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thegainingdesk · 2 days ago

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It Takes Two

Robert had hit the jackpot with Liam. They just clicked in a way that he never had with any of his previous partners, or honestly, even his friends and family. Robert wasn't a particularly romantic person, but the word “soulmate” had cropped up in his thoughts more than once.

The two had the same humour, enough shared hobbies that they could always find something to do together, but were different enough that they were constantly introducing each other to new films, music, and ideas. It helped that they were both gorgeous. Liam was a little shorter than average with the trim build of a swimmer, and his sparkling blue eyes stood out below ash blond hair; Robert was taller and bulkier, but no less fit, and with dark hair and eyes. They both had great careers, great families, great friends, great lives. Robert couldn't imagine anything that could put a dent in the trajectory of their perfect relationship.

“Sorry, you want what?” Robert said, blinking. He couldn't believe his ears.

“I want us both to gain weight,” Liam said, breathing slowly and shakily as if to calm himself.

“Like bulking?” Robert asked slowly, grasping for an explanation that made sense. “At the gym?”

Liam exhaled forcefully and sat back. “No,” he said. “I want… I want to be fat. I'd like it if you were too.”

Robert sat in silence for a while. “Right,” he said after a while. “Okay.” He furrowed his brow. “Sorry, you're going to have to- why? I just don’t- why?”

“It's a uh…” Liam closed his eyes forcefully, balled his fists, clenched his teeth. “Well it's a sex thing,” he forced out. “I have a fat fetish.” He nervously played with the napkin in front of him and looked around the restaurant. “Like, we wouldn't have to, you know, I'm not saying I'd really want us to actually gain weight.” He laughed nervously. “But I just, I don't know, like it's a thing for me and I wanted you to know and umm well.” He took a sip of the beer in front of him. “I'd like it if we could do some stuff with it. Just, you know, roleplay or whatever, not obviously, like get fat or anything.”

The two men sat in silence for a while. “Okay,” Robert said after a while. “That's umm… well it's okay, I guess.”

“Yeah?” Liam said, sitting up in his chair and smiling for the first time in the conversation. “It’s okay? You don't think I'm a freak?”

Robert forced a thin smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean no, you're not a freak, but yeah, it's okay. I uhh, I think I'll need to think about it for a while.”

“Is everything okay for you both?” their waitress boomed down at the two of them in a thick Mancunian accent. They both jumped in their seats. “Sorry!” she continued. “Didn't mean to scare you!”

Robert shook his head. “Sorry, no, it's fine, we were just in the middle of umm… Yeah. It's good. The food’s all good.” He looked down at the half eaten burger and chips in front of him.

The waitress raised her eyebrows, clearly excited to tell her colleagues about the hot gay couple who seemed to be breaking up over dinner. “You call me if you need anything then, won't you?” she said as she walked away.

“I'm sorry,” Liam said. “This is a lot to just put on you, it’s weird. I just thought maybe over a meal might be easier, you know. Not as intense.”

Robert shook his head. “It's fine, really, I just need to…” He looked at the platter of sides that Liam had insisted on ordering. He'd found it odd at the time; now he found it made all too much sense. “I just need to get my head around it. Let's eat, yeah? We can talk about it in the morning?”

For the first time since they first met, their conversation was forced. They bounced between what they thought of recent movies they'd watched, banal work gossip, even at one point resorting to commenting on the weather. Slowly, the food disappeared from the table.

Robert woke Liam up by putting a mug of coffee on his bedside table and kissing his forehead. “Okay.”

Liam opened one bleary eye. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Robert repeated. “I've been thinking about it, and okay. If it'll make you happy, we can try out putting on some weight.” He sat down on the bed next to Liam.

“What?” Liam said, frantically sitting up in bed, all tiredness leaving his face immediately. “You're really- I mean, we don't actually- I'd be happy if we just did some roleplay, or maybe, I don't know, maybe a threesome with a big guy or-”

“No you wouldn't,” Robert said. “I saw you last night. You started off with saying you wanted us to get fat, then backtracked. This will make you happy.” He took a long swig of his own coffee. “And you make me happy. So I guess that I'll do it.”

“Rob, this is a really big… I mean…. Why are you okay with this? This is weird, I do know that.”

Robert shrugged and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I don't know if it is that weird, you know?” he said. “I mean, yes, obviously the specific, you know, request of it all is weird but…” He brought some photos and showed them to Liam. He swiped through men with varying degrees of dad bods, plus sized models, even some men with actual, if modest, guts. “People are into it, I guess? Like I know that. And I'm not averse to it, some of these guys are hot and I always like it when guys do bulks and…” He shrugged again and put his phone away. “I guess it would be nice to not worry about going to the gym and watching what we’re eating and stuff for a while.”

Liam hugged Robert tightly and kissed him. “This is amazing. You're amazing.”

Robert laughed. “Alright, alright. You’re going to owe me a lot of blowjobs for this though,” he joked.

“Oh don't you worry,” Liam flirted back. “Once you’ve put on a couple of stone you won’t be able to keep me off you.”

Robert’s face paled, but he gave a strained smile. “Come on,” he said, standing up off the bed. “I’ve been to the shops.” He swallowed nervously. “I thought we could have bacon and egg sandwiches for breakfast.”

Getting fat, Robert thought to himself a month later, was actually pretty fun. No more bothering with cardio at the gym, eating whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Food just tasted so much better if you stopped caring about how much butter you were adding, and he'd never realised how good McDonald's breakfasts were, but now was having multiple a week on his days in the office; this past week he'd even started experimenting with fast food for lunch, a luxury he'd always previously avoided. There were benefits he'd not expected as well; he’d hit multiple personal bests on lifts at the gym as all the extra food acted as fuel, and he's quickly come to enjoy the satisfying warmth of an overly full and stretched out stomach. Best of all, Liam’s sexual appetite, always healthy, had positively exploded, and the two spent most of their time together naked and eating.

Of course, not everything was rosy. Robert found it disconcerting how quickly his abs had faded and how his trousers had started pinching his sides and he would occasionally panic after they'd gorged on a particularly large meal, staring at the small curve of his gut in the mirror as he wondered what he'd agreed to. Still, he reasoned, it wasn't really noticeable yet, especially with clothes on and it really was fun just cutting loose. Besides, it made Liam happy, and Robert was quickly realising that that was all that really mattered to him. Everyone gains a bit of weight in relationships anyway.

“Best start laying off the beers Robby,” Robert’s brother Dylan said, poking the small puddle of fat at his middle. “You're starting to look like me.” He slapped his own beer belly, grown since the birth of his daughter a couple of years before.

Robert choked on his beer. “What?” he said. His hand flew down to his side, feeling the thin layer of fat that had started to accumulate. He was sure that you couldn't see the gained weight through his clothes. “No, I haven't, umm…”

“Ah, I'm only taking the piss,” Dylan said, slapping Robert on the shoulder before draining his pint. “I'm hardly one to talk, am I?” He gestured down at himself. “I'm just saying, our genetics, it'll catch up to you sooner or later. You've seen dad.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Here, I saw him last week, he said he was seventeen bloody stone. I said bloody hell dad, you'll need to reinforce these chairs soon.” Robert laughed through a forced smile. “Anyway, speaking of taking the piss,” Dylan said standing up and walking to the gents.

Robert took the opportunity to survey his body. Perhaps, he thought, you could just about start to tell - sitting down anyway. His shirt fit just a tiny bit tighter than he was used to, and his torso wasn't quite as flat. He thought back to what his brother said. Would Liam want him to get as big as his dad? Seventeen stone. He tried to imagine that much weight on him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, he reasoned, he had a good base of muscle, he wouldn't look gone to seed like his dad, with his beer gut that strained all his shirts. Still, he resolved to cut back. Liam seemed happy enough with his current size, anyway.

Four hours later, Robert stumbled through his front door, chips, cheese and gravy in hand, sauce from his already devoured kebab down his shirt. He found Liam watching a film in the living room.

“Hello sexy,” Robert growled through a mouthful of cheesy chips. His cock hardened as he flopped down next to his boyfriend and began to feel up his thighs.

“Hello sexy to you too,” Liam laughed. “Did you get any for me?” he asked as he stole a chip.

Robert shook his head and pushed some more chips in his mouth. “Sorry, didn't think,” he said. “Was just really hungry.”

“That's okay,” Liam said with a smile growing alongside his erection. “You get nice and filled up.” He squeezed Robert’s middle. “I'm loving this beer bloat you've got going on,” he growled. He leaned in and kissed Robert’s neck while one hand began unbuttoning Robert’s jeans. “Did you have a good time with Dylan?”

Robert sighed as his jeans sprung open. “He said I'm getting fat,” he told Liam. His hand fell on top of Liam's as it massaged his gut. “Do you think I’m getting fat?”

Liam laughed. “Oh don't you worry about that,” he said. “You're nowhere near what I’d call fat yet.” Robert smiled before belching. Liam scrunched his nose against the smell of his breath, strong with beer. He leaned in and kissed Robert, hard and long. “How about we take those chips to the bedroom, big boy?”

Robert turned to the side as he looked in the mirror and sucked in. He tried to tell himself that he didn't look fat per se, but god was that getting more and more difficult. He was running out of euphemisms for his changing body; for a while he’d told himself he was looking solid, then healthy, then sturdy, burly, and husky and now he had to admit that thick was the best he could hope for. Hell, even chubby might be underselling it. He stopped sucking in and let his gut pool out, sticking out past the waistband of his new 36” waist trousers. He thought ruefully about the 38s lying in the drawer that Liam had convinced him to buy, telling him he'd be wearing them sooner rather than later. He brought his arm up and flexed. At least his muscles were growing too, but he had to admit, it was becoming less apparent as they got covered up with a layer of chub.

At least he wasn't alone in his changing body, with Liam also growing alongside him, although not nearly as fast. While Robert had recently passed two hundred and twenty pounds, Liam was lamenting how he was still fifteen pounds away from the big two-oh-oh. Robert told himself that it was just the difference in their heights, but he knew he wasn't really that much taller, and the difference in their weights really was becoming obvious. While Liam’s pudge had only just started forming a proper belly over the last five pounds, Robert’s own gut had long since reached the point of stretching out his shirts.

In a perverse way, Robert was almost beginning to enjoy how much fatter he was getting than Liam. He'd always been taller and bulkier than his boyfriend, with broader shoulders and bigger muscles, and odd as it was, he was enjoying how he was now outgrowing him in yet another way. He began to feel more masculine, more dominant, and he loved the way his new body made the smaller man go crazy and want to worship him, all while knowing that Liam would give anything to look like he did now. He'd always had a competitive streak, and this was just yet another competition to win.

Robert struggled to button up a shirt, and gritted his teeth as he felt the buttons strain around his shirt, even as his cock inexplicably swelled in his jeans. He walked downstairs and tried to ignore the sensation of his body shaking with each step to find Liam checking his hair in the mirror.

“You ready to go?” Robert asked.

Liam looked up smiling, only for his mouth to fall open upon seeing Robert. “Fuck Rob, you look massive.” He reached out to grab the bottom of Robert’s gut and gave it a small shake. “Are you sure you don't want to wear a large? It's a bit tight. There'll be loads of people there.”

Robert shrugged, the motion causing his shirt to ride up. He tugged at the hem awkwardly. “This is a large,” he explained. “I’ll need to go shopping for some extra larges this week.”

“Oh wow,” Liam whispered. “Extra large, that's, wow.” He tugged at the hem of his own shirt in a mirror of Robert’s motion. Despite being a medium, Robert knew, the shirt was barely snug. Robert struggled to hide a smug smirk, even as his annoyance at his shrinking clothes mounted.

“Well you'll be wearing this shirt soon enough, eh?” Robert said before giving Liam a kiss on the cheek. “And then we can share extra larges once you catch up.”

Liam smiled sadly. “Yeah, maybe.” His phone buzzed and he looked down at it. “Taxi’s here,” he said. “You got everything?”

Robert nodded an affirmative, before dashing to the kitchen and grabbing a couple of chocolate bars for the road.

“God did you see their faces?” Liam asked as they came back that night. His face was flushed with drink and arousal. “They couldn't believe how fat we'd gotten!”

Robert burped into his fist and began to unbutton his shirt and trousers. He gave a sigh of relief as his unconstrained belly was allowed to surge forward. Liam stared at the spectacle for a second before hurriedly mimicking the motion, despite his own clothes not being nearly so restrictive.

“Good food,” Robert said simply. His cock was rock hard, as it was more and more frequently whenever he'd stuffed himself, as he had tonight. He let out another belch.

“You ate so much,” Liam said, almost reverently. “When you went to the toilet, Olive asked if everything was okay. They're properly worried about how much weight we've gained.”

Robert gave a lopsided grin. He was sure they were mainly concerned about him, and not Liam, especially as he'd ended up finishing so many people's meals at the end of the night while Liam struggled to finish his own plate. He reached into his pants and gave his hard cock a squeeze. “You know,” he whispered to Liam, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “There's a tub of ice cream in the freezer. Maybe you could, you know, while I ate it?”

Liam's eyes widened. “You're still hungry? Oh wow. Yeah, yeah, absolutely, I mean, wow.” His smile widened and his hands explored the sides of Robert’s gut.

“Go on then,” Robert said with a small nod of his head towards the kitchen. “I'll be upstairs.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Of course, I'll just go and, yeah.” Liam dashed off towards the kitchen as Robert trudged upstairs, massaging his bloated middle.

Liam entered the bedroom to find Robert sat on the edge of the bed completely naked, with his legs spread wide to expose his thick, hard cock.

“I microwaved it for a bit,” Liam said. “So it's easier to eat."

Robert merely grunted and spread his legs wider in response as he took the tub away from Liam, making his wants clear. Liam sank down before him and dutifully swallowed as much of his prick as he could. Robert grabbed the spoon embedded in the ice cream, and sucked what was on there before tossing it to the side. Instead he simply raised the tub to his lips and began to chug. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, relishing in the twin pleasures of head and dessert.

Okay, he thought, yes, he'd lost his hot gym body he’d worked so hard for, but god, if this is what the alternative was, who gave a shit? What did he want to work out for anyway? He was in a great relationship, getting treated like a king, so it's not like he needed to attract anyone. And besides, his brother was right, with his genetics it was always going to be a losing battle. No, it was best to just lie back, taste the ice cream, and think of England.

He climaxed just as he finished the ice cream. “Thanks babe,” he grunted. “That was great.”

“That was really hot,” Liam enthused, unbuckling his belt and dropping his own trousers.

“Anything to make you happy,” Robert said as he crawled into bed and began scrolling on his phone.

“Oh. Right,” Liam said. “Yeah.” He crawled into bed next to Robert.

Robert burped as he brought the carton of heavy cream away from his lips. The taste was greasy and unpleasant, but he thrilled at the thought of how many calories he'd just chugged, and all before dinner.

“What are you doing?” Liam asked. “We’re leaving in a moment, you still need to get changed.”

“Just topping up the tank,” Robert grinned. He pushed his gut out to make a show of it. “What's wrong with what I'm wearing?”

Liam looked at his watch. “We’re eating in half an hour Rob,” he said. “And that shirt’s ridiculous, it's barely buttoned.”

Robert smirked and moved in close, grabbing Liam's love handles and grinding their soft bodies together. “Don't worry babes,” he said. “I'm just getting warmed up. Hey,” he added in a whisper. “I'll even let you feed me dessert later.”

Liam broke away and stepped back. “I'm being serious Rob,” he said, struggling to hide his erection. “You can't wear that shirt. Go find an extra large.”

Robert drummed his fingers against his gut. “All in the wash,” he said smugly. “Come on, don't act like this doesn't drive you wild.” He fingered his belly button through one of the gaping buttons holes. “Two-fifty pounds, eh? Did you ever imagine I'd get so big for you when you asked me to get fat for you?” He reached down and gripped Liam’s cock through his trousers. Liam whimpered involuntarily. “Did I tell you that I'm fatter than Dylan now? Dad too. Biggest guy in the family now, sounds pretty good, doesn't it?”

Liam stepped back away from Robert’s grasp. “Just put on a jumper or something,” he said. He rearranged his erection. “The one you got a couple of weeks ago will work.” Robert stepped closer again and he stepped back. “Please Rob,” he said. “It is hot how big you're getting, and I'm glad you're starting to get something out of it too, but not in front of my family, yeah?”

“I'm just joking!” Robert said. “I know I can't wear this out in public anymore. I'll go sort it now.”

“Thank you,” Liam said.

As Robert left he smacked the side of his gut. “All for you baby!”

Robert returned shortly after, his jumper managing to cover his body but doing nothing to disguise his expanded girth.

“I didn't ask you to get fat,” Liam said, sitting at the kitchen table.

Robert laughed. “What?” he asked.

“Earlier,” Liam said. “You said I'd asked you to get fat.”

“Did I? Well, you did, didn't you! Otherwise I have made a very big error of judgement.” He lifted his jumper to reveal the still straining shirt.

“No, I mean, I know I did ask you to get fat, obviously,” Liam said. “It's just. I didn’t say that. I said I'd like us both to get fat. Together. I feel like that's not been a thing for a while.”

Robert stepped closer to Liam and rubbed his buttery side. “You're getting fat too,” he said. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of comforting someone about how they were gaining weight. “Here, you hit two hundred pounds finally, right? That's great! I'm really proud of you.” He kissed bent down to kiss Liam. “You're my chubby guy too. It's just that this is your thing I guess, so I don't know how to do all the encouragement stuff you do for me. I just want to make you happy, and I guess I got a little carried away.”

Liam shook his head. “No, I know,” he said. “I'm just being silly. I do really appreciate what you've done.” He laughed. “You know, I just kind of thought you'd put on twenty pounds and then get freaked out. I actually thought I'd end up being the fatter one.”

Robert kissed Liam again. “Funny to think about that now, eh? Here, we've still got five minutes before we need to leave,” he said. “There's another thing of cream in the fridge. Why don't I feed it to you before we go?” He leant in and whispered in Liam's ear. “I think you'll really love how two hundred and fifty pounds feels.”

Liam pulled a face and laughed. “No way,” he said. “I don't know how you chug them, it's absolutely gross.”

Robert shrugged. “Your loss is my gain. Why don't you have some chocolate or something then?” He opened the fridge and licked his lips as he looked. “You know, if you don't want it, maybe you could feed it to me? Maybe we could see if I could break my record for number of calories today?”

Liam forced a smile. “Yeah, if you want,” he said. “Sounds hot.”

Robert grinned as he passed the cream to Liam and sat down and tilted his head back to allow him to pour it down his throat. “The things I do for you, eh?”

Robert lifted up his t-shirt as he scratched his side. His most recent stretch marks were particularly aggravating, a fact which wasn't helped by the fact that he was just on the cusp of needing to size up his t-shirts and sweatpants, the too tight fabric irritating the more sensitive skin.

“What's for dinner babe?” he asked Liam as he walked into the kitchen. Liam was clearing away the remnants of Robert’s lunch, a small pile of McDonald’s wrappers and boxes.

Liam's eyes flicked up and down Robert’s body before turning away. “Roast lamb,” he answered. “I thought we'd have something a bit special, since I reached fifteen stone yesterday.”

“Oh yeah?” Robert asked with a smile. He reached out and patted Liam's small paunch. “That's amazing, well done!” He hoped the milestone might work to undo some of the tension that had developed between them ever since Robert had passed two hundred and fifty pounds, almost thirty pounds ago now. Robert sometimes almost forgot that Liam was trying to gain at all, such was the disparity in their rates of weight gain.

“Yeah, I did actually tell you yesterday,” Liam said icily.

“Oh sorry!” Robert said, as he opened a cupboard and pulled out a pack of biscuits. “I must have forgotten.” He began to eat the biscuits three at a time.

“Yeah, well, you were eating, so…” Liam muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, you said something,” Robert insisted.

Liam shrugged. “I said that you were eating,” he repeated. “So it's not surprising that you didn't pay any attention to me.”

“Where's this come from?” Robert asked, incredulous. Biscuit crumbs showered from his mouth as he spoke.

“Where's it… How about the last two years of you doing nothing but eating all the time, only caring about yourself?” Liam snapped.

“Excuse me?” Robert said. “Can I remind you that all of this,” he gestured down at his body, his soft overhang hanging out the bottom of his shirt, the way his sides bulged out, the outline of his tits pushing out and down, the beard he'd grown to hide his double chin, “is because you wanted it?”

“Oh, don't put this on me!” Liam replied. “You want this.”

“You're the one with the fat fetish!” Robert pointed out. “I’m just going along for the ride because I love you!”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “Well when was the last time I encouraged you then, if you're just doing it for me?”

“Yeah, actually!” Robert retorted. “I'm doing this for you and when was the last time you encou-”

“More to the point!” Liam interrupted. “When have you ever, ever, encouraged me?”

“What?” Robert asked, blinking. The question had genuinely thrown him.

“This was supposed to be about me!” Liam snapped. His voice shook a little. “I was the one who asked you to do it and at every fucking stage you've used it as an opportunity for me to wait on you hand and foot.”

“Oh, I've not done anything for you have I?” Robert grabbed the side of his gut and shook it. “Me gaining over a hundred pounds, just because you asked me to, doesn't count as me doing anything, does it?” A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of Robert forcing biscuits into his mouth. “I knew you were jealous,” Robert muttered eventually, crumbs spraying from his mouth.

“I am not fucking jealous of you,” Liam fumed. “How dare you? Fucking jealous.”

“Yeah, you know what?” Robert said. “That's exactly what this is. You wanted to get fat and you can't stand how much bigger I am than you.”

“Can you hear yourself?” Liam scoffed. “And you act like you don't want this at all.” He turned away and began to pull food from the fridge to make dinner. “No, what I wanted was for us to gain weight together. You had to take it all way too far.”

“I took it too far?” Robert asked.

“Yes,” Liam replied. “Yeah, you know what, you did take it too far.” He spun around and gestured down at his body. “I'm quite happy with where I am. I wanted us both to get dad bods, hot ex-jock vibes. Not obese middle aged dad.”

Robert’s face grew red. “That’s a lie and you know it,” he spat. “You still worship this gut every chance you get.”

Liam’s nostrils flared. He turned away, back to the chopping board, and busied himself with vegetables for a minute. Robert could hear him trying to slow his breathing. Eventually, he turned back around. “I just think we should both slow down,” he said. His voice was measured, slow and calm. His fists were clenched and shaking with white knuckles. “We've both,” he put special emphasis on the word, “maybe taken this too far, and it's probably best if we both take a break from the idea of gaining for a bit.”

“Yeah, why don't you slow down your gains,” Robert mumbled.

“What was that?”

Robert bit his tongue. He was being offered an opportunity to end this argument. “Yeah, you're probably right,” he agreed. “Whatever makes you happy. It was your idea after all. If you want to stop, no reason to carry on.” He shoved a fistful of biscuits into his mouth.

“Yeah, right, well,” Liam said. He sighed and turned back towards the food he was preparing. “Why don't you go watch something? I'll call you when dinner's ready. It'll be a while.”

Robert shrugged. “Sure,” he agreed.

“And Robert?” Liam called just as he'd left the room.

“Yeah?” Robert replied.

“Why don't you set up the spare room for tonight,” Liam said. “Your snoring’s gotten really bad the past twenty pounds or so, and I need to be up early.”

Robert hesitated for a moment. “Yeah, can do.”

“”What the fuck is this?” Liam sighed. Robert couldn't help but admire the way his partner's newly blossomed love handles were framed by the hallway light behind him. He felt oddly proud of his boyfriend's recent weight gain, even as it paled against his own.

“I uh… well,” Robert began. He looked down at himself in the light streaming in from the door. Clad only in too tight underwear, crumbs had fallen down to litter his body hair. His fingers were thick with chocolate icing where he'd dug them into the cake in front of him, and he knew that it must be all around his mouth as well. “I got hungry,” he finished lamely.

Liam entered the dark kitchen and sat in a chair opposite Robert. “Dinner was plenty,” he said. “I was full.”

“Yeah, well, I'm bigger than you, aren't I?” Robert pointed out. “I can't help it if I get hungry, can I?”

Liam shrugged. “I guess, yeah,” he said. “Could you help buying a-” he picked up the packaging and peered at it in the dim light. “Party-sized triple chocolate fudge birthday cake, serves twenty, I'm assuming earlier today?” he asked. “Because this didn't magically appear in the kitchen. Could you help hiding it? And suggesting that you sleep in the spare room so I wouldn't notice when you snuck downstairs?”

Robert slumped in his chair. The wood groaned in protest. “I am trying,” he said after a while.

Liam sighed and put his head in his hands. “I know this isn't the first time this week,” he said. “I know that it's at least two or three nights most weeks, and if it's not,” he gestured at the mess of chocolate on the table and on Robert, “this, you sneak out and go to a drive through.”

The kitchen was silent for a while.

“We said we'd both stop gaining,” Liam said eventually. “We said we'd try and lose weight.”

“You've put on weight too,” Robert said. He felt like a child arguing about missing out on play time. He couldn't stop thinking about the rest of the cake in front of him. He wanted to lick the chocolate off his fingers.

“I've put on fifteen, maybe twenty pounds,” Liam said. “I'm not saying I've been great,” he admitted. “But I've cut down. That's not crazy for a year.” He paused for a while. “How much do you think you've put on?” he asked.

Robert shrugged. “Yeah, probably the same,” he said. He could feel his cheeks redden, and hoped it was dark enough that Liam couldn't see. “It's not like I weigh myself very often.”

Liam put his face in his hands and leant on the table. “I found your grommr account,” he said.

Robert squirmed in his seat. “Well what were you doing on grommr then?” He winced even as he said it.

“I've got a fat fetish,” Liam replied. “What are you doing on there?” When he got no reply, he continued. “It said you're three hundred and forty pounds.” He picked up a small fragment of the leftover destroyed cake and ate it slowly. “Is that right?”

“I guess,” Robert said.

“I don't think this is working,” Liam said.

“I know,” Robert said. “I'll do better. I'll try and lose some weight, I know I've taken it too far now, I’ll join a gym and-”

“No,” Liam cut him off. “I don't think this is working. Us. I think… I think we should break up.”

“You okay buddy?” Dylan asked.

Robert shrugged and took a swig of his beer. He belched. “Why wouldn't I be okay?”

Dylan sighed. “Rob, I… I mean look at yourself. This isn't okay.”

Robert scratched his beard. He'd maybe let it grow a bit too long, and he'd not had a chance to buy any clothes that fit in the past couple of months, but what was he supposed to do? He'd been busy, and it's not like he could just walk into shops and pick up his size anymore. “It's just work and stuff,” he said. “And with the move, my appearance hasn't been my top priority.”

“Yep, and I completely get that,” Dylan placated. His voice was bright and soft and his hands were spread open like he'd presumably heard in some how to handle difficult conversations podcast. “But I don't think we’re talking about just your appearance here. You have… fuck me Rob, you've gotten really fucking big.”

Robert scratched his gut and tried to pull his t-shirt down. “It's just the break-up,” he said. “And you've said it before, we've got shit genetics for getting fat.”

“Look, I'm not trying to have a go,” Dylan said. He slapped his own gut. “I'll be the first to admit that I'm not exactly in my prime. I don't think I've been to the gym since Livy’s been born, probably not great. Shit happens, and I get that the break-up hasn't helped, and work, and yep, absolutely, we did not win the genetic lottery in our family for twenty-eight inch waists but… I mean this isn't exactly the break-up, is it? It's been going on a lot longer than that, but at least, fuck, at least I used to think you were happy with it. Happy with Li-” Robert shot him a dirty glare. “Well, whatever, happy, anyway.”

“Who says I'm not happy?” Robert asked. He drained his beer bottle and stood to get another. When he returned he collapsed back into his seat and Dylan winced. “Yeah, I put on relationship weight with Liam too, but that wasn't, you know, that wasn't anything to do with… We just weren't, I don't know, compatible anymore. I know I'm fat, I know I’m stressed, and that I've been doing better, but I'm fine. You can drop it.”

“Look, let's…” Dylan looked around the room as if searching for something to help him. “I weighed myself the other day, eighteen stone. Not proud to be fatter than dad these days, but you know, there it is. How much are you weighing?” He looked Robert up and down. “Over twenty stone?” He hesitated. “Twenty-five?” He said it as if he couldn't believe anyone could weigh so much.

Robert shrugged. “Twenty-seven maybe.” He actually thought it might be a bit more.

“Jesus fucking Christ Robby,” Dylan exclaimed. “No, sorry, I don't mean- that's not, you know, it's fine, bodies come in all different- but fucking hell Rob that's… Twenty seven stone!” he cried. “That's not just relationship weight, is it? That's not break-up weight or stress weight or shit genetics that’s…” He took a deep breath and clasped his knee. “Do you like it?”

Robert stared at him. “Like what?”

“Look, no judgement,” Dylan said. “Vanessa says she likes, you know,” he shook his own gut for emphasis. “The belly. She even feeds me up a bit sometimes, I think, and I'm not exactly turning down bigger portions. I know it's a thing. I even get it a bit. But, I mean Rob. You can tell me.” He reached out and grasped Robert's knee. “Is it intentional? Even just a little bit? At least if, fuck, if I knew you were doing it on purpose, that you liked how fucking big you'd gotten I could… I could stop worrying about you fucking losing it. Like, I'm going to worry about your heart giving way, yeah, fine, but I can't be dealing with worrying about you being depressed or needing help and… And if something happened and I'd not done anything. Not after mum.” He started fidgeting with his collar, a nervous habit he'd had since school.

“Yeah,” Robert said quietly. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I'm into it. It's been, you know, on purpose. Mostly. You don't have to worry about that stuff. I'm not going to, you know.”

“Thank fuck,” Dylan sighed. “I mean, not thank fuck. It's still pretty fucking weird if I'm being honest, but I'm glad that you're, I don't know, not happy I guess, I know you've got other, whatever. I'm glad this isn't some insane compulsive episode or… I mean I've been imagining loads of stuff.” He downed his beer and breathed shakily. “So Liam was into it too? That's how you two met? Some freaky gay kink club?”

“What? No. Fuck off,” Robert said laughing. “Liam was into it, yeah, but he uhh, well he actually introduced me to it. I went along with it for a bit and then… I don't know, at some point I started liking it.”

Dylan nodded. “I get it. Like, I know I'm not supposed to be liking how fat I've gotten but there's something about it, I guess,” he said. “So what happened with you and Liam? You realised you only had the fat thing in common?”

Robert sighed. “No, we were… fuck. We were fairly perfect for each other. He got, I don't know, jealous about how big I was…” He took a drink and closed his eyes. “No. It wasn't just him. I turned into a knobhead about it.”

“Turned into a knobhead?” Dylan asked with a laugh.

“Oh fuck off,” Robert said. “I got, I don't know. There was a lot going on. I felt like I was doing this huge thing for him, but then I started to like it, and… At some point I managed to make it all about me. And if I pretended I still didn't like it I could still make out I was making this noble sacrifice, but really I was just completely ignoring him. And I think, you know, he did get pretty jealous at one point, but I didn't help. Made it into this weird competition.”

“Well you've got me beat at least,” Dylan said. He reached over to pat Robert's arm. “Here, I've got to go to town tomorrow. I'm not exactly fitting into my work shirts myself these days, how about we go together? Get you some stuff that actually covers that gut.”

“Fuck off,” Robert said, laughing.

“No, I'm serious, Vanessa's actually said she won't let you back round if you're not covered up again,” Dylan said. “You're scaring Livy. And the dog. Come on, we’ll make a day of it.”

“You do know I can't exactly just pop into Marks and Sparks and pick up a jumper, don't you? Most places stop at three XL if you're lucky.”

“No, come on,” Dylan insisted. “There's that plus size place in the Arndale, and Go Outdoors has a sale on, they'll have a tent that'll fit you.”

“Oh fuck off!” Robert laughed. “Yeah, go on then, I'll come along.” He drained his beer bottle. “Thanks, Dyl. Seriously. This has been… It's been good.”

Dylan shrugged. “What am I here for, eh? I'm just sorry I didn't mention it ten fucking stone ago.”

Robert huffed as he found his seat and squeezed himself into it. He hated how cinemas made you pay extra for supposedly premium seats, only for them to still not be big enough. He settled himself in, sorting his collection of drinks and snacks.

“Robert? Is that you?” Robert looked up to see a man significantly smaller than him, but still undeniably fat.

“Liam?” he replied.

“Oh god,” Liam said. “I’ll find another seat, don't worry, it doesn't matter.”

Robert patted the seat next to him. “Don't be silly,” he insisted. “It'll be nice to catch up during the trailers. Besides,” he looked around at the rapidly filling seats around them. “It's the opening weekend of Paddington vs Barbie 2: Paddington's Revenge, I'm not sure there’ll be any spare seats to move to.”

Liam looked around, sighed and sat down.

“You here with anyone?” Robert asked.

Liam shook his head. “The first one went right over my head the first time I watched it, I decided to come without any distractions.”

“Same,” Robert agreed. “And after it won all those Oscars I knew I should come see this one quick before anyone spoiled it for me.” He surveyed Liam for a bit. “How've you been, anyway?”

Liam smiled. “Good, yeah. Lots of the same, you know,” he said. “Not much to report.” He hesitated for a moment. “Still very much on the gain train.”

“I noticed!” Robert laughed. He reached over and poked Liam's gut where it spilled out over his belt. “How much are you clocking in at these days?”

“Two-seventy,” he said proudly. “I'm wanting to put a bit of a push on before Christmas, get over twenty stone, maybe.”

“Nice!” Robert said, slapping Liam's side. “Well, it suits you. Always did.”

“How about you?” Liam asked. “I noticed you've lost all the weight I forced onto you.”

Robert laughed and shook his own gut that spilled out towards his knees. “Yeah, I couldn't stand it, you know, who'd be fat?” he joked. “I'm about four-seventy, maybe four-eighty these days.”

Liam whistled. “Wow,” he said. “That's incredible. Like, I thought I was fat but you're another two hundred pounds on top of that.”

“You are fat,” Robert said warmly. “I'm just a lot fatter.”

“A whole decently chubby person fatter, in fact,” Liam pointed out.

“I like that,” Robert said laughing; his whole body shook with the action. “You know, I eventually admitted to myself that I probably am a gainer after all.”

“Probably a gainer, wow,” Liam said. “That must have been a difficult conclusion to come to.” He put a finger underneath one of Robert’s moobs and lifted it before letting it drop and watching the ripples spread across the larger man's body.

“Yeah, well, you know, a pretty great guy introduced me to the whole thing,” Robert said.

Liam smiled sadly. “So have you been seeing anyone or…?”

“Not really,” Robert replied. “I meet up with some feeders occasionally but, they're not, you know. It's not the same.”

“No, I know what you mean,” Liam agreed.

“So are you?” Robert asked. “Seeing anyone or anything?”

Liam shook his head. “Some dates and umm… no. No. Not seeing anyone.”

“I'm sorry,” Robert said. “For everything. For… I got selfish. You were the best thing that ever happened to me and I turned it into this selfish fucking…”

“I'm sorry too,” Liam said. “It wasn't just you. I asked you to do it for me then didn't like it when it turned out you actually enjoyed it, which is pretty fucked up of me. We could have talked about it more. Properly I mean.” He looked around. “Listen, all these people listening in are clearly finding our conversation very fucking weird, and I can't really be bothered with all this art-house stuff anyway. Do you want to just go get something to eat?”

Robert looked down the full row. “Getting out might be a bit of an ordeal. I'm not really built for squeezing past people these days,” he said.

“Sounds hot,” Liam replied. “You in?”

Robert laughed. “Yeah, okay. Dinner sounds nice.”

Liam licked the last of the chocolate off of his fingers as Robert lapped up his cum.

“Happy three hundred pounds babes,” Robert said as he leant up.

Liam struggled to sit up. “Your turn now,” he said.

Robert shook his head. “This is your night. Big celebration,” he said. “You don't have to do anything.”

“I want to,” Liam insisted. “Besides, we've got a whole other cake and I’m stuffed.”

“Oh I'll eat the cake,” Robert said. “But you don't have to suck me off.

“You're sure?” Liam asked.

Robert smiled. “It's fine, you take a nap to digest everything, I'll go clean up,” he said. “As long as you're happy, I'm happy.”

#gaining fiction #gainer fiction #weight gain #gainer story #weight gain story #male weight gain #it takes two

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spatialwave · 22 hours ago

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➸ ask: “Hey! How about “one more kiss, please” from the prompt list for Jayce. I just need him desperately yearning for reader” – ➸ pairing: jayce talis x gn!reader ➸ word count: 1.3k ➸ tags: mdni! fluff, kissing, yearning, mutual pining, gender-neutral reader, no mention of y/n. ➸ notes: tysm for asking! ask came from this prompt!

You couldn’t count on ten fingers how many nights you dreamt of Jayce Talis, the Man of Progress himself. The image of him rattled through your mind at every waking hour, that stupid smile you always wanted to wipe from his lips with your own.

What you hadn’t known was how he reciprocated the sentiment. Jayce would find you at your workstation, dirt on your face and welding goggles on as you carefully put together pieces that would host the hextech gemstones for further research. You had become a treasure to him, someone he could rely on when his days were busy, which were more often than not.

There were plenty of times you hadn’t been aware of his presence, he would stand in the doorway watching you work. Hearts for eyes and forcing himself to turn away before his heart ached too much, knowing that you weren’t his.

He yearned for you each day, staying up into the late hours, wondering if you felt the same.

How could you? You were too…perfect.

It was the night of one of Piltover’s illustrious charity events that brought in only the richest of citizens. Any and all who put in their well-earned money for the academy, and you, had been invited by Jayce himself. Viktor had decided against it, not so much inclined to spend his night at another event when he could be spending his evening in the lab with Sky.

So, you took his spot – and you did not belong.

With your hand wrapped around an empty glass which once held a darkened liquor, you stood off to the side in the large area that had been decorated so elegantly. The tunes of the live music and sounds of chatter filled your ears, eyes looking amongst the swarm of rich Piltovians sharing conversation about gods knows what.

Jayce had been everywhere and nowhere, the Golden Boy was easily the most important icon of the evening. Everyone wanted to talk with him, ask about his research and his plans for improvement of the city.

It was irritating to be stuck alone, but at least the invitation filled your stomach with top-shelf food and liquor you wouldn’t be able to afford yourself.

There Jayce stood amongst a group of rich folk, eating him up, just like you knew they would. He was surrounded, a big smile on his lips as he moved his way through each conversation with his natural knack of charisma. You wondered what he was talking about, watching his lips move as he spoke so goddamn passionately, hands flying with each word.

His eyes connected with yours at one point, lingering on you for a quick moment with that stupid smile, before his attention was enraptured by another generous donor.

After a few more minutes of watching, you gave up. There was nothing else for you here.

Footsteps clicked along the surface of the tiled floors, the empty halls more inviting than the gala ever was. Your fingers dragged along the surface of the brick walls, the liquor having left you in just the perfect amount of bliss as you made your way home, knowing you could sleep the next day away.

“Hey!” A voice called from behind you, startling you with a soft gasp.

You snapped your head around, eyes widening when they settled on Jayce hurrying down the hall behind you. He wore a smile, wearing too fancy of clothing to be chasing you down.

“Why are you leaving?” He asked once he reached a few steps away of you, breathing a bit heavy, “Sorry… out of breath,” he chuckled through deep inhales, “I didn’t think I’d catch up to you.”

The thumping of your heart against your rib cage didn’t go unnoticed, stilled in silence over the fact that he chased after you. A tiny smile spread across your lips.

“It’s not really my style,” you finally replied, hands landing on your hips, “why do you care if I leave?”

“Why do I care?” Jayce’s eyebrows furrowed together, “because I invited you here. I… I want you here.”

You hated how sweet he was.

“You’re a busy man, Jayce,” you smiled, offering a slight shake of your head as you stepped toward him, better seeing him under the dim lighting of the empty hallways, “I’m not too fond of just standing around watching you get swarmed by every wealthy person from Piltover. As inviting as that sounds.”

He snorted out a laugh, eyes watching you closely as you stepped directly below one of the overhanging lights. It illuminated your features perfectly, made you appear like a glowing angel.

“So, you’re just going to leave me here by myself?” He asked, those big eyes of his making you want to melt right into the floor beneath you.

You laughed in disbelief, raising an eyebrow, “you’re not alone.”

“But I want you here,” he was adamant, eyebrows furrowing again, “come on. It’s not that bad.”

“You’re annoying,” you groaned, trying to act like this was worse than it was. You had a flair for the dramatics when you needed to pull something out from your sleeve, “I’ll see you tomorrow anyway, it’s fine,” you brushed him off with a wave of your hand, “plus, you’re going to be busy all night, so if I stay, I’ll end up getting drunk by myself and that’s never turned out well for me.”

Jayce’s eyes flickered over your face, studying your expression carefully. Neither of you had realized how close you had gotten, close enough that he could tuck back some of your hair behind your ear. The movement of his hand made you both tense up, a fleeting touch that he hadn’t realized he’d done. Fingers brushed against the shell of your ear as he pulled his hand away, redness tinting his cheeks.

“Oh, uh–” he forced out an awkward laugh, eyes now looking anywhere other than your face, “you had some hair… in your face.”

Lips parted, but you couldn’t speak. His touched left you stunned in place, eyes big as you watched him. You watched as his eyes focused somewhere along the walls, hands balling into tense fists and teeth biting at his lower lip.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the late hour of the night, but you hadn’t the slightest care in the world anymore. All you wanted was Jayce, and it was his fault that he made you feel this way, so you were going to pull him into the mess that was you.

Even if it ruined the friendship you worked so hard to maintain, all these years.

His amber eyes landed back on you when he felt your hands reaching to his cheeks, cupping his face oh-so delicately. They widened as he watched you lean closer, noticing the way your gaze flickered down to his lips he’d been habitually chewing on all evening.

Jayce’s heart fluttered, and he acted on what felt right. Meeting you halfway and sighing when your lips touched after years of imagining what this would feel like.

Both hands reached out for you, resting on your waist as he pressed forward. The kiss developed slowly, lips moving together a bit clumsily as your patience wore thin. Hands explored each other, touching hips and shoulders, and your tongue slipped from between your lips, and that’s when you froze.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you pulled back, taking a slight step away, “sorry–”

“No, don’t,” he whispered, closing the distance with a forward step until your chests were pressed together. He stared deep into your eyes, his own full of love as his gaze continued to flicker down to your lips that he needed to taste again, “one more kiss… please.”

You smiled like an idiot.

“Just one more,” you murmured, rolling your eyes affectionately, before he pulled you back into another kiss that took the breath from your lungs.

Jayce would be the death of you.

#jayce talis x reader #jayce x reader #jayce talis #jayce talis x you #jayce x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #jayce arcane #wordsbyspatial #spatialanswers

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rafeskai · 3 days ago

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Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Six

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: 1 chapter left to gooooooo!

Masterlist: Here

The next few days blurred together as the courtroom became a battleground. The air was thick with tension, the walls seemingly closing in around you as each new revelation about Ward Cameron was brought to light. The stakes were higher than they had ever been before. The pressure to win, to protect Willa, pressed down on you like an invisible weight, and the only thing that kept you grounded was the unwavering support from Rafe by your side.

Each morning you walked into the courthouse, the same grim faces of the Cameron family greeted you. Ward was there, his presence looming over the proceedings like a dark cloud. His smugness hadn't faltered, and even though he was under intense scrutiny, he still acted like he was above it all. He never once looked at you or Rafe directly—only ever speaking to his lawyers in low, controlled tones, as though his guilt was something he could keep hidden.

But it wouldn’t last.

Today, you were ready. You had no intention of backing down. You had the truth on your side, and that was something Ward could never escape.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The courtroom was packed as usual, and you sat in your chair, feeling the weight of all eyes on you. Rafe, though his jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed with focus, sat beside you. The final moments of this battle were drawing near, and today was the day you hoped would shift everything in your favor.

Ward’s lawyer had spent the last few hours trying to discredit the evidence you’d found in the attic—claiming it was old, irrelevant, that it had nothing to do with Willa’s future. But the judge had seen through those arguments, and as you waited for the next moment to arrive, your heart beat steadily in your chest.

Rafe’s lawyer stood, clearing his throat as he prepared to present the final piece of evidence. A stack of photographs, medical reports, and those damning letters Sarah had written in secret. Rafe held your hand under the table, a gesture so small yet filled with so much meaning. You squeezed his hand in return, a silent promise to him that you would do your part.

“Your Honor,” Rafe’s lawyer began, “we’ve gathered new evidence that clearly shows the abusive history of Mr. Ward Cameron. This evidence is not just hearsay—it is documented, it is real, and it is a direct reflection of the environment in which Rafe and his sister, Sarah, were forced to grow up. These letters, these photos, they paint a portrait of emotional and physical abuse, a history that has haunted the Cameron family for years.”

The lawyer presented each piece, and the courtroom fell into a tense silence. You could feel Ward’s gaze burning into you, but you refused to look back. This was it. You were done being intimidated.

When the lawyer finished, the judge nodded, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—a flicker of doubt now cast on Ward’s credibility.

And then, it was your turn.

You stood up from your seat, your legs shaking but your resolve as solid as ever. You walked to the stand, the weight of the moment sinking in. You could feel the tension rising, the murmurs in the courtroom fading as all eyes turned to you. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts, and then you spoke.

“Your Honor, I know you’ve heard a lot of things about Rafe Cameron in this courtroom,” you began, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside. “I know what people say about him. That he’s angry, that he’s dangerous, that he’s just another spoiled rich kid who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. But that’s not who he is. And that’s not the person he’s been to Willa.”

Your eyes searched for Rafe in the crowd, and when you found him, there was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place—a mixture of vulnerability and strength that you hadn’t seen before.

“I’ve known Rafe for a long time. And yes, he has a past—one that’s been shaped by a father who made him believe that love was something earned, not something given. But that’s not the Rafe I’ve seen over the past few months. The man who sits here today is a man who has stepped up for his niece, a man who, despite his own hurt, has taken responsibility for her, for them. And I’ve seen him with Willa. I’ve seen how he cares for her.”

You turned slightly to look at Rafe again, your heart swelling with something you couldn’t quite put into words. You had seen him grow into a man who loved fiercely and without hesitation. A man who would never, ever let someone like Ward tear apart what he was trying to build.

“I’ve seen him comfort her when she’s scared. I’ve seen him stay up all night with her when she’s sick. I’ve seen him put aside his own pain to make sure she’s okay. He’s been there for her in ways that no one ever was for him. He’s been a better father figure than Ward Cameron could ever be.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you forced them back. You weren’t going to break now—not in front of the court, not when you were so close.

“You want to know the truth?” you continued, your voice rising with emotion. “The truth is, Rafe Cameron is one of the most caring people I know. And he has done everything in his power to make sure that Willa grows up with love, safety, and stability. He is not like his father. And he is not the man they say he is.”

You paused, your chest tightening, but you pushed forward. “I’m not just here to testify for Rafe. I’m here to testify for Willa. She deserves a childhood full of love and protection. And I promise you, Your Honor, that is what Rafe will give her. I’ll give her too. We will do this together.”

The courtroom was silent when you finished, the weight of your words hanging in the air. You could hear the sharp intake of breath from those who had been skeptical of your testimony. Even Ward seemed taken aback, his smug expression faltering just for a moment.

You sat back down, trying to steady your breath, your hands trembling. You didn’t know what was going to happen next, but for the first time in a long time, you felt hope.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

After a long deliberation, the judge returned to the bench. You could feel Rafe’s tension beside you, his hand gripping yours as he waited for the decision.

The room held its breath as the judge spoke, his voice calm but firm. “After reviewing all the evidence, including the newly presented documentation of Mr. Ward Cameron’s abusive behavior and the heartfelt testimony regarding the current guardianship situation, this court finds that the best interest of Willa Routledge lies with her current guardians—Rafe and [Y/N]. The court hereby grants full custody to the guardians of the child, effective immediately.”

For a moment, you couldn’t process what you had just heard. And then it hit you, crashing through you like a wave. You had won.

Rafe, who had been so stoic, looked at you in disbelief. His grip on your hand tightened, and for a moment, all the pain, all the struggle, all the long nights of worry faded into the background. You had done it. Willa was safe.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Rafe. You had fought together—and now, for the first time since Sarah and John B. had passed, you both had a reason to believe in the future again.

Rafe squeezed your hand, his voice thick with emotion. “We did it. We really did it.”

And as the gavel came down, sealing the decision, you finally allowed yourself to breathe again.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The courtroom was still buzzing with the aftermath of the judge’s ruling. The gavel had just come down, the words of victory still echoing in your ears. Willa was finally safe, and you had won—together. You and Rafe exchanged a look, one that held a mix of disbelief and relief. There were no more battles to fight. The war was over, and you had come out on top.

But just as you thought you could breathe again, the door to the courtroom swung open with a heavy slam. Ward Cameron.

His face was a mask of rage, his eyes burning with fury as he stormed toward the front. The room fell silent, the tension thickening again as people shifted uncomfortably in their seats. You knew this wasn’t over. Ward wasn’t the type to let go of a loss easily.

“You think you’ve won?” Ward spat, his voice dripping with venom. His eyes locked on Rafe, and for a moment, it was like the room itself shrank. His presence alone seemed to warp the air around you, making the world feel smaller. “This isn’t over, boy. I’ll make sure you never get to raise that child. You don’t deserve her. None of you do.”

Rafe stood up immediately, his jaw tightening, fists clenched at his sides. “You’re the last person who gets to tell me what I deserve,” Rafe growled, his voice low but laced with fury. The anger between them had been simmering for years, but now it was a live wire, crackling between them.

You could feel Rafe’s anger radiating beside you, but you stood quickly, placing a hand on his arm. “Rafe, it’s done. The decision is made. You’re not going to change it by causing a scene.”

Ward sneered at you, his eyes narrowing in disdain. “You think this is over, huh? You think just because you got some courtroom victory, I’m going to back off? You’re both fools. I’ll fight you every step of the way.”

Before you could respond, Ward turned his eyes back to Rafe. “You’re weak. Just like your mother. Just like Sarah. Always the disappointment.” His words were sharp, like daggers aimed right at Rafe’s chest, trying to cut deep.

You could see the tension in Rafe’s posture, his muscles tensing, but before he could say anything, Ward took a step forward, getting dangerously close.

That’s when security stepped in.

“Mr. Cameron, that’s enough,” one of the officers said sternly, moving toward him with authority. “You need to leave now.”

Ward didn’t seem to care. He stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward Rafe. “I’m not finished with you. Not by a long shot.” His voice was shaking with rage.

But before he could take another step, two security guards moved in, grabbing his arms and pulling him back. Ward tried to shove them off, but they held firm, dragging him away from the front of the courtroom.

“You’ll regret this, Rafe!” Ward yelled, his voice echoing through the room as he was escorted out. “I’ll make sure of it!”

The door slammed shut behind him, and the room was filled with an uncomfortable silence. But slowly, the tension began to ebb. People exchanged glances, whispered amongst themselves. There was no question now—Ward Cameron had lost. But the question remained: would he ever truly accept it?

Rafe stood there, his body rigid with anger, his fists still clenched. You could see the way his hands shook, the way his jaw clenched tighter with each breath. But he didn’t say a word. Not yet. Instead, he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as he turned to face you.

You walked over to him, your heart heavy with everything that had just happened. His face was pale, his eyes distant. You reached out, touching his arm gently, but he didn’t pull away.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly, knowing full well that the words didn’t do justice to the storm that was brewing inside him.

Rafe exhaled slowly, a long, tortured sound. “Yeah… I will be.” He paused, then added in a quieter voice, “I just never thought it would be this hard. To finally win… and still have him out there.”

You nodded, understanding all too well. “It won’t be easy. But we’ve got each other. And we’ve got Willa. That’s all that matters.”

Rafe looked down at the floor for a long moment, his hand running through his hair. “I hate that he still has this hold on me, on all of us,” he murmured. “I hate that even after everything, he can just show up and make me feel like I’m still that kid. Like I’m still the one who doesn’t deserve anything.”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He doesn’t control you anymore. He never will again. You’re not that kid anymore, Rafe. And you’ve earned the right to protect Willa. You are her family.”

Rafe didn’t look up immediately, but the words seemed to sink in. His breath was steadier now, his expression softer. Finally, he met your gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and something deeper—something you had seen in him all along, but only now, in this moment, could you truly recognize.

“We’ll keep fighting for her,” he said, his voice firm, though still weary. “No matter what it takes.”

You nodded, knowing that together, you would face whatever came next. The fight wasn’t over. Ward might not have given up, but neither had you—or Rafe.

You turned to the door, where Willa’s social worker was waiting for you, her smile soft and reassuring. It was done. Willa was safe. And despite the lingering presence of Ward, despite the obstacles still ahead, for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you could finally begin to heal.

And together, you would build the family that Sarah and John B. had wanted for her all along.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks x reader #obx #obx x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron request #rafe cameron season 4 #drew starkey fanfiction #life as we know it

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ronwestbreeze · 1 day ago

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NONBELIEVER | viktor

summary: you would think two zaunites would come together and change the world. but perhaps fate had other plans for the two...

word count: 5.7k

warning: no use of y/n, angst and ambiguous endings???

author's note: so act 3 really messed me up lol but enjoy some angsty viktor because why not? the gif is from this set!!

ACT I: MOB

Like Viktor, you lived and breathed the Undercity just not in the same way.

Your face used to be what artists would paint, even for a revolutionary.

But now it was stained with blood of your own. Beaten out of you mercilessly until cool shackles were clamped onto your hands and steel bars shielded you from the world. You have been in prison for some time now. Months, maybe a year? These days you’ve lost count. The only way you could tell how much time had passed was the growth of your hair. That was the price of being a revolutionary. That was the price of taking risks no one else would. Now you tasted blood and smelled old pipes. That was life in Stillwater Hold.

How you got here was the same story as any other inmate. You had planned to destroy a part of Piltover to make a point. To show that the people of the Undercity would not rest or become the ants under their boots. Most of your comrades had escaped from Enforcers, others were killed in the explosion, and then there was you. It was a sacrifice so that your comrades could have time to escape. And you’ve long accepted your fate.

That is until a certain professor decided to mess with fate.

After being forced out of your cell to meet this Professor Heimer—something, you weren’t really sure about. All you knew was that these Enforcers really liked to manhandle you especially roughly and took pleasure in seeing the black eye and blood on your teeth. That you were used to.

“Oh dear, could we please get her a towel at least?” The professor chided with a shake of his head. “Goodness, at least have her be presentable!”

Eventually, you got the rag, albeit it was thrown at you. After spitting on one of the Enforcer’s shoes, you wiped the blood and dirt from your face as the professor began speaking.

“Well, you certainly live up to your name. The Rebel Moon, is it? You may or may not have heard of me, but I am Professor Cecil. B. Heimerdinger and I are here as a Piltover Academy representative!”

A beat of silence went by. You realized then he was waiting for a response. You rolled your shoulder back and rubbed your aching jaw. “What are you meeting with me for?”

Professor Heimerdinger cleared his throat awkwardly, “Well….it seems you’ve left yourself a bit of a…reputation. I specifically admire your work on the bridge a year ago—marvelous work!” Sarcasm. You didn’t quite appreciate the condescension either. Seeing the unimpressed expression on your face, he quickly continued, “What I mean to get at is that we found some of your…erm, blueprints and I was surprised to see that most of them had been handwritten yourself, is that right?”

One of the Enforcers placed down a file filled with your old blueprints. They were mostly a copy of the Piltover Bridge, others were for weapons that your previous comrades built off of your drawings. Then there were the private drawings. The ones filled with naïve dreams of rebuilding the Undercity, changing it to a place where it was safe for everyone.

You snatched the files and hid those drawings in the file earning a quick yank from one of the Enforcers holding your chain. But after a subtle look from the professor, the chain loosened, and you frowned, anger boiling in your blood. “Where did you get this?”

Heimerdinger raised his hands, “I come in good faith, child, that I can promise.”

“I don’t particularly care about your promises—”

“Oh yes, very true,” The professor tapped the table thoughtfully. “But I do think you will like the proposition I have for you.”

Apparently, you had the potential talent of being an architect. One of the best in your generation it seemed—which somehow, he got from just looking at your old blueprints. And now he was convinced that you should join his Academy and that this was the perfect opportunity for you to change your life. To start over. To—

“Become one of you people?” You frowned and pushed the file away from you. “I’ll take my chances in here.”

Heimerdinger, of course, was quite the persistent man. “Imagine what you could do with your talents, Miss Moon. You’re still so young, you don’t have to waste your life behind bars. You can start anew!”

“I’m not wasting away in here.” You say simply, your shoulders are heavy and your face still sore. Carefully and slowly, you leaned back in the chair you were sitting in, trying not to put too much stress on your recently dislocated arm. “That’s the thing with you Upsiders. You all don’t know anything about what it is to fight. And what it is to sacrifice just so your people can see the light of day. I don’t need your handouts. I’m doing just fine here. It’s where I belong.”

At that, he frowned. “I’m afraid I disagree with you, Miss Moon.” He pushed the file back toward you. “You have the chance to create something beautiful for your city, for your people. You have the chance to help them live. You have the chance to be something greater.”

Greater. You weren’t great. It was either great or nothing.

Somehow, Heimerdinger managed to strike a deal and get you out of Stillwater despite your rejection. For some reason, he was so determined to make you into something that you weren’t. And you were determined to fail. You were determined to prove him wrong. Even if he tried to impress you with the new uniform, the scenery, and the architect of Piltover—just to inspire you—you would not break.

If anything, seeing all this luxury only made you angrier. Even if they preached about you now being free with new chances, there were still shackles clamped on your wrists, imprinting themselves like a tattoo. To remind you that even if you’ve gotten this chance, there is always a chance for you to go back. And they wouldn’t hesitate to send you back once you mess up. Which was what you were counting on.

But it seemed that Heimerdinger was a lot more astute than you expected. The professor had you in his study during the day to work and look over some blueprints for new housing at the Academy. It left you with very little time to plan something reckless that would have you sent back to prison. Which, you guessed, was what Heimerdinger wanted. So, you entertained him and worked on the stupid blueprints, redesigning everything as fast as you could so you could get done faster and have more time on your hands.

Of course, that plan went quickly out the window when there came more demands for blueprints. Leaving you swapped and buried deep in work you didn’t even want. And yet, admittingly, it was a nice distraction. There was a small part of you—the child you—that enjoyed some of this. You would never admit that to Heimerdinger and yet you couldn’t put the pencil down. Eventually, you began receiving so many different requests for different projects that Heimerdinger got you a lab over your own, so all your stuff didn’t get overcrowded in his study.

Requests were filled with more designs or redesign for specific buildings they were hoping to update to catch up to the times—and then there were a few that had you designing weapons. The more you worked, the more of a reputation you began to build in the Academy. The new Undercity kid. Rebel Moon. Hephaestus. It was all ridiculous.

That’s when another fellow Undercity student finally found you.

“I fear those papers would catch on fire the more you glare at it.”

It was an accented voice that stirred you out of your spinning thoughts. You definitely had been glaring at the blueprints of a recent request for an apartment just a few walks from campus. You briefly glanced over your shoulder toward the man—he seemed a little bit older than you, walked with a cane, intrigued amber eyes, and a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.

“If you’re here for a request then just leave it over there with the rest.” You murmured before turning your attention back to the blueprints after pointing toward a desk in the corner stacked with many more requests.

There was a short breath before he spoke, “Ah, no, I actually already sent a request just a few weeks ago…I’m impressed by your work, the professor has a knack for spotting talent.”

You didn’t respond as you kept staring at the blueprints, twirling the pen in your hand, feeling the weight of the shackle around your wrist.

You heard him clear his throat, “So, you are from the Undercity?”

“What’s it to you?” You grunt before outlining.

“Well, truthfully, I didn’t expect the Academy to accept another one.”

At that, you swirl around in your seat and sized the man up carefully. He was pale, slightly hunched to hide his true height, neatly combed dark hair, and he had very fine cheekbones. “Another one? What, too many Zaunites in your perfect little school?”

“I would’ve thought they had enough once I joined.” He gave a knowing smile that made you pause and narrow your eyes.

“…You’re…from the Undercity?”

He moved toward you; the click of his cane echoed in the quiet room and offered his hand to you. “I’m Viktor. I’ve heard a lot of great things about you, Miss Moon.”

You stared at his hand for a moment, tilting your head, “Great things? That doesn’t sound right.”

Viktor chuckled, still holding his hand out. “Eh, some people might have a few opinions about you. Unfortunately, it made me all the keener to meet you in person.”

“Am I what you expected then?” You asked as you eventually shook his hand, your shackles clinking a bit.

With a small smile, he squeezed your hand, “No. Not at all.”

Your brow twitched as you studied him. He was delicate-looking. But his hand was a bit larger yet slender. They were calloused, just like yours yet warm compared to your coldness. It was then you realized that your hand was still in his and you pulled it away and turned back to your work.

“My name’s not ‘Miss Moon’ by the way.” You grunt as you refocus.

There was another soft chuckle and a click of his cane before he was gone. You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder and stare at the doorway, a little bit too intrigued.

After that, you didn’t stop seeing Viktor. At least twice every week you’d get a request for him to polish some designs for his work. Sometimes he’d send his assistant, Sky, and sometimes he’d come in person himself. At first, you weren’t entirely sure about him. But the fact that he was from the Undercity along with his assistant was slightly comforting. At least you weren’t alone here. Still, it was odd. Foreign.

“Have you ever gone out to see the finished product of your work?” Viktor asked you one day, deciding to linger even after delivering yet another request for something to do with a Hexcore.

“No.”

“Why?”

You frown and glance toward him. He was looking over some of your finished blueprints with a strange look accompanied by a smile. “I’m just not interested.”

Viktor blinked and met your eyes with a small frown. You didn’t say much more—truthfully there wasn’t much more to be said about it.

“Well, it’s one of the most beautiful designs I’ve ever seen. If that’s any consolation.”

You felt something in your chest at his words. Perhaps some of you did want to see the finished products of your design. And yet you were always rooted in this lab. In the dark under one lamp, barely seen by other students. Hephaestus.

Viktor tapped your workbench thoughtfully and hummed, “I’ll leave you to it, Miss Moon.”

You rolled your eyes, “That’s not my name.”

He laughed and left your lab.

On another day he came into your lab in quite a hurry. He left his requests as usual before rushing out. Only he left a ring behind. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you glanced at the ring on the floor and toward your workbench before sighing. After grabbing the ring, you pushed up from your stool and left your lab. This was the first time you’ve walked around campus or went anywhere besides your lab or Heimerdinger’s study.

You asked around for Viktor’s lab until you stopped on a bridge, spotting something quite familiar.

It was the newly remodeled dorms. They glistened like gold in the sun. Build just like how you imagined them in your head. Just like how you outlined it on paper. Only in your dreams could you imagine what they would look like. But seeing it….It was real. And it was beautiful. And it came from your mind.

“Ah, Miss Moon, odd seeing you here!” Viktor approached you quite smugly from across the bridge. He glanced toward the dorms and gave a grin, “They just got done with it last week. What do you think, hmm?”

You narrow your eyes, “You scheming little eel.”

Viktor blinked almost too innocently, “I haven’t a clue what you mean—ah, I was looking for that.”

He gestured toward the ring in your hand. You gave it back to him while your eyes couldn’t help but draw back to the dorms. There was a tightness in your chest and a small ache behind your eyes.

“Glorious, isn’t it?” Viktor asked, his voice gentle as always.

You snapped out of your reserved awe and cleared your throat. “They did okay, I guess.”

With that, you darted back to your lab, the dorms imprinting themselves in your mind.

It became a routine at some point. Viktor began visiting your lab a little more often. At first, you didn’t notice this. But some days he’d come back to your lab a second time that day just to linger and see what else you were working on. At first, you thought you found it annoying. But as the days carried on and turned into weeks, you began to begrudgingly look forward to his visits.

“At least make yourself useful. Look over my work and see if there’s anything I missed.” You tried grunting when he leaned a little closer than usual to look at the blueprint you were working on.

“Hmm, I can try.” Viktor hummed as he flicked his eyes over the finished prints. “But they’re all probably perfect as usual.”

“Don’t you have some work to get to?”

“Not particularly, no.”

For some reason, he started leaving shit in your lab. Which would lead to you having to go and find him and return his stuff. Stuff like a screwdriver or some paperwork. Today it was a journal as you trudged through the campus and finally found his lab.

“Vik, I understand you’re a busy man, but you can’t keep leaving your shit in my area.” You huffed, throwing his journal onto his workbench, breaking him from his focus.

“Oh, Miss Moon,” He looked genuinely surprised to see you. “I wasn’t expecting you…”

“Yeah, right, so you didn’t leave this in my lab on purpose? You just happen to leave it there for me to find and bring to you?” You hummed, tilting your head as you got a good look at what he’s been working on—something a lot longer than what you’ve been doing. The Hexcore was what he called it. You didn’t understand it yourself—or cared much to learn about it. But you did notice some of your designs were used for his work.

“Mmm, you make me sound like a calculating stalker.” Viktor hummed as he got to his feet, joining your side. So, close his arm brushed against yours.

“Are you?” You quipped dryly while studying the Hexcore.

His slender fingers gently brush along your elbow. “I wouldn’t call myself a stalker, no. Are you interested?”

You glanced at him and realized he was talking about the Hexcore. “No. Just give me the why.”

Viktor hummed once more and leaned against the table, his fingers still brushing gently along your elbow. “For our home.” At that, you felt a tightness within your chest, your features falling slightly. Viktor, who had become very astute with your expression, gently grabbed your arm and squeezed it. “What’s with that face?”

You remember your life before the Academy. You remember your determination to prove Heimerdinger wrong. “Sometimes…I feel as if I’ve gotten too comfortable…too used to all of this….”

In the end, it was always your people above everything else. A revolutionary never dies, that was the simple truth.

“I think I’ve gotten too comfortable too.” Viktor frowned softly, tilting his head a bit to get a better look at your eyes when you averted your gaze. “And it’s all your fault, Miss Moon.”

You rolled your eyes only for him to lean forward and capture your lips with his. A lick of fire had been rekindled within you, breathing life into your soul, into your body. When he brought his hand to the back of your neck, when he practically cradled your face and brought you closer so he could deepen the kiss, when he touched you so gently as he always did, it was as if for a moment that heavy weight on your shoulders had been lifted. Leaving you weightless for even just a moment. That bit of relief was a breath of fresh oxygen in your lungs.

The heat from his lips moved from your mouth and down to your jaw and to the crook of your neck. Your back was pressed against the workbench as he practically clung and draped himself over you. And you let him. Even when he desperately wanted to feel you and kiss you all over, he was gentle. He always was.

The days didn’t change much except for whenever he was free, he’d head straight for your lab. Whether on a break or in a hurry, he’d always stop by and pepper your face with quiet kisses and touches before leaving for his lab. It was routine. You were getting comfortable. Comfortable in his warmth. In his gentle hold.

“Just stay,” Viktor murmured against your jaw as you examined some of his work with the Hexcore. “Your presence is better than that tea Jayce always makes.”

“I can’t, Heimerdinger wants to meet with me soon, and I got a bunch more new requests on my desk.” You hummed while looking through Viktor’s partner, Jayce’s, notes. “I think that Jayce guy requested some designs for a hammer of some kind—that’s been taking up most of my time as of lately so I can’t necessarily—”

“I know, I know,” Viktor rested his chin on your shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment as he slumped against you.

His health had gotten worse, which was something you and everyone else noticed. It did worry you how much he was working lately without much sleep, but you quickly learned how much of a stubborn man he was—especially when it came to his work.

“What do you think Heimerdinger wants to meet with you about?” He voiced your constant question out loud.

“Don’t know.” You murmured, trying not to think too much about it—or his health right now. “Won’t know until I get there. Probably wants to send me back to Stillwater.”

At that, he pinched your waist, “Don’t joke like that.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“Losing you is not funny to me.”

You placed Jayce’s scribbles down and wrapped your arms carefully around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder with a soft hum. He instantly relaxed in into your hold, but of course, you could tell his mind was still half Hexcore and half you at the moment. “Be sure to get some rest, okay?”

As usual, he gave a half-assed noise of slight agreement.

ACT II: REBEL MOON

It wasn’t long before Jayce Talis became the Man of Progress and Viktor became buried in his work. And then you were promoted. The lead architect of a very important project for Piltover. No longer the Rebel Moon but Hephaestus, Piltover’s future.

But.

Everyone saw you as the kid saved from the Undercity and made a new. Everyone saw you as the future of their city. You were part of the progress of tomorrow. And you kept chasing Viktor, trying to keep up with his mind but he—he had become so work driven—so ambitious on the Hexcore dream that he had forgotten everything else.

You were angry. Angry at Piltover. Angry at what you’ve become. Angry at Viktor. This wasn’t the life you had chosen. All of this was envisioned for you. This wasn’t for you. You had nearly gotten so swept up in all the glamour and success that you had nearly forgotten—

No. You would never forget your people.

So, when your lab went up in smoke when you destroyed the project that you had been assigned to as lead architect, when the Enforcers tackled you to the ground and arrested you on the spot, when one of them grinned as if they’d been waiting—waiting for you to finally mess up, you knew right then that you would never be what Heimerdinger, what Viktor, or what anyone saw for you. You were a Zaunite after all. And a revolutionary. A rebel. Always.

It wasn’t long before you were placed back in Stillwater Hold. In the same cell. With the same shackles. You didn’t even get to tell Viktor goodbye. Would he have even realized it? Or perhaps, it was better off to leave him to his Hexcore dream. Perhaps, that was best. Yes.

But your mind was no longer settled with just staying in a cell and living out your sentence. One thing Piltover did give back to you was your fighting spirit. Rekindled your fire. And breathed life into your dead soul. And so, you weren’t quiet in the cell. You made noise. Cried out for war until the rest of the prisoners joined you. It wasn’t long before a riot broke out. The prisoners overpowered the guards, and you led them to escape.

The streets of Zaun were screaming for the Rebel Moon once more. Even now more so than ever when rumors began flying around about a rocket hitting Piltover, resulting in a few councilmembers’ deaths. Your thoughts wandered to Viktor, you wondered if he was okay, if he hadn’t killed himself working so hard. But your focus went back to your people. To the escaped prisoners as you all went into hiding underground. They followed you. Their chosen leader. You had no wish to be a leader, but you did want to be free and help your people.

ACT III: NONBELIEVER

Hiding in the Underground for months began to wear everyone down, even you—their supposed fearless leader. The sickness in the Undercity knew no bounds. Many of your people were getting sicker and dying as the days passed. You did your very best trying to supply and care for them—but you could only do so much.

That’s when you started hearing strange rumors about some healer in the Undercity. A herald or whatever that meant. At first, you didn’t think much of these rumors while being so focused on caring for your people.

Soon, sightings of strange people began appearing. Shouting about the Herald and how he could save their people. You were…wary of this. It almost seemed too good to be true. And you hadn’t seen these strange people yourself, so you thought it was all fake, stories made up to give the people false hope.

You came back from the small local market with more food than you could scrape up. Somehow, you’d have to figure out how to make it last throughout the month. But there were so many people. So many people are coming for refuge, and so many people in need of help.

“Are you the Rebel Moon?”

At the voice, you stop and glance over your shoulder, only to find no one there. Had you imagined it? Were you too wary after months of people coming to you and seeking refuge? The name Rebel Moon became a beacon of hope as much as it was for the name Jinx or that Herald.

Deciding it was just exhaustion messing with your head, you turn to continue forward, only to gasp and stop when you nearly ran into someone standing directly in front of you.

And they had appeared out of nowhere. It was a man that you didn’t know. His face void of any emotion except for a simple smile on his face, strange crystal-like fixtures embedded into his skin, while wearing white fabric far too clean to have come from the Undercity.

“You are Miss Moon, yes?” The man asked.

You stiffened. No one had called you that in a while. No one except… “Whose asking?”

The smile remained on the man’s face, “The Herald has been searching for you, Miss Moon. And he would like to speak with you.”

You gripped the basket of fruit and near stale bread in your hand and gritted your teeth, “I’m not interested, thanks.”

Just as you nudged past the man to continue down the crowded street, he spoke again. Only this time it wasn’t his voice coming from his mouth.

“You’re a hard woman to track, Miss Moon.”

It was like the air had been stolen from you as you whirled around to stare wide-eyed at the man with Viktor’s voice. The basket fell from your grasp, but the man was quick to catch it—somehow so fast—as he handed it back to you. “V-Vik?”

He nodded and slowly blinked, “I feared I wouldn’t see you again. You disappeared so suddenly, almost as if you weren’t there to begin with.” The man’s hand came up to gently brush his fingers along your jaw sending a sharp shiver down your spine. “Almost as if you never existed.”

You flinched almost and stepped back. Thoughts swirled within your mind as you tried to reel from the man speaking in Viktor’s voice. “What…what is this? How are you doing this?”

“I don’t want you to be frightened of me.” He instead said, taking another step forward but didn’t reach out to touch you again. “I only want to help you. I can save those people from that sickness.” You opened your mouth, ready to ask how he knew but stopped yourself which allowed him to continue, his voice gentle. “Only if you let me.”

“You’re the Herald.” It was mostly confirmation for yourself as you let the words slip out.

The man smiled softly, “I wish to see you again, Miss Moon. There is so much I wish to show you. But I will come to you first.”

Before you could ask what, he meant by that, the man’s voice returned, and Viktor’s voice was gone. “The Herald will come tomorrow, Miss Moon.”

And with that, watched this vessel of a man walk away. Leaving you feeling as if you were in some type of nightmare. No, alternate reality. It must’ve been some hallucination. Yes. That had to be it.

Only when the next day came, one of the children at your camp came running to you about the Herald being here, did you know right then and there that this was not a hallucination.

You watched as he entered your camp with those lifeless people that followed him. Viktor had changed. Covered in indigo metallic skin, his hair slightly longer, his posture straighter yet still relying on a cane—or staff in this case.

Viktor’s eyes found yours almost instantly as if they were magnetically drawn to you. It looked like him.

“Miss Moon.” He hummed as he drew closer, staring at you with the same gentleness despite the distance in his expression.

It sounded like him.

You led him to the tent he would be staying in, watching the lifeless people tend to your people with baskets of fresh fruit and food. Viktor called your name in his accented voice, drawing your attention back to him, finding him already staring at you with an intense expression.

Even in this form, Viktor’s body couldn’t help but be pulled toward you. He let the staff rest while his hands slowly came up to trace and feel this human skin. Distantly he was all too aware of it. How he still reacted to you. With the remnants of Sky lingering in his mind, his thoughts had always wandered back to you. The image of your divine being. If he could still dream, it would’ve only been you he would’ve seen.

There was a strong pull that led him to you. Perhaps sensations of desperation. Even as he leaned his forehead against yours, feeling the little warmth coming from your body against his metallic yet pallid skin—he still wished to mold himself to you. To never stop touching you. To never let you slip from his fingers again

And then there was that look on your face. The furrow in your brow running heavy with exhaustion—you hadn’t slept. At that realization, his hand gently squeezed the side of your neck absently.

“You’re so quiet.” Viktor hummed finally, quietly for only you and him to hear in the stillness of the tent. His thumb traced your cheekbone. “You’re always keeping your thoughts from me.”

You tilted your head, trying to stir yourself out from the haze of his touch. “Are those…those people….are they the ones you ‘saved’?”

“Yet, so honest.” There was a hint of a smile on his face as he selfishly pulled your hand against his chest, keeping it there, selfishly. “Yes. They’re healed. No more…senseless pain. I can offer your people this peace. And you can come to stay at our new home. I think…you’d like it. You need peace.” He rubbed his thumb under your eye, making your shoulders grow heavier. “And rest.”

You couldn’t come up with a response. His lips linger on your mouth, and your jaw, and your neck. His fingers thread through your hair which had grown longer since the last time he had seen you. Gentle traces, cool breath fanning along your skin, his arms wrapping around your weathered and scarred form. Even your fingers traced his new skin. Refamiliarizing yourself with him.

But.

It wasn’t him.

Even when his lips pressed gently yet hastily against yours, his body clinging to your human flesh, it still felt like a stranger. Familiar yet unfamiliar.

Confliction warred at your mind as you watched him move through the camp, your people looking at him as if he were a savior. As if the gods had sent him when it was only magic and remnants of the Hexcore embedded into his body. Your eyes couldn’t stop falling onto the lifeless people he ‘saved’. The ones that followed him without much thought. Would your people look like this? Void of themselves? No breath. No heartbeat?

But then you wanted Viktor. You wanted to go to this peaceful land he had created for himself and these people. You wanted to be with him. To be wrapped in his gentle embrace once more. To hear his voice whisper gently into your ear, easing the exhaustion from your muscles.

But.

Viktor reached out toward a boy. Sparks danced along his fingertips. The boy stared in awe. It was instant, your reaction.

Your hand grasped his wrist, stopping him. Viktor’s gaze met yours in an instant. You didn’t know what your face looked like, but it made Viktor falter.

Viktor saw your face and absolute dread filled him. A sense of it at least. It made his body go slack in your grasp—surrendering to you instantly. The glassiness of your gaze and that expression. He had never seen such a thing on your face. Fear. Desperation. Hurt. Sorrow. Grief.

He’d lost you. No. No. He’d…He’d get you back. He couldn’t let you go again…he couldn’t let…

What was this strange feeling in his chest?

You pulled him away from the boy and Viktor allowed himself to follow you. Gazes unwavering. But you forced the words out of your mouth. “This isn’t what I want for these people. This…this isn’t saving them…”

He couldn’t let you slip from his fingers.

You couldn’t let him take your people’s humanity.

He needed to keep you. To keep his humanity.

“Revolutions never rest.” Was your whisper as you released his wrist.

He called your name, but you forced yourself to turn your back on him.

“Show him out.” You murmur to one of the stronger men in your camp. You couldn’t turn back. You couldn’t look him in his eyes. If you did….

Then this conflict would disappear in an instant.

Viktor and his followers left without much problem. Maybe that hurts too.

The yearning for Viktor never left you and yet it wasn’t your job to bring him back. This Hexcore…all of it was beyond you. Maybe all of it wasn’t meant to be for you. Maybe…Maybe he wasn’t meant to be yours….

Days later you had heard the Herald had changed.

Days later the Herald was gone from this world.

Days later your exhaustion and grief wore on your shoulders.

Days later you’re trudging through the Undercity, more baskets filled with fruit in your arms.

Days later, you find a blue shard on the ground, somewhere near where Viktor’s utopia had been.

You picked it up from the ground, a remnant of what remained of Viktor and his work. You saw the manmade tents that were now abandoned, the builds similar to your past designs of what you wanted for the Undercity.

Silent tears fell from your cheeks as you gripped the shard. And you clutched the shard so tight in your hand that you could’ve sworn you felt a soft hum from it. Or maybe you were imagining things. Maybe you were too exhausted. Maybe you really did need rest.

And then.

You heard that accented voice.

“Miss Moon.”

Your breath hitched as the shard suddenly began to glow.

And Viktor’s voice came from it.

“May I show you something?”

And then. There was a bright blue flash.

#arcane #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane x reader

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meazalykov · 2 days ago

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battle of the blood

esmee brugts x reader x sister!OC

summary: el clásico gets the best of your emotions

warnings: childhood trauma, strained family relationship, angst, swearing, verbal abuse, mentions of physical abuse, long chapter, I know esmee started during this el clasico but I changed it for the plot.. please be warned.

oc: your sister's name is isla, you can make up her face claim

as one of the best defenders in the world at 21, you remind everyone why you’ve earned that title, having faced some of the world’s best forwards and come out on top.

you love football, its your entire life, but there’s something else that was added to that:

your girlfriend, esmee.

esmee, who came to barcelona in 2023, is your love. her presence makes everything feel right, and you can’t help but smile whenever you see her at all. you remember the day she arrived, the way her eyes sparkled with excitement, the hint of nervousness as she stepped into her new life.

it was the start of something beautiful—not just for her, but for you too. you had been searching for something deeper, and there she was.

being with esmee has awakened a side of you that had been dormant, buried beneath the pressures you’ve had throughout your entire life.

during training sessions, the intensity can be overwhelming. despite the urgency of it all, esmee is always there. she makes your heart race, not just from the adrenaline of the sport, but from the love you have for her. when you catch her gaze from across the training pitch, it’s as if time slows down.

the world around you fades away, and all you see is her.

in those fleeting moments, you can’t help but sneak in quick hugs, a brief escape from the tiredness of training. yes, you keep things professional in front of the public but the team adores the mutual love you have for eachother.

esmee giggles, a sound that sparks warmth in your chest, but you can see the hints of nervousness creeping into her demeanor. her teammates, playful and lively, often tease her, and while you know it’s all in good fun, you can’t help but feel protective of her.

when the world gets too loud, esmee knows how to bring you back down to earth. she asks about your day, your plans, anything really, and in those moments of vulnerability, something you weren’t granted as a child.. you find peace.

you cherish the little things, like the way she plays with your hair or how she leans her head against your shoulder, finding safety in your presence. mosttimes, when the pressures of life seem too heavy, you sit together in silence, holding hands and blocking the world away.

evenings spent together often find you curled up on the couch, watching your favorite shows, stealing kisses during the best parts, or sharing popcorn as you giggle at the most ridiculous moments. these are the times that reaffirmed your belief in love.

a few months into your relationship with esmee, an undeniable comfort settled between you two. you realized that the walls you had built around your heart were slowly coming down, allowing her in.

those late-night conversations that once danced around the surface now floated into deeper waters. you acted in certain ways that made esmee knew that you had a difficult past, but she never questioned you about it. she would never force you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with.

one evening, while sitting on your cozy balcony, the barcelona street lights twinkling below, you felt compelled to open up about something that had long weighed on you.

“esmee,” you began, your voice just above a whisper,

“you know my sister, isla?” the light from the street below caught the glint of curiosity in her eyes. she nodded, already aware of that fact but eager to hear more.

“we don’t really get along,” you continued, almost wanting to laugh since your words were an understatement.

esmee leaned closer, her expression shifting to one of concern.

“i get that, but… what happened?” her gentle prompt encouraged you to delve deeper. you took a deep breath, gathering the courage to share the truth.

“it’s not just sibling rivalry, esmee,” you began, your heart pounding.

“it’s… it’s more complicated than that. when we were kids, isla was never really nice to me. she would tease me, and I tried to brush it off, but it was relentless. as we got older, it turned into something darker.”

esmee’s brow furrowed, and you could see the flicker of concern in her eyes.

“what do you mean?” she asked softly, her voice steady but filled with empathy.

“there was this one time,” you recalled, the memories flooding back with clarity.

“we were in the field, just playing football during one of the days that we didn’t have practice back at my childhood club, then, out of nowhere, she just… snapped. she started pushing me, calling me names, she beat me up then started saying I’d never be as good as her.”

your voice trembled as you continued.

“that was just the start. it got worse. she’d corner me, taunt me. when my parents weren't home, she would always beat me up. its not like they would have cared since they were never around but isla alway reminded me that I would never be her.”

esmee’s hand found yours, her grip tightening slightly as if to reinforce the bond you shared.

“y/n, I’m so sorry,” she said softly, her eyes glistening with understanding.

“that’s awful. no one should have to go through that, especially from your sister.”

the weight of your confession felt heavy yet liberating. as you spoke, you worried that it might shift her perception of you, but her unwavering gaze reassured you.

“it’s been hard for me to reconcile those memories,” you admitted.

“i wish she would snap out of it, be the sister I always wanted. but every time I think about confronting my past, about talking to her, it’s like that darkness just pulls me back.”

“you have every right to feel how you feel,” esmee replied, her voice a soothing balm against the turmoil inside you.

“sometimes letting go is the healthiest choice. it’s okay to put distance between you and someone who brings you pain.”

in your mind you had esmee’s love, and that was more than enough.

when isla transferred to real madrid from aston villa back in august, it sent shockwaves through the football community, but for you, y/n, it was merely a confirmation of what you had always known. everyone expected the announcement to create an excitment among you, with commentators dissecting every angle, but you felt strangely detached. after all, you had long ago come to terms with the reality of your relationship—or lack thereof—with isla.

most people suspect that you and isla aren’t close at all, and they’re right. the truth is, you don’t even follow each other on social media. it’s not an oversight; it’s a deliberate choice. you’ve both carved out your own professional existences in the world of football, but the disconnect runs far deeper than just career paths.

when isla’s name surfaces in interviews, you always say, “she’s my sister,” but even that feels like a hollow statement. it’s the only phrase you can utter without spiraling into a torrent of emotions that wouldn’t be conducive to your public image.

your pr team constantly reminds you to keep it professional, advising you to avoid any personal comments that could lead to negative speculation. they know the rumors swirl, that fans are eager to dissect what must be some family drama.

they think it’s just sibling rivalry or jealousy. if only they knew the truth—that isla’s presence in your life had been more harmful than supportive, and that your silence is more a shield than a statement.

as the media continues to pair your names together, it’s irritating to reflect on the fact that you’re linked by blood and talent, yet worlds apart in spirit. you wish you could express how isla’s competitive edge always crossed the line into emotional and physical abuse, how the shadows of your childhood still loom large, how her triumphs feel like a stark reminder of your own struggles.

for now, those words remain locked away, buried under layers of professional decorum and public expectations of barcelona players.

as el clasico approached, you felt your mood souring more and more each day. anticipation crackled in the air like a thousand tiny static shocks. for you, it felt heavy, oppressive—a cloud she couldn’t shake off.

the usual buzz of excitement that surrounded the biggest match in football felt muted, as if you were standing behind a glass wall, watching everyone else thrive in the moment while you grappled with your own turmoil.

only a handful of people on the team seemed to understand why your demeanor had shifted so noticeably. esmee was one of them—brash and spirited, always ready to sprinkle a bit of humor to lighten the mood, yet deeply empathetic when it came to your struggles.

esmee had a sixth sense for when y/n was struggling. alexia, as captain, also had a deep understanding of the weight y/n’s situation with isla. she’d made sure to keep conversations about family issues to a minimum during training sessions.

the rest of the team suspected something was off, but they respected y/n’s space, choosing not to pry or gossip.

“things will be okay, y/n,” esmee reassured her you afternoon, giving a supportive squeeze to your waist after the conversation of el clasico was brough up.

“we’ll get through madrid together. we’ll play the full 90 minutes and then come back to barcelona. you won’t have to see isla again until march.”

despite the attempt at comfort, y/n felt her heart sink. she appreciated esmee’s sentiment, but the thought only compounded her feelings of dread.

“i didn’t see her for three years when she was at aston villa,” y/n muttered, frustration clawing at her chest.

“why did she have to come to madrid? it’s like she’s intentionally making my life worse.”

y/n had achieved her success in her own right, yet every time she saw isla on the edge of the pitch, posing for photos or congratulating teammates, y/n felt herself slipping back into the background. the knot in her stomach twisted tighter, amplifying her anxiety. do any of those people know that isla is an abuser? do they know that she used to beat up her younger sister until her hands started to hurt too much? probably not.

“c’mon, y/n, try to see the positives,” esmee urged, attempting to pull her friend from the dark place lingering in her thoughts.

“this is your chance to show madrid what you’re made of! i know you’re a defender but maybe we can get a goal out of you!.”

you forced a laugh with a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. the idea of stepping onto the pitch, with thousands of eyes watching you—not only as part of barcelona but in direct comparison to isla—sent your mind spiraling.

what if you didn’t perform well? what if your sister outshines you?

you had wanted to have this magical moment as a pro player without isla looming in the background, always casting a lengthy shadow over your achievements.

“look, why not make this game about us?” esmee continued, trying to penetrate y/n’s wall of anxiety.

“play for the team, for each other. we’re going to have fun! it’s el clasico! if anything, we should be excited! forget about isla.”

it was hard for you to forget, very hard. how could you? memories of childhood flashed through your mind: the abuses, the times when isla’s achievements always overshadowed your own spark. it felt like being trapped in a cycle she couldn’t escape.

you remembered celebrating each of your own milestones quietly, while isla was surrounded by adoring friends and admiring coaches.

taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you felt a flicker of determination ignite within you. esmee was right about one thing: it was important to rely on your teammates, the women who had stood by your side through victories and losses alike.

perhaps, if you reframed your perspective, you could focus on what you could control rather than the shadows of your past.

as training sessions progressed, it became harder for you to keep your emotions in check. every exercise, every drill, became a mental obstacle course. the tension built up not just for you but for the entire team. they were gearing up for a match that was not only an opportunity to prove themselves against their fiercest rivals, but also a chance for you to confront some demons that had followed you into the present.

the morning of el clásico broke in madrid, sunlight streaming through the hotel room window, illuminating every corner and filling the air with an electric energy.

“hey, sleepyhead! wake up! it’s match day!” kika chirped, her voice bright and cheerful as she moved around the room, throwing a pillow on your sleepy head.

you couldn’t help but wake up and smile at her enthusiasm, though the knot in your stomach tightened a little more.

“morning,” you replied, stretching and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. the vibrant posters of barcelona hung on the walls, a reminder of the mission ahead.

“did you sleep at all?”

“of course! i had this amazing dream about scoring the winning goal,” kika laughed, her excitement contagious.

you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of that same energy, even as your mind drifted back to other thoughts.

“i barely slept. too many thoughts,” you admitted, the weight of the day pressing on your shoulders.

“about isla?” kika guessed, her tone shifting to something more understanding. you nodded, your heart sinking a little at the mention of her name.

the reminder of being in the starting lineup sent a mix of nerves through you. as you and kika finished getting ready, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

you looked focused, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of longing for the comfort of esmee’s arms. it was hard not to wish you could have a moment away from the pressure, to feel the warmth and safety of your partner’s embrace.

“let’s head down for breakfast,” kika suggested, sensing your distraction. you nodded, knowing that you needed to center yourself and prepare for the day ahead. the atmosphere in the dining room was buzzing with excitement, the smell of coffee and fresh pastries filling the air.

as you entered, the chatter of your teammates surrounded you, their laughter and energy infectious. you settled at the table, and soon the conversation turned toward the madrid lineup. your heart raced as they mentioned isla's name, and you felt the knot in your stomach clench tighter.

“of course, they’ll have isla,” mapi said, a slight edge of playful rivalry in her voice.

“she’s one of their best forwards. should be fun trying to keep her in check.”

“fun,” you murmured, trying to smile. inside, you felt a mix of admiration and jealousy, an emotional tug-of-war that blurred the line between sibling rivalry and personal ambition.

“we’ll handle it,” frido chimed in, trying to lift the mood.

as breakfast came to an end, you took a moment to reflect on everything swirling in your head. thoughts raced as you prepared to head to the stadium, the enormity of the day dawning on you.

this wasn’t just another game; it was el clásico. you would be facing isla, your biological sister.

"you ready?" mapi asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement, oblivious to the storm inside you. you forced a smile, nodding tightly as the whistle blew, marking the beginning of el clásico.

you quickly tucked your worries to the back of your mind, focusing on the game ahead.

as you maneuvered up the pitch, you could hear your teammates calling for the ball. aitana had it, and you made your way toward her, preparing to receive the pass. just as you felt the rhythm starting to flow through you, a figure rushed at you, and adrenaline kicked in.

at the last moment, you spotted that familiar silhouette, but it was too late.

you managed to push the ball to caro just in time, but the force of the collision pushed you back slightly. steadying yourself, you took a quick look only to realize it was isla. instinct kicked in, and you pushed her away from you.

"don’t push me!" she snapped, her tone a mix of irritation.

“i just did!” you shot back, your heart racing as your blood boiled. you could feel the heat of her presence instantly igniting all those old wounds.

“whatever, just wait until the end my little sister. I hope your teammates are ready to pick up the pieces when you fall apart.”

the exchange hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze as the intensity of the game continued around you. you fought to push out the old memories of isolation and hurt, taut and angry.

“not today, isla,” you muttered under your breath, refocusing on the game, trying to shake off the encounter. deep down, you knew this game was about more than football; it was about proving to yourself and to her that you were no longer the scared girl she once abused.

you were a force to be reckoned with—a player in your own right.

isla shot you a dirty look before returning to her position, the tension prickled in the air. you forced yourself to breathe through it, channeling the storm of emotions into energy for the game.

ignoring her felt like a mini victory, and you strived to sink back into the rhythm of the match.

the chaos of the field surrounded you—the shouts from your teammates, the roar of the crowd, the pounding of feet on the grass.

with a swift glance up the pitch, you saw patri breaking through the defense. it was now or never. positioning yourself perfectly, you lifted your foot and sent a precise cross sailing through the air. everything slowed down as you watched the ball arc toward her.

in the glorious moment that followed, patri met it with her head, sending it soaring into the back of the net.

“vammoooss!” you shouted, adrenaline exploding through you as the crowd erupted in cheers. overwhelmed with joy, you sprinted toward patri,

your heart racing. when you reached her, you jumped onto her back, wrapping your arms around her shoulders in a triumphant embrace.

“what a header!” you laughed, squeezing her tightly as she hoisted you up effortlessly. the bond you shared with patri was one of the deepest you had on the team too.

“you played it perfectly!” she beamed, her smile contagious.

the second half kicked off, and when esmee came on, you felt a rush of excitement. she was not just your girlfriend but she was an excellent player. as you positioned yourself on the right wing, you watched with anticipation as esmee was on the left.

suddenly, the joy of the moment was shattered. without warning, isla charged toward esmee, pushing her hard at full force when the dutch girl had the ball. you felt your stomach drop as you witnessed the blatant foul unfold right in front of you.

esmee hit the ground with a thud, disbelief written all over her face as she looked up at the referee. the whistle blew, but to your disgust, isla received only a simple yellow card.

“that should’ve been a fucking red card…” you mumbled to yourself, unable to hold back the frustration bubbling up within you. you were furious—not just at the referee’s poor judgment but also at the way your sister exploited the situation.

it was conscious and cruel, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as your fists clenched at your sides.

mapi, who was close enough to overhear, giggled softly, sensing your ire.

“I think we all saw that, you know?” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. you shot her a glance, half amused but still seething.

“not funny,” you replied sharply, trying to keep your focus on the game. you could see esmee slowly getting up, shaking her head in disbelief as she brushed off the grass on her legs.

a mix of sadness and anger welled within you—it wasn’t just a foul; it was a reminder of how your sister’s actions affected not just you, but your loved ones as well.

it was hard to shake off the fight in your chest. the thought that isla was playing dirty, particularly against someone you cared about, burned intensely. you glanced back at esmee, who shrugged off the hit.

shortly after, the game continued.

the tension in the stadium reached a fever pitch as the clock ticked down to the 87th minute. barcelona had just scored their fourth goal, courtesy of alexia, and the crowd erupted in cheers that reverberated around the pitch.

just when you thought the game was stabilizing, hell broke loose in a way you never anticipated.

isla broke past ingrid as if she were a mere hurdle, her focus unyielding as she made a reckless dash toward the goal. in that split second, your heart raced—not in excitement, but in horror. that familiar cocktail of hatred and anger surged through you, overwhelming all rational thought.

you weren’t just standing by anymore; you were compelled to act, to protect what was rightfully yours on the field.

without a second thought, you lunged forward at full speed, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you executed the fastest and cleanest side tackle imaginable. your body struck the ground, sliding into her with precision. isla flew away from the ball, sent sprawling across the pitch as your foot sent it careening toward the crowd, safely out of harm’s way.

the satisfying thud of your tackle felt like a victory, but it was short-lived. as you stood up, energy still crackling in your limbs, you felt a rush of pride—until that pride morphed into a tension that shadowed the field.

isla sprang to her feet, standing right in front of you with rage bubbling in her eyes.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” she spat, invading your personal space, her face a mask of anger and disbelief. her breath was heavy, and you could see the seething hatred reflected in her dark gaze.

you pushed back, adrenaline mingling with defiance. “i’m the one who stopped you from making a fool of yourself! that was a pathetic run!” you felt empowered, knowing you had thwarted her attempt to score, and relished the moment of victory.

isla laughed bitterly, her voice slicing through the chaos around you. “pathetic? look who’s talking!”

“you’re a joke, isla! you always have been!”

“joke?” she echoed, her mouth twisting into a sneer.

“at least i’m not the one who needs to prove myself every time i step on this field. everyone knows what a failure you are!” the venom in her words stung, and her face was a twisted mirror of the anger that coursed through you.

“maybe if you spent less time abusing people and more time focusing on your own game, you wouldn’t be in this position right now!” you responded, the heat of the moment making you bold. your gaze locked onto hers, refusing to break contact, as if the intensity could somehow ward off her next assault.

“you think this is about me?” isla laughed, the sound cruel and mocking.

“this is about you, desperate to be seen, desperate for validation!" the derision in her voice felt like a blade, piercing the surface of your confidence.

“this is so fucking hilarious, you’re scared!” you shot back, your voice shaking but resolute.

“scared that if you lost, you wouldn’t know who you are anymore. you’re obsessed with proving you're the best, shit you abused me for years and that wasn’t enough, maybe you should’ve killed me isla!”

“look at you! the fact that you’re still here makes me sick!” isla ignores what you said, failing to admit her abuse towards you.

“you’re such a bitch, thinking you could go to barcelona and think you’re hot shit—”

“says the one who chose madrid of all teams, look at your team with zero goals!!” you snapped immaturely, the words spilling out before you could even catch yourself.

cata tried to pull you away from your sister for the last twenty seconds, but it was no use; your anger suddenly surged, fueling a strength that felt almost uncontrollable.

at that moment, everything around you turned into a blur as adrenaline surged through your veins.

alexia had noticed the commotion and began to move toward you, determination etched on her face.

“leave her alone!” athenea shouted at you, stepping between you and your sister.

“score a goal then come back to me, you bitch,” you shot back, your voice laced with defiance as you metaphorically swatted athenea away like she was an annoying fly.

“don’t speak to her like that!” your sister yelled, pushing you.

the crowd around you watched in shock, drawn into the escalating drama, whispers and gasps cutting through the din of the match.

suddenly, both teams surrounded you, players from both sides trying to break up the heated argument. tensions flared further as a few of your teammates exchanged barbs with madrid players, the atmosphere thick with hostility.

the referee rushed in to maintain order, but you and your sister remained locked in a fierce gaze, hatred radiating off you like heat from a fire.

“i haven’t seen you in three years—what the fuck? you know what? you’re hopeless. you’ve always been the one holding everyone back! shit, you guys would’ve been up to six if you didn’t make those mistakes you did!!!” isla spat.

“you’re pathetic, isla. maybe shut up and stop pretending you’re even close to being good enough. maybe try watching your balance next time?” you shot back, the memory of the side tackle you had executed flashing before your eyes, where she had fallen face-first into the grass.

“do you think anyone actually believes in you at barcelona? i don't, and i’m positive your captain doesn’t either!” isla laughed, the sound harsh and mocking, as if your words were nothing more than a joke to her.

“you don’t know me, you don’t know y/n, and what happens at barcelona, go away!” alexia shouted, her voice cutting through the chaotic atmosphere as she rushed towards you, clearly infuriated by what had just transpired.

she pulled you away from the escalating confrontation, her grip firm and protective, while olga carmona was busy dragging isla away, separating the two of you in a tangle of emotions and disbelief.

as the whistle blew, signaling the end of the match, the rush of emotions hit you like a tidal wave—embarrassment, anger, sadness, and confusion twisted together in an overwhelming torrent.

your heart raced, every beat echoing your thoughts over and over: why did your sister hate you so much? yes, you had initiated the encounter with a side tackle, but it was just a game! a competition, something you had always loved, something that was supposed to bring joy.

yet, here you were, feeling like a stranger in your own life, treated as though you were the villain in a twisted narrative that belonged to Isla.

deep down, you knew you weren’t the evil one. it was Isla—the sister who once had control over your life through years of emotional and physical abuse. the memories rushed back, uninvited and unwelcome, as you thought about the day you finally managed to escape at 16, signing with la masia and vowing to break free from the darkness that had enveloped your childhood.

you had fought tooth and nail to build a life away from that pain, so why, after all these years, did she still hold such a powerful grip over your emotions?

the anger began to bubble to the surface, fierce and unyielding, igniting sparks of determination within you. you promised yourself you would never let anyone, least of all her, treat you like that ever again. yet with that anger came an undercurrent of sadness, an ache that resonated deeper than you wanted to admit.

you realized, more painfully than ever, that you didn’t know your sister anymore—this Isla was a stranger in your life, and yet the years of shared history felt like a heavy weight pressing down on both of you. how had this happened? it felt surreal, standing on this battlefield of memories past, both of you reduced to adversaries when you should have been allies.

watching teammates embrace amid cheers and celebrations around you, you began to feel profoundly isolated. their laughter rang in your ears like a mocking reminder of the bond you once had with Isla, a bond that was now fractured, strained by the years of resentment and pain that simmered beneath the surface.

it was as if you were caught in some cruel twist of fate, living out a nightmare where your family ties had turned into shackles, binding you to a painful legacy.

questions raced through your mind like a whirlwind: was there any hope for repair? could you ever bridge the chasm that had formed between you? every thought pulled you deeper into the confusion of your feelings, and you wondered if healing was even possible after so much trauma.

the night wrapped its heavy cloak around madrid, its bustling streets still alive with the echoes of celebration and the collective energy of the crowd. bright lights illuminated the cobblestones, but inside the dimly lit bus, you felt completely enveloped in darkness.

the soft chatter of ecstatic teammates faded as you made your way to the farthest back seats, seeking solitude and privacy in the midst of a chaotic victory.

as you settled into the back corner, you pulled your hoodie over your eyes, the fabric a barrier from the vibrant world outside. your chest felt tight, a vice slowly tightening with each breath. the floodgates opened, and tears streamed unabated down your cheeks.

you couldn’t remember the last time you had cried like this, where each sob felt like a physical release, an expulsion of the pain that had been building inside for years. the laughter and joy of your teammates were a distant hum, far removed from the anguish that churned in your heart. even in your secluded corner, memories of your fractured relationship with Isla rushed over you, relentless waves that threatened to pull you under.

“you don’t have a sister. you don’t have a sister,” echoed in your mind, each repetition stinging sharper than the last. the thought sank deep, raw and brutal, leaving you feeling utterly unmoored.

as you rested your head against the cool glass of the window, gazing out at the blurred lights of the city, the world outside became a mere backdrop to your inner turmoil. you could hear muffled conversations, the exuberant energy radiating from your teammates—a stark contrast to your spiraling emotions.

the victory that had once been something to celebrate now felt meaningless in the face of the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

just then, the door creaked open on the bus, and vicky stepped in. she was still glowing from the game, her face alight with enthusiasm, but that expression quickly faded when she spotted you in the back.

concern etched itself across her features, and her heart sank. she could see from the shadows of your hoodie and the position of your body—hunched and closed off—that you were in distress. overwhelmed, vicky turned on her heel and dashed back out of the bus, seeking out esmee, who stood chatting at the entrance with ellie.

“esmee! y/n is on the bus crying,” vicky mumbled, urgency lacing her words. the concern in her voice was palpable; she wanted to keep the team from overwhelming you, sensing how raw your emotion was and how much space you needed.

esmee felt her stomach twist at vicky's words. she had watched you take that fateful departure from the group, and it had left her heart heavy. she knew you better than most, knew when you needed to be left alone and when you needed someone to pull you back from the edge of despair.

without hesitation, she scooped her things into her bag and sprinted past vicky, urgency pushing her feet to move faster.

the bus interior was dim, the only light provided by the streetlamps outside the window. it was quiet and still, a place where vulnerability thrived. esmee's heart raced as she stepped onto the bus, drawn immediately to the haunting softness of your cries.

approaching you cautiously, she felt a pang of sadness pool in her chest. settling down across the aisle from you, she could now see the crumpled sleeve you were using as a tissue.

“y/n,” she whispered softly, her voice barely breaking the silence between the two of you. you didn’t respond, lost in the storm of your emotions. esmee took a deep breath, grounding herself as she tried to navigate this delicate moment.

“can I sit with you?”

the slight shift in your posture told her it was okay. she moved into the seat right next to you, close enough to feel your warmth without infringing on your space. you still kept your eyes fixed on the streaks of light melting into the darkness beyond the window.

“it’s really okay to cry, baby,” esmee said gently, her tone soothing and patient. it was a balm for your frayed nerves, and for a moment, you blinked through the haze of tears.

“I’m right here with you. you’re not alone.”

you drew a shaky breath, but the tears kept coming. it felt too heavy to be cradled alone in this storm of feelings. esmee reached forward, resting her hand on the empty seat between you, her fingers subtly inviting closeness.

“I can’t take what you’re feeling away for you,” she continued softly,

“but I can sit here with you while you feel it. it’s okay to not be okay.” esmee stays realistic.

the tenderness of her words seeped into the crevices of your heart, and for the first time, you glanced towards her. her eyes were filled with concern, a deep and genuine empathy that made something inside you shift.

the warmth of her gaze encouraged you to speak, to let out the words you had been holding tight within.

“it’s just… everything,” you managed to choke out between sobs, your voice breaking as the weight of the years spilled from your lips.

“Isla… everything that happened at the end of the game, everything.”

esmee nodded, completely attuned to your pain.

“I know it’s changing everything you thought you understood about things. It’s like a dark cloud, isn’t it?” she said, her gaze unwavering as she leaned closer, conveying both solidarity and strength.

with gentle resolve, esmee shifted a fraction closer, and as if sensing your need for comfort, she brushed her hand against your back, the soft contact grounding and familiar as you lean against her chest.

it felt as if she was sending warmth through that simple gesture, wrapping you in the safety of her presence. you blinked at her, your tears mixing with the warmth that slowly began to settle in your chest.

“i hate her.” you mumbled.

“i can see why,” esmee understood.

esmee gently placed her hand on your waist, her fingers squeezing lightly as if to remind you she was there, physically and emotionally.

as the tears poured forth, each drop carrying away a piece of your pain, a piece of the suffocating grief that had held you captive for so long, it felt easier to breathe. esmee didn’t shy away from the gravity of what you were feeling; instead, she leaned in closer, her presence a steadfast beacon.

the familiarity of her touch ignited a sense of safety, drawing you just a bit closer to the shore after feeling lost at sea for so long.

“let it all out,” she encouraged, brushing her thumb softly over the back of your hand that rested limply in your lap. it was a gentle caress that seemed to wipe away some of your doubts, a silent promise that you were moments away from finding solace in companionship.

“nobody’s judging you here, I promise.”

you clung to her hand, feeling an unexpected safety in that small gesture.the tears continued to flow, but rather than a dam holding them back, it felt like a river running its course, tearing along and removing the debris of old pain.

esmee did not shy away from the intimacy of the moment; she was your shelter from the turmoil, absorbing your sorrow alongside you.

“no one has to know we’re having a moment,” esmee teased gently, her playful spirit shining through despite the gravity of the situation. she added a smirk, trying to raise the corners of your mouth into a semblance of a smile.

you couldn’t help but chuckle at her light-hearted attempt to coax you from the shadows. laughter bubbled up from the depths of your throat—tentative at first, but it felt slightly like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

“I might be too emotional for this team,” you replied, your voice still thick with emotion but softened by humor.

“at least we have each other to be emotional with,” esmee offered with sincerity, squeezing your hand gently before letting it settle back on your thigh, a touch that was both supportive and grounding.

as you both sat in the quiet of the bus, the soft sounds of the city thrumming outside, you found solace in the physical closeness and the shared silence after esmee’s words.

you might not have your biological family, but you have found your family at barcelona.

masterlist

#esmee brugts #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #real madrid femenino #misa rodriguez #athenea del castillo #cata coll #mapi leon

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magical-reid · 1 day ago

Text

The Rings We Keep Part 3 (Final Part)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!FBI!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none

Word count: 6.7K

Part 1 / Part 2

The days following your kiss with Spencer had been a whirlwind of barely contained feelings. It was unspoken but there—something unshakable between you and him. You had agreed to take things slow, to let your connection build naturally without forcing it into a label or rushing anything.

But the more time you spent together—both on and off cases—the more impossible it seemed to keep your growing bond a secret.

Growing Together

The weeks passed with surprising ease. You and Spencer began doing things together outside of work—real, honest-to-God dates. You went to that quiet café again, and Spencer insisted on getting the most obscure drink on the menu to make you laugh. You went to see a movie, and instead of just watching it, you spent the entire time discussing the plot afterward, each of you analyzing the other’s take on the characters and the themes. You cooked together more often, laughing when things went wrong, and celebrating when things went right. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

You realized, as your connection deepened, that it wasn’t the moments of perfection that mattered. It was the moments where you were both present. Where, even in the chaos of your careers, there was a softness between you that felt like home.

Spencer began leaving little notes for you—little reminders of things, like “don’t forget to hydrate” or “call me when you’re done with your shift so I can hear your voice.” They were small things, but they meant more than he could know. The affection was there, and it was becoming more tangible with each passing day.

One evening, as you walked out of the precinct after another long shift, Spencer stopped at the door and turned to face you. His expression was quiet, earnest.

“You know, we’re kind of doing this,” he said softly, his hand finding yours in a gesture that felt so natural. “A real relationship. No more pretending.”

You smiled back at him, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest. “Yeah, we are.”

The Leak That Led to Living Together

Things between you and Spencer had only grown closer, and you were starting to feel more at ease with your relationship. But one evening, after another grueling case, you got a call from your landlord about the persistent leak in your bathroom. The water had been dripping for weeks, and no matter how many times you had contacted maintenance, nothing had been fixed.

When you’d first reported it, the landlord’s maintenance team had insisted it was just a small issue with the seal around the tub—an easy fix, or so they’d claimed. But the leak hadn’t gone away. Instead, it had grown worse, and the water had started to spread beyond the bathroom floor, staining the ceiling beneath it.

This time, the landlord called with an update, telling you that the plumber had discovered a more serious problem. After taking a closer look at the pipes, they’d realized there was extensive water damage to the plumbing, likely caused by a burst pipe that had been slowly leaking for a while. The entire system needed to be replaced, and unfortunately, the damage was so severe that the apartment was now uninhabitable.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” the landlord said over the phone. “But it’s going to take weeks to fix this, and it’s not safe for you to stay there.”

You stared at the phone, feeling an odd sense of dread creep into your chest. Your apartment, the one place you’d tried to make home, was no longer a safe place to live. And now, you had no idea where to go.

That evening, you called Spencer, you could hear the usual soft smile that sat on his face in his voice, and when you explained the situation with the apartment, you could hear it drop and the sound of concern taking its place.

“You could… move in with me,” Spencer suggested after a long pause, his voice almost hesitant. “I know it’s sudden, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I have the space. You could even have the guest bedroom if you want.”

The offer hung in the air between you, filled with the weight of a thousand unsaid words. On one hand, it felt like a natural step forward; on the other, it made everything feel even more real. You’d only just started to find your rhythm with Spencer, and now you were being asked to share more than just occasional meals or nights spent watching movies. You were being asked to share your life.

“I don’t want to impose,” you said slowly, but deep down, you knew you needed something—someone—and Spencer had always been there for you.

“It’s not an imposition. I promise. And besides,” he added with a playful tone, “you’ve already spent enough time in my apartment, you might as well move in anyway.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between you easing. It didn’t feel like a big leap anymore. It felt like a logical step. So, with a sigh of relief, you agreed.

Living Together

The transition to living together was smoother than you expected. You slowly brought in a few of your things, mostly clothes, some books, and a few personal mementos. Spencer had insisted on helping you rearrange the guest bedroom to make it more comfortable, though you mostly ended up sharing his room. His apartment, for all its quiet, neatness, had always felt a little impersonal—a place to sleep, a place to work. But now, with your things scattered around, it felt… like home.

The first week was awkward in some ways, but those little things that had once been awkward became comforting. Like how you both gravitated toward the kitchen to cook together or how Spencer would leave a cup of coffee on the counter for you, even though he knew you’d be up hours before him. There was the gentle hum of everyday life—the kind of life you hadn’t expected to build with anyone.

As the weeks went by, there were still moments when you caught each other’s eyes, the depth of your connection reflected in the soft gaze you exchanged. Spencer was still Spencer—quirky, brilliant, and occasionally awkward—but now, there was something more. Something comforting. Something real.

The BAU's Subtle Observations

It started with a few casual glances. A look exchanged when you thought no one was watching. Spencer offering you a small, private smile after a long day. Nothing overt, nothing that would raise suspicion… or so you thought. But of course, you weren’t fooling anyone.

It was a Tuesday morning when Emily Prentiss, ever perceptive, first noticed the change.

You were at the FBI field office, surrounded by your team, sorting through case files and preparing for a briefing. Spencer was deep in conversation with Hotch, his voice low and focused, but every time you passed him to grab a file, he would offer you a look—an expression of something deeper than just professional respect.

Emily raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange. You didn’t think she caught it, but you were wrong.

After the briefing, as the team dispersed to prep for the next part of the case, Emily approached you casually, her voice light but her eyes sharp.

“Everything okay between you and Spencer?” she asked, a small, knowing smirk on her face.

You stiffened, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, why?"

Emily shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a glint of amusement in her gaze. "I don’t know, just seems like you two have... chemistry." She paused, leaning in as if to whisper. "I mean, more than usual. Like… special chemistry."

Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t hide the flush creeping up your neck. “We’re just… working together, Em. You know how it is.”

Emily didn’t press any further, but she wasn’t buying it. She gave you one last look—a blend of curiosity and something close to satisfaction—before moving away.

Derek’s Unsubtle Observations

The next person to pick up on it was Derek Morgan. Of course, Derek. He had a way of reading people, of catching little things that others missed. And Spencer, despite his usual oblivion, wasn’t immune to Derek’s sharp eyes.

It was during a case briefing that Derek shot you an exaggerated grin from across the table. You felt a little off balance as he did, glancing over at Spencer who, of course, seemed blissfully unaware—head down, focused on the whiteboard.

When Derek caught your eye again, he leaned toward you, his voice lowered just enough that no one else could hear.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Reid. He’s definitely been… extra concerned about you lately.”

You froze, trying to remain casual, but Derek wasn’t having it.

“Extra careful, extra protective,” Derek continued, a grin tugging at his lips. "I mean, I can’t blame him. But it’s cute, the way you two dance around it."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you kept your tone steady. “You’re reading too much into it, Derek. We’re just… working the case together.” You realized too late that saying the words out loud didn’t make it sound any more convincing.

Derek’s grin only widened. "Oh yeah? 'Cause it sure looks like you’re both trying really hard not to actually admit what’s going on here."

You shook your head, trying to laugh it off. “Drop it, Derek.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you say. Just don’t be surprised if the whole office catches on sooner or later.”

Hotch and JJ’s Quiet Knowing

By the end of the week, the rumors were practically brewing behind closed doors. Even Hotch had noticed. You had no idea how, but there was something in his eyes when he looked between you and Spencer—a hint of quiet awareness.

You were in the middle of a strategy session, with the entire team gathered in the conference room. Spencer and you were standing next to each other, closer than usual, both scanning a map for clues. When you turned to point something out to Spencer, his hand brushed yours, and it was the lightest of touches, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Hotch.

Later, as the team filed out, Hotch approached you with a quiet, almost fatherly tone.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “if you and Spencer are figuring things out, just be careful. This kind of thing... it can get complicated.”

Your heart sank. You hadn’t expected Hotch—of all people—to bring it up. But of course, he’d been around long enough to know how these things worked. He knew how the lines between work and personal life could blur, especially in an environment like this.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quickly, your voice a little too high-pitched to sound casual.

Hotch gave you a small, understanding nod. “Just remember what’s at stake. I trust both of you. But you need to be sure about what this is.”

You swallowed hard. “We’re just... getting to know each other, sir.”

Hotch didn’t press further, but his look lingered, as though he was waiting for you to come to him with the truth when you were ready.

When you walked out of the room, you saw JJ talking quietly with Emily and Derek, her eyes flicking between the two of you. You knew they were all trying to be respectful, giving you the space to sort things out. But there was no doubt in your mind now that the cat was out of the bag. They all knew.

The Unit's Observations

It wasn’t just the BAU team that was starting to piece together what was happening between you and Spencer. Your own unit had begun to notice, too—particularly when it came to your seemingly frequent visits to the BAU.

It was a Friday morning when the comments started. You had just wrapped up a case with your team and had come over to the BAU to debrief, a habit that had become almost routine since you and Spencer started spending more time together. It wasn’t unusual for you to drop by, but your colleagues had begun to raise eyebrows at how often you were around—and this time, they weren't going to let it slide.

A Casual Observation

You were sitting at your desk, chatting with a few agents from your unit about the latest case developments when one of your colleagues, Michelle, leaned against the back of your chair. She had a mischievous grin on her face, and you could tell something was coming.

"Y/N," Michelle said casually, her tone teasing, "I think I need to have a little chat with you."

You turned to look at her, pretending to look confused. "About what?"

Michelle raised an eyebrow. "About how you're always over at the BAU. And not just when you're assigned to a case with them." She paused, making it sound as casual as possible. "I mean, you’re like a permanent fixture over there now. Kind of makes a person wonder if you're spending more time with them than you are with us.”

The rest of your team, who had been quietly watching the exchange, shifted in their seats, clearly waiting for your response. You laughed nervously, trying to play it off.

“What can I say? I’m just a really good team player," you replied, your tone light. "We’ve got a great working relationship. You know how it is."

Michelle leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Uh-huh. A ‘working relationship.’ Sure. So, are you really just popping over there to discuss case files and not, you know, just hanging out with your ‘husband’ Reid?”

You froze, eyes widening slightly. You had thought you were being subtle, but apparently, you hadn’t been as stealthy as you’d hoped. You shot Michelle a mock glare.

“Really?” you said, trying to hide the warmth rising in your cheeks. “You’re going to start with that?”

Michelle just grinned. “You know, the team’s been talking. We’re not blind. Besides he is your “husband”, we’re just waiting for you to admit it.”

Before you could come up with a clever response, another colleague, Greg, chimed in, his tone light but unmistakably teasing.

“Yeah, Y/N, you’re always over there, like, even when you don’t have a case to work on. And when you do show up, you’re practically glued to Spencer’s side. We get it—he’s a great guy, but you don’t have to keep pretending you’re just there to consult. We can tell what's going on.”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment, though you tried to keep it under control. "You guys are crazy. There’s nothing going on."

But your colleagues weren’t buying it. They exchanged knowing looks, their grins widening.

“I don’t know,” Greg said, nudging Michelle playfully. “I think we’ve been more than patient. It’s time for Y/N to spill the beans. Don’t you think?”

Michelle gave you a sideways glance. “Seriously, Y/N, you can’t fool us anymore. We’ve all seen the way Spencer looks at you. And, well... you’re always there.”

You laughed awkwardly, realizing there was no point in denying it.

"Okay, okay," you relented with a sigh, finally conceding. "You got me. It’s not just casework. Spencer and I... we’ve been spending time together."

The team’s reaction was immediate. Greg, with his usual playful grin, said, "Well, it’s about time!" while Michelle gave you a satisfied smirk. “Told you, Y/N. We can spot a love story from a mile away.”

But it was when your unit chief, Captain Harris, finally spoke up that you knew it was all over. He had been quiet during the exchange, simply observing with his arms crossed.

“I’m not one for gossip," he said, his voice low but carrying a sense of humor that you hadn’t expected. "But I gotta say, you’ve been spending a lot of time with the BAU lately. If you’re gonna keep coming around here, at least bring us some donuts next time. You know, for your ‘official work-related visits.’”

The group erupted into laughter, and for the first time in days, you found yourself relaxing. They weren’t angry, just amused. Your unit might’ve been a little surprised by the news, but they had no problem with it.

The BAU’s Silent Understanding

Back at the BAU headquarters later that day, the air was thick with unsaid words. Spencer was caught up in a phone call with Penelope, and you found yourself sitting with Emily at the desk, both of you pretending to focus on paperwork while silently trying to decipher the elephant in the room.

“So,” Emily said, finally breaking the silence. “You and Spencer…?”

You tried not to flinch, trying to maintain a cool facade. “We’re fine, Em. Really.”

Emily’s eyes softened, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not going to push you. But... if you two are figuring it out, I just want you to know that we’re here for you. You don’t have to hide it.”

You glanced over at Spencer, still engrossed in his conversation, and your heart squeezed in your chest. Could you really keep this hidden? Could you keep him hidden? The bond you shared felt undeniable, and yet, the idea of anyone else knowing—of being out in the open—was terrifying.

“I know,” you said softly. “It’s just... we’re not sure yet. I don’t want to make things complicated for the team. For us.”

Emily nodded, her smile understanding. “Yeah, I get that. But trust me, no one’s going to judge you. If you and Spencer want to take this further, you just have to trust yourselves.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile, though inside, you weren’t as sure as you wanted to be. Everyone—your coworkers, the BAU—had started to catch on, and it was only a matter of time before the truth came spilling out.

The Unspoken Decision

That night, after the case had wrapped up, you found yourself alone with Spencer in the quiet of the bullpen. The weight of everything—the team’s observations, the unspoken tension, the growing closeness between you—was pressing down on you, making it hard to think clearly.

Spencer was typing something on his laptop, oblivious to your thoughts. You stood in the doorway of his office, watching him, feeling a strange mix of longing and uncertainty.

Finally, Spencer looked up, sensing your presence. His expression was open, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were feeling.

“We need to talk, don’t we?” he said quietly.

You nodded, taking a step toward him, your heart racing.

“I think we do.”

The Slow Unraveling

Over the next few weeks, the quiet buzz around you and Spencer only grew. The teams was trying to be subtle—too subtle—but it didn’t take much to realize that they knew. The way their eyes would flicker between you and Spencer, the little smirks, the awkward attempts to cover up knowing smiles. You and Spencer tried your best to act normal, but it felt like the world was watching.

You were in the bullpen, sorting through case files, when Spencer walked up behind you, his voice soft but steady. “You find what you need?”

His presence was always comforting, but you could feel it today—there was an unspoken electricity between the two of you. You’d been careful not to make it obvious, but everything had changed since that first kiss. The way you found yourself seeking his gaze. The way your heart skipped a beat whenever his hand brushed against yours.

You nodded absently, trying to focus on the task at hand. But when Spencer leaned over to grab a file, his shoulder brushed against yours, and you could feel your pulse quicken.

“I’ll check in with Penelope about the latest report,” Spencer said, his voice steady, but you could hear the underlying warmth in it.

You didn’t reply immediately. Instead, you let yourself feel the quiet, unspoken weight of the moment. Spencer was always careful with you, and for some reason, that mattered more than it ever had before.

“I’ll be right here,” you finally managed, turning back to your work, trying to act like you weren’t both navigating a minefield of what comes next.

Spencer paused for just a second longer than necessary, and then he was gone, his steps light but purposeful.

And you were left behind, quietly trembling in the wake of his presence.

Emily's Subtle Prodding

It wasn’t just Spencer who was making things harder for you to ignore. Emily had, by now, practically perfected the art of nonchalantly mentioning things you could never fully ignore.

“Y/N, I was thinking we could grab lunch after this,” Emily said, her voice casual, but there was something in her tone that made you pause. You raised an eyebrow, instinctively looking toward Spencer, who was still at the other end of the bullpen, typing something on his laptop.

Emily leaned in, her voice lowering to a more conspiratorial tone. “Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to give me a play-by-play of the Reid Chronicles,” she teased, though there was a glimmer of something else in her eyes. “But, you know, if you and Spencer want to talk about whatever this is—whatever you are—feel free to do it over lunch. I’m just here for the ride.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t realized how much the team was piecing together—especially Emily, who was always so astute.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said with a forced laugh, though even you could hear the falter in your voice.

Emily gave you a soft smile, her expression almost too knowing. “Right,” she said, the grin still lingering. “Just thought you might want someone to talk to.”

You met her gaze for a moment, something unspoken passing between the two of you. She knows, you thought. And maybe, everyone else did too.

You couldn't deny it anymore—things were no longer subtle. Emily’s knowing smile was only the beginning. The team had been dropping hints, making observations that were becoming harder to ignore. You could feel the weight of their knowing looks whenever you and Spencer exchanged a quiet glance or lingered a second too long in conversation. It was like living in a house with the walls closing in. No matter how much you tried to downplay it, the quiet buzz was building, and soon enough, it was going to explode.

The Teasing Begins

Of course, it was Derek who noticed first. He was never one to miss anything, and the way he watched the two of you in the bullpen, you could tell he had put two and two together. It was the way Spencer had kept glancing at you—his gaze filled with something new, something unspoken. The way you two had been spending more time together lately, working late into the evening, sharing quiet moments that didn’t go unnoticed.

It all came to a head one morning during a case briefing. Spencer was scribbling equations and notes on the whiteboard, and you were at the table, trying to stay focused. But Derek was looking at the two of you with that mischievous grin on his face, clearly enjoying whatever he had figured out.

"Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Reid," Derek said, his voice laced with teasing, but loud enough for everyone to hear. "You’ve been... extra attentive to Y/N lately. Extra careful, extra protective."

"Yeah," Derek continued, turning to you. "I can see the way you two look at each other. It’s like you’re trying real hard to pretend you’re not a thing."

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "Derek, it’s not like that," you said, trying to deflect.

"Oh, come on," Derek said, his grin widening. "You’ve been hanging out a lot more, spending all this time together... and don’t get me started on how you two finish each other’s sentences."

"What are you talking about, Derek?" Spencer asked, clearly oblivious to what Derek was implying.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "You two are too cute for your own good. And I’ve got to say, it’s about time."

You groaned inwardly, glancing at Spencer again. The last thing you needed was for the whole team to catch on.

Before you could respond, Derek added with a wink, "Just make sure you two don’t get too distracted on the next case, alright? We all need you sharp, not distracted by how adorable you are together."

Hotch’s Proposition

It didn’t take long for Hotch to catch wind of the situation. He was always observant, always reading between the lines, and you had a feeling he knew something was going on with you and Spencer.

One afternoon, when the case was on hold for a moment, Hotch asked you to step into his office.

"Y/N," Hotch began, closing the door behind you. He seemed unusually serious. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

You gave a quick nod, trying not to let the nervous energy in your chest show. "Sure, Hotch. What’s up?"

"I’ve noticed you’ve been around more often," he said. "Not just on cases, but in general. Whether it's to consult or to visit Spencer, you’re practically a regular. This way, it’ll just be… more convenient. You’ll have access to all the resources here, and we can stop pretending that you’re not already basically a member of the team." Hotch shrugged, his smirk widening.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his bluntness. You appreciated his directness, and in a way, his offer felt like the culmination of everything that had already been happening. You had spent more time with the BAU than any outsider in recent memory, and not just for casework.

"I’m guessing this means you don’t mind having me around permanently?" you teased, half-expecting Hotch to shut down the joke.

But Hotch surprised you again, his smile turning more genuine. "You’re one of the best agents I’ve seen, Y/N. That’s why I’m offering you a permanent spot. We could use someone like you."

You felt a rush of pride at his words, but you also felt the weight of the decision. Joining the BAU wasn’t just a job—it was a life choice. Spencer and you had already crossed the threshold from colleagues to spouses. If you took this step, there was no going back.

"Let me think about it, Hotch," you said, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

"Take your time, you’ve got a lot to think about." he said with a small nod, his expression softening. "I just wanted to make sure you knew the offer was on the table, we’re all in this together. And I think Spencer would be happy to have you stay—officially, but don’t take too long. I think Spencer might be getting jealous of how much time you spend here."

You nodded slowly, feeling a weight settle in your chest. "I’ll think about it,” then chucked, “and I’ll be sure to tell him to keep his distance," you said, only half-joking.

Hotch’s smile was almost affectionate as he waved you off. "Good. Because if he keeps showing up to work with a take-out coffee for you, we’re going to have to have another conversation."

The Decision: Joining the BAU

A week later, you found yourself walking into Hotch’s office once again, this time with an answer. Spencer had teased you endlessly about your long deliberations, but you had already made up your mind. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the right step for both your career and your relationship.

"I’ve thought about it," you said, standing in the doorway of Hotch’s office. "I’m in. I’ll transfer into the BAU. Just… don’t regret it."

Hotch looked pleased, but he gave you a knowing look. "Regret? Not a chance. Welcome to the team."

And with that, your new chapter truly began.

The Turning Point

Another week had gone by and you and Spencer were working late again. The case had been closed for hours, the team long gone by now, but you both had stayed behind to tie up loose ends. The quiet felt different now—calm, but charged with the weight of unspoken things. Spencer had just finished his report and was gathering his things when you caught his eye.

"You want to talk about it?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer hesitated for just a moment, his fingers frozen over the edge of his laptop. His gaze softened as he met your eyes, and for the first time in days, you saw the hint of vulnerability in his expression.

"I don’t think we can keep pretending that nothing’s happening," he said quietly, voice low but certain.

You felt your heart race. You had been trying to be so careful, so mindful of not making things too real too soon. But now, standing there with Spencer, the weight of everything between you finally felt like something worth acknowledging.

"I don’t want to lie anymore," you admitted. "Not to them. Not to ourselves."

Spencer’s lips curled into a small smile—tender, like a promise. "Me neither."

And just like that, in the quiet of the bullpen, the truth hung between you. You weren’t just figuring it out. You knew.

Telling the Team

The next day, after a brief but tense conversation with Spencer, you decided it was time to tell the team. It had to happen. There was no denying it anymore—they had figured it out long ago, and trying to keep it under wraps felt like an act of avoidance. It was time to own it.

You and Spencer had agreed that this would be a joint decision. It wasn’t just about you anymore—it was about both of you, navigating a new chapter in front of people you respected and trusted.

At the end of the day, as the team gathered in the break room to grab a quick bite before the next round of interviews, you stood by the door with Spencer, exchanging a glance.

"Do you think we’re ready for this?" you asked him softly.

He nodded, a small but sure gesture. "We’ve been ready since that first case."

You smiled and then walked into the room, feeling the team’s eyes immediately flicker to you both. The silence was almost oppressive as you and Spencer shared one last, unspoken look before you took a breath and spoke.

"Listen, guys…" you began, your voice steady but filled with the truth. "Spencer and I… we’ve been, well, figuring some things out. And I guess it’s time you knew—we’re together. Officially."

The room was still for a moment, and then Derek broke into a wide grin, clapping Spencer on the back. "Finally!" he exclaimed, clearly delighted. "Took you two long enough."

JJ and Emily exchanged knowing looks, while Hotch’s expression remained neutral, though there was a small flicker of approval in his eyes. Penelope practically bounced in her seat.

"I knew it!" Penelope exclaimed, grinning. "The lovebirds finally came clean!"

You and Spencer exchanged a quiet laugh at the chaos, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as the team erupted into laughter and teasing. It wasn’t just about the case anymore. It was about the two of you, and you had no idea what the future held—but you were both ready to face it, together.

A Real Beginning

The days following your confession to the team were a whirlwind of adjustments. There was no more hiding between the lines or pretending that nothing had changed. Now that everyone knew, you and Spencer could finally breathe—and, more importantly, finally be.

The Subtle Shift: Something More

The team was thrilled, though their reactions were a mix of teasing and support. Derek had joked about needing to buy wedding gifts, and Emily kept giving you knowing winks whenever Spencer was around. But beneath it all, there was a sense of ease that settled over the group—a sense of understanding that allowed you and Spencer to stop hiding, to stop pretending.

The strangest thing was how quickly your relationship settled into something more. What had started as an arrangement born of circumstance and convenience slowly, almost imperceptibly, turned into something deeper. The quiet moments shared in the hallways, the soft touches that were no longer brushed off as incidental, the steady, almost intimate communication that felt like second nature now.

There was the evening when Spencer came to your apartment after a long day of casework. You were both exhausted, but he’d insisted on making you dinner. He had done this before—he’d made you pasta, insisting that it was the "quickest recipe I know," only to end up with a kitchen disaster that both of you found hilarious. This time, though, it was different. The food was actually good, and there was no need for any laughing off awkwardness.

As you sat down to eat, Spencer caught your gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You know," he said softly, "I think we’re… actually pretty good at this. The not-pretending part."

You raised an eyebrow, amused but not surprised by his bluntness. "You mean being married?"

Spencer’s expression softened. "Yeah. That."

You chewed on your lip for a second, looking at him from across the table. The way he’d said it, with such quiet sincerity, made your heart ache in a way that was becoming more and more familiar. Spencer wasn’t just your husband by law anymore. He was someone you needed, someone you wanted, in ways that went beyond the comfort of knowing him as a colleague.

"I don’t know what this is, Spencer," you admitted, feeling a bit vulnerable in the quiet of the evening, "but I think it’s something real. Something I didn’t expect."

He smiled—a slow, warm smile that made your chest tighten. "I think I’d like to see where it goes. Together."

And that was when you both realized that the line between work and personal had faded. You were no longer just co-workers trying to make the best of an unexpected situation. You were… something more.

The Proposal As the weeks passed, life with the BAU began to feel like the new normal. Your official transfer had gone through without fanfare, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. The dynamics of the team hadn’t changed—they were still as close-knit and unpredictable as ever—but now, there was a certain comfort in the way you and Spencer moved through the day. There was no need to keep your distance, no need to hide in the shadows or keep your relationship a secret. You were married. And, as the days turned into weeks, it became clear that your bond wasn’t just about paperwork—it was about something deeper, something more permanent.

Work was busy, as always, but there was a rhythm to your days now. Spencer, ever the brilliant mind, worked alongside you seamlessly, your roles in cases complementing each other. The team continued to tease you both, of course, but it was all lighthearted, filled with the camaraderie you had long come to expect. They had known the truth for some time, but now it was something everyone could openly acknowledge—without the lingering tension that had once colored those moments. Every stolen glance, every brush of hands, was no longer something you had to hide. It was something you could share with them, as well as with each other.

Yet, despite the ease of these days, there was an unspoken weight between you and Spencer—an unresolved feeling that neither of you had fully addressed. You’d already tied the knot in a way that felt true, but there was still something more, something unspoken that lingered in the quiet moments you shared. It wasn’t about a grand gesture or a fancy ceremony—it was about the commitment, the promise you had made to one another, in the simplest and most profound way. But Spencer was never one to leave things unsaid for long.

It all started with a case. Well, several cases, but one, in particular, brought you closer to Spencer Reid than you'd ever imagined. You had worked together on many investigations before, but this one was different. The case was grueling, and you had been called in to help, as usual. Your skillset and unique perspective had proven valuable to the team, and you had spent many late nights alongside Spencer, working through the complexities of the investigation.

One of those nights, after the rest of the team had gone home, you found yourself in the bullpen with Spencer, still poring over case files. The atmosphere in the office was quiet, almost intimate in the way you two moved around each other without saying much, both absorbed in the work.

Then, unexpectedly, Spencer stopped what he was doing and looked up at you.

"Y/N," he began, his voice tentative, "can I ask you something?"

You turned toward him, still absorbed in your own thoughts but curious at the change in his demeanor. Spencer’s gaze was intense, but it held something new, something vulnerable.

"Sure," you replied, wondering what was going on in that head of his.

Spencer hesitated for a long moment before speaking again, his words coming out in a rush. "Would you... would you marry me?"

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, you just stared at him, blinking in disbelief. "What?"

He immediately regretted it. You could see it in his face as he stammered, "I mean, not like marry me, marry me, but... it just seemed like the simplest way to... well, to say it."

"Say what?" you asked, trying to make sense of his jumble of words.

Spencer flushed, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know. I just—I thought... we’ve been working together so much, and I feel like we get each other, and—"

It clicked. You knew exactly what he meant. You’d felt it too—the late-night talks, the comfortable silences, the connection that had been there all along, unspoken, lingering in the air between the two of you.

You smiled softly, your voice quiet but warm. "Okay. I’ll marry you."

A Simple Wedding

The wedding that followed was everything you both wanted: small, intimate, and full of love. No big ceremony, just the team gathered around you in a quiet chapel, smiling and congratulating you. Spencer, dressed in a suit, looked more handsome than you had ever seen him. You, in a simple but elegant dress, felt like the luckiest person alive.

The vows were short but meaningful, exchanged between only the two of you, as your team stood by your side. No formal speeches, no extravagant rituals. Just love, spoken in simple words.

“I vow to always listen, always be there, and to love you, in all the ways that I can, for as long as I can,” Spencer said, his voice quiet but steady.

You smiled, your own vows coming out as you held his hand tightly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I vow to stand by you, through everything, and to love you in all the small moments as much as the big ones. I promise to always choose you, every single day.”

And as you walked out of the chapel hand-in-hand, you knew this was only the beginning.

No more secrets. No more pretending. Just the future you had always hoped for, finally in your grasp.

The day of the wedding arrived—quiet, intimate, and beautiful. No huge fanfare, just the people who mattered most: your closest friends, the team. Derek was there, teasing you both just as he always did, while Emily and JJ shared warm, knowing smiles. Penelope dabbed at her eyes, trying to hide her tears, and Hotch gave the kind of approving nod that you knew came from a place of true warmth.

The ceremony itself was simple—held in a small chapel, surrounded by the team, who had supported you both through the hardest and best of times. Spencer stood beside you, his hands slightly trembling as you exchanged vows.

When the officiant pronounced you both married, you kissed Spencer again—this time, without hesitation. The kiss was filled with everything you had been through together, and everything that was still to come.

The Future

Later, as you walked out of the chapel, hand-in-hand, Spencer leaned toward you, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m glad we did this,” he said, his hand tightening around yours.

“Me too,” you replied softly, resting your head on his shoulder. Together, you stepped out into the future, finally knowing that it wasn’t just about the wedding—it was about the life you would build together.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x yn #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid series #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds series #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagines #magical-Reid

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mrgrimreaper1 · 1 day ago

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Dude this is sick, reminds me of this cool different Undertale multiverse idea I've made one day.

[this whole Multiverse happens like, years down the line, pretty much a time skip AU causing error and ink to be much stronger for some reason, there's a reason why I scrapped it a lot of the story is me making a scenario in my head and struggling to explain why it happens the way it does.]

In it error sans finally managed to end ink, and once he does it he regrets it later on because of the boredom that come from no one on his level to really attempt to fight back against him destroying things, and since there was no one making Another AU protector for so long, he needed to slow down on destroying the AU's because of [reasons that don't really make any sense for his canon character to do, because he would probably destroy them all regardless of how he would feel about it afterwards, which is why I've made this a completely different multiverse altogether AND scrapped it.]

Because in this MV (MultiVerse) he would die of absolute boredom if he actually destroyed everything in one swoop, so he needed to balance destroying things and then wait for creators to create more anomalies for him to destroy, which he finds really annoying, so in his absolute bored out of his mind state, he makes the choice to create something himself.

A replacement for ink that could rival him and force creators to work overtime and make more anomalies for him to destroy, he takes a pen and paper and sketches a sans design heavily based on ink, which is why this version of "ink" is named "sketch!sans" with nicknames like "sketchy, sketched, sketchup." [Ketchup joke, made by either classic sans or fresh sans, haven't really chosen who did it, could be any Sans', really.]

Then to bring this character to life error after a while of trying he would get really frustrated, because he doesn't know how to do it, making him throw the drawing away.

Causing it to fall down to the bottom of ink's doodle sphere where the remains of the destroyed AU's remained or something causing sketch sans to actually be created...

[...This only works here because I reworked what happens once you destroy an au, in this multiverse once you destroy an AU, the Portal to said AU in the doodle sphere turns into magic ink and it remains at the bottom of the doodle sphere for the rest of eternity, but thanks to how many AU's we're destroyed they accumulated and mixed together, making a huge mess.]

Thanks to the ink being mixed together this version of ink sans would come out with a lot defects, he would come out of the ink "colorless" or just "black, white and grey." Being straight up a blank Canvas, a husk of what the real ink is supposed to be, so a lot of his emotions were muddled and he didn't act like what you'd expect ink to act like...

...Causing sketch sans to be very insecure? Maybe, his whole character arc that I've had planned for him is him trying to live up to error's expectations and straight up trying his damnest to act like ink would, causing a lot of identity crisis's until he met the star Sanses and they explain to him why he simply can't get his whole attempt to imitate ink right, so they introduce him to the vials ink used to act the way he did, then sketch would start going after said vials to act more like ink, as he kept finding and drinking more of these vials he would slowly and surely becoming a lot more like ink and he would regain his colors with each vial, with error constantly encouraging this to make him keep going and get the real ink back, thanks to error's inability to care for sketch's whole identity crisis causing sketch to reach his breaking point when he meets Cross!Sans and his whole thing and experience with identity crisis's and making him realize how abusive this relationship with error is, causing him to either cut ties with error or just become his own person and completely ignore error's wishes, and just deal with him without the pressure of having to act like ink, or whatever, I don't have a proper ending to it.

It was nice getting this off my chest and head.

ERROR!INK (ASYNC SANS)

ok so, finally came with a full idea of this character:D an error version of ink. i'll be listing some facts and clarifications about him to prevent any kind of confusion, just under the cut!

i wanted to write his entire backstory on here but it ended up being a little too much longer than i expected so maybe i'll make a comic about it- or no (wheheh). but basically everything started when he also tore his soul but appeared in the anti-void instead of a normal void that would eventually become his doodle sphere

now, his design choices

he's wearing the first ever clothes he used in His Story comic

his eyes colors were chosen thanks to their inverts, those specific magenta and blue are the opposites of green and yellow, the first colors he experienced in his original story

the marks on his body are white to represent the meaning of the few white garments in his original design: "The white layer underneath says how he attempts to hide who he is, but his emptiness sometimes shines through."

his "tattoos" are no longer illegible when he turns into an error, they become common binary codes (the font used for these is Note This, ink's official font)

the red (magenta) eye is on the right side to somehow symbolize the blood his "scar" would cause

there is no yellow on his clothes to show how secretive he is, as he constantly hides half his face in his scarf

personality traits and extra facts!

as said before he is someone incredibly reserved, mostly because while being in his 5 senses he is afraid of his self without his doses of paints and tries to not attract attention

nonetheless, he likes being around people, he would probably travel across universes to hang out hidden in crowded places

the "specific situations" mentioned on the first part of the sheet refer, for the most part, to self-defense. but there may be other situations where he simply creates stuff that people ask for from time to time

compared to his original counterpart, he will take much longer to drain as he'll rarely use his powers

if he talks for too much time he'll glitch for an instant and forget everything he was saying. that is one of the reason he doesn't enjoy talking so much

when he's in the doodle sphere he often has momentary traumatic hallucinations, so he tries to leave that place as quickly as possible

these previously mentioned hallucinations also happen in panic situations or as a sign that the ingested paints are no longer effective

okie dokie i think that's all for now<3 if anything comes to my mind later or anytime i'll try to post it or smth! hope you like it🫶

ink sans by @/comyet

#error sans #ink sans #undertale au #what if #undertale multiverse #writing ideas #star sanses #cross sans #fresh sans

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dykedvonte · 2 days ago

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I think a big misunderstanding is the power people give Curly to actually change things about the way the pony express operates or could’ve done things on the Tulpar.

We are talking about a company that docks pay for bad synergy despite mandated psych evals that should tell which staff members would work well together, only allots for 5 hours of sleep despite having literally no other tasks to truly do and locks all resources behind the access of one person. The last one is likely to manage resources and make it easier to justify collective punishment and blaming one person for it; someone needs something in “excess” or the captain gives in? It’s all on them your pay is docked. Instant resentment.

It’s insidious how the company works, it’s by design to distract you from coming after them, to force tensions to line their own pockets. With all the restrictions and forced interactions, altercations are bound to happen. 5 hours of sleep a day, limited sources of entertainment, no real tasks… the monotony alone would cause bad cabin fever, mix that with just only one absolute mediator and you get the exact environment that allows shit like in the game to happen.

The idea he could just complain and try to throw his weight around to get them to dig into their pocket for the crews comfort is laughable and misses the predatory and dehumanizing aspect of capitalism the Pony Express represents. Curly was and is still just another asset to them. Being a top show pony doesn’t mean he’s anywhere close to the actual top. He is the top of the working ladder, not whoever’s in corporate, he wouldn’t even be on the bottom step unlike what Jimmy perceives. The resounding recommendations he would get are almost mocking as they throw him out like nothing just like the rest. Being a shitty fucking company, how much do you bet they’d mean anything anyways, especially since he wanted to leave the field all together.

He made a fuss and they didn’t listen, he says he should’ve done more but you can tell he knows it wouldn’t have changed anything. Jobs like this are willing to make a sacrifice if it means even a penny more. Curly makes a bigger fuss they likely would’ve just found an “unrelated” reason to fire him, hired a more pliable guy or, terrifyingly, promoted Jimmy. The company was failing, going to shut down whether anything happened on the ship or not. But knowing that they were shutting down and that everyone, including him, would be out of a job with this being their last paycheck, he had to factor in not destroying the last bit of their financial stabilities combined with every other issue on the vessel and his own. He gets another cryopod or locks and then he has to break to them that they are not only fired but there will be substantial cuts to their paychecks due to the “upgrades” (things that already should’ve been in place on their part) on top of anything else that could be docked along the way.

You can blame him for saying it so early into the trip but then again, if he mentioned it later who’s to say it wouldn’t have been worse? On the capitalism side alone how would people in a galaxy away from home, out of a job and already stir crazy react? Don’t get me started on how Jimmy would have reacted if he realized he only had two days left to fix what would be a very hard to miss “problem” in his head…

I can’t even consider explaining this as devils advocate because it’s just facts of the world we and they live in and factors that heavily affected the situation. People are just so quick to make claims on the ease of the choices when P.E literally makes it hard to choose to do anything but suck it up.

#this is also like a sort of point that while I wanted Curly to do more for Anya I realized he would have to jeaporsiE the crews safety in #some way like if they needed the cryopods one person would be left without one and like it would be curly he’d offer but don’t think any of #them would be happy or feel okay with letting him die over a rapist? he kills Jimmy and now he has to stand trial and be arrested for murder #because it’s not self defense or manslaughter like they could obviously lie but he wouldn’t let them do that in case of a sort of black box #or guilt on their mind specifically with Daisuke who would likely be kept out of the loop not to mention it’s a dead body with a limited #likely recycled air supply so again he’s getting tried for murder and they are down a cryopod #not to mentions again the fact that you need a copilot like I know like aviation law and shit is crazy and like not common knowledge #but you bed a second set of eyes or someone to trade off with so you don’t loose ur concentration or doze and crash #like they don’t just sit their and do nothing like Jimmy probably did some of the time cause Curly likely didn’t want to make him #cause like pissed off and spiteful Jimmy manning the controls even if just helping is not something he wants to deal with and risk their #lives but i digress I genuinely think the biggest flaw of Curly’s in the situation is being a man who could not handle or understand the #emotional gravity of what Anya experienced especially at the hands of someone who he was also #emotonal/mentally mistreated by and wanted to so badly to believe was his friend and improving #like he did not offer her enough or the proper emotional/physical security he could’ve as a captain nor friend but in that it goes right #back to the systems at play that make it so he isn’t meant or supposed to understand so it can’t be perpetuated and blah blah blah how many #times do I have to explain systematic oppression to certain groups in this fandom and it isn’t cut n dry of good guys bad guys and victims #as outliers of the tow categories l #mouthwashing #captain curly #mouthwashing game #curly mouthwashing #the pony express #The Tulpar

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animeshotsh · 2 days ago

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In every universe? | JayVik x Kid!Reader

Notes: ANGST - Timeline is messy as hell but i dont care - Fake with me that Jayce and Viktor finds Kid!reader earlier in terms on time - ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE - Character death - Grammar mistakes - S2 SPOILERS -

Alternative universe of this series

"But why do you have to stay mom?" A young voice asked Jayce who was mumbling while writing.

"Mom's has to work" Viktor softly said petting the youngest hair seeing as Jayce was too focus on the equations to even respond back.

"But, the lab at the Academy is bigger" You said again trying to understand why your dear parents have been working at home more and more.

"This is a sectet project Spark" Jayce responded turning to look at you, a soft tired smile on his face "And you must not tell anyone about it"

"Not even Heimerdinger ?"

"Specially not him" Jayce nodded to himself then to you and Viktor "I will pick you up from school and we can get some ice cream, deal?"

"Yes!!" You responded way too happy

"Alright, we must go if we dont want to be late, I have lectures to give" Viktor reminded both of you, passing you your bag and giving Jayce a kiss, "See you later"

"See you two later"

"Bye mom!!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The old beautiful house and lab was now a memory, a horrible explosion replaced it.

Two bodies were found, one from a girl from the old undercity and the other one was Jayce's body.

From that event the division between the cities started to shatter and a new one was born. The place was left untouched, like a memorial of the event that caused the union.

But that for Viktor and you was never enogught.

That day you stayed back at school, Jayce had no showed up so no one could get you. It was almost night time when Skyler did appear with a sour look, you were confused but went with her.

You ended more confused when she took you back to the Academy, a tired Heimerdinger went to you rubbing circles on your back.

Then you saw your dad, Viktor was sitting in front of a cold tea, his hands covering his face. When he hear the footsteps he looked up to see you.

His look, his golden eyes were reddish now, it was all you needed to understand that something terrible had happened.

He got you in a warm and almost possesive embrace, more cries could be hear from him as he hugged you and said multiple times how sorry he was.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Its that day again, right?" Powder asked you giving you a drink as you nodded

"Yeah...Dad is, well he is still working and going but this day just makes it all more difficult"

Powder nodded knowing it was the same for her and the rest.

"You know, it never leaves" She started, repeating what Vander had said all these years back "You just learn to live with it"

~~~~~~~~~

The visit to Jayce's gravestone never got easier, Viktor swear he path got longer each time and his leg pulled him back more and more.

"Dad?"

Your voice broke his toughts, obscure ideas once more, what if in another universe the three of you got to live? See the city change together? Make it a better place?

He knew he was playing with dangerous forces but....but he was sure he was close, close to open a gate to a different place, one where Jayce was still alive and with him, and you were with them, growing and being brillant.

"Im coming Spark" Viktor softly called, the vision of Jayce's gravestone was a reminder that no, not in this universe.

In this universe Jayce Talis was dead, and he was going crazy without him.

#arcane x you #arcane x reader #arcane x y/n #jayce x viktor #jayvik #jayce x reader #viktor x reader

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fromchaostocosmos · 12 hours ago

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Dublin resident Justine Zapin’s two sons, ages 8 and 10, arrived at their public elementary school earlier this month to find Irish lawmaker Chris Andrews outside handing out “Free Palestine” bracelets to pupils. The bracelets caused discomfort for the brothers and some of their Israeli classmates. When they asked a third classmate if he would be willing to remove his, he became upset and reported them to the teacher. The 8-year-old later said he “felt like he got in trouble” with his teacher for expressing his unease, while his older sibling faced peers questioning his objection with remarks like, “But Israel started the war,” and “Israel’s killing babies.” After the Hamas-led massacre on October 7, 2023, a classroom discussion implied that “the Jews deserved this,” Zapin said, with objections receiving minimal response from school officials.

More recently, the school — part of the Educate Together network, which, according to its website promotes equality-based and inclusive education — dismissed a pupil’s Nazi salute as “boys being boys.”

In one example highlighted in the report, a religious studies textbook cited Islam as being “in favor of peace and against violence,” while Judaism “believes violence and war are sometimes necessary to promote justice.” The New Testament parable of the “Good Samaritan” is illustrated with an image of a boy wearing a Palestinian scarf protesting against Israel. A history textbook refers to Auschwitz — the Nazi concentration camp in Poland where over 1 million Jews were murdered — as a “prisoner of war camp.” In a children’s textbook retelling the story of Jesus, a comic strip contains the line, “Some people did not like Jesus,” with disapproving figures depicted in distinctly Jewish attire, including tallits and kippahs. In another instance, Jesus is described as having lived in “Palestine.”

The Jewish Representative Council of Ireland, the main body of representation for the Irish Jewish community, told the London-based Jewish Chronicle that young Jews felt “under siege” in the classroom, forcing a number of them to change schools due to antisemitism. JRCI chair Maurice Cohen said his efforts to discuss concerns with Irish Education Minister Norma Foley were repeatedly denied. Her department told the newspaper, “There is no evidence of antisemitism being taught in Irish schools.”

#antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #ireland #irish antisemitism #european antisemitism #jumblr

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space-blue · 2 days ago

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Fixing Vander and Silco's story (a bit)

Using canon events! Sadly we can't actually fix it, but I hope this makes it a little better. I make my own edit proposal at the end that changes the bar scene to include Felicia without issues.

They meet in the mines, and meet Felicia and her partner there too. They end up together somehow (I think we can put the brotherly allegations to rest now, eh?) and one of them (or both) inherit/buy a bar.

Although Vander is the barman, there is no indication Silco doesn't own or co-own the place. After all he comes to take it eventually as his own, and he's still not bartending. That's just not his gig.

It's implied that Vander and Silco made it, as in, got away from the mines, while Felicia clearly didn't, as she comes home to both her daughters with mining gear and gloves.

So despite Vander and Silco building the Lanes together, the mines aren't closed, and the work "isn't done".

Felicia says they've done it, and Vander is happy to celebrate their success. Meanwhile, Silco has his "NoZ" Nation of Zaun book in which he's scribbling, still planning.

Vander's first memory that Viktor sees even has Silco holding that book.

Later, in season 1 episode 3, we see that Vander tells Silco that he had Vander's respect, the Lanes' respect, but it "was never enough".

There's also this fakeout moment in the memory at the bar, where Vander says they're done, and Silco replies with "You're gravely mistaken". And I thought he was going to go all zealous and say "We'll only be done when we have the Nation of Zaun", but no, he claims he's Bozo 1.

And imo, he is probably right. He calls out Vander in act 1 saying "I trusted you and you betrayed me", and Vander does not contest this. It makes the most in character sense as well that Silco is the brains of the operation while Vander is the brawn.

And we can conclude that Silco's goals were always "bigger" and that the Lanes were indeed not enough.

Years pass, during which we can only assume Silco keeps building his Nation of Zaun and Vander happily bartends and manages the Lanes with Silco. Felicia keeps working the mines and raises Vi, then Powder.

Vi is at least 11, if not more, by the time she's on the bridge. This is just consistent with her model, but also to make her 18+ by the time of act 2.

It's a long ass time for Vander and Silco to be running a bar and the Lanes together. Even assuming Vi is more 8 or 9yo, Vander and Silco spend all that time being together.

Sadly, their models aren't aged very well.

We are also forced here to make some unfortunate assumptions.

It's not a problem, IMO, for Silco to know Felicia and be close to her. It's a problem for him to not be close to Vi and Powder too. Close enough to recognise them at least.

It's easy to say, "Well, Felicia went back to the mines and raised her kids and wasn't super involved with Vander and Silco, who lived much higher up in their bar." Adult friendships and all that.

IT MAKES SENSE, but then it makes zero sense that Vander would murder his life's partner, a man he's been with 10 years at MINIMUM (fuck knows how long they were together while in the mines), over the death of a friend in a revolt they allegedly BOTH participated in.

The memories also imply that Silco is responsible somehow, for throwing a molotov. And yet the molotov doesn't kill the enforcer.

But Vander is shown in the opening of Act 1 season 1 pummeling one to death himself, long after the rest of the revolt has died down. That enforcer wasn't getting back up lol

So whatever we pick, because the writers made Felicia and Silco close, they create a plot hole either way.

Either Vander is whacko and murders his husband over a dead friend at a revolt he set up (since he repeatedly apologises for what he did, and claims he "lost his head after she died" and had that guilt on his hands too)

Or Silco and Vi and Powder spend ALL of season 1 acting like they don't know each other at all. Then Silco takes in Powder and somehow never comments on the fact he was friends with her mom.

Everything being triggered by Felicia's death also means that Vander's emotional thematic moment dropping the gauntlets after seeing what his violence led to is then followed up by a horrible attempted murder on the love of his life, which is... you know. Bad writing.

So I propose that they indeed drift apart. Silco knows of Felicia's kids, and they hangout a bit, but they aren't that close. She's busy mining and being a mom, and Silco is busy making the safe Zaun he promised to deliver.

The creation of that Zaun leads them to act out revolts and uprisings. Vander is happy to follow. He's angry, like he tells Vi. And this manifests in violence. Silco points his violence. It's how they create the Lanes and the moniker of Hound of the Underground. A hound usually has a master, after all.

Vander is Silco's hound, and I think, in Vander's mind this absolves him of some of the consequences of his actions.

So when his friend dies on the Bridge, even if they haven't been that close in a while, well, it's easy to put the blame on Silco.

Since we're following the new canon timeline... we'll have to have him go back with the girls, ready to turn a new leaf.

I think the best way here is to have him either dropping them at an orphanage, or back at their home (trusting Vi to look after Powder for a while) or with friends.

That way, Vi and Powder aren't immediately in Silco's legs back at the drop.

Then Vander and Silco take part in the "clean up" at the bridge. They go get bodies, and since they have no real estate in the fissures, they commit them to the sea (we have canon monsters in there, so I'm sure it all gets gobbled up).

That way, we explain why Vander is weirdly shaved, and why Silco and him are at in the Pilt: they just commited the bodies of the fallen to the waters.

There may have been many others, but Silco and Vander stay there, in the shallows, as they talk.

Vander is done. He doesn't want more of this. He thinks Silco went too far with pushing this one to the bridge. Piltover got defensive and they lost too many people.

Silco doesn't get it. Where he goes, so does Vander, but Vander is his own man, he decided to come too, and he killed enforcers too. Felicia's death is tragic, but as he later will tell Renni about the death of her son: at least she died fighting for the cause, and not some petty infighting, or worse, an accident at the shitty mines.

Vander, the Hound, is not only mad with grief, he refuses to carry the blame of his own actions. It's a character flaw and that's fine! The angry man channels that anger with violence, the only way he knows how.

Silco is probably shocked, and may not say the right things to calm Vander down.

Silco is under the assumption that Vander BELIEVES IN HIS DREAM. That he's a true believer of the Nation of Zaun, like Sevika turns out to be. A true believer would understand sacrifice. A true believer would understand too, that stopping now, after Felicia's death, would make THAT VERY DEATH POINTLESS.

So maybe he screams at Vander! What do you MEAN abandoning the fight? What do you mean, being content with the Lanes? How dare you? You'd make her sacrifice meaningless! You'd make Felicia die a pointless death!

And Vander would bellow that it's over. No more death. No more bloodshed. He rescued her kids from that bridge, and they don't deserve to die too, they don't deserve to see more death.

And Silco screams back that it's their job to create Zaun so these children won't have to see more death. Vander is just delaying the struggle.

And then, perhaps, Silco may even mock him. Say that Vander can't change like that. That he's not that sort of person, to just hang up his gauntlets and go peaceful. That Felicia's blood is on his hands too, and that the only way out is through more blood, more sacrifice.

It would be a horrible point to make, if then Vander truly loses it. Silco runs, and Vander's hound comes out, just grabbing Silco and trying to drown him.

It would be poetic, because then Vander goes home in shame. Gets his arm patched up, hides the scar under a brace, collects the kids and tries to pretend like HE CAN BE THAT MAN. Even though he surrendered his gauntlets and metaphorical violence, and tries to lean into the bartender chill persona, there's what he did to Silco.

And later he'll tell Vander "I'll show you what you really are". Because Silco knows that Vander's promises of being a peaceful good dad are flimsy at best.

Anyway, Vander goes home, and eventually the impact of what he's done really hits him. He's single now, and with kids, and the Lanes to run, and nobody knows where Silco is.

Vander slowly realises Silco was right about one thing. Just because Vander followed, doesn't mean he wasn't behind that event on the bridge. Becoming the solo leader of the Lanes has to have hammered that home for him. Suddenly so much responsibility thrust on him.

So Felicia's death was on him too, and his actions against Silco are the proof that he is indeed the sort of man Silco said he was. At any rate, surrendering violence as his first reaction to any trigger will take a lot of work.

He goes to their old hideout and leaves a letter for Silco.

In the happy AU, Silco finds it, and returns to Vander BEFORE ever meeting Singed. There is no glowing eye, no shimmer, and no cannery.

In our AU, Silco never finds the letter. He finds Singed instead. Starts helping him develop shimmer.

I've been thinking that since the goal of shimmer is a form of "keeping alive" and also "bringing back to life", then it's possible that Silco's glowing eye is a byproduct of shimmer experimentation.

And that the only way to keep it alive and function is more shimmer injections. It would otherwise be grey and dead like in the Nice AU.

So Singed is also a factor here. He gives our Silco a real way to deal scary violence to Piltover. And this changes our Silco. He's more radicalised, and more opposed to Vander, having discovered that Vander works with Grayson to keep Zaun under Piltover's boot (basically making sure the boot stays, but doesn't press down too hard).

Vander is, as always, the enforcer of the status quo.

And though this works for them timeline wise, it sadly doesn't change the fact that Silco should know who Vander's kids are.

Vi and Jinx can be excused for not recognising him, what with him being one of their mom's adult friends, and scarred. But Silco doesn't have that luxury. His great friend Felicia had two very distinctive kids, ONE OF WHICH VANDER FUCKING NAMED! And her death triggered his husband so badly he tried to kill Silco over it. If anything, Silco would be hyper-aware of Felicia's kids.

And no amount of alternate fix-its changes that. It's permanent damage to season 1's Silco.

I feel like we can fix Vander's side of things by inventing an entire scene at the Pilt as I did above, but we can't fix 10 years of knowing your friend's kids and then a lifetime of acting like you don't know them.

I think it also cheapens the found family aspect of both Vander and Silco's adoption. You're left to wonder if they took in the girls only because they were friends with the mom.

Silco's adoption of Jinx and co-dependence with her was great because it spoke of the similar shape of their traumas, and how unexpected their bond seemed.

But now it's redolent of friendly obligation. And lies.

How would I fix it by keeping Felicia in the picture?

I would fully remove Felicia's one-on-one with the boys. That night at the bar? It's a party. Young Sevika is here too!

Felicia and many others are there, all congratulating Vander and Silco over the creation of the Lanes. Eventually Silco tires of the social niceties and goes to write in his notebook at the bar. Or maybe there's a montage of the night as the crowds thin.

In the end, Silco is writing, and Vander is still socialising. He talks to 3 people--Felicia, her husband, and a random person. They thank him for all his work. They've done it! And the conditions in the mines are so much better now thanks to XYZ!

Vander is beaming, he's just so pleased. It's clear for him this is the end goal. Felicia asks him, pointing to Silco, if he's okay.

Vander laughs, says Silco is fine, but he's already got his head back in the clouds. You see, Silco doesn't just want the Lanes, he dreams of a free Nation of Zaun.

The other 2 laugh, but Felicia sobers up. She rubs her belly, thoughtful. Then she says "Sounds like a dream worth fighting for."

I don't think she even needs to say anything about being pregnant, but she could go on with something like "I'm expecting. A girl, I think. I know. And I would love if she could grow in a safe city. I'm so scared she'll have to live the way I did, growing up.'

And Vander smiles sadly and tells her, 'We've gotten this far, and we're not going back. We'll make Zaun safe for your kiddo, I promise you that.'

And that's it.

Vander knows OF Felicia. She is a community member. He knows her enough, maybe from Lanes meetings, that eventually he can recognise her children. But they're not friends, and SILCO definitely isn't friends.

And the disagreement after the bridge is fully about where to go from then on, and Vander deciding he wants to run the Lanes and keep them safe, that what they have now is good enough, while Silco wants "more".

That disagreement can turn nasty, and the fact Vander tried to drown Silco becomes a statement about how violent and temperamental he is as "The Hound of the Underground". Something he'll regret soon enough and spend the next few years working hard to try and change.

What do you think?