part added!

Say what you will about Councilor Salo, but his galas never disappointed. There must have been three hundred of the city’s most influential people scattered about the grand ballroom, which stretched further than you could see with your naked eye. It was the first you’d ever seen of these exquisite parties, and you silently hoped that it wouldn’t be the last.

You’d been the lab assistant of the two Hextech partners for around three months now. With the public eye being enthralled with the activities of the two intelligent scientists, it wasn’t long before the spectacle included you, their pretty new lab assistant. You were in your final year in the academy’s undergraduate program and had been a promising enough engineering student to be hired by Viktor and Jayce. Your name was a prevalent one in every inventor’s competition and innovator’s fair, so naturally they had heard of you before your interview. From what you heard, there were nearly fifty other applicants (mostly girls) and yet they hired you on the spot. Naturally, once this story aired, the press was obsessed with you. Piltover Gazette did an entire piece on you about a month into your employment.

With all the attention, Jayce thought it might be a good idea for you to tag along at galas and parties as the plus-one of both men. They never brought dates, so the position was always wide open. Although, Jayce did usually leave with a plus-one.

You wore a deep red sleek gown with a plunging neckline and an absent back. The men matched their ties to your dress, but the rest of their outfits were mostly black and ivory. It wasn’t long before you were whisked away to the dancefloor by influential older men, who talked your ear off about how lucky you must find yourself to be shadowing two promising young inventors. You cringed each time you heard it. You were certainly lucky to have landed the position, but the way they phrased it made it seem like you were some teenage girl who was asked to the school dance by the two cutest boys in school. It wasn’t as trivial as that. Each day, you worked tirelessly alongside their genius minds to find solutions to real world problems using Hextech. You and Viktor spent countless nights asleep on opposite ends of the worn lab couch so that you could continue working at any hour.

Eventually, you grew tired of the misogyny from older male benefactors. You’d done enough socializing for the night, now it was time to patronize the open bar.

You found a spot between a woman in a gold dress and a man in a white tuxedo and asked the bartender politely for a whiskey sour. Once you finished speaking, the man in the white tuxedo turned to you.

“I recognize you,” he said, the scent of his aftershave mixing with the alcohol on his breath. “You’re the Hextech girl, aren’t you? I read your article in the Gazette.”

You sighed as the bartender handed you your drink, pressing a polite smile to your lips with the exhale. “Yes, that’s me. It’s a pleasure.” You hold out your hand and he brings it to his lips with a kiss longer than you would have liked.

“The pleasure is all mine, dear,” he said, setting his glass down. “You know, it’s very uncommon for an undergraduate girl to land such an auspicious spot amongst lead researchers at the academy.”

Here we go again. In the time it takes for him to finish the same spiel you’d heard all night, you finish your drink in one continuous sip. You punctuate the end of his sentence by putting your glass down roughly on the counter.

“Yes, I’m incredibly lucky,” you say, your polite smile turning vaguely murderous. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jayce and Viktor approaching the bar.

“Enough prattle from me,” the man says and holds out his pasty hand once more. “I think it’s time for a dance.”

“Are we interrupting?” Jayce asks, his usual charming smile adorning his chiseled face.

“Not at all!” The man in white says, jovially. No doubt feeling blessed to speak to the men whose egos he spent the last five minutes stroking.

“In fact you came at the perfect time,” you say, smushing yourself between Jayce and Viktor, and wrapping your arms around their arms, emboldened by the alcohol and desperate for a way out of this conversation. “We were just discussing how positively fortunate I am to be working for two accomplished, ambitious, handsome young inventors.”

Viktor furrows his eyebrows at you, then looks back up at Jayce. “Is that so?” He asks, suspicion dancing in his eyes.

“Yes,” you nod emphatically, then bring your attention back to the man in white. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry I’ll have to decline your offer to dance. But I’m sure you understand. When a young woman like myself is called upon by men so far above my humble station, I simply must recognize how—what was the word you used earlier—how auspicious my position is.”

The man seems lost in your rambling, but you notice Jayce and Viktor smiling at one another and avoiding the man’s gaze.

“Ehem, well alright,” the man says, finally. “You three have a pleasant night.”

“Thank you,” Jayce says, his smile becoming a smirk. “We will.”

Jayce places his hand on your lower back and guides you away as Viktor follows, now placing his weight on his cane.

“Are we missing something?” Viktor asks.

“We came to check up on you,” Jayce said. “That guy at the bar was eyeing you like you were his next cocktail.”

“Gross,” you shudder at the thought. Jayce’s hand rubs the exposed skin of your lower back gently. Your eyes dart toward the ground at the sudden awareness of the intimacy of the touch. You shrug off the chill heading up your spine. “Please, never invite me to one of these again. I’ve heard enough old men insinuating that I’m the lab’s little piece of ass.”

“They’re saying that?” Viktor said sharply, stopping in his path as he turned to face you, his hand on your shoulder.

“Well, not exactly that, but practically every conversation is monopolized by my male counterpart lecturing me on what a privilege it is to spend my days ogling at you two.”

Jayce snickers a bit, but Viktor shoots him a stern look.

“That’s highly inappropriate. I’m terribly sorry you experienced such a blatant display of the antiquated beliefs these upper houses hold.” Viktor shakes his head as if he is shaking off the experience like a dog drying off.

“Vik and I were just talking about leaving, anyway,” Jayce says, his hand resuming its ministrations on your back. “We can call a car and go, just say the word.”

You look around the room and remember the reason you’re here in the first place. Galas are the primary way for the two inventors at either side of you to network and receive funding for their projects. Jayce abhorred the politics and the whole reason exhausted, introverted Viktor even bears the social tedium of these parties when he’d rather be slaving away in the lab is because he knows none of their ventures can be broadened without doing the dance. In a singular moment you realize that if they can stomach the routine dreariness of the social game that these parties provide, so can you. You are their prized assistant after all.

“It's okay,” you shake your head. “It’s really not that bad.”

“Are you sure?” Viktor asks, his head tilting.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you nod. “I just have to get used to the manner at which these sorts of events go on. But I can do it. If you’ll recall, adaptability was a strength on my resume.”

This earns a laugh from both of the men. Jayce removes his hand from your lower back to rub your shoulder softly. “I think we glossed over that part.”

Viktor stops laughing suddenly, which elicits a raised eyebrow from you.

“What?” You ask, your eyes darting between Viktor and Jayce. Jayce’s lips press together in a tight seal as if he caught himself letting something slip. “What do you mean?”

Just in time to save them from the obviously impending awkward situation, a man in an all black suit approaches.

“Gentlemen, if I may borrow your lovely assistant for a dance–”

You felt your cheeks growing hot with every word he spoke. You were so incredibly tired of old men here thinking they could just ask politely and receive your body to use in whatever stupid waltz they wanted to try their hand at. “Gods, I don’t–”

“My apologies,” Jayce said, interrupting what he was sure would be an outburst on your part. “I’m afraid our lovely assistant is spoken for, for the rest of the night.”

Viktor punctuated his sentence with a nod and a gentle squeeze of your upper arm.

“I see,” the man said, his face betraying his civility. “Well, find me if that changes.”

As soon as the man was out of earshot, Viktor released your arm. “Call that car, Jayce.”

“On it,” he said, already beginning to make his way to the front of the ballroom.

“I’ve been where you are,” Viktor said, his nimble fingers trailing downward from where he had been squeezing your arm. He lifts your hand and places it on his wrist so that you cling to him as the two of you walk toward the exit together. “When I was Heimerdinger’s assistant, I was often undermined. Although, I had the distinct privilege of not being a beautiful young woman. While I can relate to your frustration, the misogyny and objectification you’re experiencing aren’t exactly things Jayce and I have experienced. But we’re going to do our best to quell it for you.”

You look up at him and find his hardened expression fixed on the door. “Thank you.” Those two words will suffice for now, but Viktor’s promise warms your heart in ways that a simple thank you cannot express.

Jayce finds the two of you as you exit into the grand hallway. “Car’s waiting outside.” He takes his coat off and drapes it over your shoulders, not paying much attention to your hand on Viktor’s arm.

The three of you pile in the back of the limousine. You sit sandwiched between the two men, relishing in the warmth radiating from their bodies after the few steps outside in the cold night. Viktor stretches his leg outward in the spacious backseat while Jayce leans back and groans. Clearly you aren’t the only one exhausted from the antics of the night.

“Where will I be taking you three?” The driver asks, his eyes visible in the rearview mirror.

“Two stops, if possible,” Jayce speaks up, leaning forward once more to be heard better. “The laboratory block of the academy and the East Dormitories.”

“You guys are going to the lab? It’s almost midnight.” You ask, turning to Jayce before realizing how the proximity of the backseat brings your face so close to his.

“Always work to be done,” Jayce says, glancing over your face before giving you a little more space. “But don’t worry, you’ve had a long night. You don’t need to do any assisting again until tomorrow morning.”

You look over at Viktor momentarily, to see him staring out the window as the car begins to move.

“If it’s alright, I think I’d like to go to the lab, too,” you say, softly. You can’t help but feel as though you’re inviting yourself to some clandestine meeting, as if you don’t have as much of a reason to be at the lab as they do.

Jayce looks over at Viktor, not for confirmation but for something else. Humor, maybe?

“Of course,” Jayce smiles softly. He shifts his attention to the driver again. “On second thought, just take us to the labs, please.”

The driver nods as he picks up speed and peels out of the driveway. For some reason, your heart pounds. It isn’t abnormal for you and the two men to stay ridiculously late at the lab. In fact, it’s more common than leaving before midnight.

You become suddenly aware of the long slit that opens your deep red dress, and you cross your legs.

“Jayce I wanted to ask you something,” you say, mustering up the courage to recall the slip-up from earlier. “What did you mean when you said you glossed over my resume?”

“Well…” Jayce looks over at Viktor, which makes you do the same. Now he’s definitely paying attention, his eyebrows two firm lines scrunched above his angular nose.

Viktor finally decides to chime in, and you know exactly why: Jayce isn’t a good liar.

“We had lots of applications,” Viktor said. “You know that.”

“Yeah, but…then why did you hire me?”

“You had a very promising interview,” Viktor says, now avoiding eye contact.

“You’re lying to me,” you say, more accusatory than you meant it to be.

“We should just tell her, Vik,” Jayce mutters, almost under his breath. In response, Viktor’s hard expression softens. Perhaps out of relief?

“Tell me what?”

“Fine,” Viktor says, finally, with an exhausted sigh. “I’m too tired to persuade you against it.”

Jayce puts a hand so low on your thigh that it’s almost on your knee. “First, it’s important that you know that we would have hired you regardless. You’re so incredibly talented and you’ve been such a good assistant; we have no doubt in our minds that you’re the perfect person for this job.”

“Regardless of what, Jayce?”

“A little help, Vik?” Jayce asks after a sigh of helpless frustration.

“We sent everyone else home after your interview,” Viktor said, still looking out of the window, his arm resting on the ledge of the door, fidgeting with the handle. “When we saw you for the first time, we decided we wanted to see you more often.”

“What?” You feel your face growing hot. Anger? Something else entirely?

“The first note I wrote during your interview just said ‘beautiful,’ and I don’t think I wrote anything down after that,” Jayce admitted.

“You can’t be serious,” you say at a volume so low it might be a whisper. Anger. Definitely anger. “All night…all night I was swatting away guys who were objectifying me…accusing me of just being your pretty little assistant. I thought it was just misogyny. I thought they just couldn’t believe a girl was capable of keeping up with you two…but apparently they were right.”

“That’s not the case, at all,” Viktor said, louder than you’d ever heard him. “It couldn’t be further from the truth. We weren’t objectifying you. You deserve respect for your accomplishments, and those accomplishments are numerous.”

“He’s right, it’s not like we just hired you to look at,” Jayce said, trying to reconcile the situation. “And it’s not like I didn’t write notes during your interview because there wasn’t anything to write. I stopped writing because I was captivated by you.”

Suddenly the weight of the situation falls onto you, all at once. These men, your bosses, your best friends, the two smartest, most accomplished scientists in Piltover…they were attracted to you.

“For three months?” You ask, softly, more to yourself than to them.

“Yes,” Viktor answered. “We understand if you’re upset with us.”

The car slowed to a stop against the curb of the laboratory building of the academy.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to go into the lab anymore,” Jayce said, beginning to lean forward and opening his mouth to address the driver. “Hey, sorry, could you–”

“No,” you say, your words final. “I’m going into the lab with you.”

Your lips are a deep red firm line. Your eyes are unreadable, and neither of the boys can tell what you’re thinking. Even you hardly know, but one thing is certain: you find yourself in an auspicious position. You didn’t need the two boys to validate you for everything listed on your resume. They knew you were intelligent, and more importantly, you knew. What you didn’t know is that they found you beautiful. So much so that they hired you just to see you more often.

You’d spent the whole night trying to defend your own honor, being shaken by men with accusatory, wandering hands. More than that, you’d spent the night wandering awkwardly for the benefit of your bosses. Now, it was time to return the favor.

“If you’re sure,” Jayce said, pushing open the car door and stepping out onto the curb, holding it open for you as Viktor exited through the other door. As you brushed past Jayce, you let his coat fall delicately down your shoulders, revealing the deep backline of the dress.

You turn over your right shoulder, just enough for your face to be past profile, and narrow your eyes at him. “I’m sure.”

Once Viktor is out of the car, the three of you walk toward the large glass doors that lead to the lobby of the laboratory building. You stop in front of the keycard sensor and watch as Viktor pats down his pant pockets in search of his key card.

“Sorry, one second,” he says.

You approach him, with no sound but the clicking of your heels on the cold pavement below, and slide your hand into his coat pocket. You watch his jaw clench, never taking your eyes off his face as you pinch the plastic card between your pointer and middle finger. You pull it out like a cigarette before waving it in front the boys’ faces and tapping it against the small metal sensor. It beeps with a green flash and you hand the card back to Viktor. Neither of them says a word.

You enter through the glass doors, but at the lack of footsteps behind you, you turn around. The men still stand, staring at you, mouths slightly agape.

“What?” You ask. “Aren’t you coming?”

Jayce coughs, as if fighting something in his throat, then takes a few steps forward and follows you.

You press the call button on the elevator and wait as the boys stand on either side of you.

“If you’re upset with us, please say so,” Viktor said, his voice bordering pleading.

“Upset?” You tilt your head to look up at the man beside you. Even in heels they were both taller than you. “Do I look upset?”

“I–uh well, I am not sure. You look…focused.”

You were definitely focused. Yes, you were playing with them. Wasn’t it only fair that you return a bit of the awkwardness provided by their sudden confession in the car? This was you getting even for that embarrassment, and you’d soon be getting even for the long-kept secret, as well.

“Strange,” you say as the elevator door opens before you. You step in and turn to face the door. “Jayce, press four.”

He does as you say.

“And how do you think I look, Jayce?” You ask, your eyes shifting toward him in the confined space of the elevator. He repeats that same little choked cough from before, except now it sounds closer to him clearing his throat.

“I think you look very good.”

You smile at him. Not a kind one, but the sort of condescending smile one gives a child who gave the wrong answer. A cute answer, though.

“Thanks,” you say, your eyes returning back to the door. “But I was asking if you thought I looked angry.”

The door beeps open and you are the first to leave. As you walk down the long hallway, you hear the boys walking a yard behind you. They’re nervous, that much you can sense on the cold bare skin of your back.

You stop at the lab door at the end of the hall and wait for the boys to catch up. It’s the biggest lab on the fourth floor.

Viktor now has his keys at the ready and unlocks the large wooden door, then holds it open for you to enter before the two boys. How spoiled you are.

You saunter into the lab, letting Jayce’s coat fall all the way down your shoulders before draping it on a stool next to the counter. They attempt to ignore you, bee-lining toward their desks in the lab but you catch each time their eye wanders to you on the opposite side of the room. Often they alternate, glancing over while the other is talking about the equations they're working through or the tools they need to assemble something. Every so often, they look over at you at the exact same time, following whispers you can’t quite make out, and when they do it is absolutely silent.

Meanwhile, you’re pouring the wine that you’ve been stashing in the cabinet meant for volatile chemical solutions. You’ve laid out three glasses, but you only fill the one in the middle. You sip from it slowly, your eyes peeking out from above the glass rim so you can catch them every time they look over at you.

“What are you doing?” Jayce asks, exasperatedly, finally.

“What do you mean?” You ask, and continue to sip your wine.

“We said we were sorry–”

“No, actually you didn’t.” You finish your glass and set it back down between the two empty glasses. “You said you understood if I was mad. And you tried to explain yourselves.”

“We are sorry,” Viktor said. “Terribly sorry. For lying, and for…objectifying you.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t objectification?” You said, still bitter despite the joy you extracted from teasing these poor boys.

“It doesn’t matter what we think we did or did not do,” Viktor said, the thickness of his accent swallowing his nervous words. “What matters is that you are hurt, and that we are terribly sorry.”

“I’m not hurt.”

“Eh…you’re not?” It wasn’t often that Viktor sounded confused, so you relished the question.

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Jayce asked.

You poured wine into the two glasses on either side of your own and smiled as you looked down at the liquid filling them. You pushed the glasses toward them and raised your eyebrows expectantly. As if well trained, they walked over to you at the counter and picked up their glasses, taking small sips each.

“You could call it disbelief,” you said. “Or plain shock.”

“I understand that we sprung a lot on you all at once–” Viktor started to say, but you raised your hand.

“I’m not in disbelief because you’re attracted to me, Viktor, I’m far too self-assured for that.”

Jayce stifles a laugh.

“I’m in disbelief because I’ve wasted three months pretending not to be attracted to either of you,” you say, coming out from behind the counter and going to sit on the couch in the center of the room. You’d done an excellent job decorating their lab and had managed to make it feel like a home rather than a detention room.

“What are you saying?” Jayce asks, setting his glass down and stepping toward you. Viktor follows his example.

“I’m saying that if you had just told me ages ago that you two felt that way, I’d be laughing at the men who asked to dance with me tonight instead of clenching my fists. I’ve spent three months pushing aside any thought of you two outside of professional settings because I didn’t want to be the naive little lab assistant fawning over her bosses.”

A strap of your dress slips off of your left shoulder, and you let it.

“What a waste,” you scoff as you lean back into the cushions of the couch. You pick your hair up so that it falls over the cushions and cascades like a waterfall.

“So…” you watch as the gears in Jayce’s genius brain turn, “if we had told you sooner then–”

“Then you could have had me sooner.”

NSFW PART TWO????