#like I didn’t even have to reinforce the calmness

[aspenmissing]

hey, could you please write the arcane characters, especially jayvik and maybe mel, with a reader who almost always wears a face mask?

they just prefer to keep their face hidden, so it's a huuuge deal when they take off their mask in front of the characters for the first time. it's like, the biggest sign that they trust them.

thank you so much and i hope you have a great day💜

ᴜɴᴍᴀꜱᴋᴇᴅ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 6666 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴ/ᴀ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴍᴀᴢɪɴɢ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀɴ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜰᴜɴ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴅᴀʏ!! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ

JAYCE

Jayce had grown used to seeing you with a mask.

At first, he assumed it was for medical reasons—Piltover had no shortage of airborne chemicals and industrial smog. He didn’t question it. Didn’t press. People wore masks for all kinds of reasons in the city. But when he realized that you never took it off—not even when the rest of the council sat breathing in filtered air, not even when the labs were cleaned top to bottom, not even when it was just the two of you working long hours alone—he started to wonder.

Maybe it was a fashion thing, he thought once. A personal style. You did have a certain presence about you. Sharp. Reserved. Private. Your mask, plain and black or occasionally reinforced with a small metal seam across the bridge of your nose, had become so closely tied to you in his mind that he couldn’t picture you without it. It had become a part of your silhouette, like your steady gait, your tucked-in collar, the way you always carried yourself with quiet precision.

But over time, Jayce realized it wasn’t a fashion choice, and it wasn’t just a quirk.

It was armour.

Not in the literal sense—not hextech, not defensive. But the way you adjusted it before entering a room. The way your eyes would harden a little behind it, your shoulders squaring like you were bracing for something invisible. It wasn’t about aesthetics. It wasn’t about illness. It was about distance. Privacy. Safety. And Jayce respected that more than anything.

Still, he couldn’t lie to himself—he was curious. Not in a shallow way. Not out of some entitled need to see. But because he cared. Because he wondered what your laugh really sounded like, unfiltered by fabric. Because sometimes he caught himself looking a second too long when your eyes crinkled with amusement. Because he thought, more than once, that he’d like to see you smile. Really smile.

But he never said any of that.

Jayce knew the weight of expectation. He knew what it meant to have people reach toward you with open hands that weren’t asking—they were taking. So he kept his questions to himself and simply made space for you.

And despite the mask—because of the way he never asked—you opened up to him in other ways.

You challenged him. Not rudely, not loudly, but with this clever, sharp-eyed calm that made him rethink entire arguments in council meetings. You didn’t flatter him. You didn’t let him off easy. And you never tried to win favor. That, perhaps, was what Jayce admired most—your quiet refusal to play politics.

But more than that, you stayed.

You were still there when the long nights dragged past midnight and even Viktor had gone home. Still there when his thoughts got tangled in pressure and doubt. Still there in the steady passing of time, like a constant he hadn’t known he needed.

And then—on a night like any other—it happened.

=

It was raining. A steady, soft rain that tapped at the tall glass windows of the workshop like a lullaby. You were both seated at the wide central table, surrounded by scattered tools, open notebooks, a few coffee-stained blueprints. The lamps were dimmed low, casting honey-colored light over the space. Jayce sat across from you, carefully disassembling one of his gauntlets for maintenance.

You were quiet, as usual, scribbling something in a side notebook, your gloved fingers steady. But there was something… softer about you tonight. Slower. Jayce couldn’t quite place it.

He glanced up, just in time to see you pause mid-note. Your hand stilled. Your shoulders rose in a slow breath, then settled.

And then, casually—so casually—you reached up and hooked two fingers under the edge of your mask.

Jayce froze.

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t say anything. You just tugged the mask down in one smooth motion and set it aside on the table like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter. Like the air hadn’t shifted completely around him.

It was the first time he’d seen your face.

The moment stretched.

Jayce didn’t speak, afraid that any sound might shatter it. His eyes traced the shape of your face—your lips, slightly dry, the subtle curve of your cheekbones, the faint scar that cut along your jaw like a forgotten story. And your eyes. Maker, your eyes. Without the mask, they were… softer. Clearer. Still sharp, still intelligent, but open in a way he hadn’t seen before.

You didn’t smile. You didn’t fidget. You just kept writing in your notebook like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

Jayce felt his chest tighten with something he couldn’t name. He swallowed thickly, setting his gauntlet down with slow, deliberate care, not wanting to startle you.

“Y/N…” he said quietly, voice low. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” you replied, still not looking up.

Your voice. Unfiltered. It was… richer than he expected. Smooth, calm, deliberate. It warmed the air between you.

Jayce exhaled slowly. “Then… why?” You lifted your gaze at last.

“I trust you.”

The words were simple. No flourish. No dramatics. But Jayce felt them like a weight dropping in his chest.

You trusted him.

And you’d trusted him so quietly, without preamble, without explanation—just done it, like the trust had been building piece by piece over countless small moments. Like this was just the final one that tipped the balance.

Jayce reached across the table, hand palm-up, slow enough that you could ignore it if you wanted.

You didn’t.

Your hand slid into his without hesitation. No gloves. Just skin. Warm, real, steady.

Jayce didn’t squeeze. Didn’t speak. He just held it, reverently, grounding himself in the feel of you.

The rain kept tapping on the glass.

The lamps hummed softly.

And in the hush of the moment, Jayce realized he’d never seen anything more beautiful than the quiet, unremarkable way you let yourself be seen.

VIKTOR

The steady hum of Hextech cores echoed through the dimly lit lab, a rhythm so familiar it had become part of the walls. Pale blue light spilled from a suspended crystal embedded in the ceiling, casting fractured shadows across blueprints and brass instruments scattered in organized chaos. The scent of machine oil and parchment lingered in the air—comforting, in a strange way.

Viktor sat hunched at his desk, one hand scribbling neat, deliberate notes into his journal. His other rested idly near his cane, the worn handle within easy reach. He was murmuring to himself in Zuanite, half-conversing with an idea that wouldn’t fully form.

He didn’t hear you enter—not at first. You moved like a whisper, your footsteps soft and practiced, weight balanced on the balls of your feet, a quiet presence amidst the pulse of innovation. The long coat you wore fluttered faintly at your sides, its hem brushing against the cool stone floor.

You always moved quietly.

Always masked.

A black face covering clung to your skin like second nature. You wore it not out of fashion, nor illness, nor even paranoia—but habit. A shield. An identity. A barrier against being known too deeply. People speculated, of course—they always do. But they learned quickly not to ask. Not after the first warning. You carried silence like a weapon, and you were good at it.

But Viktor never asked.

He simply saw you—never pressed, never tried to read beyond what you chose to show. As if the mask didn’t obscure you at all. As if he could see you clearly anyway.

Tonight was different, though.

"You came," he said, not looking up right away, but the corners of his mouth tugged into a smile. A soft one. The kind that hinted at weariness, but also at something warmer beneath it. "I wasn’t sure you would."

You stepped a little closer, your hands tugging at the hem of your sleeves. A nervous tic. “You asked.”

He finally turned his head to face you, and there it was—that look again. The one that made you feel like you were being heard, even when you hadn’t spoken yet.

“You never ask,” you added, quieter now.

Viktor blinked, caught by the truth of that. His eyes, warm brown like aged oak, narrowed just slightly—not in suspicion, but introspection. “I suppose… I don’t,” he murmured, like he was surprised by himself. “Old habits.”

“You didn’t have to,” you said. “But I came anyway. Because I wanted to.”

Something flickered in his expression then—unreadable, but not unfamiliar. Maybe surprise. Maybe gratitude. Maybe something far more delicate, like hope.

He stood slowly, carefully, bracing himself with one hand against the desk. You could hear the subtle creak of his joints as he rose, the stiff way his leg moved as he brought himself upright. The tip of his cane clicked softly against the stone as he adjusted his balance. You never flinched at the sound. To you, it was Viktor’s rhythm. As familiar as his voice.

“I wanted to show you something,” he said, gesturing toward the far balcony. “It’s a clear night. Rare, lately. You can see the shimmer of the water from here—if you squint past the haze.”

You hesitated. Balconies were open. Exposed. Unforgiving. But… this was Viktor. And if he was inviting you into the open, then maybe it was safe. So you followed.

The air outside was crisp, biting at your cheeks through the fabric of your mask. Piltover sprawled beneath you in a thousand pinpricks of gold and blue, winding streets glowing like veins, steam rising in lazy tendrils from the lower districts. The ocean was a shadow on the horizon, its surface kissed with faint moonlight.

Viktor leaned against the railing, both hands braced on his cane. His profile was cut from light and darkness—sharp nose, high cheekbones, tired eyes beneath windswept strands of hair that refused to lie flat. He looked older tonight. Or maybe you just noticed more.

You came to stand beside him, folding your arms across your chest to brace against the wind. You said nothing at first. Neither did he.

And then—slowly—you reached up.

Your fingers hovered just beneath your chin, trembling slightly. The knot behind your ear, one you had tied a thousand times without thought, suddenly felt like a chain.

You undid it. The cloth fell away in your hands with a whisper-soft sigh. You didn’t let it drop—you held it. Clutched it.

Your face—hidden for years, hidden from everyone—was exposed to open air.

The chill hit your skin like ice water, a sharp sting after years of barrier and distance. You felt naked. More than that, you felt seen—whether Viktor looked or not.

But you didn’t look at the city. You looked at him.

"I want you to see me," you said. Your voice was soft—roughened at the edges like paper torn too slowly. Viktor turned toward you fully now.

His expression didn’t shift into shock. There was no sharp inhale, no wide-eyed surprise. He looked at you the same way he always had—with gentleness. Curiosity. Respect.

As if he had known this face even before he ever saw it.

He stepped closer, careful with his footing, the quiet tap of his cane anchoring him in space. He raised a hand, paused midair.

“May I?”

You nodded once.

He didn’t reach for your face.

Instead, his fingers brushed lightly along the edge of your jaw, and then to the side of your neck, resting there with all the delicacy of a snowflake landing on glass. Warm. Grounding. You closed your eyes. The touch wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t romantic, even—not yet. It was reverent.

“Thank you,” he whispered, as if he were afraid any louder and the moment might shatter. “I know what this means.” You opened your eyes again, glassy with unshed tears.

“I trust you,” you breathed, and your voice broke halfway through.

Viktor didn’t flinch at the crack. He only smiled—small and tired and impossibly kind. Like someone who’d just been handed something sacred.

“I will keep that trust,” he said, like a vow. And you believed him.

For a long time, you stood there—unmasked beneath the stars, heart pressed into the quiet space between you both. For the first time in years, the air didn’t feel hostile. It felt… like freedom.

And Viktor?

He felt like home

JAYVIK

The lab was quieter than usual, the hum of the Hexcore dimmed to a low purr in the background, more like a cat napping beside a warm hearth than the living engine of invention it usually was. The storm outside — distant thunder grumbling behind the glass — only made the lab feel more insulated, like their own little corner of the world had pressed pause.

Viktor sat on one end of the worn couch, one leg tucked beneath the other, his cane leaning against the coffee table within easy reach. The firelight from the wall sconce flickered soft gold across his sharp features, highlighting the quiet alertness behind his eyes.

Jayce, by contrast, sprawled out on the floor with all the casual elegance of someone who had absolutely no bones in his body. A cluttered spread of takeout boxes surrounded him like a nest — dumplings, noodles, some skewers of questionable safety — his sleeves rolled up, shirt a little wrinkled, hair tousled from rubbing at it in frustration over a blueprint earlier that day.

And Y/N… Y/N sat cross-legged between them both, quiet as ever, back straight, hands resting on their knees. Mask on, as always — a soft cloth, navy blue, slightly faded at the seams. It had become part of them, like a second skin. Something they wore not to be mysterious, not to be aloof, but because it made them feel safer. Less seen. Less vulnerable.

Jayce was halfway through lamenting the chicken skewer — “I swear it was still clucking when I bit into it, Viktor, I’m telling you—” when Viktor cut him off with a dry chuckle.

“You ate the whole thing, Jayce.”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Jayce countered, licking sauce from his fingers with a grin.

Y/N huffed a soft laugh. Muffled, but genuine. Their shoulders shook slightly, their head tilting down the way it always did when they smiled behind the mask.

Viktor’s smile was smaller, but lingered longer. That laugh… it always caught him off guard. Like sunlight through dusty glass — rare, and all the more precious for it. They didn’t laugh often. And when they did, he held onto the sound like a secret.

It wasn’t often the three of them got nights like this. No council meetings. No malfunctioning prototypes. No impossible deadlines. Just greasy food, quiet company, and the shared warmth of a friendship that had started in a place of invention and grown into something far softer.

Jayce dug through the boxes. “Alright, alright. Which one’s yours again, Y/N?”

“That one.” Y/N gestured to the container near Viktor’s knee — fingers quick, graceful, calloused from hours of careful work. They always pointed instead of reaching.

Viktor tapped the box forward with his cane, nudging it within arm’s reach for them. “I still don’t understand how you eat with the mask on,” he mused, tone curious but never prying. “Do you... blend everything?”

Jayce snorted. “That’s dark, man.”

Y/N gave no reply. Not verbally. Instead, they reached up with both hands — steady, practiced — and, in one smooth motion, tugged the mask down to rest just under their chin.

No announcement. No fanfare. Just… time to eat.

Viktor stilled. Jayce choked slightly on his drink. Y/N, completely unfazed, opened the takeout box and picked up a dumpling with their chopsticks. Blew lightly on it. Took a bite. Chewed slowly. As if nothing had changed.

But everything had.

Viktor’s gaze, uncharacteristically unguarded, tracked every movement. It wasn’t about seeing them. It wasn’t about beauty — though there was plenty of it. It was about what the gesture meant. That Y/N had let their walls down. Here, in the low light of the lab, with sauce-stained paper boxes and the quiet crackle of rain on glass.

Jayce blinked rapidly, eyes darting between them and Viktor. “Wait—did you just—?”

“You took it off,” Viktor murmured, as if afraid speaking it aloud might undo it.

Y/N didn’t look up, still chewing. “I was hungry,” they said plainly, and licked a streak of dumpling sauce from the corner of their lip without a second thought.

Jayce made a quiet strangled sound.

Viktor’s breath caught softly, like a violin string being plucked too hard. His fingers twitched against his cane.

He knew — both of them did — how rare this was. How carefully Y/N guarded their face, their expression, their self. Viktor had never asked why. Jayce had asked once and been waved off with a shrug and an "I just prefer it." That had been enough. They never pushed.

But now, here they were. Mask down. Face bare. Expression open in the gentle quiet.

Viktor saw more than features. He saw trust.

And Jayce, for once, didn’t speak right away. He looked like he wanted to — like the words were there, bouncing off the back of his teeth — but he kept them in.

Until finally, he blurted, “You’re really—um—”

“Beautiful,” Viktor said softly, cutting him off. Not possessive. Not lustful. Just… true. Y/N’s hand froze halfway to their mouth. Their eyes lifted. Viktor didn’t flinch. “Not because we can see you now. But because you let us.”

There was a beat of stillness.

Then Y/N nodded — a slow, faint incline of their head. Their lips curved ever so slightly. “I trust you,” they said simply, the softness in their voice like worn velvet. “That’s all.”

They popped the rest of the dumpling into their mouth and resumed eating like nothing had happened.

Jayce turned to Viktor, cupping his mouth with one hand to whisper, “Don’t ruin this. She’s eating peacefully. Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m not,” Viktor whispered back, a rare lightness in his voice. “I’m memorizing it.”

The lab settled into gentle silence again, broken only by the sound of chopsticks tapping plastic and Jayce mumbling about how he told them the skewer was cursed.

Outside, the thunder rolled, but inside… everything was calm. It wasn’t the meal that mattered. It wasn’t even the mask.

It was the ease of it — the quiet moment where three people, strange and brilliant and broken in their own ways, found something whole.

Each other.

VANDER

The mask had always been part of you—sewn into your silhouette, second only to your shadow. In Zaun, people didn’t ask questions when you kept your face hidden. Privacy wasn’t a luxury in the Undercity; it was armor. And you wore yours well—sleek black cloth with reinforced seams, high enough to hide your mouth, nose, and sometimes even the softness in your voice.

People assumed all sorts of things about why you wore it. Scars. A Hextech accident. Shyness. Maybe a bit of all three.

But only Vander had dared to ask—once.

It had been early on, when you'd first started running odd jobs for him. You’d caught him looking, brow furrowed, curiosity dancing behind the warmth in his eyes. And when he’d finally asked—gruff but gentle—you’d tilted your head, a smile in your eyes and a teasing lilt in your voice as you replied, “Some things are better left covered.”

He hadn’t pushed. Just gave a small nod, like he understood that there were walls in Zaun built out of more than brick and smoke.

Didn’t mean he didn’t wonder.

=

It happened on a quiet day, rare and precious in the Undercity.

You were in the back room of the Last Drop, tucked away in a patch of sunlight that spilled through a grimy skylight above. The floor was dusty and scattered with old books, half-broken toys, and a few patched-up cushions. Powder sat curled in your lap, humming as she played with a small metal puzzle you’d brought her. Vi was beside you, brow furrowed as she braided the long ribbon threaded through your jacket sleeve, her tongue poking out in concentration. Across the room, Mylo was trying—and failing—to do a handstand while Claggor tried to coach him, both of them laughing and yelling over each other.

You sat in the middle of it all, cross-legged and relaxed, like the eye of a storm. You weren’t exactly maternal—but you were steady. Present. The kind of calm that made children feel like they could breathe a little easier. They clung to you like you were warmth itself, a hearth flame in the cold.

From the doorway, Vander stood watching.

He leaned against the frame, arms folded across his chest, eyes half-lidded but keen. You hadn’t noticed him right away. He looked like he didn’t want to break the spell—like he couldn’t decide whether to step in or just stay frozen there, memorizing every second of you like this. Loose. Unmasked in spirit, if not in body. Laughing, gentle, utterly unaware of the light you gave off.

Then Powder looked up at you with wide, wondering eyes.

“C’mon,” she said quietly. “Take it off. Just once? Please?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Your mask,” she whispered like it was a secret between just the two of you. “Just once.”

Vi straightened, curiosity sparking in her blue eyes. “Yeah! We’ve never seen your whole face! That’s not fair, is it?”

Mylo, now sprawled on the floor in a tangle of limbs, added from the ground, “Bet she’s got a mustache. A huge one.”

Claggor snorted and gave him a half-hearted nudge with his foot. “Don’t be a jerk, Mylo.”

You were caught off guard—not because it was rude, but because of how gently they'd asked. There was no mockery, no pressure in their voices. Just… curiosity. The kind that only came from affection.

Slowly, your eyes lifted—and met Vander’s across the room. He hadn’t moved. Didn’t say a word. Just stood there, watching. Not expecting. Not demanding. Just waiting.

Open. Patient. There.

The kind of presence that didn’t demand your trust, but offered you a space to give it freely.

Your fingers moved before you realized they had, reaching for the seam beneath your jaw. The cloth was soft from use, the inner lining warm from your breath. You hesitated, heart a heavy beat behind your ribs.

No one had ever asked you like this. No one had ever deserved the truth. Until now.

You pulled the mask down slowly, feeling the cool air of the room kiss the skin beneath as it slid from your cheeks, your nose, your lips.

Silence blanketed the room.

Powder stared, her little mouth falling open in awe. “You’re… pretty,” she whispered, like she’d just seen a star up close.

Vi blinked fast, then grinned. “Told you she didn’t have a mustache.”

Mylo groaned, flopping dramatically onto his back. “Ugh! I owe Claggor three coins now!”

Claggor just shrugged, smiling. “Worth it.”

Their laughter broke the stillness, and you found yourself smiling too—unmasked, and yet somehow… more you than ever.

You didn’t reach to pull the mask back up.

Across the room, Vander still hadn’t moved. But his eyes—gods, his eyes—they were soft and full of something you couldn’t name. Something that made your breath catch and your stomach twist.

You stood slowly, stepping over scattered cushions and toys until you were just in front of him.

Closer now, you could see the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes scanned every inch of your newly exposed face—not in judgment, but like he was trying to commit it to memory.

He stepped forward, hesitating for a breath, then reached out—callused fingers brushing lightly over your arms, grounding you.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, voice low and rough with feeling. “But… thank you.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “I know,” you murmured. “That’s why I did.”

There was a beat.

And then he lifted one hand, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. You didn’t.

His fingers touched your cheek—warm, solid, gentle in a way that made your eyes sting. His thumb traced along your cheekbone, brushing the soft skin there like he couldn’t believe it was real.

You leaned into it, just slightly. Just enough.

The laughter behind you faded into a comforting hum. The dust danced in the slant of golden light overhead. And in that moment—bare-faced and open, with Vander looking at you like you hung the stars—

You felt safe. Seen.

Loved.

SILCO

The restaurant was silent save for the soft clinking of silverware and the low, grainy hum of a record spinning somewhere behind the velvet-draped bar. A sultry jazz melody drifted from the dusty phonograph, old but well-maintained — like everything Silco chose to keep close. It wasn’t open to the public tonight. It never was when you came.

Your table was nestled in the farthest corner of the dimly lit dining room, beneath a brass chandelier dulled by time and smoke. Heavy crimson curtains shielded the windows from prying eyes, and the door had been locked the moment you entered. As far as the rest of Zaun was concerned, this place didn’t exist tonight.

Silco sat across from you, posture relaxed but gaze razor-sharp. He looked out of place among the velvet and lace — all sharp edges and war-weathered flesh, dressed in his signature black coat, a crimson handkerchief tucked into the breast pocket like a splash of fresh blood. The flickering candlelight exaggerated the angles of his face, casting deep shadows under his cheekbones and along the jagged scar that split through the corrupted red of his left eye.

You were cloaked, as always. A long black coat draped over your shoulders, gloves hiding the curve of your wrists, and most importantly — your mask. Smooth, matte, featureless. It concealed everything below your eyes, wrapped snugly behind your ears, muffling your voice just slightly. You had worn it the day Silco first met you, and every day since. In the streets of Zaun, where everyone wore pain on their sleeves and betrayal in their eyes, you wore armor instead — and your mask was your strongest piece.

You lifted your glass of wine, taking a small, careful sip. The rich notes of dark plum and oak swirled across your tongue, but your focus wasn’t on the taste. Your eyes flicked over the restaurant floor. The servers moved like ghosts, heads bowed, steps soft. Trained to exist without being seen.

Silco’s orders had been crystal clear: No one is to look at her. No one.

You hadn’t asked him to say that. Hadn’t even hinted. But he had. The moment the first waiter glanced at you for too long, Silco had pinned him with a look that promised a slow death and growled, “If anyone so much as raises their eyes to her again, I’ll gut them at the door.”

And no one ever did again.

You didn’t like drawing attention. You didn’t like the idea of being known. But Silco… he never asked to see more than you gave. He waited. Patient in a way that no one else had ever been with you.

And yet, he always watched.

=

Now, his eyes studied you like he was reading scripture. Reverent, unblinking, yet soft in that strange way he reserved only for you. He was the warlord of Zaun, a man who had once slit a man’s throat for raising a toast in the wrong tone — but across the table from you, he looked almost gentle.

“Everything to your liking?” he asked, his voice gravel thick with cigarette smoke and exhaustion. There was warmth beneath it, though. That rare tone he only ever used when it was just the two of you.

You nodded. “The wine is good tonight.”

He smirked, barely a twitch at the corner of his scarred mouth. “Of course it is. It’s from the same bottle you liked three months ago.” He paused, lifting his own glass, swirling it with idle grace. “I bought the vineyard.”

Your brow lifted above the edge of your mask. “You what?”

“I bought the vineyard,” he repeated smoothly, as though it were the most mundane thing in the world. “Quiet place, on the border of the Entresol. Nothing special — until you liked the wine. Now it’s mine.”

You looked down at your plate, hiding the slow flush that bloomed across your cheeks.

It wasn’t the first time Silco had done something excessive and borderline insane just to please you. But each time, it caught you off guard. You weren’t used to being… valued. Let alone treasured.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured.

Silco’s voice was low, steady. “I wanted to.”

You swallowed hard. Your gloved fingers fidgeted at the edge of your plate. The food sat barely touched — not because it wasn’t good, but because something else had begun to churn beneath your skin. Restlessness. Anxiety. Hope.

=

It had been months since the incident — the one time Silco had seen your face. You had been in the privacy of his office, the windows covered, just finishing a report when you turned your head too quickly, forgetting. Your mask had been off, hanging from one ear. And he had seen.

He hadn’t gasped. Hadn’t made a remark. He had only gone still, eye drinking in the sight of you like he wasn’t sure if you were real. Then he blinked and simply offered you tea.

You’d expected questions. Curiosity. Maybe even admiration or judgment. But he gave you none of that. Only silence. And respect.

He never brought it up again.

=

But tonight… tonight, something in your chest burned.

You could feel the weight of it, pressing at your ribs. A longing to be known. To choose him the way he’d been choosing you over and over again without asking for anything back.

You reached up, fingertips hovering at the seam of your mask. You felt his attention spike instantly, but he said nothing.

You hesitated. Breathed in. Out.

Then slowly, deliberately, you peeled the fabric down. First over your nose, then your mouth, until the entire mask came free. You folded it once and placed it gently on the table beside your wineglass.

Silco didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The room was frozen in time.

Around you, the staff moved with robotic obedience — no one dared lift their gaze. Silco’s wrath was more than a rumour in Zaun. It was gospel.

Your face, hidden from the world for years, now lay bare in the hush of candlelight. Pale lips, the soft curve of your jaw, a faint scar beneath your chin — details no one else alive had seen in ages. Not willingly.

But Silco had. And now you offered it again, willingly.

You met his eyes, breath caught in your throat. Every second felt like an eternity.

He stared at you, his face unreadable. Then, slowly, something shifted. His jaw relaxed. His good eye — that sharp, storm-coloured eye — softened into something achingly tender.

“Y/N…” he whispered, as if saying your name for the first time.

“This is for you,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “Just you.”

A beat of silence. Then he reached across the table, his gloved hand finding yours with purpose. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t cling — he simply held. Firm. Present. Grounding.

His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles. “I won’t forget this,” he said. His voice didn’t tremble, but you could hear it in the undertone — reverence, awe, something bordering on devotion. “Ever.”

You smiled. The first real smile you’d let free in years. Small, genuine, soft enough to burn.

“I know,” you said.

And just like that, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no Zaun, no Piltover, no revolution or ruin. There was only a quiet table in a hidden restaurant, the whisper of candlelight, and two souls — known now, truly, completely — in the stillness of something rare.

MEL

Mel had always admired masks.

Not the physical ones, necessarily—though she could appreciate the artistry in them—but the metaphorical ones people wore. The poised faces in council chambers, the false smiles at galas, the veils of civility that cloaked a hundred private wars. She was raised among masks, taught to recognize their seams, and taught never to trust anyone who didn’t wear one. Those without masks were reckless. Dangerous.

She wore a mask of her own, though hers was finely crafted—a reflection of her heritage and intellect. It was necessary for survival in Piltover, in her world. In politics, in power, in a life constantly under the watchful eyes of allies and enemies alike.

And yet, Y/N wore a real one.

Always.

A simple face covering, its material changing from day to day, sometimes fabric, sometimes metal, but always present. It wasn’t about fashion. It wasn’t a statement about class or status. It wasn’t even a political move, as far as Mel could tell. It was just… there. A constant, silent barrier between them and the rest of the world.

When Mel had once, gently, asked why, Y/N had shrugged and said, “I just prefer it this way.”

No explanation beyond that. No further details. No embellishment.

It became part of who they were. Part of their mystery. It was as if the mask had been woven into their identity just as much as their clothes or their words. Mel had gotten used to it. To them. To the way their voice would float toward her, muffled and soft behind the cloth or metal. How their eyes, always piercing and intense, would be the only thing visible. How she had learned to read everything in the minute shifts of their gaze, the subtle play of emotions in their hands or the slight change in their posture when they were nervous, or when they were deeply passionate about something. She learned to crave their company, their thoughts, their sharp intellect.

But above all else, she craved the mystery. The unknown. The mask.

And still, it stayed. Day after day, night after night. Y/N would sit beside her at council meetings, discuss plans over wine, argue over city politics—but the mask never wavered.

=

Until one quiet evening, when the last light of the day filtered through the windows of Mel’s private suite, painting the room in soft golds and rich reds. The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine from the gardens below, the peace of dusk settling over them both.

Y/N stood by the fireplace, the embers flickering in their gaze. Their posture was different tonight—tense, unsure. Their usually fluid movements were stiff, as if a weight they couldn’t shake had settled into their bones. They hadn’t said much all evening, and Mel had noticed. Her hand instinctively gripped the stem of her untouched glass of wine, its deep red liquid swirling slightly as she leaned forward.

“You’ve been staring into the fire for a while,” Mel said, her voice soft, almost teasing. She knew the silence between them spoke volumes, but she didn’t want to push. Not yet.

Y/N glanced toward her, their eyes momentarily locked before they broke the contact. “No. Just… something I’ve been thinking about doing.”

Mel tilted her head slightly, the silken robe around her shoulders shifting with the movement. “Should I be worried?”

There was a pause—one that felt like it stretched for much longer than it actually did. Y/N looked at their hands, folding and unfolding nervously before them, their jaw tightening as if they were summoning the courage to do something monumental. “I think… I think I’ve been hiding behind it long enough.”

It took a moment for Mel to realize what they meant, and when it clicked, her breath caught in her throat.

Without another word, Y/N raised their hands slowly, their movements deliberate. Their fingers trembled ever so slightly as they reached up to their face, untying the delicate strings that held the mask in place. There was no flourish, no grand gesture. Just a quiet, almost meditative unfastening.

Mel’s pulse raced, her breath becoming shallow. She watched as the mask—the mask—began to come off. She had never seen Y/N without it. Not once in the time they’d known each other. It was as if, with each small tug and release, a hidden part of Y/N was being uncovered. It wasn’t just a physical mask being removed. It was a layer of their soul, of their identity, something far more intimate than Mel had ever dared to hope for.

The mask was set aside carefully, as if it was something sacred. And then Y/N turned fully toward her.

And there they were.

Unmasked.

Real.

Vulnerable.

For a long, stunned moment, Mel simply stood there, unable to find her words. She couldn’t stop looking at them. Y/N’s features were even more breathtaking without the mask, not because of symmetry or beauty, but because they were finally… whole. This was the person they had been hiding from the world—and from her—for so long. And Mel realized, with a wave of emotion so strong it almost took her breath away, that this was the truest thing she’d ever seen.

Y/N’s eyes, so familiar and yet new, met hers. “I trust you,” they said, their voice softer, unguarded. “That’s all I wanted you to know.”

The weight of those words settled heavily in the room, wrapping itself around Mel like a warm embrace. The silence stretched between them, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with meaning. With promise. With something real.

Mel swallowed thickly, her fingers tightening on the edge of the chair as she stood up slowly. There was something raw in their gaze, something that made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t name. She stepped forward, the air between them charged with every unspoken thought, every fragile feeling that had been buried deep inside her for months. Her hand, trembling slightly, reached up toward Y/N’s face.

Her fingers barely brushed their jaw, as if testing the warmth of their skin. She had never thought she’d be this close to them—not like this, without the barrier. The feel of their skin beneath her fingertips was grounding. It was real.

“You have no idea what this means to me,” Mel whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of her emotions. She had spent so long building walls around her heart, believing that masks were the only way to stay safe, to protect herself. But Y/N had just shown her a truth she hadn’t known she was ready to face. They had given her something no one else ever had—complete vulnerability. Complete trust.

Y/N smiled then—a real, unguarded smile, one that made Mel’s heart race in a way she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just a smile. It was the kind of smile that lit up the room, that made everything seem possible.

And then, before Mel could even think, she leaned in, closing the distance between them, her lips brushing against theirs.

It wasn’t a kiss of hunger or need. It wasn’t rushed, as if either of them feared the moment would slip away. No. It was a kiss of reverence. Of awe. Of two people—two souls—finally seeing each other for what they truly were.

When their lips parted, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, and they leaned their forehead gently against Mel’s, a smile still tugging at the corners of their mouth.

“Unmasked,” Mel whispered, her voice full of wonder.

Y/N nodded, a quiet laugh escaping them. “Unmasked.”

And in that moment, Mel understood. She had always known how to wear a mask. But Y/N had shown her what it meant to live without one.

[luvly-writer]

Aretia: Domesticated

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of Xaden’s room, casting golden shadows over the stone walls. The world outside was busy, but inside, everything was still.

Y/n was curled against Xaden on his bed, her head tucked beneath his chin, one arm draped lazily across his chest. His hand rested at her waist, thumb absentmindedly tracing slow circles over the fabric of her shirt. They hadn’t meant to fall asleep — it had started as a moment of rest after drills, just a few minutes to breathe together.

Now, they were both half-asleep, warm and peaceful in that quiet haze of shared silence.

Until—

The door swung open with too much force to be casual.

“What the actual hell—”

Xaden groaned as Ridoc’s voice shattered the calm, not even lifting his head as he muttered, “For the love of the gods…”

Y/n blinked herself awake, sitting up slightly just as Ridoc stood at the threshold, jaw slack, scandal practically radiating from him.

“I was napping, Ridoc,” Y/n said, exasperated but fighting back a smile.

“In his bed, Y/n!” Ridoc practically shrieked, pointing a dramatic finger at them like they’d committed some sacred betrayal. “Xaden Riorson is tarnishing my little sister’s innocence!”

Xaden just groaned again, one arm wrapping tighter around Y/n’s waist as he dragged her back down with him and buried his face in her neck. “Please make him leave,” he mumbled, voice muffled.

Y/n let out a breathy laugh, hand coming up to tangle in Xaden’s hair as she looked at her twin. “You are being insane. It was a nap.”

“A nap with the Lieutenant of Brooding and Sin!” Ridoc snapped, dramatically flailing one arm. “This is treason against brotherhood!”

Xaden let out a long sigh. “I’m literally just lying here.”

“With my twin sister,” Ridoc said, jabbing a finger at them like it proved his entire argument.

Y/n rolled her eyes and kissed Xaden’s temple. “You’re not helping.”

Xaden chuckled quietly against her neck. “Not trying to.”

Ridoc made a strangled sound and turned toward the door. “I’m telling Rhiannon. And Violet. I need reinforcements.”

As he left, Y/n shook her head with a giggle, fingers tracing over Xaden’s jaw as he slowly surfaced from sleep again.

“He really your older brother, huh?” he asked groggily.

“Every dramatic inch of him,” Y/n replied with a grin. “And somehow, you’re the one getting blamed for corrupting me.”

“I am a bad influence,” he teased, finally lifting his head to press a kiss to her cheek. “Want to nap some more, corrupted little rider?”

She laughed, curling back into his chest. “Only if you promise to protect me from Ridoc’s wrath.”

Xaden smirked. “Always.”

Not even ten minutes later, just as Y/n was dozing off again against Xaden’s chest, the door slammed open again.

“Y/n Gamlyn!” Rhiannon’s voice rang out, equal parts scandalized and gleeful.

“Oh for the love of—” Xaden groaned, this time fully burying his face under the blanket.

Y/n sat up, squinting as Ridoc marched in, flanked by Violet and Rhiannon like a battalion of righteous fury. Violet looked amused, arms crossed. Rhiannon looked delighted. And Ridoc was radiating “big brother meltdown” energy.

“I was asleep, Rhi!” Y/n said defensively, though she couldn’t help but laugh at how dramatic this was turning out to be.

“In his bed, Y/n!” Ridoc repeated for dramatic effect, once again pointing like a scandalized mother hen. “This is a scandal.”

“She’s fully clothed, Ridoc,” Violet deadpanned, clearly unimpressed.

“That’s not the point, Violet!” he barked. “He is Xaden Riorson! Have you met him?”

Rhiannon plopped onto the chair with a grin. “Honestly, I’m just mad you didn’t tell me you two were nap-level domestic now.”

Y/n laughed, cheeks warm. “There wasn’t much to tell! We were tired. We lay down. We slept. That’s it.”

Xaden poked his head out from under the blanket, his hair a sleepy mess and eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. “I’ve killed venin with less effort than surviving this conversation.”

Violet snorted.

Ridoc turned to Xaden. “If I find out anything happened—”

“Then you’ll what?” Xaden replied dryly. “Challenge me to a duel with a soup spoon?”

“Do not tempt me.”

Y/n facepalmed and stood, walking over to her brother. “Ridoc, I love you. I do. But if you keep doing this every time we so much as breathe near each other, I will hide all your socks.”

He opened his mouth, then thought better of it and huffed. “Fine. But I’m watching you,” he pointed at Xaden with two fingers and then pointed to his eyes. “Always.”

“You and half the quadrant,” Xaden muttered.

As Ridoc stomped out, Violet shook her head with a soft smile and followed, muttering, “This is what you get for dating someone with an overprotective brother.”

Rhiannon grinned. “This is my favorite drama,” she said before she slipped out.

Y/n turned to Xaden, who was still half-buried in his blanket. “You good?”

He reached a hand out toward her. “Come back. Blanket fortress needs reinforcement.”

Laughing, she crawled back into bed and curled up next to him, her heart full despite the chaos.

“Next time,” she murmured, “we lock the door.”

A few days...

It was a peaceful afternoon for once, the Iron Squad lounging in the courtyard after training, enjoying the rare moment of quiet. Xaden sat on the stone bench, legs sprawled, tossing a dagger between his hands with casual ease. Y/n sat a few feet away, her braid half undone, blue silk ribbon slipping loose, eyes shamelessly focused on him—soft smile, chin on her hand, completely gone.

“You’re doing it again,” Ridoc muttered, sliding up behind her.

Y/n blinked, confused. “Doing what?”

“This,” he said as he reached over and clapped a hand gently over her eyes. “Stop eye-fucking my lieutenant. Some of us are trying to keep our lunch down.”

Y/n let out a dramatic sigh and smacked his arm lightly. “Ridoc!”

“What?” he said, smirking, keeping his hand in place. “You look like you’re undressing him with your soul.”

“I was not!” she protested, laughing as she peeled his hand off her face. “Get off me!”

“I’m saving you from public indecency,” he replied, utterly unbothered as she tried to swat at him again.

Xaden watched them with raised brows, a twitch of a smile on his lips. “Do you ever stop harassing her?”

“Only when I’m asleep,” Ridoc deadpanned.

Violet, watching from nearby, couldn’t contain her laughter. “Oh gods, this is giving me serious Mira and Brennan flashbacks.”

“Please tell me they did this to you,” Rhiannon said, grinning.

“Brennan once pretended to faint when he saw me smiling at a boy in the courtyard,” Violet said with a nostalgic laugh. “This is very on-brand.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, trying to act annoyed even though she was smiling. “He’s been like this since I was twelve.”

“I’m just saying,” Ridoc added dramatically, throwing an arm over her shoulder, “You’re already dating a brooding lieutenant with a literal army of shadows. Maybe leave some mystery alive for the rest of us.”

Xaden shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “Thank the gods I’m an only child.”

Y/n gave him a look. “Don’t jinx it. Ridoc will adopt you at this rate.”

Ridoc threw his hands up. “No! I have one sibling and she’s already exhausting. I don’t need two.”

“You love me,” Y/n said sweetly, poking him in the side.

“Unfortunately.”

Violet leaned back against the bench beside Xaden. “This is your life now.”

He gave her a dry look. “Believe me. I’m aware.”

They all laughed, the ease and warmth between them wrapping around the group like an invisible thread. And though Ridoc would never admit it, the teasing was always paired with a protective glint in his eye—because nothing made him happier than seeing his little sister smiling this wide.

Author's note: Short but cute

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia @hiraethjules @nikfigueiredo @galaxystern08 @taleiaargenis @minidemont @poeticbookwormcat @eternallyrosyfire @shadowhuntyi @bubble300 @messageforthesmallestman @iheartshopping @fangirling-galore @nesiris21 @itsbeenmyhonor20 @stelena-klayley @littleemissperfecttt @lagrandeourse @readinf @barbreadsbooks

[adventures-with-aspen]

It’s taken 2 years to get to this point

[callsign-fox]

Dance with Me? - Bob/Robert Reynolds

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

Super fluffy, no warnings xo

I knew this movie would get me to write again, and I haven't even seen it yet! Don't worry, I am seeing it tomorrow ;)

Bucky’s apartment wasn’t home—but it was the closest thing to it. Nestled in a secured corner of Brooklyn, reinforced by his new position as a Congressman, it was a safe haven. A quiet place to hide. It was where Y/N had been laying low ever since she’d turned into a massive, flaming Phoenix above Manhattan—an event that had sent the world into a panic. The headlines hadn’t stopped. Neither had the government’s search.

The Phoenix inside her was too new. Too wild. Too dangerous. So, she stayed hidden. Waiting. Healing.

But that quiet broke the moment the Thunderbolts burst through Bucky’s door, weapons holstered but tension palpable—and someone new in their midst.

Something inside her shifted.

Light moved over her skin like a breeze—curious, tingling, alive. She felt it before she even saw him. From her place curled on the couch, Y/N lifted her head, gaze narrowing on the stranger. Her voice was calm, but her instincts were alert.

“Who's your new friend?”

“This is Bob,” Bucky replied casually, already heading toward the kitchen like this was just another Tuesday.

But Bob… wasn’t just another face.

Y/N’s eyes lingered longer than they should have. She could feel it—that coiled, restrained power humming beneath his skin. But deeper than that was something raw. Broken. Familiar.

He met her gaze, but didn’t smile.

She wondered if he felt her too.

Rising from the couch, Y/N moved a step closer, her voice soft. “He’s not like the rest of you.”

“No,” Yelena cut in, her eyes sharp. “Is this where you’ve been hiding the past few months?”

“Maybe,” Y/N answered, a sly grin tugging at her lips as she picked up her empty mug and headed to the kitchen.

“You’re a terrible government official,” Yelena called after Bucky. “Hiding a nuclear-level threat under your own roof. Cute.”

“I’m not a threat,” Y/N muttered, rolling her eyes.

Yelena mumbled something under her breath that Y/N chose to ignore. Bob quietly slipped into one of the armchairs while Yelena turned to the group.

“We’ve got things to discuss. Mind babysitting, Phoenix?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Bob said, barely louder than a breath. But even he didn’t sound convinced.

Y/N moved back into the living room, her fingers trailing along the back of the couch as she sat, perching at its edge. Yelena took the hint and filed out, Bucky following her with a last glance.

“You two don’t get into any trouble,” he said before the door clicked shut behind him.

Silence settled over the apartment like dust in sunlight.

Y/N rose slowly, her bare feet brushing over the cool hardwood floor. She could feel him watching her—his presence tugging at something inside her chest. It was strange. Electric. Right.

“You don’t talk much,” she said quietly.

Bob’s voice was rough, but not unfriendly. “Not a lot to say.”

She didn’t push. Instead, she turned to the bookshelf, flipping through the records until her fingers landed on something smooth and timeless—Sam Cooke. She dropped the needle, and the music filled the apartment like warmth spilling from an open window.

Turning to face him, she lifted a brow. “When’s the last time you smiled?”

He blinked. “I don’t really know.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Well… I don’t know you yet, Bob, but I have a feeling I can fix that.”

She held out her hand. He stared at it, confused.

“What?”

“Dance with me?”

A flicker of something crossed his face—surprise, maybe. Hope. He didn’t move, not at first.

“You want me to dance with you?”

“You heard me,” she teased, her grin growing. “A pretty girl is asking you to dance, you’re not going to turn her down, are you?”

He opened his mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to laugh—but no words came. Instead, he slipped his hand into hers and stood, slow and uncertain.

His hand was warm in hers. Solid. Real.

“One song,” she said softly. “No brooding. No worrying. Just… be human with me. Just for a moment.”

She guided him in, gently placing his hand on her waist, her other hand resting against his chest. It had been years since someone touched him like that—like he wasn’t dangerous. Like he wasn’t broken.

She moved first—swaying slowly, fluid and graceful. Bob was stiff at first, clumsy and hesitant, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t watching his feet.

She was watching his face.

“What are you, anyway?” she asked, her voice soft but steady.

His eyes narrowed, shadows flickering behind them. “Something powerful. Too powerful.”

She studied him for a beat, then nodded with a hint of a smirk. “Sounds like you’d give me a run for my money.”

He gave a small shrug, unreadable. “Maybe.”

But he didn’t look away, his eyes locked on hers.

“You’re allowed to let go sometimes you know,” she whispered, her breath brushing against his cheek. “I do.”

His eyes met hers, flickering with something fragile. “What happens if I let go… and everything falls apart?”

She tilted her head, inching closer. “Then we dance in the ashes.”

Something in him unraveled.

His shoulders dropped, his arm relaxed against her waist—and then, for the first time in what might’ve been forever, he smiled.

Y/N’s heart skipped, and she beamed back at him.

“There it is,” she said. “And it’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

His smile lingered, shy and uncertain, but real. Y/N felt it again—like a pull deep in her chest, a thread tying her to him. It wasn’t just the dance or the song. It was him. The quiet storm beneath his surface. The sense that somehow, even though they'd just met, he wasn’t a stranger.

Their movements slowed until they were barely swaying, just standing in each other’s space. Close. Breath mingling.

Her hand slid up from his chest to rest just over his heart. “That smile looks good on you.”

Bob looked down at her, his brow furrowed like he was trying to solve a rather difficult puzzle. “You feel… familiar,” he murmured, his voice soft and reverent, like he was afraid of breaking whatever moment they’d stumbled into. 

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. “I was thinking the same thing.”

The air between them shifted—charged, magnetic. Her eyes flicked to his lips just as he leaned the smallest bit closer. His hand at her waist tightened, just slightly, anchoring them in that fragile, suspended second.

It felt like the world had gone still, like the Phoenix inside her was holding its breath.

Then—

Click.

The front door swung open.

“You leave them alone for five minutes,” Bucky’s voice filled the room, too casual and far too loud, “and they throw a damn prom.”

Y/N took a sharp step back, cheeks flushed, pretending she hadn’t just been about to kiss a man she’d known for less than an hour.

Bob ran a hand through his hair and turned away, the moment shattered like glass underfoot.

Bucky blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Nope,” Y/N said, voice an octave too high as she reached to turn off the record player. “Just... entertaining your guest.”

Bob sat back down without a word, his eyes carefully avoiding hers now, like if he looked again, he’d lean right back in.

Bucky raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Right. Well. We’ve got updates. Let’s all have a chat, shall we?”

Y/N nodded, but as she brushed past Bob on her way to the kitchen, her fingers grazed his—and just for a second, she felt that spark again. That pull.

Whatever this was between them—it wasn’t done yet.

Technically Part 2 - Space to Breathe

[kashverse]

Hey! Not 100% sure if your requests are open, but can I get an SMAU of you doing a double take at a random hot guy the boys and you walk past on the street? Crack would be so funny lmaoo! Thanks, love ur work!😆🤭

read till the end to see choso in cosplay (not clickbait)

it was supposed to be a simple grocery run. a peaceful, uneventful, married couple activity. you and nanami were at the organic section—him carefully selecting the perfect tomatoes, you texting him from two feet away about getting more oat milk. normal. civil. domestic.

then it happened.

a man—tall, broad, effortlessly stylish—walked past you with a bulging bag of groceries. your eyes followed him. your head whipped so fast you swore you heard your neck crack. and beside you, nanami stopped mid-reach for an avocado, eyes slowly narrowing. “really?” he muttered, voice dangerously calm. you blinked at him, confused. “what?”

“nothing.” his jaw twitched. nanami kento, mature and self-assured, was obviously not sulking.

but you saw the way his grip on the avocado tightened. saw the micro twitch in his brow. your dear husband thought you were checking out grocery bag man. except you were not. oh, no. this was far worse. you turned to nanami, eyes wide, voice trembling with despair.

“he took the last loaf.”

nanami’s expression barely shifted. “what?”

“the last loaf, kento. the ethically sourced, imported-from-a-french-village, aged-like-fine-wine, vegan-friendly bread you waited weeks for—he has it.”

nanami’s world shattered. his entire soul left his body.

the betrayal, the injustice, the absolute audacity of that man, casually walking out with his bread like he didn’t just ruin two people’s week. you grabbed his arm before he could start forward. “babe, no.”

his fingers twitched, torn between rationality and primal rage. “he doesn’t deserve it,” he whispered, haunted. you spent the rest of the grocery run in silence. nanami didn’t even flinch when the cashier told him the total. he was mourning.

ah, evening walks. a staple of married life. you and geto, hands intertwined, nodding politely at neighbors like you were the wholesome, friendly couple everyone thought you were.  then you saw him. a man striding down the street, his pants fluttering with each step. the most perfect pair of bell-bottoms you had ever seen.

you grabbed geto’s arm, halting mid-walk. your jaw went slack.

“sugu—”

his expression darkened. his fingers tensed around yours.

“so that’s your type?”

you blinked, confused. “what?”

“oh, nothing.” he smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile. it was a ‘hmm, my love is a traitor’ smile.

you turned back to bell-bottom man.

“he’s wearing the exact pair you’ve been looking for.”

geto froze. the tension evaporated. he squinted. studied. analyzed.

“…cotton blend,” he murmured.

“definitely imported,” you added. you both stood there. staring. geto’s eyebrows twitched.

“i need to know where he got them.”

“we could follow him.”

“we absolutely could.”

and so, two grown adults—former sorcerers, parents, functioning members of society—spent the next ten minutes covertly (not covertly) stalking a man for the sole purpose of inquiring about his pants.

it was a good day. you and toji had just finished at the butcher, a prime cut of steak nestled in your bag, and toji was already humming about grilling it up with butter. then you saw the officer.

your head whipped around so fast toji felt it. his shoulders tensed. his jaw clenched. a cop? a cop? that’s what you were into? he could deal with gym bros, maybe even pretty boys, but an officer?

…he was gonna have to commit a crime.

toji was seething. fuming. trying so hard not to snarl about how he could handle you better than some uniformed pretty boy. then you leaned into him, tugging his sleeve.

“look at his gun.”

toji blinked. “huh?”

“that’s a customized SIG. high-end, lightweight, reinforced barrel—”

oh.

oh.

toji let out the deepest sigh of his life. his entire soul exhaled. you weren’t ogling some officer’s ass. you were checking out his gun.

for the first time ever, toji felt defeated by an inanimate object.

there were three things gojo satoru could not tolerate:

being ignored

being ignored in public

being ignored in public while you were looking at another man

so when he caught you staring—staring—at some guy while he, the love of your life, stood next to you in all his six-eyed, beautiful glory, he reacted in the only way he knew how. loudly.

“are you actually serious right now?” gojo gasped, clutching his chest. “ogling another man? in front of me? your one true love?”

you didn’t even look at him. you were still staring at sunglasses man, an impressed hum under your breath. gojo clutched your sleeve. “babe, look at me. me."

“he’s wearing chopard.”

the air changed.

gojo stopped breathing. his hand went limp. his pupils shrank. his jaw—previously running at a hundred miles per hour—snapped shut.

“ch-chopard?” his voice cracked. you nodded, grave.

now both of you were wailing.

“we could’ve been him,” gojo cried. “we could’ve been walking around dripping in wealth!”

“he looks so effortless.”

“his life is together.”

you both mourned the lack of chopard in your lives, heads bowed in devastation, like you had just witnessed your futures slipping through your fingers. that night, gojo went home and bought three pairs online.

sukuna had seen it. the way your eyes lingered. the way your gaze flickered over some gym bro’s barely covered pecs like you had just discovered the meaning of life. he crossed his arms, seething. “seriously?” you, completely unaware of your impending doom, glanced at him. “huh?”

“you checked him out.”

you blinked. “no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.”

“no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.”

“read his shirt.”

sukuna’s eye twitched. but fine. he’d play your little game. he begrudgingly looked over, prepared to see some cringe gym brand logo, only to be met with the words:

“I ❤️ MY PARTNER.”

in bold. right across the pecs.

sukuna froze. the world went silent. for once in his entire existence, he felt true, undeniable embarrassment.

“…oh.”

you smacked the back of his head.

the next day, sukuna walked into his gym wearing that exact shirt, except his was customized.

“I ❤️ MY PARTNER MORE THAN YOU LOVE YOURS.”

choso was panicking. he had seen you do it. the double take. the slight pause in your step. the way your eyes lingered on another man. his hands clenched into fists. his heart dropped into his stomach.

his brain? already drafting up worst-case scenarios. his soul? leaving his body. his spirit? crushed.

“please don’t leave me,” he whispered, eyes pleading. you blinked. “what?”

“i saw you looking at him.”

you glanced at the man in question. he was carrying a big shopping bag filled with sanrio plushies.

“…babe.”

choso swallowed. “just tell me now so i can emotionally prepare—”

“babe, i was looking at the plushies.”

choso went silent. the blood drained from his face.

he stared at the bag, then at you.

back at the bag, then at you.

then back at the bag.

“oh,” he whispered. he didn’t sleep that night. he spent hours on his phone.

on valentine’s day you opened the door, expecting something sweet—flowers, chocolates, maybe a heartfelt love letter. instead, you were met with choso.

in a inflatable cinnamoroll costume.

his entire body was swallowed by the plush suit. his face? peeking out of cinnamoroll’s giant, smiling head.

“…choso?”

“do you like it?” he asked, voice muffled through the fabric. you did not know whether to laugh or cry. he shuffled closer, arms outstretched.

“i’m your sanrio plush now.”

[mintyys-blog]

MINTYYY can you PUH LEASE do a sex ban on the mark variants 😅⁉️🫦🫦🫦 like reader got mad over something and BOOM sex ban 💯💯 #girlboss

Also Prisoner mark is also my fav favorite too! He needs more screen time cuz whaaaaa💔💔

HEADCANON | invincible variants on a sex ban

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

MAIN MARK

• Tries so hard to respect it. He genuinely wants to do better.

• Apologizes again. And again. Probably for stuff he didn’t even do.

• But when you wear that silk robe and bend over just a little?

He’s on his knees like, “Can I stick it in? Just a little?”

• You say no.

• He goes to the shower.

• For 40 minutes.

MOHAWK MARK

• “Just the tip.”

• Says it with a straight face. Has the audacity to smile.

• You deadpan.

• you cover your face. Roll over. Lights off.

• he stared blankly, pointing your side. “Babe?”

• you ignore him.

• He’s on probation.

SINISTER MARK

• No.

• Does not respect the ban.

• Who do you think you are? His equal? His jailer? “You exist to be mine. If you thought you could change that with rules, baby… you’re adorable.”

• He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t ask.

• You say no, and he hears “convince me.”

• Next thing you know? You’re face down, back arched, the wall cracked behind your headboard.

• He’s feral. Unhinged. And talking through it. “You think you get to decide? You exist to please me. Don’t ever forget it.”

• Your legs don’t work the next morning.

• He calls that a light warning.

OMNI MARK

• Thinks he’s mature enough. Emotionally evolved. Above this.

• “I’ve gone decades without it. I’ll be fine.”

• Day 2: You start teasing. Wearing his shirt. Sitting in his lap. Getting real close, whispering in his ear, “Goodnight.”

• He holds the line.

• Day 5: You’re bent over a counter on accident and his hands twitch.

• Day 7: You whisper “good boy” during a mission.

• Pins you to the wall with one hand. Voice trembling. “You planned this. You’re doing this on purpose.”

• He doesn’t break the ban. But when you finally lift it?

• He ruins you. Slowly. All that controlled maturity burns down in one night.

SHIESTY MARK

• Laughs in your face. “You think I respect bans? Baby I’m the reason bans exist.”

• You arch a brow, “that’s not the flex you think it is.” He tries every line in the book.

“Okay, but what if we don’t call it sex?”

“What if you just accidentally sit on my face?”

• You smack him. He moans.

• Ends up jerking off loudly with the door open until you threaten to throw his mattress out the window.

• Day 5: Shows up with flowers and says, “This is me being romantic. Can we fuck now?”

• Day 6: You almost consider it. He senses the weakness. He pounces.

• You’re too mad to stop him—but not mad enough to say no. You call it a relapse. He calls it a win.

MASKLESS MARK

• He’s so respectful. Almost too respectful.

• Says things like “Of course, I understand. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

• But behind those calm eyes? CHAOS.

• You catch him staring. Always staring.

• Fist clenched when you laugh. Breathing heavy when you hug him.

• Day 4: He asks, voice low, “Would it be inappropriate to say I dreamed about you last night?”

• You say “Yes.”

• He smiles.

• Day 6: You catch him whispering your name into his pillow.

• Day 7: He breaks. Doesn’t touch you—but stands in front of your door and says: “I need you. Tell me what I have to do.”

FULL MASK MARK

• Doesn’t react. At least, not visibly.

• You almost think he doesn’t care.

• Until you find two holes punched through the reinforced training walls.

• Doesn’t talk about it. Doesn’t argue. Just seethes quietly.

• Starts doing silent, shirtless workouts in your eyeline. You know it’s on purpose.

• You try to tease him.

• He doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. But the mask turns. “Say the word, and I’ll break every promise for you.”

• You feel that. Deep. Still, he waits. Until you crack. And when you do? He takes his time.

VILTRUMITE MARK

At first? Arrogant. Smug. You lay down the ban and he just laughs. “You think I need sex that badly? I’m Viltrumite. I have discipline.”

• Day 1: He trains harder. Tries to “sweat it out.”

• Day 2: You stretch in front of him in tiny shorts. He twitches. Looks away. Barely.

• Day 3: You kiss his neck. Whisper “goodnight.” Leave him standing there like a statue with a pulse. He’s pacing the halls at 3AM. Shirtless. Angry. Horny. Confused.

• Day 5: You bend over a little too slow to pick something up and he growls. Like actually. Animal noise.

• Day 6: He’s slamming fists into boulders. Punching holes in steel walls. Trying not to break.

• But you? You’re thriving. Teasing him. Whispering things like, “You’re so strong… bet you could make me forget my own name if I let you.” You leave him like that. Blue-balled. Sweating.

[gksweetdreams]

Caught in a Web

Sinister Mark x Reader

Here’s part 2 I felt really inspired and kind of fell in love when writing and creating it so I hope you enjoy it and I hope you like the way this story is moving along :)

The world was chaos. Different variants of Mark Grayson were tearing each other apart, destroying the cities and killing innocents. Some of the Marks were heroes, some villains—others barely more than mindless beasts. But Sinister Mark? He stood still; eyes still locked onto her.

Y/N had fought many threats before like gangs and alien invaders—but something about him unsettled her. He wasn’t like the other Marks, blinded by rage or loyalty to the Viltrumite empire. No, there was something else behind those eyes.

A memory.

And love...

She fired a web to the side of a crumbling skyscraper and swung away, her senses screaming to put distance between them. She didn’t trust that look he was giving her—the kind that made her spidey senses go off and give her a headache.

The kind of look where it felt like she belonged to someone she had never even met.

But Sinister Mark wasn’t about to let her go so easily.

In an instant, he was right beside her in the air, flying. His cape blowing behind him, and despite the destruction around them, he looked almost… calm… too calm

“Running already?” His voice was smooth, teasing. “You’ve fought aliens before, haven’t you? You don’t strike me as the type to back down.”

Y/N didn’t say anything, and he continued

“My Y/N always faced issues head on… maybe that’s why she died” 

Y/N twisted mid-air, firing another web toward him. But this time, she reinforced it with electricity, her version of a venom blast.

Sinister Mark caught it—again—but this time, the energy crackled up his arm, his jaw clenching from the pain. Yet instead of anger, a smirk played on his lips.

“There she is.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. Why did it sound like he knew her? She hated it…

“Alright, buddy, listen,” she said, flipping onto a nearby rooftop annoyed. “I don’t know what kind of tragic backstory you’ve got, but I am not her.”

Sinister Mark landed with a soft thud; arms crossed over his chest. “I know.”

That caught her off guard. Not expecting him to just agree.

“I know you’re not my Y/N,” he continued, stepping closer. “She’s gone. I lost her. And before you ask—no, I wasn’t the one who killed her.” His fists clenched slightly. “But I should have stopped it.”

Y/N’s spider-sense tingled—not from danger, but from something else. He wasn’t lying. His pain was real.

For a brief second, her mind flickered to her own Mark—her version of Invincible, the one she fought beside. Would she be standing here, looking at him in another life, if things had gone differently?

She shook the thought away.

“Look, I get it,” she said, keeping her distance. “Loss changes people. But don’t mistake me for a second chance.”

Sinister Mark exhaled through his nose, almost like a laugh. “Who said I was?”

Another scream could be heard leaving no time for Y/N to respond. One of the more savage Marks—scarred and monstrous—ripped through the battlefield below, his bloodstained eyes locked onto hers from the distance.

Sinister Mark’s expression darkened.

“Get behind me,” he ordered.

Y/N scoffed. “Yeah, no. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can.” His gaze flicked to her web-shooters, the subtle twitch of her fingers, the way her body tensed. She was already calculating a hundred ways to take down the incoming threat. And he found himself... fascinated. It was strange to him how this Y/N and his Y/N were so similar but yet so different.

Then the monstrous Mark variant lunged.

Y/N moved first, flipping into the air, dodging a powerful punch that shattered the rooftop. She fired a web at his face, pulling herself toward him to deliver a venom-charged punch—only for him to catch her mid-air.

Her breath hitched as she felt his grip tighten.

Before she could react, a blur tore through the sky.

Sinister Mark hit him like a meteor.

The monstrous variant barely had time to register what happened before Sinister Mark grabbed his head and slammed him through the rooftop, sending them both crashing into the streets below.

Dust and debris filled the air.

Y/N landed gracefully on the edge of the destruction swiping her hand left to right to move the smoke they both caused, heart pounding.

Sinister Mark stood over the now-dead variant; his fist still embedded in the pavement. Blood dripped from his knuckles—none of it his own.

He flew back to her, the expression unreadable.

Y/N crossed her arms. “I had that.” Trying not to act like that didn’t just give her the scare of a life time.

Sinister Mark wiped the blood from his knuckles. “I know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then why step in?”

His lips quirked up into a smirk. “Because I wanted to.”

A beat of silence passed between them, heavy with something neither wanted to name.

Then he took a step toward her.

Y/N tensed but didn’t move.

“I won’t pretend you’re her,” he said, voice quieter now. “But you are... something. And I don’t ignore things that make me feel alive.”

She swallowed.

“Careful,” she murmured. “You might start sounding like a hero.”

Sinister Mark chuckled. “Unlikely.”

Above them, the sky continued to crackle with energy. The war between variants wasn’t over yet.

But for the first time since arriving in this reality, Sinister Mark wasn’t just looking for a fight.

He had found something far more dangerous. Something that made his heartbeat again…

Something he wasn’t sure he could walk away from…

And Y/N didn’t know what to think.

Thank you for all the love and support!! It truly amazed me, and I am really happy everyone liked part 1. Sorry once again for the grammar and I hope everyone enjoys this story as much as I like writing it :)

← Previous Part | Next Part →

[heliosunny]

Yandere!Zayne x Reader x Yandere!Caleb

Arts cre to artist

Summary: In a post-apocalyptic world overrun by monstrous creatures known as Wanderers, you are one of the last remaining scientists, dedicating your life to preserving humanity. Using cutting-edge biotechnology, you create Caleb and Zayne—two highly advanced humanoid beings designed to assist you in fighting the Wanderer threat. You implant them with memories of being your childhood friends to ensure they feel loyalty, trust, and camaraderie toward you. Caleb is the reliable and determined pilot, wielding gravity-based powers, while Zayne is the calm and resourceful medic, capable of manipulating ice.

The morning sun streamed through the reinforced windows of your lab as the smell of something savory wafted in, pulling you out of your deep focus. You looked up from the maze of wires and circuits sprawled across your workstation just in time to see Caleb entering, balancing a steaming plate in one hand. His dark hair was slightly damp, probably from his morning workout, and his signature confident grin was firmly in place.

“You didn’t eat again, did you?” he said, setting the plate down in front of you.

You blinked at the food—a plate of perfectly scrambled eggs, toast, and even a small bowl of fresh-cut fruit. “Wait… when did you have time to make this?”

“Right after fixing that mess of a ventilation system in the south wing” he replied, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You gave him a wry smile. “You know, you’re starting to sound more like a housekeeper than a pilot.”

“And you’re starting to sound like someone who’s about to faint from hunger” Caleb shot back, gesturing toward the food. “Now eat before I make it a command.”

Reluctantly, you put down your tools and took a bite. It was annoyingly good. You mumbled between mouthfuls, “You’re too good at this. What kind of pilot cooks this well?”

“The kind that has to make up for the genius who forgets to eat.” he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

Before you could retort, Zayne walked in, clipboard in hand, his icy-blue eyes immediately narrowing at the sight of Caleb and his cooking.

“What’s this?” Zayne asked, gesturing to the plate. “Breakfast in bed? How domestic of you, Caleb.”

“Jealous, Doc?” Caleb quipped without missing a beat.

Zayne’s gaze shifted to you. “You really let him boss you around like this?”

“I didn’t let him,” you said, gesturing to the food with your fork. “But I’m not complaining. He’s saving me time.”

Zayne sighed, placing his clipboard on the counter. “You know, if you actually managed your schedule better, you wouldn’t need someone to babysit you.”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “And if you lightened up, maybe people wouldn’t freeze the second you walk into a room.”

“Caleb. Zayne.” You set your fork down and gave them both a pointed look. “Can we not do this every time we’re in the same room?”

Caleb smirked but didn’t push further, and Zayne gave a small huff before grabbing a tablet to check mission reports. Despite their constant bickering, there was an undeniable ease to their presence, like two opposing forces that somehow balanced each other out.

You looked between them, a small smile tugging at your lips. No matter how chaotic they were, they were your family—the people you could always count on, even in the darkest of times. ----- The mission had gone horribly wrong. Wanderers ambushed you in the dead of night, forcing Caleb and Zayne into combat. Caleb slammed one creature into the ground with a gravitational pulse, his jaw tight as he yelled “Get behind me!”

Zayne’s breath misted in the air as frost spread from his fingertips, freezing a group of Wanderers in place. “How about you stop barking orders and actually focus on not dying?” he snapped, his voice sharper than usual.

“I am focusing!” Caleb retorted, his gravitational barrier flickering as the strain mounted.

Realizing they couldn’t hold out much longer, you made a split-second decision. Pulling out a remote device, you activated the override. Both Caleb and Zayne froze mid-action, their bodies locking up as their systems shut down.

“I’m sorry” you whispered, dragging them to safety before finishing off the remaining Wanderers yourself.

When they woke up in your lab hours later, the tension was palpable. Caleb sat up first, rubbing his temples. “What… happened? Why couldn’t I move?”

“You shut us down” Zayne said flatly, his tone icy. His sharp gaze pinned you in place. “That override… what else have you been hiding from us?”

You sighed, turning away from their accusing stares. “I had no choice. You both would have died.”

Caleb stood, his expression unreadable. “We’re not just tools, are we? We’re…” His voice faltered, and his hand clenched into a fist. “What are we?”

Zayne crossed his arms, his voice low. “Answer him.”

Taking a deep breath, you faced them. “You’re not tools. You’re not experiments. You’re my creations. I built you to help me save humanity. And I gave you memories—false ones... because I didn’t want you to feel like you were nothing more than machines.”

The silence was deafening. Caleb stared at you, a storm brewing in his eyes. “So… we’re not even human?”

“No.” you admitted softly. “But that doesn’t change what you mean to me. You’re more than just creations. You’re my family.”

Zayne’s expression softened slightly, though his tone remained cold. “Family? Is that why you lied to us?”

“I lied to protect you.” you said, your voice firm. “I didn’t want you to feel like you were just tools. You’re not. You’re everything to me.”

In the days that followed, Caleb and Zayne’s behavior shifted. Caleb became more protective, shadowing you during missions and watching you with a guarded intensity. Zayne, meanwhile, grew more reserved, throwing himself into his work but keeping a careful eye on you.

One evening, as you worked late in the lab, Caleb sat nearby, idly fiddling with a gadget. “You should let me help you more.” he said suddenly.

“You already help plenty.” you replied without looking up.

“Not enough.” he muttered. “If something happened to you…”

You looked up, surprised at the vulnerability in his voice. “Caleb, nothing’s going to happen to me. I have you and Zayne, remember?”

He nodded but didn’t look convinced. “Yeah. You have us.”

Later that night, Zayne entered the lab, finding you asleep at your desk. Shaking his head, he draped a blanket over your shoulders and adjusted the room’s temperature to keep you comfortable. “She pushes herself too hard” he murmured, his icy tone melting for just a moment.

“Don’t we all?” Caleb’s voice came from the doorway.

Zayne glanced at him but didn’t respond. Instead, he sighed. “As much as I hate to admit it… she needs both of us.”

Caleb crossed his arms, his jaw tight. “Yeah. She does.”

The city was under siege, and the Wanderer threat was greater than ever. Caleb, Zayne, and you stood side by side, ready to face the horde.

“Stay close to me” Caleb said, his gravitational field already forming.

Zayne rolled his eyes but smirked. “Protect her all you want, but don’t get in my way.”

You placed a hand on both their shoulders, your voice steady. “No fighting. Not now. We do this together.”

For the first time, they exchanged a glance of mutual understanding.

As the battle raged, the three of you worked in perfect sync. Caleb’s gravity crushed waves of Wanderers, while Zayne froze others in their tracks. You enhanced their powers, amplifying Caleb’s field to cover the entire city and super charging Zayne’s ice to create massive barriers.

When the last Wanderer fell, the three of you stood together, battered but victorious. Caleb offered you a tired smile. “We make a good team, don’t we?”

Zayne chuckled, his breath misting in the cold air. “For once, I agree with him.”

You smiled, tears in your eyes. “We always have.”

As the world began to heal, so did your bond with Caleb and Zayne. They accepted their origins and found solace in their roles—not as tools, but as your partners and family. Though their playful rivalry remained, it was no longer tinged with bitterness.

----- Life had been peaceful in the months following the defeat of the Wanderers. The lab had transformed into a hub of innovation, with Caleb and Zayne lending their unique talents to assist you in rebuilding technology for humanity. Despite the occasional bickering between them, a quiet harmony had settled over the three of you.

That peace, however, was shattered the day an unexpected visitor appeared at your doorstep.

You were calibrating a new piece of equipment when the lab’s security system chimed, signaling an incoming guest. Caleb, who had been fixing a damaged drone nearby, frowned and stood immediately.

“Expecting someone?” he asked, tension creeping into his voice.

“No” you said, confused, wiping your hands on a cloth as you walked to the door.

The man standing outside was someone you hadn’t seen in years. Dr. Marcus Vell, a former colleague from your days as a junior scientist. His slicked-back gray hair and sharp suit gave him an air of authority, but there was something unsettling in his smile.

“Y/N!” he said warmly, stepping forward as you opened the door. “It’s been too long.”

“Marcus?” you said, startled. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard about your success” he said, glancing around the lab with thinly veiled interest. “I must say, I always knew you’d surpass the rest of us. Your creations…” His eyes flicked to Caleb and Zayne, lingering a little too long. “…are remarkable.”

Zayne, standing in the corner, crossed his arms, his icy gaze fixed on Marcus. Caleb moved closer to your side, his posture protective.

“Thanks, but I’m pretty busy.” you said, trying to keep the interaction short.

Marcus chuckled, unbothered by the cold reception. “Of course. I won’t take much of your time. I’m here with an offer. Humanity needs minds like yours—truly gifted ones. Come work with me. Together, we could rebuild this world far more efficiently.”

You hesitated, sensing the hidden implications in his words. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m happy where I am.”

His smile faltered slightly, and a flicker of something darker crossed his face. “Don’t be so hasty. You’ve barely heard what I have to offer.”

Caleb stepped forward, his expression hard. “She already said no. You heard her.”

Marcus glanced at him, his smile sharpening. “Ah, the pilot. A fine creation. But let’s not forget who’s really in charge here.”

Before Caleb could respond, you held up a hand. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Marcus.”

Marcus straightened his suit, his eyes lingering on you. “Very well. But consider this—talent like yours shouldn’t be wasted in obscurity. I’ll be in touch.”

As he walked out, Zayne’s voice cut through the silence. “I don’t trust him.”

“Neither do I” Caleb muttered.

You sighed, brushing it off. “It’s fine. He’s just an old colleague trying to stir up trouble. Forget about him.”

But Caleb and Zayne exchanged a look—one that spoke volumes.

Later that night, while you were asleep, Caleb and Zayne made their move.

“He’s not going to stop” Caleb said, his voice low as he paced the dimly lit lab.

Zayne, seated at a console, typed rapidly, pulling up information on Marcus. “Agreed. He’s been digging into her work for months. I found encrypted correspondence with other labs—he’s trying to recruit people to take her away.”

Caleb clenched his fists. “Then we stop him. Quietly.”

Zayne looked up, meeting Caleb’s gaze. “For once, we’re on the same page.”

Two days later, Marcus Vell vanished.

You didn’t notice at first, too absorbed in your work to realize he hadn’t “followed up” as he promised. When you eventually thought of him again, Zayne was the one to casually dismiss your concerns.

“Marcus?” he said, adjusting his glasses. “I heard he left the region. Something about funding issues.”

“Really?” you asked, frowning. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

Caleb chimed in, leaning against the counter. “People like him are all talk. He probably realized you weren’t interested and gave up.”

You nodded slowly, still feeling a vague unease. “I guess. Well, good riddance.”

Caleb and Zayne shared a brief glance behind your back, the unspoken agreement between them crystal clear. Marcus was no longer a threat.

A week later, Caleb handed you a plate of food while Zayne adjusted the cooling system for your new project.

“Thanks” you said with a smile, taking the plate. “You two have been unusually cooperative lately. Should I be worried?”

“Cooperative?” Caleb grinned. “We’re just that good.”

Zayne gave a small shrug, his lips curving into a rare smile. “Sometimes, we have the same priorities.”

You tilted your head, sensing an undertone you couldn’t quite place. But whatever it was, you trusted them. After all, they’d proven time and again that they would do anything to protect you—even if you didn’t always know the lengths they’d go to.

As you turned back to your work, Caleb and Zayne exchanged a small, knowing smirk. They didn’t need your gratitude. Keeping you safe was reward enough.

----- Bonus: The Great Dinner Standoff It had been a long day of work, and you were looking forward to a relaxing dinner. Caleb had volunteered to cook, which usually meant something delicious but overly ambitious. When you entered the dining area, the smell of roasted vegetables filled the air.

Caleb turned from the stove, flashing you a proud grin. “Dinner’s ready. I made roasted carrots with honey glaze, some chicken, and mashed potatoes. Pretty fancy, huh?”

Your mouth watered at the sight of the golden carrots on the table. “It smells amazing. Thanks, Caleb!”

Zayne appeared in the doorway, pausing mid-step as his eyes landed on the carrots. His face immediately darkened. “Carrots? Really?”

Caleb smirked, clearly enjoying Zayne’s reaction. “What’s wrong, Doc? Too sophisticated for your picky palate?”

Zayne ignored him, stepping into the room with a tray of his own. “I made something, too.”

You blinked in surprise. “Wait, you cooked?”

Zayne set the tray on the table, revealing a dish of cilantro-lime rice. “I thought I’d contribute.”

The moment Caleb saw the cilantro, his expression soured. “Cilantro? Seriously?”

Zayne’s lips twitched into a subtle smirk. “Oh, I know. Just thought it would balance out your… overly sweet carrots.”

Caleb glared at him. “You’re sabotaging dinner.”

“Sabotaging?” Zayne asked innocently, taking a seat. “I’m expanding the flavor profile.”

You groaned, sitting down between them. “Can we have one meal without a fight?”

Caleb pointed his fork at Zayne. “Tell him that. He’s the one ruining perfectly good food.”

Zayne calmly spooned some cilantro rice onto his plate. “I could say the same about your poor excuse for a vegetable.”

You sighed, grabbing a little of both dishes and taking a bite. The carrots were sweet and perfectly cooked, and the cilantro rice had a refreshing zest. “Honestly? They’re both great. You two should just appreciate each other’s cooking.”

Caleb muttered something under his breath but started eating, avoiding the rice entirely. Zayne, for his part, made a show of pushing the carrots to the edge of his plate.

By the end of the meal, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite their endless bickering, you knew they both cared in their own strange ways.

[wchswift]

ଓ All Their Fault

Pairing: worst!logan howlett x f!reader Summary: When you, Domino, Logan, Deadpool and Cable went on a chaotic mission and Cable accidentally hurt you, Logan’s protective fury comes out, escalating team tensions. Warnings: slightly violence, blood, injury, English isn’t my first language :) Word count: 807 A/N: I just love worst wolverine and protective logan, so i had to write this.

mdni 𖤐 18+

The mission was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out—grab the stolen mutant teach and get out before anyone noticed. At least, that was the plan as Domino had explained it, her voice smooth and confident, as if working with the likes of Deadpool and Logan wasn’t a recipe for disaster.

You weren’t even halfway through the mission before it went to hell.

“Shit,” you gasped, clutching your ribs as the world swam around you.

You clutched your side, your fingers pressing against the deep gash left by Cable. The wound throbbed, and though you tried to breathe through the pain, every inhale felt like fire.

Logan stood in front of you, his claws dripping crimson, his body tense. Everything froze for a moment. Then Logan’s voice cut through the haze, low and dangerous. “What the hell did you just do?”

“It’s fine,” you rasped, trying to sound convincing even as blood trickled down your side. “I’m okay—”

“No, you’re not,” Logan snapped, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His eyes flicked to the blood staining your shirt, and his jaw tightened. “You’re injured, and it’s all their fault.”

With a feral snarl, he lunged at Cable, claws extended. Domino’s quick reflexes were the only thing that stopped him; she stepped between the two men, her hands raised. “Whoa, whoa! Cool it, Logan! It was an accident.”

“Accident?” Logan spat, his voice trembling with fury. “She’s bleeding because of him!”

Deadpool sauntered into view, his katanas already sheathed, his red-and-black suit splattered with evidence of his handiwork. “Yeesh, Wolvie, chill out. We all make mistakes! Even the big Cable guy here, right handsome?"

Logan ignored him, still focused on Cable. “Wade, shut up!” Domino snapped, throwing him a withering glare before turning back to Logan. “Logan, we need to finish the mission. Get her out of here. We’ll deal with this later.”

Logan hesitated, his claws still extended as he glared at Cable.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Cable said, his tone as calm as he could manage. “But if you want to waste time settling this now, go ahead. Meanwhile, reinforcements are on their way, and she’s losing blood.”

“Logan,” you started, your voice strained. "We’ve got the thing. Let’s just go." You said softly, stepping closer. “I’m okay. Really.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re bleeding all over the place. That’s not okay.”

“I’ll heal.”

“That’s not the point.” Logan turned back to you, his claws retracting with a snikt, though his hands remained clenched into fists.

He took another step forward, getting closer to the other man. “Next time, you think twice before touching her.” His voice was low and cold, a promise of violence barely held in check.

Deadpool clapped his hands together, breaking the tension with his usual flair. “Okay, great, let’s wrap this up before Wolvie loses what’s left of his brain cells. Dom, got the tech? Check. Pumpkin, still breathing? Check. Me, still incredibly handsome? Check. Let’s roll, people!”

With a final glare at Cable, he turned and knelt beside you, his movements careful as he slipped an arm around your shoulders. His hands were rough but surprisingly gentle. “Let’s get you out of here,” he muttered, his voice quieter now.

“You didn’t have to fight him,” you muttered as he helped you to your feet.

Logan didn’t respond right away. His face was set in a grim scowl. “He shouldn’t have touched you,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly. “If he wasn’t on our side, he’d be dead already.”

You let out a weak laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “You really know how to hold a grudge, don’t you?”

“Damn right I do,” Logan said, his grip on you tightening just slightly. “Especially when it comes to you.”

Ahead of you, Deadpool turned back, walking backward with a theatrical flourish. “What did I say, huh? Logan’s basically a rabid guard dog when it comes to Pumpkin. I love this dynamic.”

Logan glared at him. “Wade, shut it before I lose my patience,” He growled.

Deadpool threw his hands up in mock surrender, but the grin under his mask was unmistakable.

By the time the team emerged into the night, the tension had started to fade, though Logan’s scowl remained firmly in place. He didn’t say much as he helped you onto the team’s getaway vehicle, but the way his hand lingered at your back told you everything you needed to know. He might’ve been rough around the edges, but in your eyes, he was exactly who you needed him to be.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

[nanenna]

This Stream of Consciousness Could've Been an Epiphany

More Sleepy King AU HERE

Can you guess what days of the week I usually have off LOL

-----

Danny isn’t entirely sure what’s going on. He feels like he should be more worried about that, mostly because of how weird Dad had been acting all morning. He’d been so… quiet. Calm, quiet, soft, gentle. Not that Dad wasn’t always gentle. Sure, his hugs and back slaps could pack a punch, but Dad knew he was big and strong and tried hard not to do anything too hard. Danny’d seen what Dad’d done to walls, the way he hugged was downright delicate in comparison. And Danny was a lot tougher now, he could take Dad’s bone crushing hugs easily. So yeah, gentle for Dad was usually still too much for normal people.

But Dad was also usually excited, loudly excited! He was being really quiet today, and it was kind of weird.

Maybe Danny should be a bit more worried about being lost?

But surely if he should be worried Dad would tell him so. Dad knew now, had for a few weeks. In that time alone he and Mom had set about reinforcing the portal so no one could get through without permission. Danny had even taken them on a couple trips into the ‘Zone to introduce them to friendly ghosts. It was embarrassing to introduce them to Frostbite, but also kinda necessary so he’d sucked it up and done it. So Dad knew that Danny has powers, knew just how strong he was. If Dad were worried he’d want Danny to know so he could help.

But still, Dad was acting weird. Nervous. Danny couldn’t figure out why. If he didn’t trust these strangers they were just hanging out with he wouldn’t have left Danny alone with them, right? Then again maybe he felt it was safest to not talk to Jazz in front of them. To keep Danny safe from ghost hunters they’d all agreed it was best to keep it secret, so if Dad and Jazz were talking about him as Phantom it made sense he’d want to step away.

Danny nibbled on his poptart, still trying to puzzle through it. He looked around at the strangers and well… he knew some of them at least. Dad had called the dark one Batman, everyone knew who Batman was. He remembered his parents debating whether he was a ghost or a cryptid, a huge debate that they couldn’t come to a conclusion on. Unlike Santa, that one could crop up at any time. Unlike Santa, this one wasn’t so divisive, guess his parents were less invested or something.

So the woman next to him… looked a lot like Pandora wearing a human disguise. She looked at him and smiled, then reached forward and nudged his mug. “Drink it while it’s hot,” she said warmly.

Yeah, she sounded a lot like Pandora too, something about the way neither were actually speaking English. Danny nodded and picked up his drink, if Pandora and Dad thought they were okay, if they both trusted Batman and the other people dressed weirdly then Danny would too. Even if they smelled like ozone and lab cleaning solvent.

The smell kept getting stronger too, there was a pressure in the room. It had stopped suddenly when Jazz called, but it was picking up again. It was weird, like being in a bubble getting dropped in the ocean. At this rate his ears would pop, or the whole room would implode like that one sub going to visit the Titanic. Kinda ironic, waaaaaaay more people have died exploring the bottom of the ocean than space. Technically, no human has ever died in space, the closest was the Challenger disaster and they didn’t make it to space before the explosion. That was so sad. But it was still pretty amazing no one had died going to the moon, not even Apollo 13! No one had even died in the Justice League, so far as Danny’s heard. Not even a cop-out “technically died in space” while actually fighting bad guys on an alien planet technicality.

“Jazz was just checking in on us, I told her we’ll see her at dinner tonight.” Dad sat down next to Danny, peeking over at whatever Batman was working on as he did so.

Danny nodded and hummed in agreement. That was good, it seemed Dad thought they’d be home by dinner despite being lost right now. That was good.

It was weird though, he hadn’t called her “Jazzypants” like normal. In fact, Dad hadn’t pulled out a single nickname, not even “Danno.” So was Dad worried about them being lost or not? Danny couldn’t figure it out.

The pressure was building again, Danny yawned, trying to make his ears pop. It didn’t help. It hadn’t the last two times either. Or was it three?

Dad nudged the plate with his poptarts on it, Danny picked up his half eaten rectangle and started nibbling again. Chocolate wasn’t his favorite flavor, he kinda wondered what happened to the strawberry from before. It would go nicely with the hot chocolate, a nice contrast of flavors. There was just something about artificial strawberry flavoring that Danny really liked.

Danny slumped over, his body leaning against Dad. He still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, if he should be worried or not, but Dad was there so everything was going to be okay.

Kinda wished Mom was there instead though. He had no doubt she could easily kick Batman’s butt if he did need to be worried though. But Pandora was there, even if it was a new human disguise he’d never seen before, so that was just as good. Pandora liked him, she wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

The pressure suddenly stopped again. Danny yawned, his ears still didn’t pop. It was so annoying.

“Oh my god,” the guy with a metal bucket on his head hissed, “it’s a god egg!”

[wandixx]

Danny, the Young Justice member snippet nr 3 GIW made a lot of mistakes and the biggest one was going against Young Justice part 1

As you can see by the title (I need better ideas, you're all welcome to share yours), this is kinda part of "Danny, the Youg Justice member" but as something I have more of actual idea about. So while I encourage people adding their stuff to other snippets, please let this one be. I will be adding to it. It's even partially written :D

unrelated snippet nr 1, unrelated snippet nr 2

"Hey guys" Danny greeted clearly winded, phasing through the wall. Whole Team turned towards him, some giving him a side eye “Sorry I’m late” 

“You’re good, my dude” Wally answered, patting him on the back as soon as halfa landed, turning into his human form. They gave him a moment to catch his breath(just how fast he tried to fly there?) before grabbing their bags. Dick jumped and threw himself over the speedster's and halfa’s shoulders.

“Happy Harbour, we’re coming!” he yelled.

He fixed his grip when he caught Danny’s quick wince under the pressure as they left the headquarters. Judging by look on his face, Kaldur caught it too.

“So what’s on the agenda?”

“There is an amusement park in city, so we’re going to enjoy our free time there” M’gann explained with excited smile “I can’t wait to see it, I heard it’s fun”

Artemis nodded with a grin.

“I bet I can win more plushies than all of you. No powers,” she demanded after a moment, slamming her hand n a random tree for better dramatic effect.

“Stakes?” he asked, competitive like always. While blonde shared her idea of ‘no locker room duties for a month’, Danny explained all the questions M’gann asked about what even bet was and what stakes meant. Dick was sure she knew the answers to all of them but he didn’t say anything. He was trained well enough to catch Conner listening intently, despite his clear effort to hide it.

It turned into a whole Team competition.

It was going to be an aster.

***

M’gann was having a blast. Everyone already had two to four plushies, stomach full of unhealthy food and manageable nausea from the roller coaster. Wally and Danny were throwing popcorn to each other's mouths, Robin challenged Conner and Artemis to the next game. It really was fun just like she was told!

It was much less fun when literal blast shot a few feets away from them. Ground where it hit was burned. Halfa squealed, projecting a strong wave of distress. Without second thought he threw his hood on and changed his posture, frantically looking for a hiding spot.

Few children started crying, their families scrambling to get away before attackers started shooting again and hurt them. Workers, already used to working in less than ideal circumstances, quickly, but without panic warranted by recognised villains or outright invasion, shut down reinforced blinds and probably walked out to inform someone. At least they didn’t have to worry about potential civilian casualties. 

“Do you know who they are?” M’gann asked, quickly establishing the Mindlink.

“Don’t worry about it” he answered, putting on crazy big sunglasses that Wally won some time before.

“My dude, we just got shot at. We have every right to worry”

“Calm down, Wally. I got shot at, you’re just close by. I’ll handle it” With a ruffle of his hair and a piece of popcorn thrown in his mouth,he turned around, just moment after the next blast almost caught his arm. He plastered a smile on his face.

“Hey, I’ve seen guns like these in laser tag! But I’ve never found them cheap enough to get without selling my kidney!” he yelled enthusiastically.

When the rest of them turned around, M’gann saw ten people in sunglasses and pristine white, holding guns straight from the mad scientist’s lab. THey stood still, projecting surprise bordering on shock. She could also feel hunter's happiness underneath it, intense enough that she considered breaking the ‘don’t mess with people’s brains’ rule. As a treat.

“Don’t worry guys, they won’t harm you. Act like you  don’t believe you’re in danger. Like they're a bunch of LARPers or something” It was easier said than done, especially when Danny, who nearly always underestimated the danger, was so terrified. 

“Who are they?!”

“Wally throw me a bit of popcorn, please” Halfa asked, ignoring Artemis almost yelling in their minds. In turn, he was ignored by the speedster. Three of the men turned to check something on weird sort of scanner. Danny's false smile went from cheerful to embarrassed. 

“Dang me and my poor communication skills” he said, loud enough for men to hear but not enough to sound like he was talking to them, before asking louder “I meant to ask, where have you brought it and how much does it cost?”

This seemed to actually shake men out of their shock. They got furious.

“You won't trick us this time, ghost scum” one of the guys with a scanner snarled. Danny pursed his lips in childish gesture of displeasure.

“Rude much” he muttered as if he wasn’t shining with terror like a lighthouse. Robin perked up as if something got him curious.

“Wait, ghost? What do–”

“What are you cosplaying?” Artemis blurted out. Men got visibly angry but Danny smirked.

“Don't antagonize them,” Kaldur commended. 

“If shit goes south I'll get you out of there, half a second flat” Wally offered.

“Thanks dude. Good job Artemis, they hate to be treated like a joke they are” halfa praised but out loud asking:

“Ghostbusters? No, they had different uniforms. But who else got a thing for ghosts?”

“Quit joking around, we caught you Phantom! You ran far from Amity Park but-”

“Who is Phantom?” Robin interrupted rudely (they deserved to be rude to them).

“Where is Amity Park, Utah? Cali?”  Conner asked, adding fuel to the fire of chaos with barely contained glee. He liked messing with anyone even slightly resembling Kadmus staff and these guys marked almost all of the boxes.

“Illinois” provided chubby man who looked and felt like he didn't want to be there almost as much as they teens did. Danny relaxed slightly.

“Agent W you have no clearance to share this information“

“You were in Illinois and didn't tell me, Tommy?” M’gann finally spoke, jokingly punching his arm.

“I wasn't, I swear! I've never set a foot outside of this state in my life!”

“Quit messing around, you freak!!!” the guy, with the biggest ego and probably the leader, screamed.

“Can I please mess their heads up?”  M’gann asked, pushing hope through Mindlink as hard as she could.

“Again, rude. What did I even do to deserve that?”

“Like you–”

“Operative K, I think they really don't know anything “ Agent W, the nicest out of the batch, interrupted “Maybe it left some ectoplasm on this boy to throw us off?”

“They called you it, Danny” Conner seethed, looking like only Kaldur’s hand on his shoulder was stopping him from punching all of them straight to the sun. M’gann was already reaching for their minds.

“We need to run a scan to be sure. Come here boy”

“Now, who are you?!” Robin got defensive, sliding to shield Danny from asiliants. Conner and Artemis joined him, so clearly furious that M’gann almost retreated from Mindlink. She wasn’t any calmer, it just felt overwhelming to be backed up by five other people.

“It’s classified”

Kaldur took a photo with an obnoxiously loud sound effect. Wally appeared right behind Danny, ready to evacuate him. Artemis barely kept herself from tackling the nearest ‘agent’ to the ground.

“What are you doing, boy?” Operative K splurted, absolutely flabbergasted.

“Calling the police”

“Why?”

“Robin, throw some laws, please”

“Oh, that’s easy,” the boy jumped in gleefully “You assaulted our friend and refused to state why you would have credentials to do so or even who are you. You carry modified weaponry openly in public and I doubt you have a permit, carelessly use it  against minors, endangering innocent bystanders while we’re at it. You disturb public peace. I think that’s enough to get you arrested. Wait you know what, call ‘Supervillain emergency hotline’ instead, this is serious attack”

“Right ahead of you, already calling them”

It wasn’t that big of a problem even if someone tried to qualify this as spam. Young Justice Team was first to respond to all threats in Happy Harbour anyway.

Danny let out a low ‘uuuu’ with a smirk. Someone powered up a gun. Wally slightly raised halfa of the ground, ready to bolt.

“It’s okay young man,” the nice agent started, raising his hands in a placating gesture “We’re searching for a dangerous supernatural entity and may have overreacted. In our defense, Phantom is known to be tricky and we wouldn’t be surprised if it used human disguise to hide from us. Your friend gives off the same type of energy like what we use to track it so we assumed they’re the same. We’re sorry”

“Agent W you don’t have clearance to disclose that to-”

“Operative K, after the last few incidents we have to be more throughout before jumping to assumptions. Agent Gamma wouldn’t be pleased if your temper caused the next scandal,” Agent W look at them again, with a forced ‘warm’ smile “We’re really sorry for bothering you. We have reasons to believe Phantom is somewhere around but don’t worry about it, we will be on the lookout. If you see it, please contact us and we will take care of it” M’gann grabbed the ‘WANTED’ poster from man’s outstretched hand. She barely restrained herself from doing something irresponsible, like turning every man in white into a brainless vegetable.

“Later M'gann”

“But Robin…” she whined before sending a small laugh so they knew she wasn’t serious. She knew that Conner and Danny were anxious about this use of her powers.

Agent’s left and everyone relaxed. Wally put Danny back down and leaned back, jokingly rolling back his arms as if he got tired. Halfa stopped with a loud thump to sit on the ground. He was paler than usual.

Artemis shouted, alarmed.

“That was way too close” he started, aiming for a cheerful tone but missing by a mile “I’m fine, just need a moment to cool down. Sorry for that, guys. I thought I lost them over Ohio”

“That’s fine, personally I don’t care, we knew better than to expect a whole day without something going wrong, but who were they?” Wally asked, already back to eating popcorn.

Danny sighed, so deeply M’gann felt it in her bones even though she didn’t try to read him.

“I think this is the talk we should have in the Mountain”

part 2

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 3

Previous | Next

[Series Masterlist]

Content Warning: Gunshot injuries; blood; medical procedures; I have 0 medical knowledge; if I've missed any warnings, please let me know.

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The sun was barely up when you walked into Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, coffee cup in one hand, badge clipped to your scrub top. Daylight streamed through the rotating doors—mocking, almost, in its calm. Unlike the night shifts that had swallowed you whole in adrenaline and triage chaos, today felt like stepping into unfamiliar territory. You preferred the dark. Things made sense in the dark, sharper instincts, fewer witnesses. But today, you'd be working under the full scrutiny of fluorescent lights, bustling staff, and most importantly, him.

You’d barely set your cup down at the nurses’ station when you heard Dana’s voice.

“Dr. Williams,” she said, clipboard under her arm. Eyes warm and friendly “You’re here early.”

“I like to see what I’m walking into,” You replied, sipping on your chamomile tea, “Chaos is more polite when you greet it first.”

She gave a low chuckle. “You’ll fit right in alright.”

As you headed towards the lounge, you began to take in the place that you had come to know after hours. The hospital felt quieter during the day, or maybe you were just getting used to the hum of codes, psych holds, the unrelenting stream of mayhem. You were nine weeks into your fellowship, and while that hardly made you a seasoned veteran, the initial fog of disorientation had lifted. You knew which nurses worked nights versus days, which CT techs were the fastest, and which vending machine had the good stuff. 

You caught a glimpse of Dr. Robby’s back as you entered the lounge room, and he headed towards Dana. You hadn’t talked since that night after the Pittfest shooting, but he had become a constant thought, threading in and out of your days like a song you hadn’t meant to memorize.

You wondered what his story was. The real one. Not the rumors from the other residents—something about a patient he couldn’t save, about working too many shifts and not enough sleep.

The lingering shadows of that night in the Pedes' room had remained with you for days after. But today you’d be working together again. Officially. Attending and fellow. Supervisor and learner and you were willing to learn. 

“Dr. Williams,” Robby greeted you at the nurses’ station, glancing at you through his glasses, before returning to look at the tablet in his hand. “You look awake. What’s your secret?”

You smiled as you leaned over. “Excessive caffeine and existential dread.”

He let out a soft chuckle, the kind that came from deep exhaustion. “Ah, the classics.”

“Good morning, good morning come on over. We have a new face joining us today,” he began, inviting the residents and interns to huddle around both of you.

“This is Dr. Williams, Emergency Medicine fellow fresh from night shift”, Robby continued to introduce you to the team as you smiled and waved at everyone. ”If I’m not available, she is the person you find”, Robby added.

You started walking the floor together, reviewing labs and orders, updating notes on the fly. You noticed the way he read the chart notes like he was trying to solve a puzzle that had a missing piece.

He had a way of listening that made patients lean in a little closer, and a way of speaking that made families breathe easier, even when the words weren’t good. Every patient came with a rhythm: neuro checks, vitals, med orders. Robby didn’t micromanage. He observed. Nudged gently. Asked questions that made you think but didn’t corner you.

He didn’t hover when you took charge of a GSW to the abdomen. Didn’t flinch when you suggested changing the antibiotic order for the open tib-fib. When you slipped on a word explaining a FAST scan to a med student, he seamlessly jumped in—not to correct you, but to reinforce your point.

He had a way of making space for people without shrinking himself. And you couldn’t decide if that made him more or less intriguing to your wandering mind “So Dr. Williams,” he said between cases, “day shift treating you better than night?”

You breathed out a laugh, “I haven’t had anything thrown at me yet,” you said. “Seems promising.”

He grinned—really grinned—for the first time that morning. “Give it time. We haven’t hit the lunch rush.”

Throughout the day, you slipped into your role instinctively—leading the ABCs, calling for chest x-rays, ultrasound probe in hand. Robby stood behind you, watching. You could feel his presence like static electricity on the back of your neck.

“He's hypotensive,” You called out. “FAST is positive—right upper quadrant.”

“Good eye, Dr. Williams,” Robby murmured. Then, louder to the room: “Prep for trauma laparotomy. Notify OR.”

It wasn’t until the patient was off to surgery that you realized your hands were shaking just a little.

Later, after a long stretch of back-to-back trauma codes and one surgical boarding nightmare, you caught a break in Abbot’s spot. You leaned over the rails, looking out, chewing a protein bar like it had personally wronged you.

You heard the emergency door creak open and shut, you looked over your shoulder to find Dr. Robby walking towards you.

“You did well down there, kept your cool,” Robby said once he stood beside you. “Nice work leading that.”

“I was a little worried you’d grab the probe out of my hand,” you admitted, only half-joking.

You left out a long breath.

“Is it always this insane during the day?” you asked, looking down at the ground floor of the hospital.

“More noise. Fewer excuses,” Robby replied.

There was a beat of silence before you added, “Thanks for not micromanaging me earlier.”

“I didn’t need to,” he said with a shrug. “I trust you.”

There were so many things you wanted to say. About how you still dream of the Pittfest victims. About the guilt that creeps in when you laugh too freely or go a day without remembering the patients who coded in your arms. But instead, you just stood there in silence.

You stayed a little after shift change, scribbling down notes, double-checking charts, not quite ready to leave. You finally stood, stretching the stiffness from your spine, when you felt his presence.

“Thanks for today,” you said.

“You didn’t need me much,” he replied. “That’s a good sign.”

“I still want to learn from you.”

Robby looked at you, his gaze suddenly serious but not cold.

“You will. But don’t forget you already bring something to the table. You’re not just here to follow. You’re here to lead.”

Your throat caught, just a little. And you nodded.

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This fic is a 25 parter that kinda took a life of its own

[p5buecks]

Can you write about Paige as a mom!!

slow mornings

paige x reader

p as a mom and wife

no cw

i miss writing but have no ideas :( pls send requests!

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `

“I’ll go.” Your wifes soft, sleepy voice cuts through your babys sobs. “Are you sure?” You double check, beginning to sit up in bed. “Positive.” Paige reinforces before kissing your head and gently guiding you to lay back down. You hadn’t even opened your eyes yet, it felt like you had only fallen asleep ten minutes ago so you were grateful to be able to sink back under the covers.

Your daughter was approaching three months old and even though everyone said it would get easier, it felt like it wasn’t. You were barely getting two hours of sleep at one time and if your baby wasn’t crying, then your mind was playing tricks on you and you would imagine she was. You were under no illusion that motherhood would be easy but you were physically and mentally drained.

It doesn’t take long for the cries to stop and you know your daughter is safe in her mama’s arms so you allow yourself to relax, mumbling that you just need five more minutes sleep.

For once, you aren’t woken up by cries but instead by the winter sun streaming through the bedroom windows. You sit up in a panic wondering what time it was. Eight AM. Your five more minutes had turned into three more hours. You hurried out of bed slipping your feet into your slippers, if Paige was going to make it to training on time then she would’ve had to leave thirty minutes ago.

“Paige!” You called out as you hurried down the stairs. “I’m so sorry, I overslept! I know you have training and you’re late now, but I can take over.” You’re slightly breathless as you reach the bottom of the stairs but the smell of vanilla wafting from the kitchen and soft stream of Frank Ocean seemed to immediately calm you.

“What’s going on?” You asked confused finding Paige stood at the stove. Your daughter was in her bouncer, cooing at the mobile dangling above her, a few feet from Paige. Away from the dangers of the hot stove but close enough that she could be seen. “Making breakfast.” The blonde replied to you before attempting - and failing - flipping the pancake in the pan she held. “What about training?” You asked, taking further steps into the kitchen, smiling down at your content daughter before wrapping your arms around your wife. “Have you not seen the weather?” Paige asks, “We’re on tornado watch so no training.” She tells you.

Looking outside, the sky is a deep gray. Trees sway violently and twigs and leaves blow past your window in random flashes. You weren’t particularly excited about the storm happening outside but knowing you got to spend the entire day with your girls made you grin from ear to ear.

Paige plated the perfect stack of pancakes for you and her to share. Drizzled with maple syrup and a neat swirl of whipped cream. A bowl of mixed berries accompanied your sweet breakfast, “This looks amazing babe!” You complimented, taking the seat across from your wife. Just as you were taking your first bite, your daughter began to cry, her infantile sobs immediately pulling on your heartstrings. You put down your fork, ready to pick her up and console her in your arms.

“I’ve got it - eat your breakfast.” Paige insisted before lifting the baby out of her bouncer. She held her close, hand gently rubbing her back as she whispered words of comfort into her ear. It didn’t take long for your daughter to settle in her moms arms. Her loud cries turned into soft giggles as Paige twirled around with her, pressing sweet kisses to her forehead.

The music that had welcomed you into the kitchen, still played. Softly and gently emitting from the speakers, Paige swayed in sync with the melody of Steve Lacy and you watched as your entire world was stood in front of you. You had an amazing wife and a beautiful daughter. You pinched the skin on your arm between your thumb and forefinger, just to make sure you wasn’t dreaming. Nope. This was real life. Your real life.

super short fic but so cute! obsessed with p as a mom and wife, i just know she’d be the best

[divadepreshawn]

𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓

Aaron Hotchner × fem!reader ×popstar

+18, mentions of sex in the car, name-calling, hanging

Okay, keep in mind it's the first time I've written something like this. I'm dying of embarrassment posting this. established relationship I did what I could (and unfortunately I could little) WC: 1 823

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

You were sitting in the chair, gently applying your lipstick, while the hairdresser finished your hair. Your makeup was soft, with a touch of subtle shine that highlighted your eyes.

“You don’t have to do this.” You said as you watched Aaron in the mirror, smoothing out his suit.

“I just want to make sure this event is safe.”

Ever since you started dating, Aaron had become extremely protective. In fact, you started to think he would lock you in a bulletproof box if he could.

You laughed, getting up from the chair and walking over to him.

“I know you just want to protect me… And that’s pretty hot, I won’t deny it.” You smiled as you gently loosened his tie “But I’m not the president.”

He smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

“No, you’re more important.”

You laughed, sealing your lips on his with a quick kiss.

“I don’t know if this is something an FBI agent should say, but I’ll keep your secret. Besides, I’m investing millions in security now. You shouldn’t worry about these things, especially when you’re off duty.”

“You have no idea how many crazy people there are in this country, do you?”

Aaron was too worried about everything that involved you. He had already reorganized the surveillance team about three times – made you invest in better cameras, hired more security for your home, and even reinforced the security protocols for events like this. He was really a nervous wreck.

You tried to calm him down but nothing seemed to work, he insisted on going with you, so you gave in.

You sighed, patting his arm twice before walking away “Okay.”

- You decided to skip the red carpet. Maybe he never really relaxed, but you could try to ease some of the tension.

The event went on like all the others, just celebrities drinking and talking. While you greeted other artists and exchanged smiles with producers, he stood a few steps away, like a shadow – protective. His eyes roamed the room, always alert, observing the people around him and checking the exit doors frequently.

You turned around slowly, appreciating the view.

Aaron Hotchner.

Standing a few feet away from you with that straight posture, broad shoulders under the dark fabric of his jacket, his hands crossed in front of him with an expression that said “Don’t come any closer.”

You accepted a martini that one of the waiters offered you, sipping it slowly, feeling the alcohol burn your throat.

When he looked at you, surreptitiously – as if it were an innocent gesture – you lifted the toothpick with the olive between your fingers and, with the tip of your tongue, caught the drop of alcohol that threatened to fall. Then, slowly, you pulled the olive with your lips.

You could feel his gaze burning into your skin.

-

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, your eyes trailing over his shoulders, still visibly tense.

He didn’t answer right away. Just closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the leather back of the seat, letting out a soft sigh. “Better now that there aren’t a thousand people around.”

You kept your gaze fixed on him, his suit tight at the shoulders, his tie slightly looser, his head thrown back – the way his Adam’s apple stood out. The combination of all of this made something inside you twist.

“Driver, can you please raise the partition?” With a slight nod, the driver raised the partition without asking any questions.

His eyes opened, watching you with a frown as the partition rose. He sat up slowly, never taking his eyes off yours. “What are you doing?” he asked in a low tone.

“I’m just trying to help you relax.” You smiled innocently as you approached him.

“And how exactly do you intend to do that…?” He looks at you with narrowed eyes suspiciously.

“Relax, it’s just a massage.”

You sit on his lap, resting your hands on the leather seat behind him to adjust yourself better. He tenses, clenching his jaw as he takes a deep breath.

“You don’t have to do this” your voice comes out low, almost like a warning.

“I know” , you leave a kiss on his cheek, “But I want to.”

He continues to look at you with narrowed eyes. Honestly? You’re almost certain he knows exactly what you’re doing. Your name escapes his mouth almost as a whisper as he places his hands on your hips, twirling his thumbs in circles.

“Just a massage, right?”

“Well, yes”, you place kisses at the base of his neck. “Unless you want me on my knees.”

He swallows hard, his mind clouded. The tension before seemed insignificant compared to now, your hands on your hips stopped. You could feel the exact moment your mind stopped working.

He pressed his lips together in a tight line. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

You smiled against his skin, trailing your lips down to his jawline. “I’m just trying to help you relax,” you whispered, dragging your nails over his white shirt as you swiveled your hips.

His breathing hitched as he closed his eyes—an attempt to regain control and reason, after all the poor driver was still in the car.

“You’re having the opposite effect,” he groaned, tilting his head back.

You swiveled your hips again, slowly. Feeling his breathing hitch again, his jaw tighten even more. “Why, honey? Do you have a better idea?”

He let out a low sound—a muffled almost groan.

And then he gave in.

In a second, his mouth found yours, hot, intense and hungry. His hands went down from your hips to your ass, pulling you closer. You gasped against his lips in shock at the contact.

Your bodies fit together, eliciting a moan from both of you at the friction. Your hands tangled in the back of his neck – burying your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. You continued to move your hips in slow circles.

He slides his hands down your back urgently, his fingers tracing a path from your ass to the collar of your dress – exploring the details of the tight fabric on your body.

His fingers paused there for a few seconds – hesitating.

And then he pulled.

The sound of the tulle tearing sounded muffled between the kisses. A moan escaped your throat. The cold air of the car in contact with your exposed skin was a direct contrast to the heat that grew between you. He pulled his lips away for a second to stare at your lap with the lingerie now exposed. His eyes roaming over every detail of the lace, as if he were recording the image in his mind.

You could feel the knot in your belly tightening even more as you felt his eyes burning into your skin.

"You’re still going to kill me" he murmured hoarsely.

You laughed softly. Without taking your eyes off his, you began to slide your dress – or what was left of it – until it was on the floor of the car, now exposing your tiny panties.

He swallowed hard, his eyes following your movements, his chest rising and falling slowly, his fingers digging into the leather seat.

Returning to his lap, you could feel how hard he was, the lace of your panties so soaked that it would surely stain your pants. You rotated your hips harder, eliciting a moan from him that made your clit throb.

“Baby, please.” he whimpered, holding your waist, stopping your movements.

You reached for the clasp of your bra, pulling the lingerie down your arms before throwing it somewhere in the car. “What?”

“Fuck, can you stop torturing me for a second?” Your plea came out so desperate that you could have had your orgasm with that sentence alone.

Your fingers slid down to the button of your pants, unbuttoning them as Aaron lifted his hips, helping you get rid of them. You gasped when you felt him run his cock through your panties.

“Look at you, so wet you’re almost melting this lace,” he teased you as he continued to slide into you, now forcing the head of his cock into your still covered entrance.

“Fuck, Aaro—” he quickly took the tie off your neck, hurriedly kneading it before shoving it in your mouth, muffling your moan.

“Shh” he began distributing kisses, alternating between your neck and your collarbone. “You can’t make any noise, do you think you can?”

You nod, sinking your teeth into your tie, trying to control yourself from making any loud noises.

A muffled, desperate “Please” escapes your lips. He lowers his hands to your ass again and slides your panties to the side, holding your hips, he pushes you down, plunging into you. You bury your head in his neck, clenching the leather backrest behind him as you moan his name.

He lowers your hips once more while he moves up with his, going deeper inside you. You hold him by the shoulders, taking control. With strategic movements – somewhat desperate – you alternate between going up and down and rotating your hips back and forth.

The sight of you with your cheeks flushed, your hair slightly disheveled as sweat began to form on your forehead was too much.

“Y-You… Sir, don’t stop.” He stuttered, turning his attention to your breasts. Distributing his attention with his mouth equally between them – muffling your moan.

Aaron moved his hand up to your neck. His grip was firm – just enough to give that nice pressure. Your back arched at the unexpected touch.

You were overwhelmed, your knees burning with effort, the knot in your belly intensifying with each deep thrust. You gasped when he groaned with his mouth still on your breasts.

He lifted his hips again, hitting the spot that made your vision blur, feeling all your muscles contracting and you finally came undone.

He came right after, inside you, when he felt your walls squeezing his cock. The feeling of him throbbing inside you was something you could get used to.

You fell back on the bench, smiling breathlessly. Your legs were shaking – your mind still clouded by your orgasm.

“Just so you know, I don’t usually do that with my bodyguards.”

Aaron chuckled as he looked down at your clothes on the floor.

“Well,” he replied a little breathlessly, “That’s an important point, thanks for letting me know.”

You followed his gaze, looking at what was left of your dress on the floor. “Do you have any idea how many zeros there were in that outfit?” you asked with an amused smile.

He sighed. “I can imagine, I’m sorry.”

You waved your hand dismissively. “That’s not even the problem, how am I going to get out of the car now that I have no clothes left?”

“Oh shit, I forgot about that.” He mumbled awkwardly. “I’ll give you my jacket.”

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I really admire anyone who can write this. Because, you see, I want to hide under a rock.

English is not my first language are sorry for any mistake

If you have any ideas to contribute to the sequel I will be happy to receive them :)

tag: @duchesz @midnghtprentiss @jazzimac1967 @queenofnothng @leathynn @camihotchner @yourallaround-simp @pastelpinkflowerlife @padlockedheartsreading @tomhiddlestonforever-blog @michasia24 @sweetpianoxoxo @l-a-u-r-aaa @angwlart

[nickeverdeen]

Healing Touch | Caitlyn Kiramman x fem!reader

Pairings: Caitlyn x reader (romantic)

Type of fic: Angst/comfort, comfort

Warnings: Brief mention of trauma, scars, former insecurity, war

Summary: The war left both physical and mental scars on both you and Caitlyn and during one lazy evening after work when Caitlyn grows a bit insecure and unsure about it all you comfort her.

—————————

The soft glow of the lamp cast warm light across the room, the golden hues bathing everything in a comforting, intimate atmosphere. Caitlyn was nestled close to you, her body pressed against yours as the two of you lay under the blankets, content to simply exist in each other’s presence. The hum of the city outside the window and the occasional distant sounds of Piltover’s nightlife were all muted by the serene comfort of being here, in this quiet moment.

Caitlyn’s head rested on your chest, her fingers gently tracing idle patterns on your skin. You could feel the rhythm of her breath against you, and in this peaceful silence, you realized just how much you cherished moments like this, away from the chaos of the world outside.

“How was your day, love?” Caitlyn asked, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.

You smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face as you adjusted your position slightly. “It was good. Nothing too exciting. I spent some time with Vi and tried to make sense of the latest reports from the council. But nothing I couldn’t handle.” You paused, letting your fingers trace absent patterns across her back. “What about you?”

Caitlyn let out a small sigh, her fingers faltering for a moment before continuing their light caresses. “Same old, really. Just meetings, paperwork… the usual. But it wasn’t too bad, I suppose. It’s nice to have a moment to relax.”

You nodded, feeling her body press just a little bit closer to yours as if to reinforce that sense of comfort. For a while, the two of you simply laid there, basking in the calm of each other’s presence.

It wasn’t long, however, before your eyes caught something subtle. Caitlyn, ever the composed figure, had moved her hand slightly, but you noticed the way she was covering a part of her body with her palm—just enough to hide something. You couldn’t help but be curious.

“Cait… is everything okay?” You asked softly, your tone gentle as you reached out to her hand, which was still resting near her side.

Caitlyn froze, her lips pressing together in a thin line before she quickly reassured you, “It’s fine, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

You could tell she was trying to divert the conversation, but you weren’t sure if you believed her. Caitlyn’s scars—both physical and emotional—were something that still weighed heavily on her, especially from the war. You knew that, as much as she hid them, they lingered, even if she tried to push them down.

You decided not to press her immediately, instead returning to the peaceful quiet of the room. But your thoughts stayed with her, lingering in the back of your mind, as you gently ran your fingers through Caitlyn’s hair, your touch soothing.

Minutes passed, and though Caitlyn appeared to be trying to relax, you could sense her discomfort again. The way her hand was still held firmly against her side, and the slight tenseness in her posture gave it away.

Slowly, without saying a word, you carefully took her hand and gently pulled it away from her body. Caitlyn flinched slightly as your touch lingered on her scar, and for a brief moment, her eye closed, almost as if she were bracing for something.

But when you gently kissed the scar—pressing your lips tenderly against the healed wound near her side—she relaxed. Her breath caught for just a moment, and then, much to your relief, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she just gazed at you with soft look, filled with unspoken gratitude.

“You don’t have to—” Caitlyn began, but you shook your head, your lips still tracing the outline of her skin.

“I want to” you whispered against her skin, your voice filled with emotion. “Let me?”

With her hand resting on your cheek, Caitlyn let out a soft, almost unnoticeable sigh as she gave in. Her posture softened, and she allowed you to slowly remove her shirt, revealing the marks she bore from the war—the battles she fought, both for Piltover and Zaun.

You kissed each scar slowly, tenderly, your lips pressing against every one of them in silent reverence. From the scar near her side, where she’d taken a dagger during one of the fiercest battles with Ambessa’s forces, to the faint line on her throat where a stray bullet had grazed her skin—each one was a testament to her resilience, her strength, and the pain she had endured.

But tonight, you didn’t just want to remind her of the past. You wanted to soothe her, to remind her that she was here now, and that you would stand by her side, no matter what.

By the time you had kissed the last of her scars, Caitlyn was lying beneath you, her hand resting on your hip. Her chest rose and fell slowly as she breathed in, visibly calmer. You could see the flicker of vulnerability in her eye, but also the trust—the deep, unwavering trust she had in you.

You smiled softly, pressing your forehead against hers, your breath mingling. “I love you, Cait”

Caitlyn’s eye softened, and she reached up, pulling you down gently to kiss you. Her lips were warm and tender, and as she kissed you, her hand ran through your hair, pulling you closer.

When she finally pulled away, her lips brushed against your ear as she whispered, “I love you too.”

And just as the room was filled with that comforting stillness once more, Caitlyn gently pulled you next to her, her eye soft with affection. “Come here,” she murmured, as she leaned to kiss you again—this time, slower, sweeter. And for that moment, it felt like the weight of the world, of the war, of the past… it didn’t matter.

You were here, together. And that was enough.

[deaddovedecadence]

What would platonic yandere Batfam do if reader got sick and fevered to the extent that they just didn’t understand what was going on? Would they use this to their advantage?

Oh fuck yes, they would. I’m going to tell you how each one of them would do it. This will be taking place in something I call the sunshine verse aka the mob au verse

Alfred: He’s so gentle. You don’t realize that you’re slipping in and out of reality, telling you the entire time that you’re safe, that you’re loved, that you belong here. You will not see him drug your food, but he might, if you don’t let yourself get better

Bruce: He tells you that he’s your father, you call him dad in a fever weak tone and he smiles, all predator. You do not see how makes the world small, you’re too sick for that.

Dick: Dick is the one that twists everything that makes it your fault, that tells you you’re supposed to trust them, that you’re supposed to let them care for you. He makes promises that you won’t remember whe you wake up he holds up anyways

Jason: Gets locked in his room because otherwise he’d try to kill most of his siblings. He remembers the way that dick used to be with him when he got sick and he is terrified of that happening to you. He can’t stop it and that’s the worst part

Cass: Really likes helping care for you while you’re sick because then she doesn’t have to force you to be calm. Almost wants you to stay sick so that she can take care of you more often

Tim: Got you sick in the first place. He noticed it starting to happen and just kept pushing you and pushing you until you broke because it’s more useful to gently break yo then force it

Duke: Duke keeps you on their lap, humming lullabies and just holding you through your sickness even when you want to run away and hide from the rest of the world. They are the person you trust and go to so this sickness really reinforces that for you

Damian: dunks you in the pits after you offer him a pitbull