#just really needed to share and there’s no other way to express this

[reaper2187]

Caitlyn kiramman x female reader

The escape plan

Ghosts of the Past

The safe house Caitlyn had arranged was a modest hideout on the outskirts of Piltover. It was quiet, secluded, and far enough from prying eyes to allow them time to regroup.

Y/N stood at the window, gazing out at the city lights in the distance. Her posture was relaxed, but her mind was far from still. Vi sat at the small table, drumming her fingers anxiously, while Caitlyn was in the corner, tinkering with her rifle.

The silence stretched until Vi finally spoke. “You’re gonna tell me what’s going on, right? About Jhin?”

Y/N’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though her gaze remained fixed on the window. “You really want to open that box, Vi?”

“Yes,” Vi said firmly, leaning forward. “You disappeared for years, and now I find out you have a brother—a brother who’s infamous, by the way. How does that even work?”

Caitlyn looked up, intrigued. “You’re Jhin’s sister?”

Y/N sighed, turning to face them. “Jhin and I...we’re complicated. He’s my brother, yes, but we’re not close in the traditional sense. We share a bond, but it’s one built on understanding, not affection.”

“What kind of understanding?” Caitlyn asked, her tone cautious.

Y/N stepped closer to the table, her expression unreadable. “We both see death as more than an end. For Jhin, it’s art—a masterpiece to be created with precision and care. For me...it’s a host. Something inevitable, something I’ve embraced. Death isn’t cruel or kind. It simply is.”

Vi frowned, her frustration evident. “That doesn’t explain why you never told me about him.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, a rare flicker of vulnerability breaking through. “Because it wasn’t your burden to carry, Vi. Jhin and I have our own paths, our own ways of dealing with the world. Bringing you into that would’ve only made things harder.”

As the conversation settled, Caitlyn found herself drawn to Y/N’s perspective. “You speak about death as if it’s a friend.”

“In a way, it is,” Y/N replied, leaning against the wall. “You’d be surprised how much clarity it brings. Most people fear it, run from it, but it’s the one constant we all share.”

Caitlyn studied her, her curiosity growing. “And Jhin? Does he share that clarity?”

Y/N’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Jhin sees the beauty in it, the symmetry. For him, every kill is a performance, a statement. I respect that, even if I don’t always agree with his methods.”

“You respect him?” Vi asked, disbelief lacing her voice. “The guy’s a psycho.”

“Maybe,” Y/N admitted, shrugging. “But he’s also a genius. You can’t deny that.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of Y/N’s words settling over them. Caitlyn found herself wondering what it would be like to see the world through Y/N’s eyes—a world where death wasn’t something to fear but something to understand.

Later that night, while Caitlyn and Vi were sleeping, Y/N sat alone by the window. The faint hum of the city outside was a stark contrast to the stillness of the room. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, intricately folded piece of paper.

Unfolding it, she found a single line written in Jhin’s precise, elegant handwriting: “Every stage needs its performer, sister. When will you embrace yours?”

Y/N smirked, the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes. Jhin always had a flair for the dramatic. She folded the paper carefully and tucked it back into her pocket, her thoughts drifting to their shared past.

Jhin had always been the artist, the perfectionist. Even as children, he had a fascination with detail, with creating something beautiful out of chaos. Y/N, on the other hand, had been the realist, the pragmatist. Where Jhin sought beauty, she found purpose. Their views aligned just enough to coexist but diverged enough to keep them apart.

The next morning, Caitlyn found Y/N sitting on the steps outside the safe house, her expression distant. She hesitated for a moment before joining her.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Caitlyn asked.

Y/N shook her head. “Too much on my mind.”

Caitlyn sat beside her, her rifle resting across her lap. “I’ve been trying to figure you out.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “Good luck with that.”

“You’re not what I expected,” Caitlyn admitted. “When Vi mentioned you, I thought you’d be...different.”

“Different how?”

“Angrier. Bitter. But you’re...calm. Like you’ve made peace with everything.”

Y/N turned to her, her gaze piercing. “Making peace doesn’t mean forgetting. I’ve done things I can’t undo, Caitlyn. But I’ve also accepted that those things are part of who I am.”

Caitlyn nodded slowly, her respect for Y/N growing. “You and Jhin...do you think you’ll ever see him again?”

“Probably,” Y/N said with a faint smile. “Our paths tend to cross when we least expect it.”

Caitlyn hesitated before asking, “And when they do, what happens?”

Y/N’s expression softened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability breaking through. “That depends on him.”

As the days passed, the group worked on building a plan to stay ahead of the enforcers who were undoubtedly hunting them. Y/N proved invaluable, her experience and resourcefulness keeping them one step ahead.

Despite her initial reservations, Caitlyn found herself drawn to Y/N—not just her skills but the quiet strength beneath her stoic exterior. There was a complexity to her, a depth that Caitlyn couldn’t help but admire.

Vi, too, seemed to be healing. Though she and Y/N still had their differences, the bond they shared was undeniable. They often sparred in the mornings, their playful banter a reminder of the sibling-like relationship they had once shared.

But the shadow of Jhin lingered over them all, an unspoken reminder of the danger that still lay ahead.

Hope you enjoy part 4 someday now, if you have any requests send them my way, and ye hope you like it

[pbaz7]

It’ll Always Be Her Chapter 5

AN: I’m trying to write consistent enough so I can publish at least once a day. Can you guys leave live reactions and comments so I know what people like/don’t like and which direction I should go!

TW: Verbal abuse, mention of death

Word Count: 3.3k

The hum of conversation filled the athletic lunchroom as different teams gathered around tables, laughing and sharing stories. Paige sat with KK and Ice, her tray of food untouched. Her gaze was distant, her thoughts completely occupied.

KK nudged Ice with a smirk. The two of them trying to figure out who’s going to break the ice with the senior. KK decides to speak, “Alright, Paige, spill it. What was up with you and Azzi the other night? The tension was crazy.”

Ice leaned in, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Yeah,it was impossible not to notice. Your eyes were glued to her all night.”

Paige’s cheeks flushed as she looked down at her tray. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled.

“Oh, come on,” KK chimed in, laughing. “You were raking her over like she was the last piece of dessert. And don’t even get me started on how you two just happened to disappear together.”

“And when you came back?” Ice added, raising an eyebrow. “Both of you looked flustered. Something definitely went down.”

Paige groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “You guys are impossible.”

KK grinned, leaning forward. “We’re just saying. It’s obvious there’s something there. So, what’s the deal?”

Paige sighed, her hands dropping to the table. “Look, what happened that night stays between me and Azzi. That’s all you’re getting.”

KK crossed her arms, giving Paige a mock glare. “Girl boo, keep your secrets. But you’re not fooling anyone. I know something happened”

For a moment, Paige stayed quiet. Then her expression softened, her voice dropping. “I really like her,” she admitted feeling vulnerable.

KK’s teasing demeanor shifted to curiosity. “Like, really like her?”

Paige hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah... maybe even something more.” Her eyes grew distant as her thoughts drifted to Azzi, her best friend for years. Memories flooded in—late-night talks, shared victories, moments where Azzi’s laughter had been the only thing to pull her out of a funk. It all swirled together, making her chest ache in the best way.

KK and Ice exchanged a look, their teasing forgotten.

“Wow,” Ice said softly. “That’s serious. So why haven’t you made a move?”

Paige sighed again, leaning back. “Azzi and I talked about it. We’re waiting until I can break things off with Jess. She’ll be back soon, and I owe her that conversation first.”

KK frowned. “That’s... responsible, I guess. But it sounds rough.”

“You have no idea,” Paige said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Azzi’s intoxicating. When we’re together, it’s like nothing else matters. But I want to do this right. Azzi deserves it”

Ice reached over, squeezing Paige’s arm, surprisingly being serious for once. “You’re doing the right thing. It won’t be easy, but it’ll be worth it.”

KK nodded. “Yeah. We’re here for you, P Boogers. And honestly? We’re rooting for you and Azzi. After all I need my parents together”

Paige chuckles slightly and smiles, her heart feeling a little lighter. “Thanks, guys. I just hope I don’t lose my mind in the meantime.”

KK chuckled. “You got this. But hey, if you ever need to vent, we’re all ears.”

…

The rhythmic thud of the basketball echoed through the empty gym as Paige sprinted from one end of the court to the other, her breathing heavy and her shirt clinging to her from sweat. Each shot she took landed clean, the ball swishing through the net. She wasn’t keeping score—she was too lost in her own head. Her emotions were a storm: guilt over Jess, frustration with herself, and that overwhelming pull toward Azzi that she could no longer ignore.

Her muscles burned, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The gym was the only place where she could let everything out without saying a word.

Azzi stepped through the gym doors quietly, her sharp eyes immediately spotting the familiar figure of Paige moving across the court. She lingered for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, watching Paige in her element. The 6'1 blonde was a force, her movements fluid, her focus intense.

Azzi smirked. There was something captivating about Paige when she was like this, pouring all her energy into the game. After a few moments of quiet admiration, Azzi decided to approach, her footsteps light as she sauntered across the gym floor. “You trying to make the hoop fall in love with you too?

Paige startled slightly, not fully processing what the younger girl said, stops mid-dribble throwing Azzi a half-smile. “Just needed to work some things out.” She bounced the ball once more before tucking it into her arm..

Azzi smirked, stepping closer. “Seems like you’ve been doing a lot of that lately.”

Paige shrugged, her eyes dropping to the ball in her hands. “Yeah, well, sometimes it’s the only thing that works.”

Azzi’s eyes softened as she reached out, gently taking the ball from Paige and setting it aside. “Or maybe you just need a better distraction.”

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You offering?”

“Always,” Azzi said, her voice playful but her expression serious. She took another step closer, her hand reaching out to brush against Paige’s. Without hesitation, she intertwined their fingers, giving Paige’s hand a gentle squeeze.

The gesture was simple but grounding, and Paige felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. She glanced down at their joined hands, her heart skipping a beat.

Azzi tilted her head, her voice softer now. “You’ve got this look on your face, like the world’s sitting on your shoulders. What’s going on, Paige?”

Paige hesitated, her thumb unconsciously brushing over Azzi’s knuckles. “It’s...complicated.”

Azzi smiled gently. “When isn’t it?” She leaned in slightly, pressing a soft kiss to Paige’s cheek—the same spot she has been gravitating towards lately when she wanted to offer comfort without pushing too far. “Take your time. I’m here.”

Paige closed her eyes briefly, the warmth of Azzi’s kiss lingering. “You make it sound so easy.”

Azzi chuckled. “That’s because you make everything else look so hard.” She squeezed Paige’s hand again, her thumb now drawing small circles against Paige’s skin. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now, you know.”

Paige let out a shaky breath, her gaze meeting Azzi’s. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“It’s a gift,” Azzi said, her smirk returning. “But seriously, Paige. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Paige looked at her for a long moment, the weight of Azzi’s words settling in her chest. “Thanks, Az,” she said softly.

Azzi smiled, leaning in just a bit closer. “Anytime, P.”

For a while, they stood there, the only sound the faint creak of the gym floor beneath their feet. Azzi finally broke the silence, her tone lighter. “You know, as much as I love seeing you like this—sweaty and intense—you really should take a break. Recharge that beautiful brain of yours.”

Paige chuckled, rolling her eyes. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Nope,” Azzi said, grinning. “But that’s why you love me.”

Paige’s breath hitched slightly, but before she could respond, Azzi gave her hand one last squeeze and pulled away. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. I can tell you’re not done. Meet me later?”

Paige nodded, her voice quiet. “Yeah. Like always.”

Azzi winked before turning to leave, her presence lingering even after she disappeared through the gym doors. Paige stared after her, her hand still warm where Azzi’s fingers had been. She knew she wasn’t ready to say everything yet, but she also knew one thing for sure—she didn’t want to let Azzi go.

…

After spending a few more hours in the gym Paige opened the door to her room, expecting a quick stop before heading to Azzi’s, but the moment the light flicked on, her stomach dropped. Jess was sitting on Paige’s bed, her shoulders hunched and her eyes red from crying.

Paige froze for a moment, a knot forming in her throat. The sight was unexpected. “Jess?” Paige asked softly, trying to mask her discomfort.

Jess looked up at her, her gaze unfocused, but when she saw Paige, she stood up quickly. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know where else to go. I—I just… I didn’t want to be alone.”

Paige’s heart clenched, but she kept her voice calm. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Jess’s face crumpled again as she took a breath, barely able to hold it together. “My dad… he passed away,” she whispered. “I had to take a break before the funeral, and I just—everything’s falling apart, Paige. I don’t know who else to turn to. I really need you right now.”

Paige felt the weight of the words settle in her chest. She wanted to be there for Jess, truly, but at the same time, everything inside her screamed that she couldn't keep pretending anymore. She’d been doing that for months now, and the reality of what she’d been hiding, the feelings she’d been trying to push aside, were too strong to ignore.

“Jess, I’m so sorry,” Paige said, her voice soft, though the words felt foreign in her mouth. “But I don’t think that’s the best idea… I think we should break up.”

Jess blinked, her face going from shocked disbelief to something darker, a mixture of anger and pain. “You’re kidding, right?” she spat, standing up from the bed, pacing. “You’re doing this now? After everything?” Her voice trembled, but it didn’t take long for the hurt to turn into sharp, biting fury.

“I just—” Paige started, but Jess cut her off, her voice rising.

“You’re fucking heartless, you know that?” Jess’s words sliced through the room, and Paige flinched at the venom in her tone. “I come to you in my worst moment, and you just walk away?” Jess’s eyes were wild with rage now, the tears mixing with her anger. “I’m here grieving, and you’re just dumping me? You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t know how you’ve been with her? How you’ve been fucking her behind my back?”

Paige’s stomach churned. She never expected the words to sting this much even if they weren’t true, but Jess wasn’t done yet.

“You think I don’t see how you look at her?” Jess continued, stepping forward, her finger jabbing toward Paige in accusation. “You don’t even care about me, do you? You’re just some selfish bitch who thinks she can do whatever the hell she wants and leave me hanging when I need you most!”

Paige opened her mouth to speak, to explain herself, but Jess wasn’t finished.

“Don’t fucking act like you’re the ‘good person’ here,” Jess sneered. “You’re not. You’re just a slut who can’t keep her hands off her best friend. God, I knew I was always second choice to her, but this? You’ve been making excuses for months. You’re such a fucking coward, Paige. You’ve been playing me this whole time.”

Jess’s words hit harder than anything Paige had expected. She stood there, frozen, feeling the sting of each insult. But despite the tears welling up in her eyes, she didn’t fight back. She didn’t say anything. She just stood there stoically, taking it, letting Jess’s words sink in.

“You think you’re better than me, but you’re just as fucked up as the rest of us,” Jess spat, her chest heaving as she took in a breath. “Maybe worse. You’re a fucking liar, Paige. Always have been. Always will be.”

The room fell into an unbearable silence, except for the sound of Jess’s heavy breathing. Her face was twisted in a mix of grief and disgust, and Paige could barely look at her. She wanted to say something—anything���to make this stop, but all she could do was stand there, feeling the weight of what felt like the world on her shoulders.

Finally, Jess’s voice broke, though it was laced with rage. “You know what? Fine. You’re done with me. I get it. But don’t you dare pretend like you’re some fucking angel when you’re just as much of a mess as I am. Go to her. Go be with your precious little Azzi. I hope she’s worth it.”

Jess stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. The sound of the door banging against the frame echoed through Paige’s mind like a hammer.

Paige stood there for a moment, her chest tightening, her heart pounding. The silence in the room was deafening. And then, as if on cue, the tears came.

They started slow at first, the first tear falling down her cheek like a steady drip. But once the dam broke, they came in a flood, her entire body shaking as she collapsed onto the bed.

She just wanted it to stop.

She buried her face in her hands, her body trembling as the weight of everything she’d been holding in finally spilled out. She had waited so long to try and do the right thing. She’d tried to be a good person for Jess, to make things work, she basically forced herself to be with Jess so she wouldn’t be embarrassed but it was never right. Not in the way she felt for Azzi. She had put herself in this impossible position, and now, after everything, she was being told how awful she was for trying to make things right.

Her breath hitched, and the sobs came harder. She slid down onto the bed, curling into herself, trying to catch her breath. Her head spun, and she just wished Azzi was here. She wanted to feel Azzi’s warmth, her gentle touch, something to remind her that she wasn’t as terrible as Jess had made her feel.

…

Azzi paced around her dorm room, glancing at the clock. Paige should’ve been here by now, she had texted Azzi that she was leaving the gym a while ago. Her stomach twisted, a strange unease settling in. She’d tried calling, but Paige didn’t pick up. A flash of worry crept up on her. After a few moments of hesitation, Azzi grabbed her phone and decided to checked Paige’s location—her friend was just a few doors down in her suite.

Something wasn’t right.

Azzi threw on her jacket and grabbed her things. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. As she started walking toward the door, her phone buzzed. It was Ice.

Azzi’s pulse spiked.

"Hey," Ice’s voice came through the phone, a little strained. "You need to come over. Paige... Paige has been crying. I don’t know what happened, but she won’t talk to me about it."

Azzi didn’t wait for another word. She practically ran out the door, not even bothering to grab her keys as she bolted for Paige’s suite.

When she arrived, Ice was standing by the door, giving her a strained smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "She’s in there," Ice said, stepping aside to let Azzi in. "I don’t know what’s going on, but... just be gentle with her, okay? She needs you Azzi."

Azzi nodded, her chest tight as she made her way to Paige’s room. The door was cracked open, and as she stepped inside, the soft glow of the neon lights illuminated the chaos of Paige’s room. Paige was curled up on her bed, her face streaked with tears. Her eyes were swollen and red, and her expression was a mix of exhaustion and devastation. The sight alone was enough to break Azzi’s heart into a thousand pieces.

"Paige," Azzi whispered, her voice cracking. She moved to the side of the bed, kneeling down beside the blonde, her heart shattering even more when Paige didn’t even look up at her. "Baby, what’s wrong?" Azzi whispered again, slipping into a familiar tone as she reached out to gently touch her friend’s cheek.

Paige didn’t answer immediately. She just sniffled, her body trembling as she fought to hold herself together. Azzi noticed this and, without hesitation, slipped under the blankets next to her. She eased herself into a comfortable position, pulling Paige gently against her chest. She wrapped her arms around the older girl and traced small hearts on her back with her fingers, just trying to offer comfort, to let Paige know she was there.

It didn’t take long for Paige to begin speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. "Jess... Jess came to my room today," she began, her words broken. "Her dad... he passed away. And she was asking me to go with her for the funeral. But I... I couldn’t. I can’t be with her anymore, Azzi. I—" Paige hiccupped on a sob, her voice cracking. "She just... she called me horrible names. Told me I was a player basically, that I’ve been lying to her, that I’m a terrible person. And the worst part is... I kind of believe her. Pretending to like her was selfish."

Azzi’s jaw clenched as she listened. Her heart ached at hearing Paige speak so softly about something so painful. The thought of Jess saying those things to her, especially in such a vulnerable moment, made Azzi furious. She could feel the anger building in her chest, and if she ever saw Jess again, she’d be sure to make her know just how wrong she was.

But that wasn’t her priority now.

Azzi tightened her grip on Paige, lifting her chin to make their eyes meet. "Paige, stop. You are not a bad person. You never have been. It’s okay to put yourself first. And you’re not a player for having feelings for someone else. You deserve to be happy, to be with someone who makes you feel good—who makes you feel safe."

Paige’s lip quivered, and her eyes welled up again. "I don’t know anymore, Azzi. I just feel... I don’t know who I am."

"Yes, you do," Azzi reassured, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair away from Paige’s face. "You’re Paige. You’re strong, you’re kind, you’re brave. You’ve done everything you can for Jess because you care, but this? This is about you now. You deserve to be loved the way you’ve always dreamed of. And I can’t sit by and let you think you’re anything less than incredible."

After a while Paige finally let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly, the tension beginning to ease from her shoulders. Azzi’s words settled in her chest, a warmth spreading through her as she realized just how much she needed this—needed Azzi.

"I’m so sorry, Azzi. Thank you for dealing with me." Paige whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Azzi returned the smile, brushing her lips against Paige’s forehead in a soft kiss. "I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’ll always be here for you."

Paige let out a soft chuckle, the sound almost foreign to her after the storm of tears. "You’re such a tease," she murmured, her voice lightening.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her smirk playful. "What? I’m just showing you some love."

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. "Yeah, love, huh? I think you’re a little too comfortable with that, Azzi."

Azzi grinned. "Maybe I just can’t resist you."

Paige’s smile widened, her gaze softening as she leaned in slightly, her voice low and teasing. "Well, you’ll just have to try harder, then."

Azzi’s lips curled into a smirk, her eyes gleaming.

They spent the rest of the evening together, the weight of the world slowly lifting from Paige’s shoulders as they joked, flirted, and just spent time in each other’s company. Eventually, they settled in to watch a movie. Paige’s head rested against Azzi’s shoulder as the movie played, but it wasn’t long before she drifted off, a peaceful smile on her face. Azzi kissed her cheek gently, watching her sleep with a tenderness that filled her chest.

The movie continued playing, forgotten in the background, but neither of them cared. Paige was safe, and Azzi was right where she belonged—by her side.

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

The Third Love

Yunho x female reader Requested? Yes! Request: ‘friends to lovers ateez yunho fic 🥺💞’ Word count: 4k

The Three Love Theory The first love: the one that teaches you what love even is.  The second love: the hard love, the one that teaches you a lot of lessons.  The third love: the unexpected love, the one that’s meant to last. 

Yunho doesn’t know if he believes in love. 

He sees it and hears about it all the time. It’s a couple on the street that look totally head over heels for each other. Or it’s one of his friends wearing a dopey, lovesick expression after a date or simply receiving a text. Or it’s the hundreds of romcoms out there that were surely inspired by something real. He knows others feel it. But every run-in he’s had with love has left him feeling bitter and perhaps sometimes a little more hollow than when he started. 

He met you four years ago. You’re a hopeless romantic and love the idea of dating. He thinks that’s probably one of the reasons why you and San get along so well sometimes - it’s your shared love for love. San has known you for a long time but sort of lost contact when he left home to pursue being an idol. 

Then, one day San was overjoyed to find out that you’d taken a job here in Seoul and he couldn’t wait to reconnect and introduce you to his group members that had become a sort of family away from home. Yunho felt the stirring of something right away when he met you, but couldn’t quite put a name to it. 

You became a fixture in the dorms quickly. There were many nights that they’d come home from a late practice or recording and find you on the couch with some snacks having made yourself comfortable while waiting for them. Not a single one of them would ever say anything about it, typically joining you to unwind. 

On one of these occasions, the topic had turned to dating. Mingi was recovering about a recent breakup, one that had hurt quite a bit. You’d simply said, “it’s a second love then.” You’d been met with quite a few questioning glances and you explained. 

The first love was ideal. It’s the one that you get swept up in fast by, and it might fizzle out just as fast but you’ll never forget it because it’s your first. 

The second is the hard love. The one that you come away from learning a lot about yourself and others. It’ll hurt, but you’ll be better for it in the long run. You say this breakup is Mingi’s hard love. The acknowledgment, or maybe even just being to put a name to it as if it’s a universal experience, seems to make Mingi feel better and that was really the whole point of the conversation. 

You sigh and shrug about the third when asked. You say it’s supposedly the unexpected love. The one you didn’t realize you needed and it’s usually the one that lasts. You even look a little perplexed at the thought, because how do you find something unexpected?

Yunho’s in the same boat as you. You can’t go looking for unexpected. You have to wait for it to find you. 

~

Yunho knows you for only a couple years before it clicks. You hadn’t dated much before moving to Seoul. There were a few ‘super casual’ boyfriends as you call them - guys that asked you out and were nice enough, but you didn’t feel much for them. You’d agreed to the dates that you went on because there was no reason not to, but you didn't feel any particular way about things not working out. 

Your first love comes in the form of a guy named Junseo. He’s a new coworker of yours and Yunho distinctly remembers how giddy you were to tell San about him the day you met him. The next week, you’re even more excited to tell him that Junseo asked you out on a date. 

Yunho thinks he’s never seen you so happy, and San even agrees, at least when it comes to dating. It’s confirmed when you say that it’s never felt like this. You’re absolutely starry-eyed about everything Junseo does - the simple dates, the flowers, the gentlemanly behavior, the sex and intimacy. 

You don’t talk about that last part very much, but it’s something the boys tease you about, if only because of how you flush at the mention. Your mood can’t be dampened though, not even when Jongho rolls his eyes and says something like, “yes, he’s supposed to do all of that.”

But your mood does eventually dampen. When asked you shrug it off at first, but the boys press the issue. Junseo is distant lately. You don’t see him much anymore, not even around the office, and some of that effort has began to dwindle. The helpless look in your eyes tugs at Yunho’s heart strings, like you’re watching things slip through your fingers and can’t do anything to stop it. He enjoyed seeing you happy, even if there was some unknown conflict brewing inside of him sometimes. 

Then came the fateful day, you came over to the dorms, clearly upset. Junseo had gotten another job in another city and would be moving promptly. You said he apologized for the surprise, but he didn’t want to discuss it with you without some solid plans. This lights a fire under Yunho, as well as a few other members, because it sure sounds like he held onto that information so he could hang on to you in case this job fell through. 

San simply bundles you up in a blanket on the couch and feeds you ice cream while a romcom plays on the TV. Yunho simmers in anger that he can’t quite decipher all night. 

~

Your second love comes in the form of a guy named Siwoo. Even Yunho thinks he's pretty charming the few times he's met him. In private, you admit that you think he’s the third love because of how he seemed to come out of thin air and he’s kind of everything you ever wanted. 

You met him at the florist. He was there picking up flowers for his mother and immediately introduced himself and asked to get to know you. You were starry-eyed for everything about him too, but the more the boys heard about him, the more they weren’t sure about this. 

He worked crazy hours for an office employee and the most convenient time for you to see him was late at night. He’d come to your apartment in a suit and tie, and it was convincing. But at best, he was a workaholic that needed to take a vacation or two and leave at 5pm like most people, and at worst, he was doing something else with his time before he called you just before midnight a few times a week. 

Then there were the crazy amount of business trips. He’d disappear for weeks at a time, claiming to be super busy and unable to even send a text, only to reappear like there hadn’t just been radio silence. You defend him, claiming he’s just incredibly hard working. But within the group (and not around you), the boys debated if this was a red flag disguised as a hardworking nature. Yeosang argued that while he still wasn’t crazy about Siwoo, Ateez themselves kept some crazy schedules. Was that a red flag too? Wooyoung countered that as busy as he was, his phone was on him nearly 24/7 and he had moments to send a ‘Hi, how’s your day’ text at the very least, so to him it was a red flag. The group was divided on this.

And it should have been a red flag. The rest of the boys were busy and you and Yunho went out to grab some dinner. And who would you see but Siwoo?

But he’s with another woman, who’s wearing a big, sparkly ring and looks totally in love. They’re obviously on a date, and it’s not a new thing, judging by how he's wearing a ring too.

Yunho gets your food to go and lets you cry in the car. You say between sobs that he was supposed to be in Japan. And now you’re coming to terms as you let out a seemingly never ending steam of tears that you were a fool. The late night visits must have been him sneaking away from his partner. The long business trips were more than likely him having prior commitments with his partner and the radio silence was him attempting not to get caught. And those flowers he was buying when you met him? Probably not for his mother at all now that you think about it. 

Yunho lets you lean into him and cry for what feels like hours. At one point, he even pulls you half into his lap, if only because your sobs seem to ease the closer he holds you as he rubs your back soothingly. He hates it. And he hates Siwoo. 

But this is when two things click. Siwoo is your second love - the hard love that comes with lessons, and perhaps some trust issues in the future. Not the third love that you hoped he’d be. 

And Yunho can identify his feelings swirling in his gut now. It’s love, but to what degree and of which kind he’s not certain. And perhaps a little bit of jealousy is swirling too. 

~

You take a while to get over Siwoo. After you cried in his car, Yunho took you back to the blessedly empty dorm and helped you craft a breakup text between bites of reheated food, complete with the news that you know he’s been two-timing (or more, but it’s not worth finding out). Then you block him. You cry some more that night and your mood is impacted for weeks. 

You ask Yunho to not tell the whole story to the boys, lest they be out for blood. Yunho raises an eyebrow at you because he’s out for blood, but eventually relents, sticking to the story that you feed the others. It wasn’t going to work out and that’s all Yunho knows. That doesn’t stop the boys, particularly San, from pressing Yunho about it individually, since this breakup appeared to happen overnight while Yunho was with you. Yunho keeps his promise, though he’s still bitter about how things went for you and would love nothing more than to start an angry mob on your behalf. 

The surprise for Yunho is that his group members’ looks turn sly the moment your mood seems to lift. You leave the room and Wooyoung is pinning him with a look. “So, how long have you been into her?”

Yunho plays dumb. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“I mean that you guys have gotten exceptionally close since she broke up with that demon,” Wooyoung says. They don’t dare utter Siwoo’s name in the dorms or around you. It’s not just because of what your reaction might be. It’s on sight for any of them if they ever run into Siwoo, even if they don’t all know the whole story. You were hurt and that was all that mattered to them. 

Wooyoung continues, “You guys spend a lot of time together now, that’s all.” Wooyoung tries to seem innocent with this observation, but Yunho recognizes the mischief in his friend’s eyes. 

Yunho raises an eyebrow. “You spend just as much time with her. Are you into her?”

Wooyoung shrugs casually. “Sure, I’d date her. But I won’t step on your toes, don’t worry.” He looks so smug as the conversation shifts when you come back into the room. 

Yunho wonders how transparent he is. And maybe what they’re actually seeing, because he has no idea what it looks like on the surface. He can barely define what’s below the surface. 

~

Things keep shifting, or at least they do for Yunho. He is closer with you, not just in how much you both talk and spend time together, but physically as well. It happens so gradually that he barely realizes it happened. 

You go out with the boys to a club or bar, and he’s the one you hook your hand with to make sure you both stay with the group. 

You’ve basically claimed his passenger seat, and he doesn’t think anything of it to send his group members to the backseat. It starts as a ‘ladies, first’ sort of thing, but your name might as well be on the seat because he starts to feel weird about anyone else being in it. 

If you need to get something off a high shelf, he’s the first one you look at. Not that it matters, because he’s already approaching before you even look at him. He also doesn’t think anything of coming up behind you and placing a hand on your hip or waist as he gets what you need, his front pressed against your back. He really doesn’t mean anything by it, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it most of the time because it feels so natural. 

And he really doesn’t mean anything by it when the group is piled up in one of the dorm living rooms to watch a movie or play a video game and he pulls you into his lap to keep you from sitting on the floor. His hands find your hips and pull you down, arms folding around your waist when you fall into him. It happens in the blink of an eye. 

He doesn’t realize right away that he does any of this 99% of the time, and you show next to no reaction so he doesn’t think you realize either. But his group members do. What tips him off about how often these little things happen is the look his group members give him. He pulls you into his lap at the table when they’ve ran out of seats and Hongjoong is smiling and raising an eyebrow at him. Or he kicks Wooyoung to the back seat of his car and Wooyoung playfully rolls his eyes and mumbles something about preferential treatment. Or when you don’t think anything of sleeping over in Yunho’s bed with him, Seonghwa kind of looks like he might be planning a wedding. 

Once Yunho realizes where things are going, it petrifies him. He doesn’t want to be another first or second love for you. And he wonders what kind of love you’d be for him, because he’s been burned too. He’s not sure if he even wants to cross that boundary at all and risk the friendship you two have built. But he’s helpless to stop the way things are going now as the lines get a little blurrier with each passing day. 

~

San is the one to truly corner him about it. “What’s happening with you and Y/N?” 

Yunho raises an eyebrow. “Nothing? We’re friends.”

San narrows his eyes, nodding, though Yunho thinks it’s probably not out of agreement. San points to himself. “I’m friends with her. And I recognize that I’m pretty touchy. But there’s a whole new level to what’s going on with you guys.” Yunho stares, not really sure what to say. San purses his lips. “You know, I’d be fine with it, right? Not that I think you care much about approval, but we’d all be happy. Thrilled, really.”

“But why?” Yunho finds himself asking, even though questioning at all would make him run the risk of being found out. 

“Because it’s unexpected,” San shrugs. Yunho gives him a blank look and San rolls his eyes. “The three love theory. It’s unexpected for both of you, obviously, because you guys don’t even realize that you already act like a couple.”

Yunho shrugs and says he doesn’t know, which is the only genuine answer he has. 

~

The thing is, once he sees it, he can’t unsee it. It starts to eat him alive when he realizes how often his fingers twitch to reach out to you. Or how he’s always got you in his periphery, even if you aren’t the center of attention in the conversation. Or how he just assumes you both have plans when he’s free, and feels let down if you have prior commitments. 

For a while, there’s a suffocating element to it - this drive of unknown origin to be attached to you 24/7. Yunho’s a friendly, social person, but even he likes his space sometimes, and you are the biggest exception to the rule that he’s ever ran into. 

But then, he notices how it’s you that initiates things too. You’re the one that grabs his hand in a crowd. You’re the one that looks to him for help with something. You’re the one that asks for rides places. 

And like tonight during game night and the dorm, you’re the one to wedge yourself in between Yunho and Mingi's seats and fall into Yunho’s lap. He lets you, because of course he does. His fingers were itching for that spot on your hips to pull you in anyway. 

You’ve warned that you’ve had a long day and are pretty tired. So it’s not a surprise to anyone when you tap out of the next round at some point. It is somewhat of a surprise at how you curl up into Yunho’s chest. He plays a couple more rounds before tapping out as well and sitting back. You’re out like a light, unaware of any game night chaos happening around you. 

Hongjoong is giving him a look. Most of his group members not engrossed in the game are. “This is getting out of hand,” Hongjoong teases. 

“What is?” Yunho plays dumb, far more aware of what this might look like than he ever has been before. 

Hongjoong gives him an unimpressed look. “You’re not doing yourself any favors by dodging this. You need to start being honest.”

He feels all eyes on him besides yours now, game forgotten. “You guys are so nosy,” Yunho admonishes, though it does little good. 

“Remember what I said,” San muses before moving on to another topic. 

Yunho eventually carries you to bed and settles you in under the covers. He does remember what San said, but while lying next to you in bed, he’s not sure what to do with that. He lets you curl up into his side and is helpless to doze off before he figures it out. 

Perhaps he might never figure it out. 

~

You’ve met somebody. 

Ryung is a guy you met on a dating app. Yunho is a little bit crushed to find out that you downloaded them in the first place but knows he has no room to say anything, so he bites his tongue. 

He doesn’t miss the look at his group members give him here and there as you tell them about how you matched with Ryung and had been messaging with him for a few days now. He bites his tongue about that as well. You’ve taken your time getting past Siwoo, and it was only a matter of time before someone else would come along and show interest. 

Ryung is trying to meet up - for a date, for a coffee, for a hookup, you aren’t totally sure, which is why you haven’t committed to anything yet. You say there’s some security in just sticking to messages and sort of getting to know each other right now. Yunho swallows harshly because what’s not secure about him? Right here. Sitting next to you. 

You don’t notice that Yunho’s not said much tonight until it’s time for bed. He doesn’t say anything as you both go to his room and get ready to settle in, and you ask him if he’s okay. He says ‘of course’.

Yunho lays in bed next to you and lets you curl into his side like you always do, arm wrapped around you. It feels like he has to say something, so he tries to be casual. “I didn’t know you were on dating apps.”

You grip his t-shirt a little bit. “I wasn’t until recently. One of my coworkers encouraged it, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt.”

Yunho hums. He supposes it doesn’t hurt if you aren’t him. “Going on a date then?”

You shrug against him. “I don’t know. Do you think I should?” 

He doesn’t know why this question, out of all things you two have ever said or done, feels like standing at a precipice. It’s so risky to say anything besides, “yes, of course,” but he feels like he’s about to burst. 

“Selfishly?” He hesitates. You lift your head up to look at him and he’s helpless to not meet your eyes. “No. I wish you wouldn’t.”

You look confused, but perhaps not as confused as he expected you to be. Maybe you realized how things had shifted lately too. “Selfishly?” Yunho just nods, combing back your hair. “Why?”

Yunho likes to think he’s pretty brave, and perhaps even a little reckless sometimes, but this might even be too much for him. His mouth feels a little thick when he admits, “I don’t really like to watch you date other people. I wish it was me.”

Your eyes flare incrementally. You place your hand against his cheek and the whole thing is sickeningly sweet in a way that Yunho isn’t familiar with. “How long have you felt this way?”

Yunho shrugs. “I’m not sure, really. It kind of crept up on me.”

You give him a little smile. “Me too.” 

Like a lot of things with you, Yunho is helpless, so he leans in and slowly kisses you. It’s something he gets lost in, especially when you kiss him back. He only stops when he’s breathless. 

You sigh deeply against his lips. “What now?” 

“Delete your dating apps. I’m taking you out tomorrow.” 

You smile, rolling to grab your phone, unlocking it and handing it to him. “You do the honors.” 

And what an honor it is to hit the little X on each of those apps. 

~

You and Yunho try to be discreet at first. On the surface, not a lot changes in front of the group members. But the thing is, there’s no such thing as privacy in the dorm. 

Yunho has you in his lap and he’s been kissing you for what feels like hours and hopes there’s no end in sight. He could spend the rest of his life like this. 

The end in sight is Mingi barging into the room. You pull back from Yunho at the intrusion, but to his relief don’t try to scramble off of him or anything. You both pin Mingi with a look of irritation, though it doesn’t matter because Mingi is reeling back out of the room with his eyes covered, slamming the door behind him. Screams echo behind him. 

You give Yunho a mildly entertained look from where you’re perched on his lap, hands clasping his shoulders. “I guess the secret's out.”

Yunho laughs, fingers gliding up and down your back. “I’m not sure how much of a secret it was to begin with, baby.”

You laugh and lean into his lips again, but it’s interrupted by the loud announcement from the other room. Now the whole group must know. They’re cheering. Yunho stands up, placing you on the ground and walking to the bedroom door. “Are we facing the music now?” You tease, wondering if you should follow him. 

Yunho snorts, flipping the lock and coming back to you. “Not a chance.” As you giggle against his lips, he does think he believes in love now. 

[realcube]

dilf decemeber

day one ⭑ tsukishima kei ⭑ hot neighbour x reader

tw : age gap, second-hand embarrassment

you know you shouldn't, but when you see the flickering lights of his car pulling into the apartements' resident parking bay, followed by the whirring of the elevator as it brings him up to your shared floor, you can't help but press your ear against your door from the inside to hear if he bought his kids home with him today.

they always fill the apartment complex with such a jovial and chipper energy; the other residents of your floor complain that his kids are too loud when kei brings them home after work, but you think 6PM is a perfectly reasonable time for them to be a bit boisterous.

regardless, it was a shame when all you heard was his lone feet dragging over to his apartment's door. but on the bright side, it meant you might get a moment alone with him tonight.

originally your plan was to let him get changed and have a moment to himself first before you started bothering him, but you quickly realised the food you made would be cold by then, and you'd rather him enjoy it while it's fresh and hot.

so without delay, you throw on a pair of flats and cute hoodie over your pyjamas and rush over to his apartment door, knocking on it eagerly.

it did concern you that greeting him so soon after he finished work would be irritating for him, and the last thing you would want is to be on his bad side, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. whenever you talk to him, even if he has his phone in one hand trying to make a call, and his kid pulling on his other arm, his gaze still appears to relax when looking at you.

and you hope he really does like you and this isn't all in your head, as you've also had your sights set on him ever since he moved in next to you. something about the way he sents off in the morning with his fitted beige suit on and hair perfectly pulled back. how stern and determined he looks behind those glasses in the morning, but come evening, it's typically melted into a stirring pit of stress and fatigue. but he still looks hot hauling himself to his door.

that why you decided it would be nice if you brought him something to eat — at least then he wouldn't have to worry about making dinner himself. you cooked a lasagna because you heard it was his kids' favourite meal.

it took a minute or so but eventually tsukishima dragged himself over to the door and pulled it open. "yes?" he calls out in a gruff, low tone. evidently he was expecting someone else, as when his eyes fall upon you in his doorway, he visibly straightens his posture, clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. "oh, (y/n). can i help you?"

"yes! i mean, no. uh," you catch yourself awkwardly strumbling over words already, while he just silently snickers, "i made this for you and your family. i hope you enjoy it." you offer him the lasagna, and he hesitantly reaches out and takes it.

"thanks. but it's not poison, is it? because i know how badly you all want my kids to be quiet." he jokes, but you immediately jump to defend yourself, abash at his implication.

"oh, no. of course not. i actually don't mind your kids making noise, i think it's sweet that they have so much energy and they should be able to express—"

tsukishima interupts your ramage but smirking and placing a large hand on your shoulder, "i'm kidding. i want them to shut up as much as the rest of you do." he says light-heartedly, glancing half-lidded between the lasagna in his hands and your glowing face, "but even if this was poison, i think i'd still have a bite. looks pretty decent."

"pretty decent?" you laugh.

"yeah, decent. might even be edible." he nods, trying to suppress a cheeky smile, "but i need to try it first to confirm. want to join me?"

"join you?" you repeat in shock, raising your eyebrows.

"yes. you're the one who made this, after all. you should try some." he turns around to head inside his apartment, looking at you from over his shoulder and quirking an eyebrow, "unless you've done enough volunteer work for today. you probably have better things to do then entertain the elderly." he teases, and you trail after him, following him inside.

"i always have time for the old and senile."

"well, aren't you just an angel sent from heaven?" he says mockingly, still brandishing a playful smirk, as he sets out places and begins to serve the slices of lasagna.

he motions for you to take a seat across from his at the dinner table, and you do so. he sits down too, after retrieving a tall bottle of red wine and placing it on the table for you to gawk at.

"ooh, that looks fancy. what's the occasion?"

he rolls his eyes and works at uncorking the bottle and serving it, "first childless dinner in three months. though, that's assuming that you count as an adult, which i'm not too sure about."

you can tell there is banter in his tone, so you reciprocate and reply in a light-hearted manner, scoffing playfully, "what the hell do you mean?"

"i can see your rainbow socks sticking out from your shoes." he replies monotonously, which causes you look down in dismay. and indeed, there it was. but instead of being outwardly embarrassed by it, you agonisingly try to conceal it with confidence and repartee.

"so what? they're comfortable and economical." you weren't entirely certain why you related your socks to the economy but fortunately tsukishima moved on. as he was pouring the drinks into your respestive glasses, he noticed you hadn't started eating yet so he encouraged you to do so.

"go on. what're you waiting for? are you waiting for me to take the first bite so you don't have to consume the poison?"

you roll your eyes and just to prove a point in a dramatic fashion, you cut a large section of the lasagna off and attempt to stuff it into your mouth. and for the most part you do, but in the process, a large serving of tomato sauce spills down your cheek.

you hastily grab a napkin and begin to clean it up, while tsukishima just sits across the table and laughs. loudly. "wow, angel. your status of an adult is really coming into question again."

you scoff, and once your finished chewing your large portion of lasagna and have seemingly wiped your face clean of any remaining sauce, you mutter, "just because i've not got cataracts yet, doesn't mean i fail to qualify as an adult."

"wow, rude. i don't have cataracts; these are regular glasses for regularly blind people." he teases, then follows it up by pointing to your cheek, "and it seems like you need them more than me. you missed a spot."

your face flushes in embarrassment, as you pick up the napkin and follow his gesture to locate the smudge, "where is it?"

he leans in closer, until his hands is near to your face, then quickly runs his thumb against your cheek — right beside your lips — and smearing cold sauce against your skin in the process. "right there." he chuckles.

you groan, using the napkin to wipe it away again. "so childish." you shake your head disapprovingly, and he just raises his eyebrows at you.

"well, that makes two of us."

btw ik it's not said explicitly but he's obviously divorced, this isn't a cheating fic.

[playboysaleen]

Through Ash and Iron (2)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

Summary: Through Ash and Iron plunges you into the heart of Piltover’s gritty streets, where you’ve always felt the weight of your family’s failures. Rejected from the Junior Enforcer Program, your anger burns brighter than ever—until one fateful punch changes everything. The eyes of Piltover’s elite may look down on you, but it’s the wild eyes of Jinx that truly see you. She’s chaos personified, and you’re drawn to the destruction she promises. But that’s not all. Caitlyn Kiramman, a poised enforcer with a soft spot for rebels like you, offers you a chance to rewrite your future—if you can control the rage you can’t seem to escape.Torn between the order Caitlyn represents and the dangerous freedom Jinx offers, you stand at the crossroads of two worlds. As your power grows, so does the tension between these two women. One promises a chance at belonging, while the other ignites a fire you didn’t know you had. But the choices you make will change everything—not just for you, but for both cities teetering on the edge of war. Who will you choose? And how much of yourself will you lose along the way?

Warnings: Violence duh, gay panic(lol), cursing, all that jazz (whatever you seen in Arcane is what you gon see here)This is also a slight AU. (She/her)

Word Count: 5.9k

A/n: Reader is masc cause this was typically just for me to read but i decided to share it with you all so. Enjoy.

___________________________

The soft chime of a bell echoed through the modest shop as Caitlyn stepped inside. She adjusted the cuffs of her coat, scanning the space for you. The shop was a humble place—wooden counters, shelves stacked with tools and gadgets, and an air of organized clutter.

A middle-aged woman stood behind the counter, her brows furrowing in suspicion at Caitlyn’s pristine uniform. “Can I help you?” she asked, her tone sharp.

Caitlyn cleared her throat. “I’m looking for your daughter. She—uh—was released from custody yesterday. I wanted to check on her.”

The woman blinked, her suspicion giving way to surprise. “You’re a Kiramman, aren’t you?”

The name seemed to ripple through the shop like a shockwave. A boy, about fifteen with neatly combed hair and sharp, pale features, peeked out from the backroom, his expression caught between awe and curiosity. Caitlyn nodded politely, ignoring the knot forming in her stomach.

“She hasn’t been home,” the woman said with a shrug, her voice carrying an air of dismissal. “Not surprising, really. She’s always been… difficult.”

“Trouble, if we’re being honest,” added a man seated in the corner, presumably your father. He barely looked up from the newspaper he was skimming. “Never fit in, not like our boy here.”

The boy stood straighter at the mention, his demeanor clean and polished—a stark contrast to your rough edges.

Caitlyn’s gaze darted between them, the pieces slowly falling into place. There was something off about the dynamic, something deeper than simple familial tension. The more they talked about you, the more it became apparent that you were the outsider in your own family.

“And she’s nothing like the rest of us,” your mother continued, shaking her head. “Always running off, getting into fights… we’re better off when she’s not here causing trouble.”

Caitlyn’s heart sank, her chest tightening with unease. Her eyes drifted over to a family photo on the wall. The boy’s resemblance to his parents was undeniable. But you… you were missing from the picture entirely.

“Well,” Caitlyn said, forcing a polite smile, “thank you for your time.”

She turned on her heel and left, her thoughts racing as she stepped out into the bright morning light. “She doesn’t even look like them,” she muttered under her breath, her mind spiraling. “Something’s not right. I need help… and fast.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 　

When you woke, your head pounded like a drum, and your body ached in ways you hadn’t felt in years. Your hands were bound behind you, ropes digging into your wrists, and the chair beneath you was cold and unsteady. The room smelled like oil and damp metal, the faint hum of machinery in the background.

You groaned, rolling your sore jaw. “What the hell…?”

“Good morning, sunshine,” came a gruff voice.

You lifted your head, blinking away the haze to see a tall woman leaning against the wall. Her broad shoulders were imposing, and her metallic arm gleamed in the dim light.

“Who are you?” you croaked, your voice hoarse.

“Sevika,” she said simply, stepping closer. “And you are?”

You squinted at her, confused and defiant. “Pretty sure you already know the answer to that if you went through the trouble of tying me up.”

Sevika smirked faintly. “I know what you are. A little street rat with a chip on her shoulder. But I’m curious about who you are… before you meet the person who asked for you.”

“Who?” you demanded, your mind racing.

Sevika ignored the question, circling you like a predator toying with its prey. “You don’t look like much,” she mused. “But I’ve heard stories. Fists like hammers, a temper to match. People like you don’t belong in Piltover.”

“And people like you don’t belong outside a junkyard,” you shot back, gritting your teeth.

Sevika chuckled darkly. “Cute. Got any other tricks, or is sarcasm your only weapon?”

“Let me go, and I’ll show you a few,” you snapped.

The banter continued, each of you trading barbs like a pair of prizefighters warming up before a match. The tension in the room thickened until the door creaked open, revealing Clagg. He was fidgety as ever, glancing nervously between you and Sevika.

“She’s coming,” Clagg announced, his tone almost reverent.

“About time,” Sevika muttered. She leaned down close to you, her metallic arm brushing against your cheek. “You’re lucky she wants to meet you. Otherwise, you’d already be in pieces.”

“Charming,” you bit out, then spat at her feet.

Sevika’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and before you could blink, she kicked the chair back. You hit the ground with a jarring thud, the air rushing out of your lungs.

“Watch your mouth, kid,” Sevika growled, her boots echoing as she walked away.

Still tied to the chair, you craned your neck to yell after her. “You think this scares me? I’ve had worse!”

Your voice bounced off the walls, but no response came. Alone again, you gritted your teeth, your frustration mounting. Whoever had gone through the trouble of taking you, they were going to regret it.

The ropes around your wrists burned as you twisted and yanked, desperate to free yourself. Every muscle in your arms screamed in protest, but you pushed through, muttering every profanity and insult you could think of under your breath.  

"Come on, you piece of—" you hissed, jerking harder at the ropes. The chair scraped against the filthy floor as you shifted your weight. "Cowards! You’re all cowards! Can’t even fight me head-on, huh?"  

The sound of a creaking door silenced your outburst. You froze, hearing light, almost playful footsteps approaching.  

Then she appeared.  

The first thing that caught your eye was her hair—a vivid blue, pulled into chaotic pigtails that swayed with every step. She moved with a strange, fluid energy, like she was dancing to a song only she could hear. Her hooded cloak hung loosely around her, barely concealing the mischievous smile spreading across her face.  

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t stop staring at her. It wasn’t just her striking features—the sharp curve of her jawline, the glint of piercings, or the deliberate sway of her stride—but her eyes. They were a haunting, electric purple that seemed to glow even in the dim light. They locked onto yours, sharp and unrelenting, as if she was peeling back every layer of your mind.  

She tilted her head, noticing your stunned expression as if she was taking inventory of your soul. Without a word, she strode forward, her boots clinking lightly against the ground. With surprising strength, she grabbed the back of your chair and lifted it upright, bringing your face level with hers.  

“Not so loud now, are we?” she teased, her voice smooth yet tinged with mockery.  

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close she was. Her lips curled into a knowing smirk as she leaned in, inspecting you like you were some kind of rare artifact.  

Her hand reached out, almost delicately, tracing a faint line over the scar that ran through your eyebrow. The sensation made you flinch slightly, but her touch was lighter than you’d expected.  

“What’s this, huh?” she mused, her finger trailing down to where a tattoo peeked out along the side of your neck. Her head tilted again, curious, as she studied the intricate lines and shapes. “A map? A secret code? Or just something to make you look cool?”  

You didn’t respond, your throat dry.  

She grinned wider at your silence. “Funny. You had so much to say earlier. All that yelling, cursing. What happened?” Her voice dropped, playful and sharp. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”  

Her teasing only made your pulse race. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as she continued to examine you like you were her newest obsession.  

Finally, she leaned back slightly, resting her hands on her hips. “You’re a fascinating one, I’ll give you that. That punch you threw at that enforcer? Oh, that was beautiful.” She sighed dreamily, spinning on her heel before whipping back around to face you. “I saw you and thought, that one’s got fire. And fire is just what I need.”  

Her words finally broke through your haze. You leaned forward, pushing your face so close to hers that the gap between you was almost nonexistent. Her eyes widened, caught off guard for a brief moment.  

“You’re insane,” you whispered, your voice low and steady.  

Her lips parted slightly, then curled into a devilish grin. “Takes one to know one, sugar.”  

Her grin widened as if your words had only fueled whatever twisted fire burned inside her. Those vivid purple eyes danced with amusement, mischief, and something far more dangerous.  

She leaned in closer, her nose nearly brushing yours, her lips curving into a sly smirk. “Insane?” she repeated, dragging the word out like it was a sweet candy she didn’t want to swallow. “Sugar, you don’t know the half of it. But you? You’re a little spark in this dull, gray world. And I like sparks.”  

Your jaw clenched, but you couldn’t look away. She was intoxicating, the kind of energy you could feel crawling under your skin. Dangerous. Chaotic. Addictive.  

Her gaze flicked down, studying the scar on your eyebrow again as if it told her a story she hadn’t finished reading. “This,” she said, lightly tapping the scar with a manicured finger, “has a tale, doesn’t it? Did you earn it in a fight? Or did someone get the better of you?”  

You jerked your head back, her finger hovering in the air where your face had been. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”  

“Ooooh,” she cooed, pretending to be wounded, clutching her chest dramatically. “Tough girl, huh? You’re even more fun than I thought.”  

She circled you slowly, her boots scuffing the floor as she moved, inspecting you from every angle. “And these tattoos… I’m dying to know what they mean. Are you some kind of treasure map, or are you just trying to look mysterious?”  

Your lips twitched into a smirk despite yourself. “Maybe both.”  

Her laughter rang out, light and airy, but with that edge that made your skin crawl and your heart race. “I knew I liked you.” She stopped behind you, leaning close to your ear, her breath brushing your neck. “So much potential, all wrapped up in a pretty little package.”  

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you shot back, though your voice betrayed the tiniest hitch.  

“Oh, I don’t need flattery,” she purred, sauntering back around to face you. She crouched down, her chin resting on her hand as she peered up at you with those piercing eyes. “I’ve already got you wrapped around my finger.”  

You barked a laugh, leaning forward as much as the ropes allowed. “You think you’ve got me figured out? Hate to break it to you, but I don’t play by anyone’s rules.”  

Her grin twisted into something darker, more dangerous. “Oh, I’m counting on that.”  

Her gaze locked with yours again, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you. The intensity of her stare was overwhelming, like she was peeling back every layer of you, reading the parts you kept hidden even from yourself.  

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you looking at?”  

Her lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. “Everything.”  

The word hung in the air, and for the first time, you felt truly out of control. It wasn’t fear—it was something far more maddening.  

“You’re full of yourself,” you muttered, breaking eye contact to glare at the floor.  

“And you’re full of surprises,” she shot back, tilting her head. “That’s why I want you, sugar. You don’t even know what you’re capable of yet, do you?”  

You snorted, finally meeting her gaze again. “And you think you do?”  

Her smirk deepened as she stood, towering over you for a moment. She leaned down, her face close enough that you could feel the heat of her breath. “Stick around, and maybe you’ll find out.”  

Before you could respond, she straightened, her manic energy returning as she twirled on her heel. “But don’t worry, sweetheart,” she called over her shoulder, “I’m not done with you yet.”  

She paused at the doorway, turning back with one final, piercing look. “Not by a long shot.”  

And just like that, she was gone, leaving you tied to the chair with your heart pounding and your mind spinning.  

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 　

The edge of Piltover where it bled into the Undercity was a liminal space, caught between the polished steel of progress and the grime of survival. Caitlyn tightened her coat as she approached the meeting spot, her sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit area until she spotted the unmistakable silhouette of Vi.  

Vi was leaning against the railing, arms crossed, her usual air of nonchalance masking the weight she always carried in these spaces. She looked up as Caitlyn approached, her smirk lighting up the otherwise somber surroundings.  

“Well, well, if it isn’t Cupcake herself,” Vi drawled, pushing off the railing and striding forward. “What brings you to the edge of the world? Couldn’t be my charm.”  

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the faint smile tugging at her lips. “Vi. Always the comedian.”  

“You know me,” Vi said with a wink, gesturing toward a ledge that overlooked the Undercity below. “Come on. Let’s catch up like old times.”  

The two of them sat side by side, the hum of Zaun’s machinery rising faintly in the background. For a moment, there was silence, the kind only two people with shared history could share.  

“So,” Vi started, leaning back on her hands. “What’s got you out here? I know you didn’t come all this way just to see me.”  

Caitlyn hesitated, her fingers brushing the edges of the folded paper in her coat pocket. “I need your help, but… I want to ask you something first.”  

Vi raised an eyebrow. “Shoot.”  

“Did you ever know someone—when you were younger—who didn’t quite fit in on either side of the city?” Caitlyn asked, her voice cautious.  

Vi’s expression shifted, her smirk fading into something more contemplative. “You’re fishing, Cait. But yeah. There was someone.”  

Caitlyn tilted her head, curiosity piqued. “Who?”  

Vi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she stared out over the Undercity. “Back when Vander was still running things, there was this kid who’d come around sometimes. Silco’s kid.”  

Caitlyn blinked. “Silco had a child?”  

Vi nodded, her gaze distant. “Yeah. He didn’t bring her around much. Vander always told us to play nice with her, though. Said she wasn’t like her old man. And he was right. She was a good kid. Quiet, but tough in her own way. Ekko and I used to call her ‘little spark’ because she’d light up whenever she got into trouble with us.”  

“What happened to her?” Caitlyn asked softly.  

Vi’s jaw tightened, and her voice dropped. “The bridge. You know the story—when everything went to hell, and we lost everything. I always thought she was one of the ones who didn’t make it.”  

Caitlyn frowned, her hand brushing her coat pocket again. “She must’ve been important to you.”  

Vi glanced at her, a sly grin creeping back onto her face. “What’s with all the questions, Cait? You getting attached to someone?”  

Caitlyn straightened, her cheeks heating slightly. “That’s not—”  

Vi chuckled, cutting her off. “Relax, Cupcake. I’m just messing with you. But the way you’re talking, you’ve got a soft spot for whoever this is.”  

Caitlyn huffed, crossing her arms. “I do not.”  

“Sure,” Vi teased, her grin widening. “Now, are you gonna tell me what this is all about, or do I have to guess?”  

Reluctantly, Caitlyn pulled the folded paper from her pocket and handed it to Vi. “This is who I’m talking about.”  

Vi unfolded the paper and stared at the mugshot. Her smirk dropped instantly, replaced by a rare look of genuine shock.  

“What?” Caitlyn asked, alarmed by her reaction. “What is it?”  

Vi’s fingers tightened on the photo as she stared at it, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s her.”  

Caitlyn blinked, confused. “Her?”  

Vi looked up, her eyes meeting Caitlyn’s with a mixture of disbelief and dread. “That’s Silco’s kid. The one I told you about.”  

Caitlyn’s breath caught in her throat. “That’s impossible.”  

“It’s not,” Vi said firmly, her voice steadier now. “I’d recognize her anywhere. She’s older, sure, but it’s her.”  

Caitlyn stared at Vi, the weight of the revelation settling over her like a storm cloud. “If she’s Silco’s child… then she’s in more danger than I thought.”  

Vi nodded grimly, folding the paper carefully before handing it back. “You have no idea, Cait. If Jinx is involved, this isn’t just danger—it’s a ticking time bomb.”  

The two women sat in tense silence, the enormity of what lay ahead pressing down on both of them. 

You remained seated on the ledge(finally untied and freed), your legs dangling over the edge, gazing out at the endless sprawl of the Undercity. The cool air carried the muffled hum of life below, its chaotic rhythm strangely soothing. Jinx's words echoed in your mind, tangled with your own doubts and fears.  

"You're different. You've got a fire they can't put out."  

You clenched your jaw, your fingers tightening around the edge of the ledge. A small part of you hated how much her words resonated. The Undercity, with all its grime and disorder, felt more genuine than anything you’d ever experienced in Piltover. It felt... like home.  

But why?  

Shaking the thought off, you stood, brushing your hands on your pants. The colored neon signs beckoned below, their strange symbols and shapes leading a breadcrumb trail toward what could only be Jinx’s lair. You followed them, the glowing lights guiding your every step through winding passages and corridors that grew stranger the deeper you ventured.  

When you reached the entrance, the sound of laughter and faint music greeted you. The room was an explosion of color and chaos, a living reflection of its owner. But before you could take it all in, something small and solid slammed into your side, nearly knocking you over.  

“Whoa there, kid,” you said, steadying yourself with a smirk.  

The small figure in front of you was a girl, no older than seven or eight. Her oversized helmet tilted awkwardly over her face, obscuring her features. She straightened it, looking up at you with curious eyes. You chuckled, gently pushing the helmet down so it covered her face again.  

“That’s a safety hazard, squirt,” you teased.  

The girl let out a muffled huff, adjusting the helmet again before darting behind your legs as if hiding. You turned, bewildered, just in time to see Jinx leaning casually against a wall, watching the exchange with an amused grin.  

“That’s Isha,” Jinx said, pushing off the wall and sauntering closer. “She doesn’t talk much, but don’t let that fool you. She’s a little firecracker.”  

You crouched down, leveling your gaze with the girl’s. “Isha, huh? You trying to knock me out or what?”  

Isha peeked out from behind her helmet, her big eyes locking with yours. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, without warning, she launched herself forward, wrapping her small arms tightly around your neck.  

You froze, your arms hovering awkwardly before finally settling around her in return. The hug was fierce, filled with an intensity you hadn’t expected from someone so small.  

Jinx stood off to the side, her grin faltering into something softer, something almost vulnerable. She tilted her head, studying the moment.  

“Would you look at that,” Jinx muttered under her breath, her voice quieter than usual. “You’ve got that thing... that spark. The kind that makes people believe in something better, even when the world’s a mess.”  

She leaned against a beam, her purple eyes narrowing slightly as if lost in thought. “I always thought people like you didn’t exist. Or if they did, they’d never make it down here. Guess I was wrong.”  

Isha pulled back slightly, her tiny hands gripping your shirt as she looked up at you with a small smile. You returned it hesitantly, unsure what to do with the sudden warmth spreading through your chest.  

Jinx crossed her arms, a flicker of something complicated crossing her face. “You’re a piece of work. You make people feel things they don’t even know they’re missing.”  

You glanced at her, confused by her tone, but before you could say anything, she clapped her hands, her grin returning in full force.  

“Alright, reunion time’s over!” Jinx said, gesturing grandly toward the chaotic space. “Welcome to the fun house. Let’s see if you can keep up.”  

But even as she walked away, her eyes lingered on you and Isha for just a second longer, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a secret.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 　

Vi and Caitlyn moved quietly through the shadows of the Undercity, the flickering neon lights casting distorted shapes along the walls. The tension between them was palpable, Caitlyn walking briskly with purpose, while Vi lagged slightly behind, her mind clearly elsewhere.

“Alright, Vi,” Caitlyn snapped, stopping abruptly and turning to face her. “Enough of this. Why are you so anxious about this? It’s obvious you know something you’re not telling me. Just spill it already.”

Vi ran a hand through her short hair, letting out a sharp breath. “It’s not that simple, Cupcake.”

“Don’t ‘Cupcake’ me,” Caitlyn shot back, frustration bubbling over. “You practically froze when you saw that picture. And now, every time her name comes up, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What is it about her? What aren’t you telling me?”

Vi hesitated, her fists clenching at her sides. She leaned against a graffiti-covered wall, her eyes scanning the dark alley as if trying to find the right words in the chaos around them.

“She’s Silco’s kid, Caitlyn,” Vi finally admitted, her voice low and uneven. “And that’s bad enough, yeah? But it’s worse than that. There’s… there’s something about her—something Silco did to her—since she was just a baby.”

Caitlyn’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? What did he do to her?”

Vi looked away, unable to meet Caitlyn’s eyes. Her voice dropped further, tinged with both anger and sadness. “He gave her Shimmer. Since she was an infant.”

Caitlyn’s mouth opened slightly in disbelief, her mind racing. “Shimmer? That toxin? The stuff that drives people mad? He gave it to his own child?”

Vi nodded grimly. “He called her Spark for a reason. It wasn’t just ‘cause of how she lit up a room with her energy. It was because when she got mad, Cait, there was this… this purple flash in her eyes. It wasn’t natural. And it wasn’t just her eyes—she got strong. Way stronger than any kid her age should’ve been.”

Caitlyn’s hand instinctively moved to her chest, gripping the fabric of her coat as the weight of Vi’s words settled over her. “That’s… inhuman,” she whispered.

“You’re telling me,” Vi said bitterly. “Back when we were all still running around with Vander, she’d hang with us sometimes. Vander told me and Ekko to play nice with her—said she didn’t have a lot of friends.”

Vi let out a shaky breath, her voice cracking slightly. “One time, some goons jumped us. Usual Undercity crap, right? We could’ve handled it, but one of ‘em hit Powder. She lost it. I mean… lost it. It was like a switch flipped. She went from this scrappy, loudmouthed kid to…” Vi paused, swallowing hard. “…something else. She tore into that guy like a rabid animal. Took five of us to pull her off him.”

Caitlyn stared at Vi, the story painting a picture she could hardly comprehend. “How old was she?”

“Maybe eight,” Vi muttered, her eyes distant. “Nine at most.”

Caitlyn couldn’t hide the horror on her face. “And no one did anything? No one tried to help her?”

“Silco didn’t think she needed help,” Vi said bitterly. “He thought it made her special. He was always talkin’ about how she’d be the future of the Undercity. Said she was born to be more than the rest of us.”

Caitlyn stepped closer, her voice firm. “Vi, we need to find her. If she’s still being exposed to Shimmer—or worse, if she gets ahold of it again—she could become…”

“Someone no one can stop,” Vi finished for her, her voice heavy with guilt. She rubbed the back of her neck, avoiding Caitlyn’s eyes. “Look, Cait, I don’t know if she’s beyond saving or not. But if anyone can find her before it’s too late, it’s you.”

Caitlyn’s gaze softened slightly, seeing the weight of the past etched into Vi’s face. “We’ll find her,” she said, her voice steady. “I’ll find her. And if there’s even a chance of pulling her back from whatever Silco did to her, I’ll take it.”

Vi gave her a weak smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Careful, Cupcake. You’re starting to sound like a hero.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smirk on her lips as the two of them continued walking deeper into the Undercity shadows.

─ ⊹ ☆ ⊹ ─

You sat cross-legged in the center of the pillow fort, its patchwork design of fraying fabric and mismatched cushions somehow providing a sense of calm. Isha sat close by, fiddling with another scrap of metal. She handed you a device—a small, intricate thing that looked like a broken clock mixed with some kind of makeshift toy. You turned it over in your hands, your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of it.

“How does this thing even…” you muttered, shaking it slightly.

Isha tapped your arm and held out her hand. You passed it to her, and she pressed a hidden switch with an exaggerated motion, her small fingers moving with practiced ease. The device clicked open, and she handed it back to you, her expression triumphant.

“Ah,” you said, smirking as you caught on. “Got it now. Thanks, kid.”

Isha nodded, pleased, as you reached for a small set of tools and peered into the inner workings of the device. As you worked, focused on aligning the tiny gears, Jinx stood nearby, leaning against a support beam of the fort. Her purple eyes flickered between you and Isha, her fingers twitching idly at her sides.

For a moment, her gaze softened, as though something about the way you interacted with Isha stirred a memory buried deep within her. A fleeting image of another life—of being that child watching someone patient and kind—flashed in her mind. But the memory was jagged, incomplete, and the voices began to stir.

“She’s like them. She’ll leave you, too.”

“Don’t let her in. You know what happens.”

“Softness gets you killed.”

Her hands clenched into fists as her breathing grew uneven. The taunting chorus in her mind grew louder, mocking her, reminding her of every loss, every betrayal, and every vulnerability she had ever exposed.

Then, one voice—a quieter, unfamiliar one—whispered. “Or maybe… maybe she’s different?”

“No!” Jinx’s outburst was sharp and sudden, her hand slamming against the wall of the fort. Both you and Isha flinched, startled. Isha quickly raised her hands, signing something to you, her movements calm despite the tension.

You glanced at her, brow furrowing. “She says it’s no big deal,” you murmured, translating Isha’s message. But something in you didn’t sit right. You set the device down carefully, rising to your feet.

Jinx’s eyes flickered to you as you approached. Her breathing was uneven, her jaw tight as if bracing herself for whatever she thought you were going to do. But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you stepped close, reached out, and placed your hand gently on her shoulder.

The contact was electric—not in the physical sense, but in the way it seemed to pull her back from the chaotic spiral in her mind. The voices stuttered, silenced as if they’d been struck mute. She stared at your hand, then at your face, her wide eyes filled with confusion.

“Are you good?” you asked softly, your voice steady.

She blinked, her lips parting slightly as though to speak, but no words came. She didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch. For the first time in as long as she could remember, the storm in her mind had quieted.

“The voices…” she said softly, her words almost childlike. Her gaze locked onto yours, searching. “They stopped.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you just left your hand where it was, steady, grounding.

Jinx let out a short laugh, the sound almost bitter as she pulled away. “What are you, a miracle worker now?” she teased, her tone trying to recover its usual sharpness, but it lacked the bite. She crossed her arms, glancing away as though embarrassed. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You smirked faintly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a moment, there was a quiet tension between you—an unspoken understanding that neither of you fully grasped but could feel nonetheless.

She finally glanced back at you, her expression softening. “Thanks,” she muttered, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “For, uh… whatever you did.”

You raised a brow, leaning slightly against the beam. “Don’t mention it.”

But even as she turned back toward Isha with her usual swagger, there was a different air about her. And in the quiet moments that followed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something in her had shifted—just as something in you had, too.

The tense air of Jinx’s lair was broken by the heavy footfalls of Sevika as she strode in, her expression lined with irritation and determination. She stopped a few paces from where Jinx stood, her arms crossed, her purple eyes locked on a distant point in the room. You sat with Isha, fidgeting with the scrap she had handed you earlier, trying to piece it together while she motioned instructions. Both of you froze when Sevika spoke.

“We need to talk,” she said bluntly, her gravelly voice cutting through the silence.

Jinx glanced at her, her lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “About what? Your new hobby?”

Sevika’s jaw tightened. “The rally. You need to be there. They need to see you.”

Jinx snorted, spinning a small, makeshift grenade in her hand. “Need? They don’t need anything. They just want a show.”

“It’s not about a show, Jinx. It’s about showing strength. If you want people to follow you, they need to see you, not some memory of who you used to be.”

Jinx laughed sharply, shaking her head. “They’ll get over it. They always do.”

From your spot, you glanced at Isha, who gave you a meaningful nod toward the door. Her small hands signed: We should go.

You hesitated, glancing between the two women. Jinx’s smirk was faltering, her fingers twitching as she tossed the grenade between her hands. You nodded at Isha, but as Sevika’s frustration grew and Jinx’s refusal hardened, you couldn’t help but linger, watching the scene unfold.

Sevika’s patience finally broke. “Fine,” she snapped, throwing up her hands. “Stay here. Hide in your fort. But don’t expect anyone to keep waiting forever.” With that, she turned and stormed out.

Jinx stared after her, her smirk fading entirely. She muttered something under her breath, then stalked off into the shadows of the lair, leaving you and Isha alone.

─ ⊹ ☆ ⊹ ─

The streets were alive with energy as you walked through the dense crowd, Isha’s small hand clasped tightly in yours. Voices rose in unison, fists pumping into the air as chants echoed off the crumbling walls of the Undercity. The sea of people pressed around you, a strange mix of defiance and desperation in their faces. You couldn’t help but feel out of place and yet… oddly drawn in.

At the center of the chaos, Sevika stood atop a makeshift platform, her mechanical arm gleaming under the dim light as she addressed the crowd with a booming voice.

“They take everything from us!” she roared. “Our homes, our families, our freedom—and they think we’ll just bow down and take it! But we’re stronger than they’ll ever know. We’re the beating heart of this city, and we will not be silenced!”

Her words sent a ripple through the crowd, igniting a fire in their eyes. You stood still, feeling a strange stirring in your chest. Her speech felt like a challenge, a call to action. Around you, people murmured and chanted, their voices swelling with Sevika’s words.

“Where’s Jinx?” someone shouted from the crowd, and the question was quickly echoed.

Your brow furrowed as you looked around, confused. The crowd seemed to be searching, yearning for her. Why are they all so obsessed with her?

Suddenly, Isha tugged her hand free from yours and darted toward the base of the massive, weathered statue that towered over the square.

“Isha!” you called out, pushing through the crowd after her. You caught sight of her climbing up the crumbling base of the statue, her small figure illuminated by the glow of the flare she held high above her head.

The flare’s blue light cut through the darkened sky, a beacon that silenced the crowd for a breathless moment. You felt something deep inside you shift, something raw and instinctive. Slowly, you raised your fist to the sky, the gesture unthinking yet powerful.

The crowd seemed to freeze, their eyes on you, and then one by one, fists rose alongside yours. The chants grew louder, the unity in the air palpable.

Sevika’s eyes snapped to you from her platform, her expression hard to read. For a moment, she looked almost… impressed. She raised her own fist, and the crowd erupted into a deafening roar.

But the unity was short-lived. The roar of engines and the heavy march of enforcers filled the air as they stormed into the square. The crowd erupted into chaos, some scattering in fear, others standing their ground to fight. You were caught in the middle, trying to keep sight of Isha as the chaos unfolded around you.

You spotted her just as a massive enforcer grabbed her, flinging her small body into the stone fountain with a sickening thud. Your breath hitched as you saw her crumple to the ground, unmoving.

A spark ignited in your chest, and for a moment, the world blurred. Your vision tinged with purple, and before you knew it, you were charging toward the enforcer, your movements unnaturally fast.

The enforcer barely had time to react before you were on him, striking with a strength and speed that caught even you by surprise. Blow after blow landed, each one fueled by a fury you couldn’t contain.

A sharp pain exploded in your side as you were suddenly knocked off balance. You hit the ground hard, gasping for breath as you looked up to see Sevika standing over you, her mechanical arm sparking from the spear that had pierced through it. She grimaced but grabbed you by the arm, dragging you away even as you fought against her grip.

“They’ve got Isha!” you screamed, your voice raw with desperation.

“We’ll get her back,” Sevika growled, slamming you into the wall of a nearby alley. Her eyes were fierce, her grip unrelenting. “But we need Jinx. She’s the only one who can get her out of wherever they’re taking her.”

You froze, your breath heaving as her words sank in. Sevika’s gaze softened slightly, but her tone remained firm.

“Get it together,” she snapped. “We don’t have time for this. You want to save her? Then we need Jinx. Now.”

She released you, and for a moment, you stood there trembling, anger and fear coursing through you. But as the chaos raged on, you nodded, steeling yourself for what was to come.

--------------

Chap 3 getting edited rn :) Thanks for reading! Isha is alive here I DONT CARE

[daniiiboo]

mv1- champion

summary- after the last vegas gp, you and max have a cute moment :,)

dani's thoughts- AHHH! sorry it took me so long to post this, my procrastination boooo :( but congrats to max!!! im so happy for him :D

warning- uh nu uh nothin :)

word count- 1139

Bright lights of the Las Vegas Strip shone through the night, casting colorful luminescence across the city. The neon signs and the hustle of the crowd seemed almost like a world of their own, but inside the race paddock, everything was laser-focused on one thing: Max Verstappen's chance at his fourth World Championship.

It was an intense weekend, the energy palpable in the air, with fans lining the grandstands, their eyes fixed on the Red Bull driver. You’d been by Max’s side throughout the season, traveling the globe, sharing in both the highs and lows of his journey. Tonight, it all came down to this. If he could finish strong and secure the points he needed, he’d be crowned World Champion once again.

You were in the paddock, your heart racing as the laps ticked down. Max had been flawless all weekend, his precision in qualifying, the strategy in the race. You could see it in his eyes. He was on the edge of greatness. The fourth title was within his grasp.

From your vantage point alongside the pit wall, the roar of the cars passing was barely audible, yet tension hung thick in the air. You saw Max flying past every lap as he overtook the others with his gliding Red Bull through corners. Each turn was proof of the amount of work and commitment he has been putting into this. The end of the race was close by. He had done it. Max Verstappen was going to win the 2024 Formula 1 World Championship. He had secured enough points to clinch the title with a race to spare, an achievement few drivers could boast. The whole Red Bull garage erupted into a chorus of cheers, but you didn't hear them, not really. The only sound one could hear was the beating of one's own heart, like a drum with excitement and pure pride.

When Max crossed the line with the checkered flag waved above him, time literally came to a standstill. It all felt like a dream-a surreal moment when the world stopped for the feat that was just accomplished by this driver. Suddenly, the radio crackled as his race engineer's familiar voice cut through, congratulating Max on his fourth World Championship.

Max let out a deep, heavy breath, and on his lips, a beaming smile formed. Not a celebrating-after-a-win smile, but something a bit deeper, something that had been earned.

A few moments later, Max pulled into the pits, his Red Bull team surrounding him, ecstatic, clapping him on the back. You stood there, frozen for a moment, watching him as he climbed out of his car. His face was hidden behind the helmet, but you could see the way his shoulders relaxed, a quiet relief washing over him.

And then, his eyes met yours.

And then there it was-the look so familiar yet so full of emotion, love, and gratefulness. He walked up to you while the people surrounding him chanted and cheered, but at this moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you.

You stepped forward as he approached, your heart swelling with pride. You'd always believed in him, in his ability to be the best-but watching him win his fourth World Championship, standing right there in Las Vegas, made it all so real. The fact that you were here for the entire journey was what really hit you.

Max came to a stop right in front of you, yanking his helmet off to reveal wet hair and a tired, yet triumphant expression.

"Max," you whispered, your voice hoarse from emotion.

He didn't say a word, instead reaching for you, pulling you into a tight hug. His hands were trembling, a rare show of vulnerability for the usually composed driver.

“I did it,” he whispered, his voice full of awe. “I really did it. Four titles…”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, brushing your fingers gently across his face. “You’re incredible, Max. You’ve worked so hard for this. I’m so proud of you.”

A smile stretched across his face, his eyes glowing with both joy and disbelief. “We did it together.”

You shook your head, laughing through the tears that were threatening to fall. 

“You did it, Max. You’re the one who put in the work, who never gave up, who fought through everything. I’m just… I’m just lucky to be here with you.”

Max chuckled, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

 "Lucky? I'm the lucky one. You've been by my side through every race, every challenge, every sleepless night. I couldn't have done it without you.”

There was something so grounding about Max in that moment. In the midst of celebrations, press, and flashing cameras, he remained the same old Max one had always known. He was humble, dedicated, and unyielding in his way to greatness. Yet what made him so special was how he never forgot the people who had been there to support him-especially you.

As the cheers from the Red Bull garage grew loud, you could feel the pull of the moment, the whirlwind of emotions, the feeling of watching history. The team swarmed around them, and Max turned back toward them, giving high-fives and accepting congratulations, but his hand was still in yours. His fingers were tangled with yours, holding onto you like he did not want to let go.

It was all happening so fast, and yet you were in no hurry. You would savor this moment, the moment when Max Verstappen became a four-time World Champion in Las Vegas, with you by his side.

As the celebrations had died down, and the crowd started to clear out, Max took your hand and led you out of the paddock. Above, the lights of Las Vegas shone brightly on the Strip, and with them, Max turned that very same smile to you.

"What do you say we head out and celebrate?" he asked, full of excitement, yet strangely quieted.

You smiled, knowing this moment would stick in your head forever. "I think we've earned it."

Max tightened his grip on your hand, leaned in to brush a kiss against your mouth, and then he'd take you out into the night, together, off to celebrate his win really like Max Verstappen style. The world had come to see his greatness-again-but you? Just there, sharing in this victory with the man that you loved.

And as you walked hand in hand down the streets of Las Vegas, all lit up, you could not help but feel your chest swell with pride. This was his moment, yes-but it was also yours, because in the end, it was about the journey that you have shared together.

Max Verstappen had his fourth title in the bag, and with you by his side, nothing was impossible.

[wipormont]

A question for you if you have the time/energy to answer! I find myself constantly studying how you use color and replicate vescera and 'off' anatomy in your paintings. I aspire to draw things that are surreal and more fleshy (even "scary"), but my attempts fall flat. They always turn out plain or dare I say cutesy. Do you have any advice on how to achieve a more visceral image or how you would recommend getting a feel for bending human proportions?

Thank you for your time and for sharing your fantastic art! It's always really cool to see what you've got cooking up.

Hello!

For the colors, Something really helps me up with my paintings, was to start using, complementary colors, for example reds and greens really works well, makes this felling of fleshy, and makes this natural lighting on the meat!

Really start to play more with the harmonies are going to help you to make the painting looks more alive!

Here is example:

For the anatomy, really just play with them, the human face is not perfect, and is not symmetrical, has ears longer that other, nose comes is some beautiful shapes and forms, mouths and teeth same hehe. Don't worry if sometimes the anatomy looks off, sometime we need to exaggerated them to make a character express more feeling.

The flesh is one my favorite part of all my process, is to find the way to make this fleshy, or broken part of the character. I try to make a logical way to make it feel real, but at the same part make it exaggerated. Something really helps me is to see horror movies, or old horror movies with practical effects, really inspired me to make this abstract gory!

Artist like: Ken Currie, Francis Bacon, Francisco de Goya really inspired me!

And for the last, it took me a lot of errors to find the way I like to paint my weird creatures. Horror come in some many ways, is not just to make a scary monster with teeth and scary eyes. I mean yeah that is a valid one haha. But I think the idea of loneliness, or the process of becoming the monster like the movie The Fly, or books like Frankenstein really help me up to see others ways of horror!

I hope this help you! Sorry for the long text! I'm sorry if my English is weird or broken, I'm still trying to get better on that, haahhaah.

Thank you so much for the ask!

[kuwanxs]

i saw someone on my tl saying Toga pushing Ochako was justifiable as she pushed her to finally pursue her feelings, the ones that Toga didn’t get to pursue and that it was Ochako finally moving on from Himiko, living and loving the way she wanted to, not bound by anything. I’m gonna explain how it doesn’t work out that way.

Toga’s character was about the prejudice against her love. It was about how she was shunned since early days for something she had no possible control over, she was a child who’s feelings were not only disregarded but ridiculed because they did not confirm to what was considered the norm. She struggles with alienation from those around her, she feels something no one else does, and receives backlash for it.

Her conversation with Ochako was meaningful because it emphasises on not just Ochako’s determination to understand Himiko, which comes at a cost of her own body, but also because it finally gives Himiko a chance at feeling normal. “Do you think i’m cute?” is reflective of how innocent Himiko’s feelings really are, its a teenage girl who wants to know if she’s really being seen, if her “love” is not ugly to Ochako as it is to others. It comes from a place of oppression and alienation that rendered her hopeless for any reciprocation of these feelings, which is why she often pursued them in violent ways, because that was what the norm was to her. But then in the end, she dies by giving her blood to Ochako as an act of love, which, unlike her previous ones, isn’t bound in violence. It is an act of love, simple and intimate.

Now Uraraka’s feelings towards Deku, even if romantic, are not considered abnormal like Toga’s were. She doesn’t fear alienation for her expression of these feelings like Toga did, they are really really normal. So for Toga to push Ochako into pursuing these “feelings” that Ochako had always been sure of in childhood is simply misusing a tragic character to push a relationship that did not need any catalysts. Ochako knew she liked Deku as a teenager, even if her feelings weren’t reciprocated, they weren’t shunned either. So really what sense does it make for Himiko to push Uraraka into pursuing these feelings like they’re taboo lol?

And as for their shared crush on Deku. It still doesn’t make sense because it all comes down to expression. Toga pursuing Deku or the guy she liked in middle school was met with a different response compared to Ochako pursuing Deku. The difference of their character doesn’t JUST come from their different positions in society, but also from the different ways of their expression of their love.

I don’t believe Uraraka should mourn Toga for the rest of life, ofc not. But i don’t think it makes ANY sense for Toga to confess and then push Ochako into pursuing her feelings, which, btw, even the narrative forces upon the audience at some point lol. So clearly they are not some big taboo feelings.

[hybbart]

This is perhaps a strange question, but do you have the sketch/lineart/framework/whatever the heck it's called that you use when you draw Tango? I decided I want to learn to draw, and my thought process was, "Ah yes, the easiest way is to try and copy my favourite Tangos cause I know how they look," and it is going... poorly xD.

Alternatively, do you have any advice on how to learn and develop a style, or how to get/keep going?

A reference sheet? I have a couple various ones, though at this point i don't really use a reference unless I need to sample colours, and I'm currently working on a colour reference for myself. Besides the point I suppose... I'll put them at the very bottom of the cut so scroll right past my ramblings if you want to.

As for advice. My advice is do not try developing a style if you are just starting out. style is the last thing that should be on your mind if you're just starting out. Style is something that happens naturally as you grow and learn what you like and get used to your tools, and being able to intentionally create a style is an advanced skill that requires the skill to draw in various styles, strong basics, self-awareness, and proper self-critique.

The rest of this is going to be very incoherent and long winded and backwards so I apologize.

The most important thing to improving is to get over yourself. You need to look at someone else's art and be able to admit it's better than yours or has a quality you wish yours had without that being a statement of self-deprecation. You need to be able to look at your own art and pick out what it is you don't like about it without using it to beat yourself up. You can't improve if you get demotivated by the information required to adjust your course.

If you must, find something in each drawing that you like and focus on learning how to recreate that. If you find yourself with a drawing that you genuinely find nothing you like about it you stop drawing and restart, because that drawing is worthless to you once you recognize that. Analyze why you don't like it, figure out what's causing you to draw that way, ask what you might prefer instead and what the difference between them is, and figure out how to draw what you want instead. The important thing is that when you examine your art and other's art you're using as inspiration you don't instead use it as a tool to put yourself down.

My shadows are flat and poorly angled, and I draw everything lopsides, and I can say those things as simple facts of my art. These are things I still do, and I use tools to fix them, like turning my tablet or using editing tools, or looking up references. If I want to know a certain technique I reach out to other artists I see using said technique and asking, or I research it myself. In the meantime I experiment and accept this flaw in my art. There's other things to like. The important thing is you don't allow your lack of knowledge to demotivate you from correcting that lack of knowledge.

The best thing you can do is ask yourself what you like about art, and what you want to do. It's a bit difficult for me to help with this sort of thing because I've literally always drawn my whole life, so helping someone who is actively choosing to take up drawing isn't my realm of expertise. But art is communication and connection and self-expression. What do you want to express through your art and what medium is that expression best done in, what do you want to convey, what do you want to share that you simply cannot without art.

It's a bit daunting, those sound like profound questions, but honestly they're not. When I draw fanart usually what I wanna communicate is "I like these characters when they do this", and more often than not it's "I really liked this line/palette".

These incomplete character sketches have sat in my main D&D folder and I think about him at least once a month entirely because I was so happy with his proportions and the concept of a dewclaw heel. I ended up reusing the heel in these Jimmy designs.

It can be anything and changes with each piece. Drawing let's me express what I love and emphasize what I love about it or show it from my perspective. I'll use this raau page as an example.

This is actually based on a shop that I've gone to since I was a child, so it's a space that I've seen and thought about many times. Though it's changed, for ease of drawing and to fit into the setting of raau and for the sake of composition, but the things that are important to me are still here. The ceiling that feels slightly claustrophobically low, the rainbow coordinated shirts, the club covers shaped like animals, every inch of the shop being utilized for merchandise until you can barely see the walls, the nook shape of the section, the fluorescent lights with this specific covering that's very "soulless office job" but to me is also the playroom at my grandma's house and how both have no windows.

I wanted to preserve particular qualities of the atmosphere of the place, in order to express that in this image. That vibe that I could not describe in words to anyone who hasn't experienced it themselves so the best I could normally do is describe it and hope it sparks a similar enough memory. But with visual art I can use lightning, context, and composition to simply express it better. I can create the experience for someone else.

Sometimes writing is better at it than words, and sometimes both are needed, so I learned both. Sometimes music is better than either and I'm screwed because I can't do music. That's besides the point though.

When you're starting out you can have a hard time grasping what about a piece compels you. That's why you need to learn to critique art as you learn to draw, and that's also why tracing and copying is good.

Here's an example of me trying out @lunarcrown's art style. I made a collage and traced my favourite frame's shapes to "get my hands on it", if you will, before trying it out on my own, starting with similar poses usually. What I learned from this is I really like how Lunar does hair, actually even though this was a study of Tango I took notes on how she does Jimmy's hair and applied it to my Scar, Impulse, and Skizz, because I'm awful at short men's hairstyles.

I also cemented one of the reasons I love her art is because it does have some qualities that I already incorporate into mine, like the streamlining between flushed materials such as her Tango's skin and skin-tight shirt, or my Tango's sleeves and gloves.

If you know what you like about something it's easier to work towards incorporating it into your own art without simply copying someone else's. And starting out by copying as a way to play around with someone's art the same way an engineer pulls something apart is helpful in doing so.

Which leads me further back into simply go somewhere and draw what you see. The drawing does not have to be good, but being able to just take a sketchbook and see something that scratches your brain and mimic it is important to developing the above skills. Being able to translate reality into an image is important to developing your skills and understanding the fundamentals of breaking things down. Being able to look at something moving or possibly far away and look down and draw it anyways by breaking down its shapes is important in developing your ability to use references.

Drawing is also mostly muscle memory. So it's important to draw things over and over again. You can do this how you want, you're always going to hit a wall where you end up having to sit there and draw circles 50 times on a page to remember how to draw circles like you're trying to get a dry pen to work. You will do this before almost every serious picture. Find a way for you to enjoy this process.

The biggest most important rule about art, though, is that there is not rules. Go about things however you want for whatever reason you want. If you enjoy doing something a certain way do it that way, if you hate a particular process eliminate it. Sometimes the result outweighs a miserable process, if having something look a certain way is more important then suck it up and do so. If you care more about enjoying a motion than what the end result is then do so. You have to ask yourself what you care about in art.

For now, though, if you're just starting out. The best thing you can do is draw a lot of circles and cubes and fruit. It's an unfortunate truth that the best foundation is learning realism, because it's just going to teach your the fundamentals the best, and all abstraction is... well, an abstraction.

Of course, as just said, there is no rules, and if you genuinely do not enjoy drawing those things like me, then you can simply not. It helps improvement the fastest but if it makes you miserable in a way that isn't backed by passion then that's counterproductive. Forcing yourself only really works if you're passionate enough about what you're doing to overcome the temporary discomfort of learning, so if you're satisfied with just being able to mimic something more abstract in the beginning do exactly that and explore what would make you passionate enough to be willing to draw things you aren't stoked about for an end result. You might never be, but that's also fine, you don't have to strive to be the world's greatest artist to justify drawing.

Also accept that you're absolutely going to change your mind on things. What felt like a great line to draw you're going to hate the next day. It's up to you if you leave it be or fix it, neither's the right answer. I tend to lean towards leaving it personally, even when it drive some up a wall, simply because I have very momentary inspiration and don't like returning to old pieces once I'm done with them. Some people will return to a picture over and over again fixing it every time they think of something. Whatever floats your boat.

tl;dr figure out what you enjoy doing with art and just do that as much as you like. Improve by finding new things you want to do with art. Combine as you see fit to create art.

...

okay time for references:

I try to keep my designs simple because the style I developed for mcyt art was intended for animations. I've drifted a bit but in general I keep to simple shape-defined designs with long lines, flat colours, and minimal wrinkles. It's intentionally flat in many ways in order to create more satisfying lines, like the collar of his shirt or the way his hands ' gradient is done with the line art.

Tango is both round and angular, basically he's an almond. His shape is ambiguous in much of his clothing, with very understated joints. This gives him a move cartoony elastic sort of vibe, like he's just a pipe cleaner that can bend any which way, or a piece of rubber that might stretch.

I avoid bogging him down with logic for that reason, his hair is styled like hair but it has the appearance and moves like fire. Which is it? Who knows. Where are his organs? I haven't drawn them so they don't exist.

[chilling-seavey]

Winter Warmers: Day 1 — Lingerie & Coffee on a Cold Morning

↳ A/N: Welcome to my first day of our TWIG Winterfest!

↳ Summary: George has a surprise wake up call one winter morning.

↳ Word Count: 1017

↳ Warnings: Mentions and brief descriptions of NSFW content and interactions

↳ Winter Warmers Prompt List | The Way It Goes Masterlist

Monaco wasn’t the type of place to get ridiculously cold in December. Not like on the other side of Europe, in the comfort of England, where George had grown up with those chilly North Sea gusts and gentle sprinklings of snow on the driveway of his modest childhood home. Sure, he much preferred not having to bundle up in a dozen layers to make a trip out of the house, but in a way, sometimes, as December rolled around, he missed the familiarity of the chilly winter mornings.

His familiarity was now drifting to new places, finding that holiday-season comfort in the life he was building with you. The two of you had a whole life ahead of you, a chance to start fresh. Only a few days earlier you had moved into a brand new apartment together, your left hand now donning a shiny diamond ring, symbolically swearing to share many more tepid winters together. He was entirely in love with you. 

You, who was not in bed beside him when he woke to the sun pouring in through the open curtains. 

George’s hand stretched out across the empty side of the bed where you had once been, his eyes blinking slowly as he woke himself up a little more, trying to piece together your whereabouts in the blinding morning sun. When did the curtains get opened? With a tired groan and a rub of his eyes, he turned his head over to look towards the ensuite bathroom. The light was off, the door open, and you were nowhere to be seen. 

He lifted up his phone from the bedside table to check the time, noting it to be not quite mid-morning. He wasn’t really one to sleep in but after the night you shared, it was expected that he might have needed some extra rest. Setting his phone back down with a sigh, George settled back against the pillows and draped an arm above his head, half covering his eyes from the bright morning sun filling the bedroom.

Somewhere in the apartment, he could hear the faint clink of dishware and the creaks of the floorboards, reassuring him that you were up and around. The simple awareness of your presence always grounded him, eased him. He let his eyes close again.

Not long later, the sound of your footsteps on the worn floorboards had his eyes fluttering open again, his attention drawn to the half-open bedroom door as you tiptoed back inside. His sleepy expression moulded smoothly into a handsome smirk at the sight of you, his eyes raking over the mess of your hair and the way the soft white linen of his button up shirt fell over your shoulders and hung open around your hips and thighs. Beneath the shirt you had snagged from the haphazard scattering of clothes across the floor, you still wore your rich red lingerie set from the night before. In your hands were two steaming mugs of coffee. 

“Mm, morning.” George greeted you with a voice that gave away his smile.

You glanced up at the sound of his voice, cautiously navigating yourself to your side of the bed without spilling a drop from either mug, “Morning, my love.”

George shifted under the rumpled sheets to reach over and take one of the mugs from you, the duvet falling dangerously low around his lap as he did so. Once his coffee was safe in his hand and you were climbing back into bed beside him, he spoke playfully, “Coffee brewed and hand-delivered by a gorgeous woman…I should have had us move in together ages ago.”

You giggled softly as you fell into place at his side with a content sigh and a mumbled, “These floors are freezing on bare feet.” 

George helped to pull the sheets higher around you to warm you up, shamelessly staring at you just a little more before pulling you closer under his arm. 

“I can imagine,” he replied, “Especially when you’re wearing next to nothing.”

“Is that a complaint?” you teased. 

George scoffed in near disbelief at your accusation as he lifted his coffee to his lips for a sip, “Absolutely not.”

You smiled into your mug, melting into his side, eyes closing briefly to just bask in the moment. The combination of the morning sun, the freshly brewed coffee, and the presence of your lover’s body at your side had you filled with warmth. George still had his arm around your shoulders, his other nursing his mug, but his gaze was entirely focused—shamelessly—on your chest. His fingers drifted downwards, tracing the edge of your red lace bra and down to the tiny gold decorative jingle bells that were sewn between the cups. They tinkled daintily at his touch. 

Before you could reply, he was whispering against your temple, “You look so beautiful.” 

You turned your face towards him, mere millimetres between you, and you shared in his calm smile, “You’re beautiful.”

“Says the one who kept on this naughty little set to surprise me this morning.” he tutted. 

You bumped your nose against his, feeling the heat of his breath against your cheek with the steam from your mugs wafting the delicious scent of morning coffee around the two of you. 

In a whisper, you retorted cheekily, “I mean, you didn’t have to take it off last night anyway…they’re crotchless panties, remember?”

George let out a small groan at the reminder, his tongue darting out to lick his lips in an habitual motion before he replied, “Yes. Yes, I remember.”

A brief silence fell between you as if you were both momentarily lost in the memory of the night before and how the dainty jingle bell decorations on your bra and panties tinkled in time with every thrust. 

Suddenly, your mug was lifted out of your hands by George and he leaned over you to set both mugs on the bedside table. He barely gave you a moment to protest before he was taking your lips with his in a heated kiss, pulling the sheets up entirely around the both of you.

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[aventurineswife]

Hello!! i hope you're having a great day, if you don't mind, can I request Aventurine with a reader that is like Kanade Yoisaki (pjsk) s/o?

Between the Notes

Summary: Aventurine and you share a tender and supportive relationship. You, a composer deeply dedicated to using music to heal others, struggle with the weight of your emotions and past guilt. Aventurine, with his charm and understanding, becomes a grounding force in your life, encouraging you to open up and let go of the need to save the world alone.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Kanade Yoisaki based Reader, Comfort, Romance, Emotional Support, Healing.

A/N: When I read about her backstory, I felt so bad for her 😕💔 she shouldn't go through that at such young age...

The melody poured through the apartment, soft and melancholic, each note striking like a whispered confession. The dim light of your cluttered workspace illuminated your weary eyes as your fingers danced across the keyboard. Composing was your refuge, a way to capture the emotions you couldn’t say aloud. You’d always believed music could save people, could reach places words never could.

Then, one day, Aventurine walked into your life.

It wasn’t planned—nothing with him ever was. He was a storm of charisma and daring, someone who lived on the edge of chaos, yet carried himself with grace. You met at a small event hosted by the IPC, where your talent as a composer had gained attention. He’d approached you with a warm smile, his eyes gleaming with intrigue.

“You must be the musical genius I’ve heard about,” he’d said, his voice smooth like velvet. “I’m Aventurine. And you?”

You introduced yourself, your voice barely above a whisper, but something in his gaze encouraged you to speak. From that moment, Aventurine became an unexpected presence in your world.

Months Later, The gentle hum of your computer filled the room, the only sound besides the occasional clink of a teacup. Aventurine lounged on your couch, his coat draped across the armrest. He held a teacup delicately, his eyes watching you with quiet amusement.

“You’ve been at this for hours, love,” he said, setting the cup down. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re composing your magnum opus to impress me.”

You glanced over your shoulder, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not for you,” you teased. “But if it makes you think of me, I wouldn’t mind.”

He chuckled, a sound that always sent warmth through your chest. “Touché. But seriously, you need to take a break. Even maestros need rest.”

You shook your head, your fingers pausing on the keys. “I can’t stop now. If I do… I’ll lose the feeling. The song—it’s meant to reach someone. It has to.”

His expression softened, his playful demeanor giving way to something deeper. Aventurine rose from the couch, moving to stand behind you. His hands rested gently on your shoulders.

“You carry so much on those shoulders,” he murmured. “Always trying to save the world with your music. But have you ever thought about letting someone save you?”

His words struck a chord, the same way a dissonant note resolved into harmony. You turned to face him, your voice trembling. “I don’t need saving, Aventurine. I… I just need someone who understands.”

He knelt before you, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Then let me understand. Let me be your audience, your partner in this chaotic symphony of life. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

For the first time in years, the weight on your chest eased. Aventurine’s presence was like a counterpoint to your melody—unexpected yet perfectly aligned.

Later That Night, The two of you sat together, your keyboard silent as the stars glimmered through the window. Aventurine held your hand, tracing small circles against your skin.

“Do you think music can really save people?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“I think it already has,” he replied, his tone earnest. “It saved me the moment I heard yours.”

And in that moment, you knew—you weren’t alone in your song anymore.

[biggie-chcese]

This is the post where I talk about Yakou, Vivia, and Yuma

(buckle up, buttercup it's a spoiler-ridden ramble)

so these three knuckleheads (and makoto, but this post ain't about him) just so happen to be my favorite characters in the game. and part of the main reason for that is, well, *gestures vaguely at all of Chapter 4*, but also just the dynamic that these three share. a long time ago, i made a memey post about this dynamic, and while i'm sure you can very easily infer what i'm trying to say in it, i'll still clarify it here:

vivia and yuma both have very, very similar feelings towards yakou.

now, this is not a sentence i'm saying with shipping goggles on- i want to make it clear that this post is not about romantic ships. it's a joint canon character analysis, and i think it's important to stress this early on.

let me start from the end of the beginning: the part in chapter 0 where yuma just left the labyrinth, and despite his best efforts in fighting the peacekeepers with facts and logic, still finds himself about to be arrested. it's important to consider just how yuma's state of mind is at this point in the game. thanks to both the brutal massacre on the train and his amnesia, yuma is helpless. he's traumatized, and aimless, and feels like he has no one on his side. this even includes shinigami, because while they develop into incredible partners later on, at this point in the game, yuma does not see her as such.

it's not shinigami who saves him from this predicament, despite how much she brags about allegedly doing so. it's yakou who comes to his rescue. and when he's under yakou's protection, yuma even internally voices his relief: "finally, an ally."

now, yakou is the first person yuma sees this way. when he got onto the amaterasu express, he was immediately thrust into a situation where he couldn't trust anyone on board, including himself. the people he could've trusted died before he had the chance, and the peacekeepers are most certainly his enemies. so yakou is the one that yuma latches onto. over time, that submarine, the friends he'd meet, the memories he'd make, yakou himself, and everything he represents would become home to yuma. but that's a bit later. for now, yakou guides him through the city, and then to the roof where they'd look over the vast expanse of neon lights and share a much needed moment of solace. a moment of peace... and quiet.

speaking of that phrase, i am going to start talking about vivia now.

from vivia's DLC, we learn a lot about his first days in kanai ward. he arrives to the city depressed, constantly searching for his own peace and quiet. thanks to his forte and his upbringing, he's traumatized, and aimless, and feels as though he has no one on his side. when yakou gives him the rooftop talk he gave the other detectives, vivia is notably pretty cold with him. he immediately makes it clear to yakou that he doesn't intend to go around saving people, or solving mysteries, or even making friends. he even tells yakou to leave him alone.

this i find really interesting, because when yuma approaches him in the prologue, vivia is very receptive to him to the point of even calling him kind for bothering to speak to him. i think this is because of yakou. it's yakou's persistent kindness that eventually helps vivia inch out of his shell, bit by bit, until he's finally happy to be receiving that kind of attention from others. in that DLC, yakou showing just how much he cared over and over again saved vivia in a very different way than yuma. but don't get it twisted- there's a lot they share in common.

let's look at the way vivia talks about yakou and the submarine itself. in chapter 3, he calls the fireplace within it his "beautiful bed of peace and quiet." in chapter 4, he stresses it again, saying "Surprisingly... I liked it there... The little bit of peace and quiet I found at the Nocturnal Detective Agency." and in the epilogue, he looks back at the chief's empty chair, and says "It was rather... comfortable in here."

from this, it's easy to tell that the submarine, the friends he'd met, the memories made, yakou himself, and everything this man represented, was home to vivia. sound familiar?

and i wanna touch on the other detctives too, because i am not implying that vivia and yuma have stronger bond with yakou than them or anything. they, too, deeply care for their chief and vice versa. in fact, yakou treats all of the detectives pretty much the same way (this is also part of why the yakou fathero trope doesn't personally appeal to me- it's almost always exclusive to yuma, which i dont think is the case in canon. the only thing exclusive to yuma is the pushing around and light bullying from yakou, and this is because yuma lets everyone treat him that way). yakou sees the detectives not only as colleagues, but also as people he needs to protect. even in chapter 4, when he puts everyone in danger, he still had their safety in mind- otherwise he'd only bring fubuki and desuhiko along for his plan. halara and vivia were there to keep everyone safe, and yuma was to not be involved at all. of course, he didn't account for yuma's impeccable ability to get into trouble... but more importantly, he didn't account for the possibility that the detectives would bother to stay with him and try to save him.

they all love their chief so much. they all try to save him. they all break down when they can't. and while i don't find vivia and yuma's love for yakou greater than the other detectives', i do think it's different.

halara, fubuki, and desuhiko all have these implied outer lives from what we see in the game. once they're out of kanai ward, they still have people, passions, and duties to return to. but the same can't be said for vivia and yuma.

in his dlc, vivia says himself that he has no one. this means that, despite the big family he was raised in, it's likely none of them are keeping contact with him. he says he has no regrets- only things to do before he quietly passes on. the man came to kanai ward looking for a place to die. this is the attitude of someone who fully believes he has nothing to lose.

yuma has amnesia for most of the game, so he quite literally lost everything. he even says so. as far as he's concerned, everything he holds dear is localized entirely within kanai ward. also, it's not like the man he used to be- number one, who famously works alone- had anyone to begin with. even though there is a very different set of issues from vivia's happening here, selling off your memories is, frankly, also the attitude of someone who fully believes he has nothing to lose.

this very similar setup is why i think they see yakou as someone who takes up a large portion of what they consider their entire world. vivia simply sees this in a more metaphorical sense while, for yuma, it's much more literal. in a way, this also kinda parallels how these two act.

so you may be wondering why any of this matters. like, okay, they both feel the same way towards yakou. then what? well i just think it makes chapter 4, an already amazing chapter, even more compelling!!

think about it this way: chapter 4 is a clashing of ideals under the same exact desires- to protect yakou. to protect their home. to protect everything they hold dear and return to how things were before.

but the ways they go about doing this are completely different. yuma chooses to protect his home by revealing the truth and weathering the oncoming storm, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. vivia chooses to protect his home by sticking to a comfortable lie, preventing anyone else from seeing the cracks in the walls and skeletons in the closet.

but, regardless of their methods, everything they do is because of love. it's because of care. it's because of gratitude. it's because of this deep desperation to cling on to what they believe is all they have left...

...despite the fact that it's already slipping between their fingers like sand...

and this. this is what i think makes vivia's choice to let go of that desperation, take yuma's hand, and fight at his side as a detective all the more powerful.

[riggedbones]

ok now that chapter 2 of my fic is out I can finally share nearly everything consequence related I've been drawing over the last two months. so let's start with my design process!

it's probably pretty obvious, but I wanted consequence's design to pretty closely mirror loop's. I don't want to go into all of the reasoning behind what I decided to keep similar and what I decided should be distinct (some of it is spoilers for my fic), but generally I kept a lot of the more general design elements that seem to be a result of whatever the fuck wish craft did to make loop Like That. loop is naked? consequence is naked. loop has an objecthead? consequence has an objecthead. loop has a shape on their chest? consequence has a shape on its chest.

this all being said, I did also want to make sure that consequence was distinct. of course. my initial focus was pretty resolutely on the objecthead, as you can see in my first page of concept sketches, but I did explore some other elements early on as well!

you can also see my first concept sketch for odile's death screen, and just a smidge for the looping animation that is something i might also animate for a chapter, who knows.

more drawings and discussion under the cut, i'm realizing this is getting a bit long.

i had the node object head concept on that first page, but it was definitely something that needed iteration. which is where this page came in. i settled on the diamond shaped geode at around this point too, but was still struggling a tad on what to do with the general body texture. this was also, clearly, WAY too many squares. my beta kris told me as much.

i may be an animator but by god i love making my designs as animation unfriendly as possible sometimes. still wouldn't call consequence animation friendly at all, but i've done a lot since to cut back on the sheer volume of squares.

this was my second pass in an attempt to cut down on the complexity, still way too many squares, but this is when i started drawing the head as a foreground later of nodes with a more abstract cloud of squares behind. for the most part, just shading behind the foreground layer is still how i draw the head traditionally.

aaand then i started playing around digitally and i realized i did not like how that looked digitally. these are both doodles i did via mouse (for the second one i traced an odile sprite to help with proportions), so they're a bit looser in general, but this exercise generally let me know that i needed to slightly rethink how i was going to express the idea digitally.

because this, the final talksprite design i landed on, looks more complicated, but between the smaller amount of foreground squares and the fact that the ones in the background were just made with the rectangle tool, it's honestly not that bad. a pain to replicate? sure! but id5 reused loop's head shape for all of their art in the game, so i can do that too.

i think i solidified the idea of its body having strata before the talksprite (not sure which doodles that would be), but doing the talksprite really helped solidify the idea of a gradient in my mind, and also is where i decided on the textural element. i also decided to look at a reference image for the geode. that helped a Lot.

...i still do like drawing a more simplified consequence though. the key in my eyes is to just get the general shape of the head down, make sure you get a few of the squares floating in the air, and emphasize the nodes around its eyes. also make sure the eyes are offset vertically, it REALLY helps with the character of the design, sometimes i'll doodle a connie quence and think it looks a bit mid, move the eye on its left up, and then boom it's fine.

or you can just not do that because you drew it 2 crumbs big lol

[jerksbitch]

dreamt about sam winchester last night . it went like this

him:

me:

[bri-notthecheese]

something, something “we deserve a soft epilogue, my love”

[howtosingit]

I’m gonna be honest, Carlos gently patting TK’s calf as he stands up from the couch has rendered me completely useless and I will literally never recover from it

AND I MEAN LITERALLY