#these were all warm ups but uhhhhh

[nickkkdoesstuff]

I'm doing a single father au on Twitter lmao

Here's some sketches

[star-sim]

show me how ☆ jake sim

☆ non-idol! jake x fem! reader ☆ summary: jake didn't think his casual crush on you, his hot coworker at the local ice cream parlor, would flourish into anything. but one day, after a power outage during a shift, the two of you are forced to huddle up together to keep warm, opening up many, many, many doors into your relationship. ice cream was sweet and soft. and despite your appearance, so were you. ☆ genre: coworkers to lovers, fluff, a lot of bickering, alternative! reader, jake is kind of a loser, rock references, nonchalant crushes, summer romance, baddie reader, JAKE IS JUST REALLY DOWN BAD ☆ warning(s)? slightly suggestive? just tbh its js jake being really attracted to you LOL ☆ word count: 12.3k ☆ joining @bywons 1k event for "show me how" by men i trust. i had a little bit of a different approach to crushes this time. this is extremely late im so sorry enjoy!

"Can I get uhhhhh…"

Jake deadpanned for the 15th time in the past hour.

He was trying to be kind, to be understanding, to be loving in all ways possible… He really was.

But was it that difficult to order a mint chocolate cone with rainbow sprinkles?!

Jake watched as the snotty child before him picked his nose, his eyes glazing over the menu. It’s been ten minutes and this kid was taking too long to order. For fuck’s sake, he was holding up the line!

For his summer job, Jake started working at the ice cream parlor near the pier. He thought it was a good idea, since the pay was above minimum wage and he liked ice cream.

Wrong!

It was horrible!

From rude customers to his asshole of a boss to his incompetent coworkers, Jake dreaded coming into work everyday.

It was another summer afternoon, where Jake slaved away for his corporate overlords. Summer was only kicking off, so the June gloom stuck like glue. This morning, there were already storm warnings, so imagine Jake's surprise when a whole bunch of people went to the beach today and the ice cream parlor next to it.

"Please take your time," Jake said with a tight-lipped smile. Translation: I’ve given you enough time, kid. Hurry up and order or I’ll actually snap.

The kid blinked at Jake, before picking his nose. "Can I get uhhhh…"

Jake winced, but forced a smile with a nod. "Would you like any recommendations?"

Translation: You better tip me, you little punk.

By now, he could see the angry mothers and kids at the back of the line, quietly complaining about the hold-up. All Jake could do was smile apologetically, hanging his head in embarrassment.

And to Jake's horror, as the snotty little kid was still deciding on what he wanted to order, Jake could hear the back door creaking open, followed by a "Bye, Jake!" before it slammed.

Did Jake ever say that he hated his coworkers?

Today wasn't even Jake's shift, but he had to cover three shifts, because his other coworkers couldn't give a damn. They loved to leave early because they knew that Jake would work his ass off either way. So here he was, now forced to run an entire ice cream parlor with already angry customers all by himself!

"Actually, I don't want anything," the snotty kid blinked at Jake. "Bye, mister."

With that, the kid left, oblivious to Jake's gawking face.

You've got to be kidding me.

If it weren't for the fact that his name tag had his name printed in big, thick letters and that there was already a line of impatient customers, Jake might have yelled.

As he put on his customer-service voice for the next customer in line, Jake could hear the back door creak open again if he listened past the generic pop music playing in the background.

And the moment that he heard a familiar voice, Jake nearly ascended into the sky.

"Jake, I'm here!"

There was only one part of working at this dinky little ice cream parlor that Jake liked.

And it was you.

His savior, you.

You were the only coworker that actually did your work. In fact, you went above and beyond. The only shifts that seemed to be productive on all ends were when it was you and Jake.

If he could recall correctly, today wasn't your scheduled shift either. You were probably covering someone's shift like him, too.

And plus, you were cute.

Really cute.

Jake never really thought he had a "type" when it came to girls. In fact, Jake couldn't even remember the last time he had a crush. But the moment he saw your smudged eyeliner, constant annoyed look, the multiple tassel and charm bracelets on your wrists, and your black nail polish, he knew that you were his type.

You looked like you could probably scare a baby with a single look. Honestly, you could make Jake piss himself with a single look, too. And for some reason, he liked it. A lot. Which was weird.

Within seconds of just arriving, you were already throwing on your apron, fixing up your work uniform before appearing at the counter, ready to do your fucking job.

Jake tried his best to focus on the group of middle schoolers who giggled over every word as they ordered their ice cream, but even from behind him, he could hear you cleaning one of the scoopers and getting the keys for the second cash register. Even though all you were doing was your job, Jake couldn't help but straighten up his posture and run a hand through his hair as you took the register beside him. Just in case you spared him a glance, he had to look his best.

"Hi, what can I get you?" you said chirpily, putting on your best customer-service voice, something that Jake could tell was not your forte. Although he didn't know you seriously, he's had conversations in passing with you, whether it be on slow days, during breaks, or as the two of you closed up the parlor together. You never sounded as enthusiastic as you did now, as you happily helped an old lady pick her order.

You were cool like that.

Actually, really cool.

Jake couldn't think of anyone cooler than you.

And you were pretty, and hardworking, and honest, and responsible, and cooperative, and a little bit scary, but that was hot. You were also very kind to customers, and even though Jake could see your lips— which were nice, by the way— twitch, he could tell that you were trying your best, which was good, and—

"Um, sir, can I order now?"

Jake snapped out of his daze, tearing his eyes away from you.

"R-Right!"

Completely missing the way you rolled your eyes at him, though without a little chuckle.

It wasn't always easy being the only competent worker at the parlor. While it meant you got paid more for covering so many shifts, you couldn't say it was fun working the late shifts.

The parlor closed at 11PM on weekdays, so here you were, working late into the night. 

You yawned as you rang up the last customer of the night, using all of your last bits of strength to muster a smile, before saying, "Have a good night!"

As the door slammed shut, the building winds outside providing more than enough force to ring through the entire parlor, you let out a sigh.

"They're gone, Jake," you called.

From inside the break room, you could hear Jake groan something muffled but definitely, "Finally."

Jake Sim was the only coworker you could rely on. He was the only person your age, both of you were freshly graduated highschoolers working to prepare for college experiences. Despite his party-boy look, he was surprisingly diligent. You definitely noticed how he ended up picking up another person's shift, just like you. Unlike everyone else, he actually gave a damn, which you could appreciate.

Tonight was no different from any other.

It was just Jake and you, working the closing shift together.

The moment you entered the break room, you let out an exasperated sigh, leaning on the door frame. Jake, too, was slumped over on the table, his face buried in his arms.

Your shitty coworkers always tried to convince you that you should be happy to work extra shifts: extra pay, more work experience, have a good rep with the boss.

But what they didn't mention was how absolutely draining it was to work 7 hours straight in a short-staffed busy ice cream parlor.

"Why were there so many people?" Jake groaned, shoving his face deeper into his arms. If you weren't exhausted out of your mind, you would've thought the scene before you was a funny sight. Jake, in his silly white uniform designed to look like that of a sailor's and crooked worker hat, practically melting on the break room table.

"And why were there only two of us?" you added, letting your eyelids fall shut as you leaned against the door frame.

Though, you would say, you did like working for one extra reason: Jake Sim himself.

He was as cute as a button, and pretty easy to talk to.

Jake lifted his head, quickly checking his phone.

"No seriously," he rested his face on his fist. "It was cold and dreary all day— and wasn't there a storm warning?— Why would anyone want to get ice cream on a day like this?"

You shrugged. "Beats me."

The two of you stayed in the break room in silence for a few more moments, catching your breaths after a long day. "Let's get outta here, Jake."

Here was your favorite part of the work day: closing up. Not just because it meant that you got to leave, but you could do whatever you wanted.

Jake locked up the front door and flipped the sign, while you locked up front displays and cash registers. The two of you tidied up the breakroom (which was empty because your slobs of coworkers weren't here), before pulling out the mops and cleaning up the floor.

This was the fun part.

"Hey!" Jake cried as you splashed water onto the floor, your wet mop sludging up the water as it moved against the checkered floor. Looks like some of the water got onto his pants. "What was that for?"

You shrugged, with a sly grin. "No reason in particular— Hey!"

Jake shook off the excess water on his mop, pointed directly at you, the water droplets spraying all over your shirt.

"See?" he pointed to the wet drops on your shirt. "We're even now."

You rolled your eyes, but you knew he was being playful.

It was fun now because this was the time that you could play whatever music you wanted. Your manager always insisted that you'd play generic pop music during store hours, but now that it was closed, you could play any music you wanted. And it was great, because you and Jake had the same music taste.

"Really?" you whipped your head over to Jake as he passed your phone, which controlled the sound system, back to you. "Bon Jovi?"

You winced as loud vocals, strong guitar riffs, and a drum louder than you could imagine blasted through the speakers.

"Bon Jovi is good!" Jake shouted all the way from the freezers.

Maybe your taste was just a little bit different.

Jake was a cool guy. He really was. Very personable and someone that you could have fun with, even if you weren't that close to him. But sometimes his music choices were too much.

"You have no reason to be blasting hard rock at 11PM," you murmured.

"I heard that!"

You stifled a chuckle.

As you cleaned the floors, you nodded your head to the music. You could hear humming along wherever he was. It was all quiet, only the sound of mops, the freezers' buzzing, and your queued music playing in the background. It was small moments like his that made you want to keep working (other than the pay).

And plus, the parlor was very close to the beach.

At times like this, you could hear seagulls squawking overhead, with waves crashing against the shoreline.

Which... now that you thought about it...

Why couldn't you hear any of that?

Usually, even if Jake was blasting the hardest rock, you could still hear the sounds of the sea.

But now, all you heard was wind.

You glanced out the window.

Palm trees blew against the night sky. Wind whirled, creating a howling sound.

And before you could think anything of it, you heard two things: the back door slamming, and the sound of electricity buzzing.

One moment you could see everything, and the next moment it was completely dark.

Your blood ran cold.

The music stopped. The buzzing of the freezers stopped, too. It was completely dark, so dark that you couldn't even see your own hands, save for the single stream of moonlight leaking through the front windows.

You would consider yourself a calm person, you really would.

But in that moment, you felt panic set in.

Because here you were, working a late shift in a tiny little ice cream parlor in the middle of the beach, with no one but your teenage coworker. And now all the power went out.

And because you were afraid of the dark.

The mop in your hand dropped, clunking! against the checkered flooring.

Your heart pounded, so loud that you could hear it in your ears. You could feel it jumping out of your chest.

"J-Jake?" you called out.

No response.

Your mind did wonders to scare you, and now it was working over time.

What happened to Jake? Did he disappear with the lights too? You dug your teeth into your bottom lip.

Were you all alone in the dark? Just you and this dark abyss, a dark abyss so suffocating yet so cold that you couldn't even tell if you were standing or curled up. By this time, your legs were feeling weak, so you wouldn't be surprised if you were on the floor, your knees to your chest.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

The howling of the wind sent chills down your spine. Realistically, nothing could get you. You were just at work, like always, but it was just dark. But you felt like something would jump out at you, something scary and from your worst nightmares. It would get you, maybe hurt you. Were you going to die? Why did you feel so alone? What happened to everyone? What happened to Jake—

"[Name]?"

At the sound of a familiar voice, your eyes shot open.

But instead of being met with a pure, unknown darkness, you were met with a tall figure before you, completely shrouded in darkness, save for the stream of yellow light coming to illuminate its face.

Terrifying.

You let out a shriek as you jumped back.

What the hell was that? Was that what got Jake?—

It took a step forward, and before you could scream again—

"[Name]!" it was Jake's voice. He reached out for you, his hand resting on your shoulder. "It's me, Jake!"

You heard a bit of clicking, and it was then that you realized that the scary figure that you saw was just Jake with a flashlight. You relaxed.

"You okay?" Jake crouched down to your curled up figure, the yellow light of the flashlight glimmering against the floor. Although your eyes had slightly adjusted to the darkness, you could see your hands now. "I think the power went out."

You nodded slowly, still with your knees against your chest. Your heart was still pounding in your chest. You felt Jake's hand reach out for yours, interlocking fingers before giving it a squeeze.

Boom!

You jumped away from Jake, a small "eep!" escaping your lips.

Jake flinched, pointing the flashlight at the front windows.

"Thunder," he muttered under his breath. Although all the streetlights and signs had shut down too, he could see the lightning as it struck in the night sky.

He glanced at your startled form.

"Damnit," he cursed under his breath. "There was a storm warning earlier."

You hid your face in your palms.

This was everything that you didn't want to happen.

It was completely dark, and here you were practically trapped inside. It was impossible to get home, because the roads were all dark, and there was probably an oncoming storm, too. It was cold, and it was just you and your coworker. You just wanted to go home!

Although he couldn't see your face, Jake could sense your uneasiness. 

"C'mon," he tugged at your hand. "Let's go to the back."

Although Jake bumped into a few tables and counters on the way to the break room, he didn't mind. After all, there was you, who was clearly startled. He'd rather get a bruise on his hip than you.

He could hear your breath hitching, small whimpers of fear tumbling out as he led you through the dark abyss. Jake had to admit, it was much scarier when it was completely dark than when it wasn't.

The breakroom wasn't much better than in the middle of the floor, but at least there were chairs. Not that it mattered.

You and Jake decided to sit under the break table, shoulder to shoulder with the flashlight between you.

It was silent. You couldn't see Jake, but the feeling of him next to you relieved only some of your anxiety.

The flashlight only illuminated enough for you to see a few feet around you. Otherwise, everything else was a dark, bottomless void.

You knew it was illogical and practically impossible for something else to be lurking. But as minutes passed in silence, the thought of something—or someone— prowling in the dark and ready to jump out at you gnawed at you more and more. Goosebumps rose along your arms, the hair on your neck standing.

"I'm scared, Jake," you whispered, your voice shaky. "I'm so scared."

Thunder boomed in the air, lightning crackled, while heavy rain began to shower down. You jumped at the sound, your hands immediately shooting to grab Jake's arm and leaning into his touch. You squeezed your eyes shut, a scared squeak escaping your lips.

"I'm scared!" you squealed.

Jake's brows furrowed, throwing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer to him.

"Hey," he said into your ear, watching as you curled up against him, clutching his arm tight. "Hey, I got you."

Your hold on him only tightened as another round of thunder boomed through the night. "Open your eyes, [Name]. It's okay."

You shook your head profusely, your face pressed into his shoulder.

"Nothing's gonna get ya," he whispered, slowly rubbing circles on your back. "You're okay."

You shook your head again.

"It's so dark," you peeped. "Too dark."

"It's okay," Jake's voice was soft, soft as a cloud as he comforted you. "I'm here. I got you."

You nodded into his shoulder, but you kept your face pressed against it, not letting up.

Jake watched you, both with a soft heart and with wide eyes.

He wouldn't say he knew you too well. Even so, he'd spent a lot of time with you this summer so far, he had a few good memories with you. You were always so... cool.

Always on-task, always ready to fight a rude customer, always ready to speak up if you thought something was wrong.

It was weird. Seeing someone that Jake had always seen as a pillar of support one way or another completely drop that image of strength was… something that he never expected.

Here you were, so vulnerable in his arms.

Jake would have never expected you to be afraid of the dark, let alone some thunder, but he didn't mind. Even with your eyes closed, and even with his arms wrapped around you, you still jolted at each crackle in the sky.

If only he could do something to help you...

Jake let out an 'ah' sound.

He leaned into your ear, whispering right against the shell of your ear, "I'll be right back."

You let out another squeak as you felt Jake slipping away from you, yet he didn't take the flashlight with him.

"J-Jake—!"

"I'm still here," he said, yet you heard as he took a few steps. He was rummaging through his bag. He tried his best to feel for what he was looking for: a small, square case. "I'm with you, don't worry."

And as quick as he left your side he was back. Jake slithered his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. Your eyes widened a fraction as Jake fished for his phone from his back pocket.

"What were you—" you furrowed your brows— "Why’d you get up?"

You could feel Jake turn his head to look at you, and you could hear him grin.

"To get this." In his palm, Jake revealed a small, square case. His earbuds.

You blinked. "W-Why?"

"Don't worry about it." You watched confused as Jake took his earbuds out, jabbing it into the headphone port of his phone. Then, he handed you both of the ears.

"For you," he said simply.

As you were about to object, lightning striked again in the sky, yet another squeal coming from you.

You took his earbuds, jamming them into your ear.

Jake pressed the first song in his playlist.

And if you weren't scared out of your mind right now, you would have yelled at him.

Because really?

Bon Jovi?

At a time like this?

The music was loud enough that you could be distracted, but quiet enough that you could still hear Jake's voice. And when Jake noticed that you were relaxed enough, he opened his mouth.

"I'm surprised you didn't want to rip out my earbuds the moment you heard Bon Jovi," he said.

You elbowed him, yet you were still clinging onto him for dear life.

"Read the room, man," you muttered. "I'm scared shitless."

Jake laughed, and you rolled your eyes again. "This is the only time that I'll willingly listen to Bon Jovi."

"Hey!" Jake cried. "Bon Jovi is a good band."

You shot him a look. "Play some Pink Floyd, something."

You cursed Jake. Of course he'd let you listen to his music, because he got to control it!

"Nah," Jake said. "Bon Jovi is perfect for rainy nights."

You scoffed. "In what world?"

You could hear him grin again. "In my world."

What a loser.

You could see his phone screen light up, probably texts from his parents, but he ignored it. Jake’s phone was on the floor on the other side of him, the side that you were not on.

“Are you sure you won’t play Pink Floyd?” you asked slowly.

“Nope.”

Extreme times call for extreme measures.

Your arm reached across Jake’s lap, jerking to take his phone.

“Hey!” Jake yelped, squirming away from you in a way that blocked your hand from reaching his phone. “What the hell are you—“

“I’m changing the song!”

The two of you struggled like that for a few more moments, and then the next thing you knew you were on Jake’s lap, your arms pinned above your head.

“Let go of me!” you writhed, the earbuds in your eyes still blasting the hardest rock you’ve ever heard. Although you managed to take Jake’s phone, there wasn’t much you could do if he was pinning your hands above you.

“Then give me my phone back,” Jake ignored your struggling.

“Then change the song!”

“No!”

You huffed, continuing your attempt to wriggle out of Jake’s hold, but alas, he was stronger than you. “How are you so strong—“

Boom! Crackle! Thunder and lightning struck.

“Eep!” Immediately, you collapsed onto Jake’s chest, pressing your face into his shirt. You clung onto him, squeezing your eyes shut. When you could feel his chest rumble with a few chuckles, you punched his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

Jake chuckled again, but he only pulled you in closer by the waist, allowing you to cling to him more comfortably.

As the storm raged on, any hope that the power would be back up was lost. Jake's phone still had service, but you could tell he was being polite and not going on his phone to not make you feel alienated. Your phone was somewhere in the front, probably on a counter or something.

"We really shouldn't have agreed to cover shifts today," you murmured, your cheek pressed against Jake's chest.

Jake hummed.

He wanted to get past the way that anytime you spoke to Jake, it was either about music or work. He didn't mind talking about these things with you, but he wished he could say more. He wanted to know what you were thinking, and hear about what you liked and disliked, what silly stories or memories you had to tell him.

He wanted to get to know you.

“What’s your favorite color?”

???

"What?"

Jake blinked. "What's your favorite color?"

You stared at him. "Why?"

He shrugged under you. "I dunno. I just wanted to get to know you better."

"Oh." What a simple reason. It made sense for such a simple question. "I like black."

Jake scoffed. "That's not a color."

"Huh? Then what is it?"

"A shade."

"Says who?"

"Says science!"

And then it was quiet again (at least on Jake's part, you were still listening to his music)

But not quite awkward.

Despite the compromising position that you were in, there wasn't any feeling of embarrassment or discomfort.

That's how Jake would describe how he felt toward you. It was an easy thing. You were cool and pretty, and he liked you. Nothing more, nothing less. No games to play, no extra calculations or hours of planning. He liked you, and he was just going to do what felt right. It was as straightforward as that.

"What are you doing after this summer?" you asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

That's right. You and Jake had never discussed much about your personal lives, like where you went to high school, what your plans were post-high school, etc.

And now that the two of you were alone, in the dark, with virtually nothing to do, it was the perfect time to talk about it.

"I'm going up to Santa Barbara," Jake said coolly. "I'm studying biomed engineering."

"Oooh," you mused. "How exciting."

Jake let out a chuckle. "You don't sound excited."

"I am," you deadpanned, and Jake couldn't hold back a laugh.

"What about you?" Jake asked. "What are you doing?"

Even though it was dark, Jake could hear you frown.

"I'm going to Davis for International Business." You paused. "I don't know."

"Whaddaya mean?"

You shrugged. "I dunno if it's really my passion. I just chose it because—"

You're interrupted by a loud bang! followed by buzzing. You jolted, tensing up in Jake's hold, whose hand shot to the small of your back protectively.

"Eek!" you cried, and the next thing you knew, all the lights were back on.

You and Jake stayed where you were for a few moments, long enough for the freezers in the back to start buzzing again. As if someone just snapped their fingers, everything turned back on. The bright lights hitting your darkness-adjusted eyes made your eyes water.

"Oh," Jake said plainly. "The lights are back on."

"No shit, Sherlock," you muttered, earning a pinch to your side. It was now that you and Jake really realized your current positions: you were on top of him, with your head resting on his shoulders, with his arms wrapped around your waist. And it seemed like the two of you realized this at the same time.

"We should—" Jake averted his gaze from you, finding the floor next to him very interesting.

"Yeah, you're right, we should—" you slowly pulled away from him, grimacing at the feeling of Jake's arms slipping away from you.

"Yup, and—" Jake trailed off, not fully completing his thought.

Awkward.

The two of you were back on your feet in no time, both with slightly-disheveled work uniforms, but hey, it was to be expected.

Together, the two of you inspected the parlor. Just in case something slipped in while it was dark (even though that was virtually impossible).

Everything was exactly as you left it.

The mop that you dropped on the floor, your phone on the counter, the keys to the freezer that Jake threw by accident, even the messy chairs.

"Are you scared right now?" Jake asked with a chuckle as you stayed close behind him, your fingers clutching his broad shoulders. From time to time you'd peek around him, but for the most part, you stared straight at his back, unwilling to look ahead. Just in case a monster jumped out!

"I'm not." Lie.

Jake laughed, but before he could poke fun at you more—

Boom!

Oh right, the storm.

Like a cat, you jumped almost immediately, gripping Jake's shoulders for dear life.

Jake peeked out the windows. The streetlamps and signs were illuminated again.

"Looks like all the lights are back up," he said. He glanced over his shoulder to you, who clung to him. "I think we can go home now. The storm's dying down already."

You nodded, and the two of you finished closing up in silence, before preparing to leave.

"Do you have a ride?" Jake asked you as the two of you packed up your things.

Shit.

"My mom was going to pick me up because she didn't want me driving late at night," you groaned. "I'll call her right no—"

"No," Jake shook his head, reaching inside his pocket. You watched as he really shoved his hands in there, like he was searching for something. At last, after digging through his pockets for what felt like hours, he pulled out a bunch of keys, with a tiny lego keychain dangling off of it. "I'll drive you home."

After that day, you weren't called into work again for a few days. In those few days, for some weird reason, you couldn't get Jake off your mind. Which you thought was weird.

You never really thought about Jake aside from work. And it wasn't even the fact that you were thinking about him! It was the fact that you felt weird for feeling weird about thinking about him. If that even made sense.

He's always been cute. Gentlemanly, too.

When he drove you home the other day, he insisted that you didn't need to pay him back for driving you home. In fact, he said that he'd rather use more gas than have you wait alone at the parlor to be picked up. He opened and closed the door for you, showed you how to control the heaters so that you could be warm, and even let you play your music!

He was reliable too, someone that you knew you could count on. And he was very kind, because no matter how many rude customers there were, he understood that everyone was human and served them with a smile. Unlike you, who always exercised that "we reserve to deny you service" right.

These were all things that you knew. It was no surprise. You knew these things.

But after that day, you couldn't help but feel like it was... amplified.

Jake was cute, but now he was cuter. Way cuter.

He felt even more gentlemanly and reliable and kind now. Him going out of his way to comfort you, even if it meant that you had to listen to his god-awful music, warmed your heart.

And that was the weird part.

It was just so odd. You couldn't stop thinking about him. And you felt all weird and mushy for thinking about him, which made you feel even weirder!

You didn't really get it.

Surely, it wasn't a crush.

It wasn't like you were all over the place, distracted and spacy and blushing now that Jake was on your mind. You weren't rolling around and kicking your feet, nor were you giggling.

But you would be lying if you said that the simple thought of his name didn't make you excited.

Meanwhile, Jake knew exactly what was happening to him.

And it was that his crush on you definitely deepened tenfold.

In the moment, when he was with you, whether it be the other day or any other day at all, he was always nonchalant. It was a casual crush, he'd say. Everything was straightforward with no games to play.

But that was a lie.

Because here he was, lying on his bed and staring at his ceiling. He hugged his pillow, embarrassingly pretending that it was you. He felt like a weirdo, but he couldn't get the feeling of you clinging to him and in his arms out of his head!

Just the mere thought of that night made him have to roll around and giggle for a few moments.

Jake sucked in the scent of his pillows. Unfortunately, they didn't smell like you, just like laundry with a faint scent of his own cologne.

You were so pretty, and cool, and kind, and smart, and practical, and just everything good in the world. And then when you got scared and clung to him, it made his heart flutter, because who knew you could be so cute?

Jake let out a squeal into his pillow, his cheeks hurting from how much he was smiling.

For the first time ever, Jake actually wanted to go to work. Just to see you.

He couldn't wait for it.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," you said for the millionth time today. "We don't have that here—"

Another day at work. Just when the idea of going to work didn't sound too bad, you're reminded why you hate it.

Apparently some kids on TikTok spread a rumor that your parlor had a special, limited-edition, summer unicorn flavor. And even worse, your damn social media manager was hinting at it on Instagram, too.

So here you were now, trying to explain to a hoard of angry customers that this limited-edition unicorn flavor was absolutely false. To think that your own social media manager would betray you and your coworkers like this just to attract more customers... You shouldn't be unsurprised but you were.

Diabolical.

It must've been the 90th time in the past hour that you had to explain that you had no fucking clue what a unicorn flavor would be, and if you weren't a tired and overworked teenager, you would've felt bad when a little girl bursted into tears in the middle of the store.

Cry about it, you thought, and you couldn't tell if that sentiment was towards your angry customers, or if it was towards upper management that were about to get multiple complaints about you.

Breathe, you had to tell yourself. It's not worth it. Where was everyone else anyway? You couldn't believe that you were left completely alone to operate the establishment on your own. And most of your coworkers were older than you anyway. Those bums!

You sucked in another breath, putting on your best smile.

"You're telling me that you don't actually have the limited-edition unicorn flavor?!" an angry father crossed his arms, upset with his children cowering beside him.

"No, sir," you said as politely as you could. "That was just a rumor. My apologies for the inconven—"

"Unacceptable!"

You winced, feeling your ears warm up. If everyone in the parlor wasn't already watching you like a hawk, all eyes were now on you.

"I had to drive two hours here," the father slammed his hand on the counter, leaning in so close that you could smell him. "I drove two hours here for unicorn ice cream and you're telling me that it was all a lie?!"

All of this.... for ice cream?"

"I apologize, sir," you hung your head low to appear genuine, clasping your hands together. "That must have been a long ride and—"

"Shut up and give me my ice cream, you bi—" Your eyes widened a fraction as you saw a big palm swinging your way... Was he about to slap you? In the milliseconds that you could even react, you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for the stinging feeling of a hand against your cheek.

But instead, you felt nothing, only the sound of a few gasps and light chuckling.

"Hey, there, sir," you heard Jake's voice as you peeled your eyes open.

Jake was beside you, his hand wrapped around the man's wrist that was mere inches away from your face.

"J-Jake?!"

The man struggled in Jake's grip, attempting (and failing horribly) to pull his wrist out of Jake's hand.

"Let go of me, boy!" he yelled. Everyone's eyes were on the scene now. How embarrassing.

Jake narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip.

"Here at Layla's Ice Cream Parlor, we reserve the right to deny any patron service," he said plainly.

The man scoffed. "And are you about to deny me service? What are you, the manager?"

Jake only shook his head calmly.

"You were about to assault my coworker here," he motioned toward you, then to the man's still-raised hand. "I don't need to be any manager to realize that someone of that sort has no business here."

Jake shot him a smile, before roughly letting go of his wrist, letting it fall to the counter.

"Please leave, sir."

He glanced around the room, noticing the way everyone stared at him. Another tight-lipped smile spread on his face.

"There are no limited-edition summer flavors, so if that is what you are here for, I apologize for the disappointment. " Jake glanced at you. "Please help yourself to the flavors that we actually have."

With that, Jake took you by the wrist, pulling you into the breakroom.

"W-Wait Jake—!" you tried to pull out of his grasp. "There's still customers out there."

He gently pushed you down onto a chair.

Jake crouched down at your sitting figure, putting his hands on your knees. He squeezed them playfully. "You've done enough today. I'll handle the rest."

"But— But there's a lot of people today," you reasoned, placing your hands on his. "You can't run the entire place on your own...!"

But before the last syllables could even leave your lips, Jake was already retying his apron, fixing his dumb uniform hat. Before he slinked away through the door, he glanced over his shoulder, gripping the door frame.

"I'll prove you wrong," he said with a grin. "Just watch."

(You were right, he was wrong. Not even the most exemplary worker like Jake could handle an entire exuberant ice cream parlor by himself. The moment you saw his tired eyes you were already throwing on your apron. Though, you got a good laugh out of it afterwards.)

You deadpanned.

This was not what you signed up for.

It was Saturday, the day that you swore was your break day from work. And then all of a sudden you got an urgent call from your manager and you rushed to work immediately.

You thought that the parlor got robbed, or maybe something broke down.

Nope.

"You want me..." you blinked, "To wear that?!"

Lo and behold, before you was a comically large ice cream costume, with a brown waffled body for the cone and the most obnoxious white swirl reaching high in the ceiling, with only a circular cut-out to see your face.

Apparently, sales were dwindling, so your managers decided to try out some new advertising.

You were going to wear that godforsaken ice cream costume and hang outside the parlor to attract customers.

"Kid-friendly language only," your manager instructed you matter-of-factly. "No swearing, no saying mean words."

You tuned him out.

And if the walk of shame out of the bathroom in your ice cream costume wasn't bad enough, you were hit with the last thing you wanted to see: Jake Sim.

You were about to jump and shriek and let the ground open up and devour you whole... when you realized that he was wearing an ice cream costume too...!

"You too?!" you cried. Behold, in front of you stood your favorite coworker Jake Sim with an equally deadpan expression, clad in the ridiculous ice cream costume.

"Yup," Jake muttered, popping the p. "I guess we'll never be free."

And he was indeed correct.

There was truly nothing more mortifying than standing outside the damn ice cream parlor, holding an even more obnoxiously bright sign and trying to attract customers... all in your humiliating ice cream costume.

Kids laughed at you from across the street. Cars that passed by you probably did the same. Absolutely demoralizing.

"Come to Layla's Ice Cream Parlor," you said in a monotone voice, trying your very best to not burst into tears of sheer embarrassment. "We have ice cream... and... uh—"

You glanced at Jake, whispering to him, "What else do we have?"

"Ice cream." He said, absolutely no expression in his voice or face. Oh god, we must have lost him too! "Nothing but ice cream."

Poor guy, he looked like he wanted to disappear.

This must have been a punishment, or something. Maybe a humiliation ritual. But after a good ten minutes, you and Jake just decided to commit to the bit. After all, you were getting paid extra for this.

"Ice cream, ice cream!" you and Jake chanted as you paraded around the vicinity of the parlor. After all, there was nothing you could do but make the best of it. You went out of your way to speak to oncoming customers, advertising with the most energy you could. "Come to Layla's Ice Cream!"

But it wasn't always easy.

Like always, customers and children were rude.

"Hello, miss, are you interested in trying some of Layla's yummy yummy ice cre—" and then you got laughed at. Like actually. They just started pointing and laughing at you. Like you were some freak.

And then Jake tried to square up some little kids a few times, it was a mess.

And finally, after what felt like years out there trying to advertise to people, your manager finally called you guys back in. Apparently, you and Jake did such a wonderful job that you guys were needed back at the front. Your coworkers couldn't seem to keep up. Lazy asses.

You and Jake went back inside to change back into your work uniforms— those stupid blue and white sailor uniforms. Except, one of your coworkers was having an "emergency" in the staff bathroom (you were certain it was just Beomgyu sitting on the toilet with his phone and refusing to do his job), so both you and Jake had to change in the staff break room.

At the same time.

"Okay, you will change, and I will cover you—"

"Shut up!" you exclaimed. "Why can't we just change at the same time?"

Jake was being terribly awkward about it.

"B-Because!" he reasoned, unable to hide the way he couldn't look you in the eye. "Because.... you're a girl, and I'm a guy!"

"Aaaaand?" you drew out your syllables, crossing your arms over your chest.

"We can't possibly change in the same room?" Jake cried. "What if— What if I accidentally see your—"

Your cheeks warmed up. What was he on about? "You're not going to!"

Your boss was really annoying about punctuality, so you and Jake should probably change quickly anyway. You ignored Jake's fussing, raising your arms as you began to pull your shirt over your head.

"What are you—"

"Just change!"

In the end, you guys just did the easiest option: turning around so that you faced opposite directions while the other changed... which should have been intuitive for Jake (but he's a little slow).

When you two were both done changing, you turned back around to face Jake, about to let out your grievances about working.

Except, when you saw him, you couldn't help but let out a giggle.

Because your work uniform was supposed to resemble that of a sailor, there were a few complex pieces, such as the sailor scarf draped over your shoulders and neck. Usually, you need a mirror to tie it properly. There was also the damn paper sailor hat that you had to wear.

Since you weren't changing in the bathroom, there was no mirror, so poor Jake's hat and tie were sloppily done, crooked on his person.

"Jake," you smiled, motioning for him to come toward you. And when he was close enough, you yanked him even closer to you by his shoulders, causing him to let out a yelp.

"W-What are you doing?" he asked, unable to hide the panic in his voice.

You giggled again. Your hands began to work on his tie, undoing his sloppy tie and neatly folding it. "Relax, you big baby."

When you were done with his tie, you fixed Jake's hat, oblivious to the way Jake's ears and neck turned a noticeable shade of red.

"There you go," you said with a grin. "All good!"

Jake looked at you with shaky eyes. You were close to him now. Close enough that he could feel your breath fanning his cheeks. Close enough that if he just leaned in a bit more, he could kiss you— Jake jerked himself away from you abruptly. His heart was pounding in his chest at an abnormal rate.

Don't think about kissing her when she's right in front of you! he scolded himself. You gave him a questioning look, before you just grinned again and left the break room.

Ah, Jake was going crazy.

Man, fuck you Beomgyu! you mentally cursed your other coworker. You were absolutely correct; earlier he was indeed hogging the staff bathroom so that he could shirk his responsibilities. According to Jake, Beomgyu did this really often, to the point that the staff bathroom ran out of soap too fast because Beomgyu was busy playing with soap and making dumb ass bubbles in there.

Of all times, it had to be now that the staff bathroom just decided to run out of soap?

It was getting late, so your manager told you to start cleaning. And just as you began, some little unsupervised middle schooler skateboarded right into you, spilling his three scoops of chocolate ice cream with layers of caramel and peanut butter sauce all over your white uniform.

And all you were given were a few measly napkins to wipe but the sticky sweet mess, only after you cleaned up the mess on the floor. Now as you desperately tried to clean the mess off your uniform in the staff bathroom, you were certain that your manager was going to yell at you later.

As you reached for another hand towel from the dispenser, you let out a groan as you realized that there were no more. Seriously, what was Beomgyu doing in here that he just used up all the soap and paper towels?

"[Name]," you heard a knock on the door. It was Jake. "You good in there?"

You groaned again.

"No!" you cried from the other side of the door. You were frustrated, how bothersome! Even if there were more paper towels, there still was a giant brown stain on your shirt. And you'd probably have to get another uniform. "It looks like a shit stain!"

You heard Jake chuckle from the other side of the door, before his footsteps retreated. After a few minutes, Jake came back.

"Can I come in?" he asked, knocking again on the bathroom door.

"Door's unlocked."

Except, instead of seeing Jake in his usual work uniform, he had a big black hoodie thrown over him, probably one that he was wearing before he changed into his uniform earlier. In his hands was a white shirt.

"Wear this," he said as he shoved the white shirt into your hands.

It was his own uniform shirt.

"But—" you tried to reason with him, but he put his hand up, silencing you.

"Can't have you walking around with a shit stain on your shirt," he said with a cheeky grin, earning him a slap on the arm.

"But you'll get in trouble," you breathed. Your manager was really particular about workers wearing uniforms, and for some reason not about workers actually doing their job.

Jake shrugged. "It's about time I did." And flashed you another smile. "And plus, I was going to get in trouble anyway. Apparently, defending my coworker from a rude customer is punishable."

Ah, the unicorn ice cream incident from a few weeks ago.

Was he really that willing to get in trouble for you?

As you closed the door to the bathroom, you could already hear your manager and another coworker making their comments about Jake. Although you couldn't exactly hear what they were saying, it must have been the usual remarks about inefficiency. And probably about how he wasn't wearing work-appropriate clothes.

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip as you listened to their muffled voices.

Jake was really getting in trouble all for your sake.

As you buttoned up his white shirt, you noted that it carried the scent of his cologne. It smelled good, and you instinctively brought the sleeve up to your nose to catch a better whiff. But then you felt weird and stopped immediately.

It wasn't fair. Everything about your job.

You and Jake had to do all the work, but even so, the managers were disproportionately harsher with Jake than they were with you. Probably because of some sexist bullshit.

And then there were rude and entitled customers.

Jake was taking the fall for you too much.

And you couldn't keep letting it happen.

As you made your way out of the staff bathroom, you could hear your manager berating Jake, with another coworker joining in.

"And why are you not in our employee dress code?" your manager chided. "This is unacceptable! A hoodie? What do you think will happen to our store's brand?"

Jake just hung his head low, but you could tell he was annoyed more than anything. "It was because [Name]'s shirt got ruined, and she was uncomfortable."

"And what business do you have with [Name]?" your coworker joined in lambasting the poor Jake.

"Look, man," Jake looked up at them. "I was just helpin' her out." Jake paused for a moment. "And plus it's closing hours anyway. It's not like anyone sees me out of uniform."

Your manager and coworker thought for a few moments, before your coworker said, "Well, you're still causing a hindrance for our parlor. I think we will cut you weekly pay—"

His weekly pay? Ridiculous. Your body moved on its own, and before you knew it, you had bursted through the door.

"I-It was my fault!" you blurted, your lips moving faster than you could think. "Jake was just helping me."

You ignored the way Jake looked at you with eyes big as saucers, surprised. You swiped your tongue over your lip. "I-It's really my fault. If there's anyone that should get their weekly pay cut, it should be me."

Jake's face visibly contorted, his brows crashing together. "[Name]—"

"That's enough," your manager finally spoke up. The older man sighed, before checking his wrist watch. "Jake, [Name], just forget about it. Don't make this mistake again. Just close up for the night."

And with that, you and Jake were left alone once more.

"What was that all about?" Jake asked you as the two of you closed up.

"What was what?"

Jake huffed, leaning on the mop. "You know, what happened earlier about uniforms?"

"Oh." You shrugged, not really paying him any mind. "What about it?"

Jake huffed again. "Y'know... Why did you step in?"

You finally looked at him, before blinking a few times. "Isn’t it obvious?"

Jake smiled. "No, that’s why I’m asking you."

You scoffed playfully. "Okay, smartass."

You paused for a few moments. "You’re my friend, Jake. You’ve protected me in the past, so I'm just returning the favor."

"Thank you," Jake replied, unable to hide the smile growing on his face. "That's very kind of you.

You just hummed in response, going back to cleaning up.

Jake teetered on his feet, back and forth, as he played with his fingers. His heart pounding in his chest, Jake chewed on his bottom lip.

He was nervous.

Just this morning, you texted him if he wanted to hang out with you, because as you said, you were bored.

Hanging out? With you? The hottest girl that he's ever seen? There was no way in hell that he'd say no to such a golden opportunity.

You'd told Jake to meet you at the pier, because there was a nice mall area around there. As you relayed in your texts, you were going on vacation in a few weeks, and needed to go shopping for it.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't have any ulterior motives. You weren't really sure how you felt about Jake. He was cute, and sweet, and you definitely wanted to get to know him better. And there was a part of you that desperately wanted to impress him.

Maybe today could be an opportunity for you.

You checked your reflection in the car window before you got out of your mom's car. Muttering a "bye," you made your way toward where you told Jake to meet you.

It was a sunny day. You chose to wear something breathable, a pretty pink sundress with a cardigan. You didn't dress like this on most days. You liked to opt for dark colors, but today you wanted to be... cute.

Pretty for Jake.

You spotted Jake pretty easily. Not because he had anything that made him physically easy to identify, not at all. It was more like... you simply could just spot him. It was like you had a newfound Jake-radar.

"Hi," you said with a smile. And for some reason, it seemed like Jake was startled, with his eyes widening as he caught sight of you. "Are you okay?"

Jake stared at you for a few moments, and you swore you saw the way his eyes looked you up and down. His lips parted, and he sucked in a sharp breath as he swiped his tongue over his lips.

You felt a twinge of embarrassment. You didn't wear light colors normally, was it obvious that this dress was not something that you usually wear? Did you look strange? Maybe you should've worn your typical black clothing, and—

"N-No," Jake stammered, his eyes still looking you up and down. Truth be told, he had to bite back a "damn." Because yes, damn, you looked hot. "You look— You look nice today."

Your cheeks prickled with warmth. "Oh. Thank you."

"You don't..." Jake continued, as if he was on autopilot. You were beginning to feel really shy when you realized that he was really staring at your chest area. "You don't wear pink often, do you?"

You averted your gaze. "You're right, I don't." How embarrassing! So he notices the things you wear... and he probably 100% knows that you don't wear pink at all. "Does it look weird, or—"

"No!" Jake blurted, before catching himself. He cleared his throat, his ears a warm shade of pink. "Not at all. I really, uh, meant it when I said— When I said you looked nice."

You nodded slowly. Was it normal to feel so warm? Maybe you should check the weather again?

"Really nice," Jake echoed himself. If you weren't busy feeling shy yourself, you would have noticed Jake checking you out for the 50th time already.

You murmured a brief "thanks," before you quickly changed the subject.

"Shall we go?"

It was unusual to feel awkward or shy around Jake, and vice versa. You knew for sure that Jake was a special person, but it never affected you. For Jake, he was determined to be calm and nonchalant when it came to you. And plus, your friendship was always casual anyway.

Which was why all of your shyness dissipated pretty quickly.

You took Jake along to all the spots at the pier's mall area.

"What are you looking for?" Jake asked as he trailed after you. Jake will never understand women. You've been to 4 stores already, and all you've done is touch things and say, 'Oh this is cute.' And then you'd leave.

You shrugged. "Cute things for vacation."

Jake looked around, through the store mirrors as you two traversed the mall area. "Any preferences?"

You shrugged again. "I like dark colors, but I don't mind brighter colors for vacation, yaknow?"

Jake hummed.

The two of you walked around for a little longer until you stopped in front of a store.

"What's this?" Jake asked.

You grinned. "A swimsuit store."

Listen, Jake wouldn't consider himself an easily-excitable guy. He wasn't pervy, either. Especially toward you! He was nonchalant!

But as he entered the girly swimsuit store, he couldn't help but redden at the thought of you in some of these swimsuits. Some of them were provocative and cheeky, making Jake's stomach do flips as his mind crept into places that made it hard for him to make eye contact with you. Other ones were cute and frilly, arguably making Jake's heart pound even faster as he imagined you in them.

"Hey, what do you think about this one?" you asked Jake as you took one of the suits off the rack.

On the inside, Jake was already drooling at the thought. But on the outside he simply nodded, giving a playful smile and a thumbs up. And really, he thought that if he could maintain that attitude for the rest of the time in this swimsuit store, he'd be fine.

But he was wrong.

"Okay, I'm gonna try these on, and I'll have you give me feedback."

What.

What?

And so Jake sat in the couches in front of the changing rooms, simply awaiting his death.

He's not weird, he swears. He doesn't want to be creepy or gross toward you.

But how could he not sweat and basically hyperventilate in these changing rooms when the hottest girl that he's ever seen (you) is about to ask him for his opinion on swimsuits?

Jake was certain that no matter what, you would look hot.

And he was proven correct when you slipped out of the changing rooms.

"Okay, first one," you said, in a voice that was a little too relaxed. You went on your tiptoes, doing a few turns here and there so that Jake could see the full extent of the suit on you. "What do you think?"

And oh.

Good lord.

Jake was really trying his best not to make you uncomfortable.

But there was absolutely no way that he could just sit there and not react. His jaw quite literally dropped the moment he saw you.

The way the suit hugged your body, the way the colors illuminated your skin, the way you were 100% feeling yourself in it— All of it was making Jake 2 seconds away from crashing out.

You must have been a goddess. Or maybe Jake saved a country in his past life.

"It looks— You look— I— You—" he stumbled over his words. There were no words to describe how you looked. You looked downright beautiful. Like, if Jake died now he wouldn't mind. And when you giggled at his reaction, he took a deep breath. Don't be a weirdo! he told himself.

"You look beautiful," he breathed, finally catching himself. His eyes flickered back up to your pretty, pretty face. "You look really beautiful in this one."

"Thank you," you smiled at him. You did another twirl, something that you definitely knew drove him crazy. And if you hadn't noticed him checking you out, Jake was certain that you definitely knew now.

And maybe Jake didn't know enough about women. Because he really believed that that one swimsuit was the only one that you were trying on.

And he was so wrong.

Because there were at least 3 more that you wanted to show him!

Oh, he wasn't going to survive this.

Well, Jake did survive.

After insisting on carrying your shopping bag full of your new swimsuits (Jake didn't dare peek inside because he thought he'd combust), you decided to do some more exploring.

You got some food to munch on, and went to all types of stores. And you took many pictures, too! Pictures together, of you trying on hats and sunglasses. Candid pictures of each other, many of which where you look pretty without even trying and Jake's mind is blown.

More exploring, walking, sitting down, walking, and then sitting for 30 minutes because both of your feet hurt. A lot of laughing, a lot of dumb conversations, and even more laughing.

And before you knew it, it was getting dark out. Suddenly, the sound of the waves crashing filled the air, the cool beach wind blowing against your cheeks. 

"Let's go walk along the shore!"

And so you did.

The orange sky was fading into a dark blue, and yet, the sun still shone so brightly as it submerged into the horizon. The water gently rocked against the shoreline, while the scent of sea salt and seaweed filled your senses.

It was a cool evening, and you tugged on the sleeves of your cardigan to warm your cold hands.

By now, the beach was quiet. Many people had already left, as it was slowly becoming nighttime.

In quiet moments like this, you couldn't help but fully conceptualize Jake as a person.

He was a handsome boy your age. He was kind, sweet, responsible, silly, everything great in a person. And he had a similar music taste to you, too. And here he was, walking alongside you as the sun set.

Your eyes fluttered over to him. His eyes were trained on the sand below his feet, appreciating the way the wet granules covered his skin.

He was a straightforward person. Things went from A to B with him easily. No games, nothing to hide. And yet, you felt like there was so much to discover about him. There was an entire world undiscovered in his head. And you wanted to be a part of it.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked suddenly, interrupting the calm silence.

"You."

.

.

.

You?

You could feel your heart picking up speed, but you kept your composure. Meanwhile, you swore your skin was prickling with an uncharacteristic warmth.

"I-I mean—" Jake seemed to snap out of his daze. "I— I was just thinking about you, and work, and summer, and—"

You blinked, but your lips spread into a tight smile. You didn't know why you felt disappointed.

You sucked in a breath. "The water's really nice tonight."

"Mhm," Jake agreed. He wasn't blind. He could see the way your face fell ever so slightly. He could see when you felt flustered or shy because of him.

But what if he was misinterpreting things? What if his eyes were playing tricks on him?

But then you'd look up at him with those shiny eyes, almost like you were begging him to give you his heart.

Just go for it.

His eyes dropped to your hands, which were still tugging on your sleeves to keep warm.

Jake clicked his tongue. Boldly, he grabbed your hands, clasping them in yours.

"Hey!" you cried.

"Geez, your hands are so cold," he murmured, before locking his fingers with one of your hands. As if nothing happened, Jake just continued walking along the shore, this time with your hand in his.

You stared at your interlocked fingers for a few moments, before you swallowed all of your shyness and continued trailing with him.

The two of you returned to walking in silence, nothing but the sound of the water and your breaths filling the air.

Jake wasn't lying when he said he was thinking of you, because he really. He always was. And just as he was about to fall back into thought, your hand pulled away from his.

With curious eyes, Jake watched as you silently pulled out a tiny plastic case from your purse.

Your earbuds.

You plugged them into your phone, before jamming one of the buds into your own ear. You looked at Jake expectantly, and he took the second earbud graciously.

You bit back a laugh as you turned on your music.

The second you pressed 'play,' a hardy bass and an unforgettable drumline played into your ears.

"Are you serious?" Jake immediately snapped his head at you. "Fleetwood Mac?!"

You laughed, throwing your head back. "I wasn't about to let you ruin the beach vibe and play Bon Jovi."

"I don't only listen to Bon Jovi—!"

And just as you and Jake were enjoying music, the beach, and most importantly, each other, Jake's phone rang. And of course, his ringtone was a Bon Jovi song.

You gave him a look as his lips spread into a goofy smile.

Not daring to tear out the earbud, he picked up his phone and listened with his other ear.

And even though it was nearly nighttime by now, you could still see how Jake's face morphed.

When he hung up, his face dropped.

"They need me to take someone's shift."

Oh.

This was really, very, genuinely, seriously annoying.

Because unfortunately, the truth was that if they needed Jake to work, then they probably needed you to work too.

Because they always needed you and Jake to work.

And so, here your (not-so official) date was ending.

Apparently, it was extremely urgent, and they insisted on paying Jake extra if he came. Not to worry, because he texted your manager to make sure that you'd get extra pay if you came along, too.

The moment that you stepped into the parlor, you could feel all the joy leaving your body. You swore that Layla’s Ice Cream Parlor had evil spirits in there, designed specifically to simply fill your body with dread.

You put on one of the spare work uniforms that the parlor had in the back. It was a little big, and a little itchy, but whatever.

When Jake got the phone call and explained to you the situation, you were fully expecting a packed parlor, with a line that went out the door and your incompetent coworkers couldn't handle it, or something. But now that you were in the parlor, you realized that that was just a load of bullshit.

"Empty," Jake muttered behind you. "There is absolutely no one here."

You hummed in agreement, equally deadpan.

Those lazy bums.

They just didn't want to work the closing shift. They just didn't want to do the cleaning or locking up. They just wanted you to take their shifts so that they could go home and relax.

And so here you two were, just lazing around in the breakroom, just trying to pass the time. You let your phone play some random playlist.

"I'm sorry," Jake said, with his cheek pressed against the breakroom table. "We were hanging out and I decided to take us to work."

"Nah, you're justified," you said lazily. "They're promising us extra pay, so it's fine."

The room went silent again, but you could tell Jake was thinking something. And indeed, he was.

Jake felt horrible! Although you did agree to come to work with him, he still felt back. Did he just fumble your first (unofficial) date? God, he's so stupid! Now you two were stuck in the worst place on earth.

He stared at your bored expression.

He couldn't let you stay bored.

Without a word, he got up from his seat in the breakroom and disappeared out to the front. You could hear some cluttering and buzzing.

"Close your eyes!" he yelled before he came back to where you were in the breakroom. And you complied.

"What are you doing, Jake?" you asked, but you couldn't help but smile. He was definitely up to some antics.

"Just close your eyes," he instructed you, before sitting down with you at the breakroom table again.

Jake clasped his hands together. "I have three cups of ice cream here. You will close your eyes and guess which one is which."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Are you serious?"

"Yes!" Jake laughed. "We can't get bored in here."

You chuckled. "Okay, fine."

Jake watched you intently as he spoon-fed you the first spoonful of ice cream.

The first flavor was strawberry, your personal favorite.

Maybe it was getting late, or maybe Jake was just too obsessed with you, but he couldn't take his eyes off of the way your pretty lips opened up for the ice cream. He was simply so mesmerized by the way you licked your lips, relishing in the way the sweet strawberry ice cream melted on your tastebuds.

"This is so obvious," you nudged him, kicking him from under the table. "At least make it hard for me!"

Jake rolled his eyes playfully. "Just guess!"

You huffed, mumbling something about him being stupid under your breath. "Strawberry. Duh."

"Woo hoo!" Jake cheered for you. "It was strawberry!"

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock."

The second flavor was ube. Which you guessed almost immediately.

"Next flavor, please," you giggled. "This game is too easy,"

But Jake wasn't listening to you in the slightest.

Just why did you have to start licking the spoon clean? The way your glossy lips wrapped around the spoon, your tongue wrapping around the smooth plastic, and now he was feeling all types of things, and—

"Seriously, make it harder for me!"

Jake gulped.

The last flavor he had was salted caramel. His own personal favorite.

He'd already taken a few bites out of it.

He glanced at your lips, then down at the salted caramel ice cream.

Even under the corporate light of the break room, you still glowed so prettily. And you must have been doing it on purpose, the way you were keeping the spoon in your mouth, with your lips wrapped around it so prettily.

Jake's eyes flickered back to your lips once more, then to the salted caramel ice cream.

His heart was already pounding in his chest. All the blood was rushing to his head and Jake thought that he'd faint.

Your lips were just so damn pretty.

It seemed like something was possessing Jake's body. While his mind was frozen on your lips, his body was moving on its own.

He reached out for you first, his large hand taking solace on your shoulder.

And in one, fluid motion, Jake leaned in, and closed the gap between his lips and yours.

Your lips were soft and sweet, like clouds. Jake's eyes had unconsciously fallen shut, and the moment that he realized that he was kissing you, they shot open. However, just as he was about to pull away, because oh my god he was kissing you, and he didn't even ask!, Jake felt your hand slither up around his neck.

You pulled him in even closer, deepening the kiss.

Jake felt dizzy. It was the way your tongue dipped into his mouth when he let out a little gasp. Or maybe it was the way your fingers ran through his hair, almost as if you were desperate to keep his lips on yours. Your everything— your hands, your lips, your scent— they were all driving him insane.

Jake didn't want it to end, and if it weren't for his need for air, he wouldn't have pulled away. Ever.

The two of you sat there, breathless, staring into each other's eyes for what felt like an eternity. Jake's cheeks were red, his pupils blown out with desire. His eyes fell down to your lips.

"Salted caramel," you breathed, your hands sliding down to his shoulders. You squeezed his shoulders. "You taste like salted caramel— kiss me if that's the answer—"

And you didn't need to ask him twice, because Jake was already crashing his lips against yours.

There was something so addictive about your lips. The way you moaned against his lips, the way you clung onto him like you needed him, it was all driving him crazy.

Jake needed more, he needed you.

In his head, it was all just you, you, you.

"I want you so bad," Jake mumbled against your lips. "Please."

He could feel you giggle, but he simply just slides his hand around your waist to pull you closer.

Your lips moved against his in ways that were too perfect to be real. Jake felt like he was in heaven. You were heaven. You were angelic, you were godly, you were—

"Um, excuse me, are you guys still open?"

!!!

You and Jake jumped away from each other.

Shit.

It was still store hours.

"Are we going to get fired?"

Now it was actually closing hours.

You and Jake started cleaning after you were so rudely interrupted, and now it was time to close up.

And it was awkward.

Your heart was practically leaping out of your chest. It felt like forever since you shared your kisses with Jake. And now, you craved his lips once more.

But what if it was just on the whim? What if Jake just did it to do it?

You just wanted him so bad. You wanted to kiss him again, you wanted to feel him again.

"For what?"

You shifted uncomfortably, your eyes refusing to meet Jake's.

"Kissing coworkers."

"No!" Jake's cheeks flared up. "Of course not!"

"Then..." your brows furrowed. Your face felt hot to the touch. You felt like you were going to get a heart attack. Seriously, you felt like you were burning up, all the while you felt frozen in time and space. You slowly looked up at Jake. "Then can we... you know... keep doing it?"

.

.

.

"I— I mean, if you don't mind— and if it's not something that we could get fired for—" you stammered— "Then can we... you know— can we keep kissing?"

Jake was already on it.

“Eek, Jake, lock the doors first!”

After a few more weeks of hiding in the storage closet to makeout, and honestly straight up shirking your responsibilities to kiss in the breakroom, you and Jake did the unthinkable.

"We resign!"

Your manager looked at you incredulously. "W-What?"

You and Jake smiled. "We quit."

You've never felt more free. With your boyfriend at your side, it seemed like the summer was endless.

BONUS

"Did I ever tell you that I liked you?" you asked Jake, in his car just moments after you quit your job.

"I don't think you did, babe," Jake laughed.

"Oh."

You should probably put that on your to-do list.

You glanced at your boyfriend. How his lips looked so kissable.

Sigh. You'll tell him what you like later. It's time to kiss!

note: please reblog n comment if you enjoyed! xoxo vanya >_<

[dazevi]

vi x reader angst where reader and vi had something before lockup (maybe reader was desperately looking for her/a body for years and never got with anyone else because they loved vi). first time they see vi again, they’re kissing cait. vi has to make a choice (mayhaps someone tells vi how much, how long and how deep reader still loves vi)

SORRY THIS ASK IS LONG BUT NO ONE WRITES VI X CAIT X READER ANSGT AND IM FEENING FOR ITTTT CA

i've loved you for so long | vi x fem!reader, angst, squint of fluff, wc: 10k | masterlist

content warnings: not much! angst!!!, brief caitvi, childhood friend!vi, firelight kinda!reader, tiny mention of blood, bit of an open ending, uhhhhh ….

note: sorry this took so long but i hope u like it! (struggled a bit with the ending so i left it kind of open and hopeful :P

Growing up in the Lanes was never easy. The air was always thick wit smog and desperation. But somehow, in the middle of all the grime, there were moments of light—moments that felt almost normal… sweet, even.

For Vi, those moments often came when she was with you.

You were the kind of person who seemed to radiate something soft, something pure, even in a place as unforgiving as here. You were always helping someone—patching up a scraped knee, sharing what little food you had, or offering a warm smile that could ease even the sharpest edges of the Lanes’ harsh reality. Vi, on the other hand, was tough as nails, like she always was. But when it came to you, that toughness often cracked, revealing a gentler side that few people ever got to see.

You met when you were both kids, barely old enough to understand the full weight of the world you were born into. Vi had just finished scrapping with a group of older kids who had tried to steal a loaf of bread from Powder. Her knuckles were bloody, and her lip was split, but she wore her bruises with pride as she swaggered down the street.

Then she saw you—someone small and delicate crouched beside a stray cat with a limp, gently wrapping its leg with a strip of cloth you’d torn from your own sleeve. Vi had stopped in her tracks, her usual bravado faltering as she watched you work with such careful concentration. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen anyone show that kind of… tenderness.

“Hey,” she had said, her voice rough but curious, “what’re you doing?”

You looked up at her, your eyes wide and a little startled, but then you smiled. “Helping,” you said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

From that moment on, Vi couldn’t seem to stay away from you.

She’d show up wherever you were, always with some excuse—she was just passing through, or she needed your help with something, or she was making sure no one was giving you trouble. In truth, she just liked being around you. You didn’t flinch when she got into fights, didn’t scold her for her temper or her stubbornness. Instead, you had this way of looking at her, like you could see past all of that to the person she really was. And Vi, who had always felt like she had to be tough to survive and protect her family, found herself wanting to be softer when she was with you.

The two of you became inseparable, spending your days exploring the winding alleys and hidden corners of the Lanes. Vi would teach you how to throw a punch, insisting that you needed to know how to defend yourself. You’d laugh as she guided your fists, her hands warm and steady against yours, though she always ended up pulling her punches when it came to sparring.

“Can’t risk messing up that pretty face of yours,” she’d tease, though her voice would always carry a hint of something serious, like the idea of you getting hurt was unbearable to her.

“You’re an idiot,” you’d say back.

And she’d laugh, nudging you playfully against your shoulder, her all ears red as she looked at you, “But I’m your idiot.”

You, in turn, taught Vi the value of kindness, though you didn’t do it with words. You did it with your actions—with the way you’d stop to help a stranger, even when you didn’t have much to give, or the way you’d bandage up Vi’s cuts and bruises after a fight, your touch so gentle it made her chest ache. She’d sit there, watching you work, and wonder how someone like you could exist in a place like this.

And it also helped that Powder adored you too.

She’d often tag along on your adventures with her wide-eyed curiosity. You had a way of making her feel seen, of treating her like she was just as capable and important as the rest of you, and that meant the world to her. Vi loved watching the two of you together, the way you’d laugh and tease each other, the way you’d patiently explain things to Powder when she didn’t understand. It made Vi’s dreams of a better life feel almost tangible, like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something more than survival.

And then there were the jobs… or whatever she could get from Ekko.

They were never easy—running contraband, sneaking into places she had no business being. Vi loved the adrenaline of it, the thrill of a plan coming together, but there was always a part of her that thought about you while she was out there. She’d see something—a trinket, a piece of candy, a flower growing stubbornly in the cracks of the pavement—and she’d think of you.

She started bringing things back for you, little gifts she’d pretend didn’t mean anything. The first time, it was a shiny button she found while breaking into a some storage room. It was small and completely useless, but it was the kind of thing she thought you’d like. She tossed it to you when she came back, trying to act casual.

“Found this,” she said, her voice gruff. “Figured you could use it for… I don’t know, something.”

You’d looked at her, a little confused at first, but when you smiled and said, “Thanks, Vi,” she felt something warm settle in her chest.

After that, it became a habit.

She’d bring you scraps of fabric, little bits of wire and string, or a half-broken gadget Powder thought she could fix up for you. Once, she brought you a single daisy she’d found growing in a crack on the edge of the Lanes. She’d nearly crushed it during the job, and when she handed it to you, she was so embarrassed she couldn’t meet your eyes.

“It’s just a flower,” she mumbled, scratching the back of her neck. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

But you always did. Vi would pretend it didn’t matter, but her ears would turn red, and she’d fumble with excuses about why she’d brought you something in the first place.

She didn’t know how to say what she was feeling, didn’t even fully understand it herself. All she knew was that you made the Lanes feel a little less bleak, a little less hopeless.

And as the years passed, the your relationship with Vi only grew stronger. There were always moments when the certain feelings between you became almost impossible to ignore—like the time you patched her up after a particularly nasty fight, your fingers lingering on her cheek as you wiped away the blood, telling her firmly to always be careful, as your eyes search hers. Or the time she caught you staring at her with that soft look in your eyes and she felt her cheeks flush, her confidence faltering as she looked away, muttering something about how you shouldn’t look at her like that. You’d raise an eyebrow in response, then just laugh softly.

But neither of you ever said anything outright. Instead, you found comfort in the smaller things—stolen glances, the way your hands would brush against each other as you walked side by side, the way Vi’s walls would melt away when it was just the two of you.

You were more than just a friend. You were her safe place, her reminder that there was still good in the world, even in the darkest corners of the Lanes. And for you, she was your protector, your anchor, the person who made you feel like maybe you weren’t as fragile as the world wanted you to believe.

But the Lanes always had a way of taking everything good and twisting it into something painful.

The night everything went to shit was the last time life in the Lanes felt even remotely bearable. It had been tense from the start. Vander was gone, taken by Silco, and Vi’s face was set in that grim determination she always wore when she was trying to be strong for everyone else. You knew she was scared, no matter how much she tried to hide it.

You were in the back room of the Last Drop, pacing. Vi had told you to stay put, her voice sharper than usual, her gaze practically boring a hole through you.

“Don’t follow us,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Just… stay here. Look after Powder, okay? I can’t worry about you and her while we’re out there.”

You wanted to argue, to tell her you could help, that you weren’t as fragile as she thought you were. But the look in her eyes stopped you. So, you nodded, biting back the words you wanted to say, and watched her leave with Mylo and Claggor.

Powder sat on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, clutching one of her gadgets like it was a lifeline. She kept glancing at the door like she was expecting Vi to come back at any moment, triumphant and unscathed.

But you both knew better.

The hours dragged on, the silence between you and Powder filled only with the occasional sound of glass breaking in the distance or the low hum of Zaun’s underbelly. You tried to keep your hands busy, cleaning up the room, organizing scraps of whatever was lying around. Anything to stop your mind from racing. Powder didn’t really say much; she just watched you with wide, anxious eyes, her fingers fidgeting with the gears of her monkey bomb.

Eventually, exhaustion began to creep in. You figured you were working too much. You remembered Vi’s words in your head, telling you that she’s always careful, that she’ll always come back to you. And you tried to stay awake, tried to keep an eye on Powder like Vi had asked, but your body betrayed you.

Powder had been quiet the whole night, but as you drifted off, she glanced at you. She hated being left behind, hated the way Vi always told her to stay because she wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t capable enough. She wanted to prove herself, to show that she could help, that she could save them. And with you asleep, curled up in Vi’s bed, she saw her chance. Quietly, Powder slipped off the couch, grabbing her monkey bomb and a bag of supplies. She hesitated for a moment, looking back at you. She didn’t want to leave you, but she couldn’t sit there and do nothing.

Not when Vi needed her.

She crept out of the room, careful not to make a sound, and disappeared into the shadows.

The first thing you noticed as you stirred was the faint, low rumble of something distant but violent—a sound that felt like it rattled through the very walls of the Last Drop. You blinked, eyes fluttering slowly as you pushed yourself up. The second explosion was sharper, louder, and your heart leaped in your chest. It was a sound that didn’t belong to the Lanes.

Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of the room. Everything felt too still now, too quiet, except for the faint aftershock of what you had just heard. You rubbed at your face, trying to shake off the grogginess, and then you noticed it—bright, electric blue sparks flickering in the distance, visible through the small, grimy window. Your stomach dropped as a sense of dread washed over you. Your breaths came quicker now, shallow and uneven, as you sat up fully, scanning the room.

“Powder?” you called out softly, your voice hoarse from sleep.

You looked around, the familiar clutter of the space offering no sign of her.

“Powder?” you called again, louder this time, but the silence that followed made your chest tighten.

You stumbled to your feet, nearly tripping over a discarded piece of scrap on the floor. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign that she was still there—a glimpse of her small frame huddled in the corner, the sound of her fidgeting with one of her gadgets.

But there was nothing.

The couch where she’d been sitting earlier was empty, the blanket you’d draped over her crumpled and abandoned. The faint smell of oil and metal lingered in the air, but it was missing the warmth of her presence.

“No, no, no,” you muttered under your breath, your mind racing as you pieced together what must have happened.

You remembered the way she had been clutching that monkey bomb earlier, the way her eyes had flickered with something desperate and restless.

She left.

Your knees nearly buckled as you made your way to the window, pressing your palms against the cold glass. The sparks of blue still flickered in the distance, bright against the dark, polluted haze of the Lanes. The explosions hadn’t stopped, and now there were faint trails of smoke rising into the air.

“Powder,” you whispered, the weight of her name heavy on your tongue.

She had gone after Vi, you were sure of it. The thought hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. She was out there—your sweet, fragile Powder—in the middle of whatever chaos was unfolding.

And Vi… Vi had told you both to stay behind.

Now, you were running as fast as you could.

And when you got there, everything was on fire.

Buildings were crumbling under the weight of the flames, black smoke billowing into the sky and choking the air around you. The heat was suffocating, stinging your eyes and making it hard to breathe. You stood there, frozen, your wide eyes scanning the devastation. The ground was stained with dark, wet streaks that gleamed in the firelight—blood. It was everywhere, smeared across the cobblestones, trailing through the debris, pooling in some places as if marking the spots where someone had fallen.

But there were no bodies.

No sign of Vi. No Mylo. No Claggor. No Powder. Just… nothing.

Your chest heaved as you tried to take it all in, your mind struggling to make sense of the chaos. The silence was deafening, broken only by the relentless crackle of flames and the occasional groan of a collapsing structure. You called out for them. You spent hours waiting, searching and trying.

But, there were no voices, no footsteps, no cries for help.

Just emptiness.

Nothing.

The days blurred into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. Time moved forward, but you stayed stuck in the same moment—the night everything fell apart. The fire, the blood on the streets, the faces of everyone you loved burned into your memory like scars you couldn’t erase. It didn’t matter how much time passed. You never stopped seeing them. Never stopped feeling the weight of their absence.

Life in the Undercity didn’t wait for grief. It didn’t give you the chance to sit still and process the ache in your chest or the emptiness that had swallowed your world whole. The streets you grew up on were darker now, quieter, yet somehow more dangerous. Shimmer twisted its way into every crack and corner, poisoning the air you breathed.

You still had Ekko. He stuck close, as much as he could, and you were grateful for him in ways you couldn’t put into words. But even with him around, the loneliness lingered anyway.

Nights were the worst. The silence of your small, dimly lit room pressed down on you, and your mind replayed every memory of Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor. Sometimes, you could almost hear their laughter echoing in the distance.

Almost.

You never stopped looking for her.

At first, it was constant. Every waking moment you scoured the streets, searching for any trace of her. You asked anyone who would listen if they’d seen her, but no one had. Not a single person could tell you where she had gone or what had happened to her. Some said she was dead. Others said she’d been taken topside, to Piltover’s dungeons. You didn’t know which was worse.

You looked for Powder, too. Sometimes, you felt like you’d seen traces of her somewhere, certain colors she liked, drawings on the wall… It was like she was there, but she wasn’t… like she didn’t want to be found.

And years passed, but the hope never left you. Not fully. Even when the streets seemed colder, even when Ekko begged you to stop putting yourself in danger, you kept searching. You’d walk the streets at night, hood pulled tight over your head, hoping to catch a glimpse of her pink hair or hear her sharp voice in the crowd. Every time you saw a tall figure in the shadows, your heart would leap, only to sink seconds later when it wasn’t her.

You wondered, sometimes, if she was looking for you too. If she was out there somewhere, wondering what had happened to you. If she missed you the way you missed her. Those thoughts were the only thing that kept you going on the hardest days.

The Undercity changed around you. The shimmer trade grew stronger, its effects spreading like a disease. People you’d known your whole life turned hollow, their eyes glassy, their voices slurred. Survival became harder with each passing day. But even as the world around you crumbled, you held onto the memory of Vi.

Her voice. Her laugh. The way she used to look at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention, as if you were something more than just a friend. The way she used to bring you small, silly things from her jobs—half the time things she swore she’d found by accident, even though you knew better.

You missed her so much it hurt.

Then, one night, Ekko came to visit you.

He had news about Powder.

He’d seen her, he said. And it didn’t make sense at first.

He sat across from you in the dim, flickering light of the small hideout you’d both retreated to. His voice was almost hesitant, but heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. Regret? Anger? Grief? Maybe all three, twisted together in a way that made him seem older than he was, like the years had weighed heavier on him than they should have.

You were hunched over, elbows resting on your knees, your face buried in your hands. It had been another fruitless day, searching for a ghost you weren’t sure even existed anymore. Your body ached, your head throbbed, and the emptiness in your chest felt like it might swallow you whole.

And then Ekko said it—he said her name.

“Powder… she’s not the same anymore.”

At first, you thought he meant something else. Maybe she’d grown up like the rest of you, toughened by the streets and the weight of survival. Maybe he’d seen her, and she was angry, distant, bitter about the past. You could’ve handled that. You could’ve understood that.

But that wasn’t what he meant.

“She goes by Jinx now.”

You lifted your head slowly, confusion knitting your brow. “What are you talking about?”

Your voice was sharp, tinged with a nervous laugh that didn’t quite land.

“Powder wouldn’t call herself that. That’s not… that’s not her.”

Ekko’s gaze didn’t waver. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his expression hard but laced with pain. “It is her. She’s with Silco now.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “She wouldn’t—she’d never—”

“She’s different, (Y/n).” His voice cracked, just barely, but enough to make you flinch. “She’s not the kid we knew. Silco got in her head, twisted her up. She’s… dangerous now.”

You sat back, your body rigid, your mind spinning. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Powder was sweet, shy, maybe a little clumsy, but always full of love and hope. Powder adored you. Powder idolized Vi. She’d never turn into someone like… like that.

“Where did you hear this?” you demanded, your voice low but trembling. “Who told you?”

“I saw her,” Ekko said flatly. “It’s her, (Y/n). She’s been running with Silco’s people for years. She’s the one behind half the chaos in the Lanes right now. You’ve heard about the explosions, the heists—the people disappearing. That’s Jinx.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.

“That’s Powder.”

You stared at him, the words refusing to sink in. It felt like someone had ripped the ground out from under you, leaving you floundering in freefall.

“You’re wrong,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Powder wouldn’t… she wouldn’t do that.”

“I wish I was wrong,” Ekko muttered, his voice thick with bitterness. “But I’m not. She’s gone. The Powder we knew—she’s gone.”

“No,” you snapped, louder this time, anger rising to the surface as your chest tightened with panic. “She’s not gone. She’s just… confused, or scared, or… something. She wouldn’t just…”

Ekko’s face softened, but his eyes were filled with sadness. “I thought the same thing when I first saw her. I wanted to believe she could still come back, that maybe I could fix it. But she’s too far gone. Silco’s got his hooks right into her. She’s not the kid we grew up with anymore. She’s…”

He paused, the words catching in his throat.

“She’s dangerous.”

You shook your head again, your hands trembling as you pressed them against your thighs. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Powder was your friend, your family. She was bright and sweet and full of so much love. She wasn’t… she wasn’t a monster.

The thoughts clung to you every night. Powder—Jinx—had become someone unrecognizable, and you couldn’t stop the questions from flooding your mind. What would Vi think if she knew? Would she be disappointed in you for not doing more, for not stopping Powder before it was too late? Would she think you’d failed her?

Vi. Her name echoed in your mind. You missed her in a way that was so all-encompassing it became a part of you. You missed the way she used to tease you, the way she’d smirk like she had the world figured out, even when she didn’t. You missed patching her up after a fight. You missed how she’d smile at you, telling you that things to brighten your day. You missed everything.

It was only recently that you realized why the ache felt so sharp, so endless. You loved her. You’d loved her for years, even if you hadn’t admitted it to yourself until now. It was why you couldn’t let her go, why no one else had ever been able to fill the void she left behind.

People had tried. There were a few who flirted with you, a few who asked you to dinner or drinks. But you’d always brushed them off, always found an excuse. None of them were her. None of them had her fire, her strength, the way she made you feel seen and safe all at once.

The years hadn’t been kind to you, but you’d done your best to survive, to keep going even when it felt like the world was crumbling around you. You’d thrown yourself into helping Ekko and the Firelights, finding purpose in their mission even when you felt lost.

You patched them up when they were injured, your hands steady as you cleaned wounds and wrapped bandages. You shared what little food you had, sometimes going without so they wouldn’t have to. You became someone they could rely on, even if you didn’t always feel strong yourself.

But that strength went away a couple months later—the day you saw her again. It was something you didn’t prepare yourself for. You hadn’t expected it at all.

The sunlight filtering through the cracks of the hideout’s makeshift roof caught on the edges of your hair as you worked, pulling ripe fruits and vegetables from the small garden that the Firelights had nurtured in secret. The air was damp but fresh, filled with the earthy scent of soil and the faint hum of life. You liked working in the garden—it gave you a moment of peace, a small break from the weight of everything outside.

When you were done, your hands were covered in dirt, and a bead of sweat traced its way down your temple. You wiped your brow with the back of your arm, sighing softly. A few of the others nodded at you in thanks as they carried the baskets of food away. You stayed behind, crouched by the water pump, scrubbing the grime from your hands and under your nails.

The cool water washed over your skin, and for a moment, you let yourself pause, closing your eyes as the sound of the stream drowned out your thoughts. But it didn’t last long. The quiet never did.

Once you were cleaned up, you shook off the weariness and decided to find Ekko. You’d been meaning to talk to him about something—or maybe you just wanted to hear a familiar voice. The hideout could feel suffocating at times, even though it was a sanctuary for many. Ekko had a way of cutting through it, reminding you that there was still something worth fighting for.

But as you made your way through the winding halls of the hideout, you stopped short, your breath catching in your throat.

In one of the side rooms, barely lit by the faint glow of sunlight filtering through the cracks, you saw them.

A girl with blue hair stood close to another figure, her delicate fingers brushing against the cheek of the person in front of her. You couldn’t make out their faces at first, your mind taking an extra second to register what you were seeing. But then the pink hair caught the light, vibrant even in the dim room, and your chest tightened.

Vi.

Your Vi.

And she wasn’t alone.

The blue-haired girl leaned in, her lips brushing against Vi’s in a kiss so soft, so tender, that it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Vi didn’t pull away, her hand resting gently on the girl’s waist, her shoulders relaxing in a way you hadn’t seen in years.

You froze, rooted to the spot, your feet unwilling to carry you forward—or away. Your mind raced, a thousand thoughts clamoring for attention, but none of them loud enough to break through the sudden ache in your chest.

She was here. She was alive. But she wasn’t yours.

You didn’t know whether to cry out, to step into the room and demand an explanation, or to turn and run before they could see you. You wanted to be happy that she was safe, but all you could feel was the slow, creeping weight of heartbreak as it settled over you.

Because in that moment, it was clear—Vi wasn’t yours to miss. Not anymore.

“You have some explaining to do.” The words feel foreign on your tongue, but they spill out before you can stop them.

You stand at the threshold of Ekko’s lab, chest heaving, heart racing in disbelief. The image of Vi with another woman—kissing her, holding her—flashes in your mind and it’s all too much.

Ekko stands abruptly, looking as startled as you feel. His eyes widen, and his hand instinctively scratches at the back of his neck, a nervous tick you’ve known him to do since you were kids.

“I—I was gonna tell you today,” he stammers, voice cracking slightly as he fumbles for his words. “We just got her last night… when we ambushed Jinx…”

Your breath catches, a knot of frustration and hurt tightening in your chest. “You ambushed Jinx? And now you’re bringing Vi back in like this? Without telling me?”

The words come out harsher than you intend, but it doesn’t matter right now. Your mind is spiraling.

Ekko holds up his hands, trying to calm you, his gaze softening. “I was going to tell you! I just… After everything with Jinx… I didn’t know if she was someone I could trust yet.”

His words hit you like a slap, and for the first time since you walked in here, a part of you slows down. After everything that happened, Vi could very well be someone you couldn’t trust. Someone who might have changed in ways you couldn’t understand. It stings to admit, but the doubt starts to creep in. You know Ekko—his loyalty runs deep, but he’s also careful. He always has been. You take a step back, your fists uncurling as you exhale sharply.

You swallow your frustration and let the silence settle between you, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Can we trust her?

The question hangs in the air, unspoken but felt, before you finally speak it.

“So… can we?” Your voice is quieter now, more hesitant. You want to hear reassurance, but you’re not sure if it’ll come.

Ekko doesn’t answer immediately. He exhales, a long, drawn-out sigh that betrays a weariness you hadn’t noticed before. When he finally looks up at you, his gaze holds something you hadn’t expected—a tenderness, a vulnerability. His lips curl into a small, almost wistful smile, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s seeing something you can’t.

“I think so,” he says softly, his voice quiet but steady. “I think we can.”

You sigh, blinking a few tears away.

“Who’s that… that girl she’s with?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper, though your heart is pounding in your chest.

You keep your eyes on the floor, unwilling to meet Ekko’s gaze, because the truth feels like it might crush you. The girl you’ve loved for as long as you can remember, is with someone else now. And it’s hard to wrap your mind around it, let alone confront it head-on.

Ekko’s silence stretches out for a moment, the room growing thick with the tension that neither of you knows how to ease. But then, slowly, his eyes soften, and you can hear the careful way he breathes in, like he’s about to tell you something heavy. His voice is gentle when he speaks, like he’s trying to cushion the blow without sugarcoating it.

“Her name’s Caitlyn,” Ekko says, and there’s a noticeable pause before he continues, as though he’s gathering his thoughts, picking out the right words. “She’s… She’s an enforcer, but…she’s different. I don’t think she’s on Silco’s side.”

Your stomach tightens at the mention of Caitlyn’s name, and you can feel a bitter knot in your throat.You finally glance up at Ekko, your eyes searching his face, desperate for any trace of what this means.

“Are they…?”

Ekko looks at you for a long, quiet moment, like he’s weighing your reaction against his own thoughts. He doesn’t look at you with pity, though; there’s no judgment in his gaze. Just understanding.

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice low. “But I think Vi’s been through a lot. And Caitlyn… I don’t know what they have, but I can’t pretend I understand it. I’m still trying to figure out where Vi stands with all of this… All I know is Vi wants her sister back.”

You can’t look at Ekko anymore. The pain of it is too much, a heavy weight that presses down on you like the sky is collapsing. You back away, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, your hands trembling slightly.

“I thought… I thought she’d come back for me, for us,” you say softly, almost to yourself. The bitterness in your voice is unmistakable.

Ekko doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but you can feel the weight of his sympathy.

Finally, he speaks again, his voice quieter, softer. “I don’t think she’s forgotten you. I think she’s just trying to figure out everything for herself… Besides, she was… actually wondering if you were still around.”

“She was?” Your voice is quieter than you intended, almost shaky as you try to grasp what he just said.

Ekko nods, though his face is filled with something close to guilt, like he knows how this news might break you. “Yeah. She asked about you when she came in… said she didn’t know what happened to you after… everything.”

You let out a shaky sigh, your chest tightening at his words. The weight of it presses down on you, sinking deep.

“Where has she been… all this time?” The question slips out quietly before you can stop it.

Ekko hesitates, his eyes softening as he looks at you. There’s a long pause before he finally answers, each word like a slow puncture to your heart. “Stillwater.”

The name hits you like a punch to the gut. You freeze, unable to process at first, the words echoing in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your skull. It’s a place that steals everything from you, even the will to remember who you were before. Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

Vi… Vi was there?

The thought twists something deep inside you, like a sharp ache that spreads through your chest and down into your stomach. It felt impossible to imagine Vi—your Vi—there. The strong, fearless girl you grew up with, the one who fought for every scrap of life she could hold onto. The thought of her, trapped in that hellhole, stripped of the fire that had always burned in her… it’s unbearable.

“You should… probably be talking to her about all of this.”

You freeze at Ekko’s words, your heart pounding in your chest. The thought of speaking to her again, of standing face to face with her after all these years, makes your blood run cold. Your chest tightens, and suddenly, breathing feels like a chore.

“I…” You try to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat.

What could you say to her? After all this time? The distance between you both feels impossibly wide now, like a canyon you’ll never be able to cross. The thought of seeing her, of facing the reality of what’s changed, of all the years that slipped through your fingers—it paralyzes you. You want to see her. You want to run to her and hold her, tell her everything you’ve kept locked away for so long, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not ready for that.

Your hands are shaking now, and you clutch at the edge of the table for support, your palms slick with sweat.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” you say.

Your voice cracks under the weight of your own fear. The thought of facing Vi, of seeing her and realizing how much has changed, of feeling the space that’s grown between you both—it feels impossible.

Ekko watches you, his expression softening with understanding, but there’s something else in his eyes, something unreadable.

“I get it,” he says quietly, taking a step closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to rush into anything. I know you’ve been carrying this around for a long time.”

But the truth is, you don’t just carry the weight of all that time apart—you carry the weight of your own fear. Fear that she’ll see you as a stranger. Fear that you won’t know how to talk to her anymore. Fear that everything that once felt so easy between you and Vi will have changed beyond recognition. The thought of her not loving you anymore, or of you not being able to love her the same way, makes your stomach churn.

You bite your lip, unable to finish the thought, as your mind races in a thousand different directions.

“Does she know I’m here?”

Ekko’s gaze shifts, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He looks like he’s struggling with something, something he doesn’t want to say, but he knows he has to. He shifts on his feet, a sigh escaping him as he scratches the back of his neck again, the tension in his posture telling you more than his words ever could.

“I… I told her you’re around,” Ekko finally says, his voice soft but weighed with caution. “Not here exactly, though. I wanted to warn you before…”

Before everything changes.

But a knock at the door stills the air in the room. It’s sharp, sudden, and it cuts through the heavy silence that’s settled between you. You don’t move at first and Ekko hesitates for a moment, then turns, just as the door creaks open.

And then, there she is.

You freeze, unable to breathe, unable to move as your eyes lock onto hers. It’s like the whole world stops for a moment—your heart, your thoughts, everything. She’s standing there, in the doorway, her eyes wide as they sweep over you. It’s as if she’s seeing you for the first time, like she can’t quite believe you’re here. That you’re real.

Her gaze flickers across you—your eyes, your face, the way you’ve changed over the years. You can see the shock in her features, the way her breath catches for a split second before she can speak.

“(Y/n),” she whispers, her voice raw, as if the sound of your name in her mouth is a shock to her as much as it is to you.

There’s a long pause. Neither of you move, neither of you speak, as if neither of you knows how to start, what to say. Vi stands there, her eyes fixed on you, and you can see the wheels turning behind her expression. She doesn’t look the same as the girl you once knew, but her eyes—those blue eyes—are still the same, full of emotions you can’t quite place.

Vi’s eyes trail down your form, and you can see her struggling to hide the way her gaze softens as she takes in how you’ve grown, how you’ve changed. You’re different now—more than just the girl she once knew in the Lanes—but somehow, at the same time, you’re still the same person. The one who was always kind, always caring. The one who had a heart too big for the world they were in.

You watch as her eyes linger on you, not saying a word, just staring. A small breath escapes her lips, like she’s struggling to hold back some emotion, some surge of feelings that are too heavy for her to put into words. She opens her mouth to speak, but then closes it again, like the words are stuck inside her.

“I, um… I have work to do, Ekko.” Your voice cracks, and you can feel the tears stinging at the back of your eyes.

You tear your gaze away from Vi, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to break free. The weight of everything, of all the lost time, of everything you thought you had buried, feels like it’s crashing down on you in waves.

You can’t look at her anymore. Not like this. Not when everything in you is screaming to hold her, to ask her why she left, to beg her to stay. But you can’t. Not yet. Not when the hurt is still so raw.

You turn quickly, brushing past Vi with a sharp movement, your steps frantic, but trying to remain composed. Your heart races in your chest as you feel the heat of her eyes on your back, but you don’t look back. You can’t. The moment you do, you’re afraid you’ll break, and you can’t afford to break now.

The door slams shut behind you, and you can hear the soft echo of your hurried footsteps fading as you walk away. You don’t look up, don’t let yourself feel the weight of the emptiness in the room, even though you know it’s all there.

But you’re not ready. Not yet.

Ekko watches the door for a moment, his gaze thoughtful and a little sad. He doesn’t say anything, knowing that nothing he could say will ease the tension in the room.

Vi stands there, still frozen, her mind processing everything all at once. The way you walked out, the way you didn’t look back, how quickly you shut yourself off. She swallows hard, as if trying to force her emotions to settle. But they don’t. They’re all tangled up in her chest. She wants to go after you. She wants to explain.

“(Y/n)…” Vi whispers the name, barely above a breath, as if saying it out loud will somehow make it real, bring back the girl she thought she had lost forever. “She’s… grown.”

“We all have.”

His eyes flicker to Vi, his expression unreadable. He takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words, but nothing feels quite right. He knows how this is going to land—knows it’s going to hurt, even though he wishes it didn’t have to be this way.

“I think she saw you and Caitlyn,” he says quietly. “Together, I mean.”

Vi’s body stiffens at the mention of Caitlyn’s name, her eyes snapping to Ekko in disbelief. The shock is instant, followed by a sharp pang of guilt that twists in her chest. Her mind races, trying to make sense of the situation—of the way you had looked at her, of how you had walked out without saying anything more, as if something between the two of you had shattered. And now this. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words get stuck, tangled in her throat.

Ekko slumps back in his chair, his fingers tapping restlessly against the worn surface of his desk. He doesn’t know what to say to either of them. His gaze remains fixed on Vi, her posture still stiff, eyes distant.

“She thinks you’re together…” Ekko looks at Vi with curiosity. “Are you?”

Vi’s heart stutters in her chest, and she looks away quickly, swallowing hard.

“No,” she answers, almost too quickly. “No, we’re not together.”

Her voice wavers slightly, the truth of her feelings suddenly coming to the surface, uninvited but undeniable. Caitlyn is kind and gentle, but it’s never been like that with her. She only met her this week. Vi doesn’t know what it is, but it’s not love—not like what she’s felt, and still feels, for you.

The kiss was… a moment of comfort, of trying to hold onto something familiar in a world that’s changed beyond recognition. It meant nothing. Or at least, it shouldn’t have meant anything. But now, knowing that you’d seen it, knowing that it might hurt you—it stings. And it stings more than she’s willing to admit.

Ekko watches her for a moment and sighs. He knows Vi well enough to see that flicker of something in her eyes, that far-off look, the hesitation that’s always there when she’s thinking about you.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he mutters, “But you do need to talk to her.”

Vi nods slowly, her gaze flicking toward the door again.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, almost as if to herself. “I know. I just… I don’t know what to say. It’s been so long, Ekko.”

Ekko exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair. “She looked for you, you know. She hasn’t stopped. And she’s been alone for a long time too, Vi. She deserves to hear it.”

Vi doesn’t respond. The words hit her harder than she’s willing to admit. She knows Ekko’s right, but the fear of rejection still clings to her like a shadow. She’s afraid of what will happen if she faces you, afraid of seeing that disappointment in your eyes, hearing the anger in your voice. Afraid that even if she tries, it won’t be enough.

She takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settling in her chest.

“I’ll go find her.”

The climb to the top of the tree feels longer than it should, but Vi knows she’s stalling. Her hands grip the wooden edges tighter than they need to as she hauls herself up, each rung feeling like a step closer to a moment she’s not sure she’s ready for. Ekko’s words still echo in her head—She’s probably already up there, and needs the space, but… she deserves to hear from you.

And now, standing at the edge of the makeshift platform high above the Firelights’ hideout, Vi spots you. You’re sitting near the edge, your legs dangling over, one hand resting loosely on the ground for balance. The jukebox below hums softly, sending the faint notes of a melancholy tune drifting up through the cool night air. The lights of the community twinkle far beneath you, and the laughter and chatter of the people below seem like they belong to another world entirely.

Vi freezes for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. You haven’t noticed her yet, and she’s glad for it because it gives her time to take you in.

It’s been years since she’s seen you like this—quiet, lost in your own world. There’s something familiar in the way you tilt your head as you gaze out at the lights below, something achingly reminiscent of the person she remembers from all those years ago. She can’t help but wonder if you’re still the same in other ways, too. If you still laugh at dumb jokes, or hum to yourself when you’re deep in thought. If you still carry that kindness in your heart, despite everything the world’s thrown at you.

But there’s also something different, something that makes her chest ache. You look older. Wiser, maybe. More beautiful than she remembers, though she feels like that’s impossible, because she’s always thought you were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

God, you’re beautiful. The thought hits her so suddenly that it makes her chest ache. It’s not just the way you look, though that alone would be enough to leave her speechless. It’s everything about you—the way you seem so untouchable and yet so heartbreakingly human all at once. She feels like a fool for standing here and staring, but for the life of her, she can’t seem to look away.

And then there’s the way the moonlight catches on your face, illuminating the faint shimmer of unshed tears in your eyes. Vi doesn’t even need to see your expression to know what you’re feeling.

For a long moment, she just stands there, unsure of what to do or say. She wants to run to you, to pull you into her arms and tell you she’s sorry, that she’s here, that she’s not going anywhere this time. But she knows it’s not that simple. It’s never that simple.

Finally, she takes a hesitant step forward, her boots making a soft thud against the wooden planks. You stiffen slightly, your head turning just enough to catch her in your peripheral vision. You don’t say anything, but the way your shoulders tense tells her you’ve already guessed it’s her.

Vi hesitates again, her heart pounding in her chest as she moves to sit beside you. She doesn’t get too close, leaving enough space between you that you won’t feel trapped, but close enough that she can see the way your fingers grip the edge of the platform like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

For a few seconds, the silence between you is unbearable. Vi glances at you from the corner of her eye, her mouth opening as if to speak, but the words don’t come. She’s never been good at this—talking about feelings, finding the right thing to say.

But as she watches you, she knows she has to try.

“Nice spot you’ve got here,” she says, her voice softer than she intended. “It’s quiet… Beats the chaos down there.”

It’s not much, and she knows it. She winces at how lame she sounds, but she’s not sure she trusts herself to say anything more. She’s afraid if she does, it’ll all come tumbling out—the guilt, the regret, the years of wondering what could’ve been if she hadn’t been taken, if she’d fought harder, if she’d found a way back sooner.

You don’t respond right away, and she can’t tell if it’s because you’re ignoring her or because you just don’t know what to say either. She glances at you again, her eyes lingering on the curve of your jaw, the way your lashes cast faint shadows against your cheeks.

You’re so close, but it feels like there’s an entire world between you.

When you finally do speak, your voice is so soft, almost drowned out by the music drifting up from below. “It’s always been my place to think. To get away… I have Ekko to thank for it.”

Your words are simple, but they carry so much weight, and Vi feels the knot in her chest tighten. She wonders what you’ve been thinking about up here all this time. If you’ve been thinking about her. If you’ve been wondering where she’s been, what she’s been doing, why she never came back.

“I can see why,” Vi says, trying to keep her tone light even though her heart is pounding. “It’s got a hell of a view.”

She means the lights, of course, the way they twinkle below like stars scattered across the ground. But as she says it, she realizes she’s not looking at the lights at all. She’s looking at you.

You finally turn to look at her, and the look in your eyes nearly breaks her. There’s so much there—pain, anger, sadness—but there’s something else, too. Something softer. Something she doesn’t think she deserves but hopes for anyway.

“I didn’t think you’d come up here,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Vi looks at you, her throat tight, and she wishes she had the courage to tell you the truth. That she’s here because she couldn’t stay away. That she misses you.

Instead, she just nods, her voice low and a little rough when she finally speaks. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to.”

You look away again, your gaze returning to the lights below, and Vi knows she should say more, but she’s afraid. Afraid of making things worse. Afraid of losing whatever small chance she might have left to fix things.

She looks at you softly, “How have you been?”

You don’t answer right away.

The silence lingers. Vi shifts slightly, her body aching to close the distance, to somehow make things right, but she doesn’t move.

Then, it’s you who breaks the quiet after a short while, your voice soft and tentative, almost as if speaking too loudly might shatter the everything around you.

“It’s hard to think about you in prison,” you say, the words stumbling out of you before you can stop them.

Vi stiffens at the mention of it. Her chest tightens, as though she’s been struck, but she doesn’t look at you, doesn’t dare.

“I know it must’ve been hard,” you continue, your gaze still locked on the flickering lights below. “Being in there… for so long. I can’t even imagine how it felt. It must’ve been… suffocating.”

Vi can hear the way you say it, that compassion in your voice that makes her want to crumble. You’ve always been so gentle, even when the world around you was anything but.

The memories are sharp, jagged shards of regret that pierce her chest whenever she lets herself think about it. The days in that cold, lonely cell feel like a lifetime ago, but the scars—physical and emotional—are still fresh. The world had felt like a cruel, unyielding force back then. Every day in prison, every blow to her body, every quiet, restless night, had worn away the person she used to be. She couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be carefree or loved.

“I was so… lost,” Vi mutters quietly, her voice rough from the weight of years. “I spent so long… thinking about all of you, of Powder… of the mistakes I made. If i had just… If I hadn’t stepped away for one moment, maybe I would’ve still been here… Here with Powder…. Here with you.”

You glance at her then, just a flicker of movement, your eyes soft with something like pity—but more than that, something else that Vi doesn’t have the courage to name. She knows you see her now, not the image of the girl who left, but the one who came back. The one who is trying—trying, at least—not to destroy everything around her with the weight of her mistakes.

Vi’s voice breaks the silence again, this time with something raw in it, something almost painful. She shifts slightly, her hand twitching by her side, wanting to reach out but holding herself back.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you while I was in there,” she says quietly, her eyes searching your face for any sign of recognition. “The thought of you… It helped get through most of my nights. I tried to dream of you... tried to imagine what you were doing, where you were… how you’ve grown... how much prettier you probably got. I kept telling myself, ’Maybe when I get out, maybe when I find a way out, I’ll find you again.’”

She stops, her gaze falling to the ground between you both as if ashamed to even say it aloud, as if admitting the depth of her thoughts all these years will somehow make them real. But it’s there, the longing she’s buried in the back of her mind, too painful to confront but too strong to ignore.

Vi continues, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “I wondered if you thought of me, if you looked for me. If you still cared… if I even mattered to you anymore.”

You stay silent as she speaks, your chest tight with something you can’t explain. The words sting in a way you’re not prepared for, like a wound reopened, and yet there’s something strangely soothing about them, too. The fact that Vi—after everything, after all this time—had thought of you… It almost doesn’t seem real.

But you say nothing, your gaze fixed ahead, unable to meet her eyes. You wonder if it’s better this way. If silence is all you have left to offer her now. Maybe it’s easier to listen than to speak, to keep everything bottled up inside where it won’t spill over and make a mess of things.

Vi takes a deep breath, her eyes shifting between the two of you, silently asking for something, anything that might make her feel less alone in this moment. But you don’t give her the answer she’s hoping for.

For a long while, neither of you speaks. The wind brushes past you, making the leaves rustle in the trees around the hideout. Below is quiet, almost peaceful, and the sound of distant voices and music fades into the background.

Vi watches you carefully, her eyes searching for something in yours, but she doesn’t push. She knows better than that. She knows that the years have changed you, just as much as they’ve changed her. She knows she can’t expect you to just forget everything, to instantly trust her again. But she hopes, more than anything, that there’s still something left between you both, something that could grow again.

“I saw you with her,” you say. “Ekko said her name is Caitlyn.”

Vi’s eyes widen at the mention of Caitlyn, her heart stopping for just a moment. The words seem to hang in the air between you both, heavy and charged. She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out at first, as if the truth of its too much to swallow.

You feel her hesitation, the way she tenses, and it hits you in a way you weren’t prepared for. It feels like a sharp, cold pang in your chest. There’s a rawness in your voice that you didn’t even realize was there.

The way you say it feels like it cuts through the silence between you both. Vi looks at you then, eyes wide, searching, but she doesn’t speak. She knows she owes you an answer, but what answer could she give you? How could she explain everything that’s happened in the time between your separation and now?

After what feels like an eternity, Vi swallows hard, her throat tight. She looks away, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

“It’s not what you think,” she says softly, almost too quietly, the words coming out slow and hesitant. “I… I didn’t want it. She was just… trying to comfort me.”

Vi’s mind drifts back to Caitlyn, and she can’t help but sigh. She thinks Caitlyn’s a good person—for someone from topside. There’s a softness to her, a kindness that reminds Vi of the people she used to know back when things were simpler, when she wasn’t caught between the rubble of the Lanes and the ghosts of her past. But despite Caitlyn’s goodness, Vi knows one thing, something deep in her heart that she can’t escape: no one could ever be you.

No one could replace you. The girl she grew up with, the girl she used to dream about, the girl who haunted her thoughts long after she had fallen asleep. Vi’s chest tightens at the thought. The kiss with Caitlyn, the one you saw—it’s nothing more than a hollow moment, something that never should’ve happened. She wanted it to be you.

Vi shudders slightly. The kiss, the way Caitlyn’s lips felt against hers, it was nothing like the memories of you. Nothing like the way your hand used to fit in hers, how your laugh could fill a room with warmth, how you made her feel like she was worth something. Caitlyn could never make her feel the same way you made me feel, could never replace the way you made her feel alive, like everything in her life had a purpose.

“I couldn’t…” Vi murmurs to herself quietly. “I couldn’t feel that for anyone except you.”

Her hand slowly reaches out, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as they brush against yours. Her touch is gentle, careful, despite the roughness of her calloused palms, worn from years of fighting, of surviving. She holds your hand like she’s afraid you’ll slip away, like if she lets go, you’ll disappear, and she’ll be left with nothing but the echoes of a time she can never get back.

Your eyes instinctively shift to your hands, the same hands you once held as children. You remember how easy it was, how natural it felt when you were younger, sitting side by side in the dirt or on the roof of the Last Drop, fingers intertwined like nothing could ever pull you apart. Back then, it felt like the world was small, and nothing could hurt you as long as you were together.

But now—now, everything has changed.

Her fingers curl around yours, and the warmth of her touch sends a wave of memories flooding back—soft laughter, secret glances, the way her eyes would linger on you when she thought you weren’t looking. You blink, trying to keep the rush of emotions in check, but it’s hard when every inch of you feels like it’s trembling.

Vi’s eyes flicker to the ground below for a moment, her cheeks suddenly flushed, the soft red hue creeping up to her ears. It was that same familiar blush that’d show during the times she’d gift you a tiny present from those adventurous jobs she was in. She’s so close now, you can hear her breath hitch slightly as if she’s gathering the courage to speak words that she’s kept locked away for far too long.

“I’ve always loved you, you know,” she said finally. “I never got the chance to tell you…”

The words tumble from her mouth, quiet and unsteady, but every one of them feels like it’s been etched into her soul for years. She looks up at you, the faint redness still coloring her face as she holds your hand.

“I’d really like to make for the time I lost with you.”

The noise from the jukebox below, faint music playing through the speakers, the distant chatter of the Firelights—it all fades away, drowned out by the thundering silence between you both. You stare at her, your heart racing, a million thoughts running through your mind, but none of them can fully process the weight of what she’s just said. You feel the tears burn at the back of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You just stare at her—really look at her—like you haven’t in years.

Vi’s ears are bright red now, her gaze flicking away nervously. She’s never been good with things like this, always hiding behind her strength, her toughness.

And now, it’s all laid out in front of you.

She’s always loved you.

You swallow hard, your hand squeezing hers as you finally manage to find your voice, even though it feels as if it’s been taken from you for so long. You’re not sure if you want to speak, if you’re ready to speak, but it doesn’t matter.

A single tear slips down your cheek, catching in the moonlight that spills across the roof. You huff, your breath shaky, and quickly turn your head, trying to wipe it away before Vi can see.

But you’re not quick enough.

Vi’s blue eyes are already on you, her gaze soft, understanding, and something deeper, something tender that makes your heart ache even more. She doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you quietly, her thumb gently brushing over your knuckles as she holds your hand tighter.

The silence stretches between the two of you, but it doesn’t feel heavy. It feels like the beginning of something, something you both need but are too afraid to admit.

“You’re such an idiot,” you murmur, your voice unsteady as you try to hide the way your chest tightens.

You shake your head, still unable to fully meet her gaze, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them. The sting of the tear on your cheek fades as you try to swallow down the lump in your throat, but it’s useless.

Vi’s lips twitch, just a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’s always known how to make you smile, even when everything else around you seemed to be falling apart. Now, it’s the same thing. She’s still that person who knows how to make your heart feel lighter, even in times like this.

“I know.”

Her voice is soft, almost teasing, but there’s no mockery in it, only the acceptance of your words—because she’s heard them before. She’s known, deep down, that you always thought she was an idiot, that she was reckless, that she made mistakes.

But none of that mattered.

She’s always loved you. And you’ve always known it, even if you didn’t want to admit it at first.

She scoots closer to you, the space between you shrinking as she leans in, her body warm against yours. You can feel the weight of her presence beside you, the soft strength that always made you feel safe. Her hand tightens around yours, pulling it into her lap, and you let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as if you can’t bear to look at her yet.

But her touch reminds you of who you were before everything fell apart, before the years, the distance, and the pain.

“I know,” she repeats softly, her smile growing. She brings your hand up to her lips, softly pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, the red still staining her ears as she nudges you with her shoulder.

“But I’m your idiot.”

And you want to laugh, want to smile and tease her like you used to, but instead, you just sit there. Just breathe.

Vi is here. She’s real. And she’s never stopped loving you.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re ready to love her back the way she’s always wanted you to.

ty for reading! | masterlist

[ilwonuu]

show me

yang jeongin

•pairing- established relationship, inexperienced!reader x softdom!jeongin

•genre- pure smut

•synopsis- your boyfriend offers to teach you how to please him. maybe you didn’t even need his teaching.

•warnings- smut without plot, jeongin has a corruption kink low-key, oral sex (m rec), dirty talk, praise, mentions sex, jeongin a freak but wbk, lots of cum uhhhhh lmk what i missed <3

your whole body was shaking in anticipation. you have never sucked dick before. and your boyfriend offered to guide you through it with a pretty smirk.

“don’t worry sweetheart. you’ll be perfect.” he looked down at you on your knees. you looked at him with a half smile.

you trust jeongin more than anything but of course you’re gonna be nervous to do this for the first time.

“you see how hard you got me?” he rubbed your cheeks softly as his eyes darkened as he stared at you.

“want you to feel good innie.” you whispered to him as you broke eye contact.

“you’re cute. will you take my pants off for me like a good girl?” his voice sounded deeper as he helped you with the first step.

you loved when he talked to you like this you’ve discovered after a few make out sessions and dry humping. jeongin was pretty big.

you felt and could see obviously. you grabbed the hem of his pajama pants, pulling down his legs. his dick stood in front of your eyes. you were surprised jeongin wasn’t wearing underwear.

“just for you.” he said with a big smirk. you blushed at his word before getting ahold of his cock in your hands. he watched you with a smirk before grabbing his cock from you.

“open your mouth.” you’ve never seen his eyes this dark as he watched your every movement. you open your mouth wide for him as he waited for him.

“look at you. so dirty for me aren’t you? tell me how bad you want my cock in your mouth.” he rubbed his dick against your lips as he waited for an answer.

“i want your cock so bad- innie please i just-“ he smiled at you as he spoke.

“show me. let me see you put it in your mouth.” he leaned back against the wall as he focused on you. you didn’t want to wait anymore so you grabbed his half hard cock. you licked the tip as you kept your gaze with him.

he hissed at the contact as he watched you take him into your mouth. you remembered he was supposed to be guiding you but you seemed to be pleasing him with exactly what you’re doing.

“f-fuck just like that. are y-you sure this is your first time?” he helped you bob your head on his cock. jeongin’s dirty talk had flat lined and most of what could be heard was his groans and moans.

“uh- fuck. don’t stop i’m gonna cum in your mouth if you keep going like that.” that made you moan into his cock. he sounded so good when you pleasured him.

“good fucking girl. i knew you’d know how to suck t-this- cock. god baby.” jeongin threw his head back as he got lost in his pleasure.

“i’m gonna cum. s-shit you gonna swallow like my good girl?” you hummed in response as you keep your movements on his cock. you wanted to come up for air but you could tell how close he was. his thighs were twitching with how close he was.

“mm- i’m cumming.” he keep his eyes on you as his cum painted the inside of your mouth. there was a lot of the warm liquid in your throat.

you were caught off guard with him pulling out of your mouth to cum a little on your face. painting your lips as he planted and moaned your name.

“god fuck- you are gonna kill me. i’ve never came that much from just head. you’re crazy baby.” he laughed a little as he helped you cleaned your face.

“come here.” he kissed you with a big smirk.

“i’d like to teach you some other things too. if you want.” he pulled you close to him as his smirk only got bigger.

a/n: i needed fo post this bc i was dying of jeongin thoughts. i love u all muah<3 happy holidays idk when i’ll post next lmfao

[o0sleepingdead0o]

Prepared for Anything Pt. 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, MasterPost

Danny folded his arms beneath his head where he lay on the desert floor. The sky blinked with stars and he was so happy he took a trip out of Gotham to do this. He liked Gotham, it felt kinda like home. But it didn’t have stars. It didn’t have the expanse of clear black pinpricked with dazzling, little lights and constellations.

It was handy being able to pop in and out of hemispheres any time he pleased.

“DANNY?!” 

Oh.

Danny rolled his head to the side to see a few violently shivering vigilantes coming around a scraggly, rocky outcrop. Robin, Red Hood, and a black and blue one Danny hadn’t encountered before, wrapped their arms around themselves tightly. They changed directions to walk towards him.                                                                                           

“Oh, hey guys.” Danny raised a hand to wave lazily at them and tucked it back in place. “What are y'all doing out here?” He asked amicably, though surmised they must be on some sort of mission. What a coincidence.

Hood and the one coloured like a bruise spluttered. “US?” Hood cried a little frenetically. As they got closer, Danny could see all their teeth were chattering and their lips were starting to turn blue. 

Oh. That wasn’t good. He had been sad Orphan wasn’t here. Maybe it was better that she wasn’t.

Hood and Robin stormed closer while Bruisy followed at a slower pace. “WHAT-T A-ARE YOU D-DOING OUT H-H-HERE?! H-HOW D-DID YOU GET OUT H-HERE?! I M-MEAN. . . .WHAT?!” Hood gestured his arms bewilderedly at him. “W-WERE T-TEN C-COUNTIRES A-AWAY F-F-FROM THE S-S-STATES!”

Danny stood up and reached under his t-shirt. “Here.” He handed Hood, Robin, and Bruisy large, reflective blankets, throwing Hood off from his rant.

“. . .wha. . .” Bruisy said. The vigilantes seemed slightly confused, but didn’t hesitate to unfold them and throw them around their shoulders.

“So?” Danny raised an eyebrow.

“Our p-plane w-wrecked.” Robin grumbled venomously.

“. . .and ex-exploded.” Hood added.

Danny hummed sympathetically. 

Robin opened his mouth again. “How are you—“

“Have you contacted. . um. . . your associates?” Danny wasn’t really sure what the vigilantes called each other or what their relations were like, but they acted like teammates. They should help each other out when things like this happened, right?

Bruise sighed. “N-no signal.” The man seemed particularly tired and out a little out of it. That really wasn’t good.

“A-and all the s-supers are o-off planet.”

“The what are where? Nevermind.” Danny waved his hand dismissively and reached over his shoulder. He ducked his head a little as he withdrew a three foot metal rod from the back of his shirt.

“Uhhhh. . .” Bruise said.

Danny pulled another rod from a sleeve and a third from his pant leg.

“H-how, dude, j-just. . .just w-why?” Hood said.

Danny didn’t answer and reached underneath the back of his shirt to pull out a fourth. He stuck them in the ground straight up, making a square.

“W-what are y-you d-doing?” Robin asked.

“Building a cell tower.” Danny said and reached into his other pant leg, taking out another rod. And another. From his pocket, he pulled out a screwdriver and some screws.

“. . .N-nothing a-about you makes-s s-sense.” Hood commented.

Danny snorted.

“Y-you’re n-n-not aff-ffected by the c-cold. W-why?” Robin’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Uhhhhh. . .” Danny attached more rods together and screwed some screws. “I, uh. . .I was working out. Warmed me up a lot.” He lied. He knew it was bad. He was still going to drive it into the ground if they questioned it. “And I haven’t been here that long.”

Danny fished a large spool of wire from his back pocket and a pair of pliers from the other.

Robin watched him do it. He stared at him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing further. “Meta-human.”

“Gesundheit.”

The reply seemed to take the vigilantes by surprise, but said nothing of it. They were too busy shivering and huddling on the ground, trying to warm up. At least they didn’t seem to be getting worse.

Danny pulled rod after rod from his clothes. He began to retrieve them from the dirt and sand before it became too many to say it was physically possible to have this many pieces on his person. He had to have limits somewhere. 

“. . .How d-did you k-know those w-were th-th-there!?” Hood said.

“Umm. . .I come here often. What if I got stranded and needed to call someone? Or I spotted a UFO and needed to make contact? I buried these in the sand so no one would steal ‘em.”

“. . . W-were in the m-middle of t-the d-desert. I d-don’t think you n-need to w-worry about th-that. . .”

“You found me, didn’t you?”

“. . .”

“. . .”

Dannykept attaching, and screwing, and wiring, and plier-ing, until he was finally at the top of a twenty-foot tower, and affixing transceivers to it. With the ectoplasm Danny infused into it, it should be powerful enough to work.

He had considered making them a jet, but that might take too long. This way they could get help from the nearest civilization while they waited for pick-up.

  Danny climbed back down.

Even with their masks, the baffled astonishment was clear on the vigilante’s faces. “What the heck. . .” Bruise said faintly.

Danny ignored him and flicked a switch. “Give it a go.” He encouraged the vigilantes who looked to be shaking a little less.

They shared doubtful glances and checked their tech. “It works!” Hood exclaimed and immediately sent out an S.O.S.

Danny made an offended noise and held a hand to his chest. “You doubted me?”

“Yes.” The three said in unison.

“It’s a cell tower.” Hood continued. “How do you even know how to build that?”

“Eh.” Danny shrugged. “You pick a few things up when your parents have a lab in their basement for you to play around in growing up.”

There was a long pause. 

“That is highly concerning and explains almost nothing.”

Danny’s brows furrowed.

“Seriously. How are you here?”

Danny shrugged again. “I walked.” It wasn’t a lie.

Despite explaining he had a way back to Gotham, the vigilantes wouldn’t leave without him. They slept most of the way back.

Tag List: @okami-love @whataspectaclebear @thomasdimensor @observerblock23 @stargazer-luna

[goldenatreides]

- training season -

[ paul atreides x reader ]

2.7k words, oneshot, smut, friends to lovers

summary: in a pinch, a dusty old weapons closet is just as good a hiding place as any.

content warnings: 18+ (minors shoo!) no use of y/n, all characters are over 18, f!reader, smut, religious imagery, mentions of violence, use of the Voice, implied consent, m/f pairing, fingering, PiV sex, semi-public unprotected sex, creampie, uhhhhh overuse of italics, gurney halleck jumpscare,

author’s note: you will pry my italics and religious imagery from my cold, dead hands. i need to be sedated. all feedback is appreciated and lmk if u find anything wrong, it’s my first time writing in a decade i think!! thank you to @earthshells for editing and teaching me about shrimping in bjj <3

🤍 masterlist 🤍 about 🤍 read on ao3 🤍

The clash of two blades resonates through the training room of Caladan.

Paul swipes at your side with his blade but you dodge, elbowing him hard in the ribs, catching him off balance. As you back away, he grabs your arm and pulls you down with him, pinning you against the ground; your face down on the cold stone floor, his legs straddling your back.

Your chest burns at the impact, flush against the floor. You feel his entire weight on top of you, heaving from exertion. His legs keep one arm locked at your side, under him, the other still caught in his grasp, pressed to the ground. Your blade scrapes against the stone.

“Do you yield?” His voice is much closer than you expect. His breath is close, tickling the back of your neck, too close, too warm—a shiver snakes down your spine.

(Why does it do that?)

Dark messy curls fall into your field of vision, some brushing the shell of your ear. A prickle against your jugular taunts you — his knife at your throat. Your shield buzzes with the contact.

(Ah.

He’s pressing it harder today than ever before.)

You make a small noise in answer, sound muffled by the ground.

Paul shifts his weight on top of you by sitting up, his legs still caging your back, knife at your throat. He relaxes the hand that holds yours bound.

(That’s new.)

Instead, Paul grabs a fistful of your hair at the back of your neck, lifting your head slightly. It hurts — but you can’t lie and say it’s… entirely unpleasant.

(Oh.

That’s new too.)

“Well?”

You can hear the teasing grin in his voice. Years upon years of training with him and still, he knows your left side is your weakest. But you’ll be damned before you give Paul the satisfaction of beating you for the third time in a row this week.

You wriggle slightly under him, testing his hold — why is he still clutching your hair? — and finding it looser than you expect, you rotate, using your free arm to lurch back and upwards suddenly, knocking him off you. You hear him land to your side with a thud and a surprised grunt, blade clattering to the ground.

Fingers curling around the hilt of your blade, you spin around, hooking your legs against his to trap him. Now, you straddle him, your knife pressing against his throat.

“What’s gotten into you today, Paul?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” he answers, still grinning.

His eyes are deadly, dark green.

Ignoring his choice to play stupid, you hiss: “Do you yield, Atreides?”

His holtzmann shield buzzes a bright red at his neck.

Your pulse buzzes too.

(Just the adrenaline.)

You want to wipe the smug grin off his face. He could have won so easily, you were distracted, why didn’t he?

Maybe he let his guard down too soon, or maybe — and you’ll never forgive him in this case — he’s going easy on you.

You feel the pinprick echo of his hands clutching your hair. A knot ties in your stomach, but you refuse to associate the two feelings.

(It must be close to lunch by now.)

Surely that must be it.

Paul laughs. It’s bright, airy — did your heart just skip a beat?

“Never.”

He reaches for his blade — that he shouldn’t have lost in the first place, he knows better than that — and as you lean forward to stop him, he uses your momentary distraction to free his other hand.

Which he promptly knots into your hair again, pulling you down by the back of your neck. Your legs slide out from under you against the slippery stone floor. Curse whoever built this castle.

Your own shield joins the buzzing, his knife finding your neck once more, yours still pressed against his, noses a hair’s width away.

His chest moves yours with each breath, every exhale waving strands of your hair that escaped his grasp.

You lie frozen above him for a moment or two. His eyes are so close you can count every individual lash, his pupils so blown you can see yourself reflected back at you.

Something about them is different today.

You’ve been staring at those eyes your whole life. Countless wishes cast on those same fallen lashes, gold flecks sparkling through a sea of forest green. You’ve seen them beam with childish mirth when you stole pastries from the kitchen, both your hands sticky from the bun you shared, giggling under a heavy oak table. You’ve seen them sorrowful and sullen, his under eyes as dark as bruises as he snuck into your room for comfort in the middle of the night after a bad dream, innocent adolescence.

Now, from so close, they’re dark, darker than you’ve seen—a raging sea, so bewitching it can drown you with no warning if you don’t tread with caution. You’ve caught glimpses of it before, in darkened hallways and after too many glasses of crimson Caladan wine, when he didn’t think you were looking—but never with such feverish intensity.

(Just the adrenaline.

He’s just caught up in the fight.)

Paul’s lips part slightly as his chest heaves up and down beneath you. You feel heat creeping into your cheeks, and a mirroring rosy blush dusts his high cheekbones. Few faint freckles dot his cheeks during the summer season and you see them now like clusters of little stars.

His eyes never leave yours, but his tongue darting out and slightly wetting his parted lips grabs your attention and you can’t help but stare. You trace your gaze along the dip in his cupid’s bow, the regal arch of his pointed nose, the cheekbones sculpted as if from marble of antiquity.

(Oh, Maker.

I’m staring.)

You cough to clear your throat from the thick silence that settles over the two of you, broken only by your mingled breaths. His mouth closes, lips curling into a coy smile as he sees you flush more under his stare.

“Something wrong?” his voice comes out husky, deeper than you’ve heard before. Why was the room suddenly so hot? The castle’s heating never worked so well.

You refuse to meet his piercing gaze again, mortified at the situation, desperate to look anywhere but at the boy below you. The boy —your childhood best friend, you remind yourself in an attempt to clear your head of whatever is happening—is different today.

(And whatever is happening is definitely not happening.

It’s just Paul.

He’s just messing with you.)

Still avoiding his eyes, you sit up, excuses already tumbling from your mouth—cut off by Paul tightening his grip on your hair, sending electric sparks tingling at the roots of your scalp.

Your breath hitches in your throat as his voice comes out not fully his own—distant, many echoing voices folding in his own all at once, commanding your undivided attention and acceptance:

“Look at me.”

Your stomach falls through the floor as your eyes snap to meet his. Maybe all those lessons he skipped to hang out with you were not so useless after all.

You feel every point of contact with him a thousandfold. His hand in your hair, yours on his chest, his toned waist between your ever-so-slightly trembling legs. His other hand drops his knife, and slides up to rest on your waist, lithe fingers delicately brushing the stitches of your clothing.

“Paul—” Your voice comes out more of a whispery mumble than you expected.

(Maybe the floor will open up and swallow me whole.)

The hand in your hair relaxes, and his palm slides down to the back of your neck, fingers light as a feather. They hook your jaw, cupping your cheek. You think you’ll suffocate under the weight of his gaze on you.

Paul breaks the stare first, his eyes clinging to your mouth.

His thumb gently traces the outside of your lips, teasing your bottom lip. You hope he can’t feel how your pulse thunders against your neck, your heart threatening to escape your chest at his very touch.

(He definitely can.)

Heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway outside break the spell and you both freeze in a moment of panic. A familiar voice calls out for Paul, as you jump off him and he scrambles to his feet.

He looks around the room quickly, and seeing an old and dusty weapons storage closet, he grabs your hand and pulls you into it, shutting the heavy door as quietly as possible behind him.

Not a moment too soon, as you hear Gurney Halleck’s voice coming from the training room.

“Paul?”

After a beat of silence, Gurney sighs in frustration and you hear the training room doors click as he leaves.

You and Paul breathe a sigh of relief. You’ve both skipped out on one too many tutors this week, but the consequences can wait until…later.

Your eyes adjust to the lack of light in the closet. In the inky darkness, you feel Paul standing in front of you, so close in the cramped space that with each breath his chest flushes against yours. He smells of cedar, of bergamot, of honey. Comforting. Familiar. Paul.

What the hell just happened in that training room? You’re not willing to break the heavy silence first. Neither is he.

Instead, he kisses you.

Your mind goes blank as you feel his lips, softer than a pillow, press against yours. The kiss is gentle, shy, nothing like the fierce training you were practicing earlier, nothing like the commanding voice of the Atreides heir.

(Oh, fuck it.

Maybe it is happening.)

As Paul starts to pull away, you open your lips and kiss him back—feverish, hungry, devouring—your heart hammering out of your chest.

It was as if a rubber band had snapped, releasing whatever was holding either one of you back. He deepens the kiss, and you melt into it—his lips crashing against yours, his tongue tracing against your own. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth and softly pulls, wrenching a deep moan from you that he stifles with his lips.

His hands find your waist and he pushes you back against the wall, lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his middle as he presses into you, his hips slotting perfectly between them.

The sudden movement sends a rack of old weapons crashing down, a cacophony of metal and plasteel, undoubtedly ancient and expensive, startling you both.

He pulls back from you for a moment and breathes heavily, both of you straining to hear if anyone noticed. As you relax, he presses his forehead against yours. A stray curl brushes your lashes. If someone were to find you here, like this, you’re both good as dead for the foreseeable future.

In the darkness, your labored breaths intermingling, his voice comes out as barely a whisper.

“Is this alright?”

Your head spins and you think if you don’t have him right now, immediately, you might die.

Instead of answering, you grab Paul’s face and pull him back in for a kiss. He moans into you, a deep guttural groan, rolling his hips forward, starving hands roaming against breathless skin.

Heat pools in your stomach as he continues to roll his hips against yours, his lips plush and addicting. You knot your fingers into his unruly curls, gently tugging and the groan that leaves his lips is more holy than a hymn.

(Maybe you could stay like this forever.)

He peppers desperate butterfly kisses along your lips, along your jaw, along the length of your neck. As he presses his lips to your pulse in the crook of your neck, you hear him chuckle as you feel the thud-thud thud-thud thud-thud of your racing heartbeat.

His hands fall from your waist to cup your thighs as he continues to kiss and nip at your neck, grazing his teeth along your pulse, leaving barely a mark. The heat between your legs only grows, electricity shooting upwards with every push of his hips. Even through the layers of cloth you can feel him against you and every cell in your body screams more, more, more.

Paul’s hand slides up your inner thigh, and grazes a sensitive spot through the fabric of your underwear. Instinctively, you arch into it, but he stops and pins your back harder against the wall until you can’t move an inch, trapped by his arms and his presence.

You know he’s grinning like a devil in the dark. You don’t want to wipe it away this time.

He toys with the waistband of your underwear, slipping a finger behind the fabric, teasing in lazy, languid strokes. You whine softly, unspoken begs for more of his touch that set your cheeks ablaze and your head whirling.

“What is it?” Paul asks, lips at your neck, kissing at a delicate spot right under your jaw.

“Please,” you groan.

His breathing is ragged as he continues toying with your waistband, a teasing finger occasionally traveling down between your legs.

You think you’re going to die waiting.

“Please what?” He’s toying with you, his voice laced with honey.

If you do die, you’re going to drag him to hell with you.

But in between bruising kisses, all you manage is a whimper that Paul swallows with his kiss.

“Use your words, my star.”

His lips trace the shell of your ear sending electric shivers down your spine. His teeth tug slightly at the lobe and the world echoes until the only thing left is him and his hands and his voice.

“I need you, Paul,” you breathe, the words leaving your mouth before you even think of them, pulled out by his Voice, “Please.”

A lithe finger finally slips under the fabric, pushing it aside. His thumb traces hurried circles around your clit, everything already slick from his relentless teasing.

He presses his lips to yours again, silencing his own groans. Just as the knot in your stomach starts to build, he slides a finger down your slit, and you sigh at the loss of his rhythmic movement.

But you don’t have time to voice your discontent—you feel him slide one of his long fingers inside you and you press into his touch. You don’t even have time to think before another finger slips in and you feel the slight burning stretch. Your head falls back against the cold wall as you pant, and his hands work in and out, chasing your pleasure.

You dig your nails into his back. His hand works faster and faster, and in between whispered curses and pleading prayers you find your release.

Through the haze of your high and waves of bliss, you’re vaguely aware of Paul’s belt buckle falling to the ground, somewhere. In the tangle of roaming hands, messy hair and skin plastered with a thin sheen of sweat, Paul’s shirt buttons come undone — likely by your doing — and your own soaked underwear gets lost in the dark — definitely Paul’s doing.

However, you’re very aware of every inch of Paul as he slides himself into you, your name falling from his lips like a prayer over and over again.

“You’re doing so good for me, my star,” Paul sighs into your ear, his hips flush against yours, fully inside. “You’re doing so well.”

With every thrust of his hips, you welcome the feeling of fullness as your nails rake down his back, leaving delicate red marks and half-moon indentations. Every push, he reaches a deeper part of you, his hands guiding your hips to meet him again and again, goosebumps covering your skin at his feverish touch.

Through half lidded eyes, you see his silhouette in the dark, tousled dark curls haloed by a sliver of light from the doorframe, strong shoulders and toned arms keeping you pressed against the wall even as his hips stutter in his desperate rhythm inside you.

He falters and you feel him twitch, consequences be damned, as he sinks completely inside you, hands bruising your hips and voice groaning as his own release catches up to him.

He looks almost holy this way, completely undone inside you, and whispering your name as if it can save him.

(Maybe it can.)

[syoounn]

𝓐𝓭𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔂𝓸𝓾...

•BSD men with their drunk s/o

•Characters: Chuuya, Fyodor, Sigma

٭⊹¤.•⨳•.*☆✬٭⊹¤.•⨳•.*☆✬٭⊹¤.•٭.×٭

Chuuya

After you went partying with your friends.. it's not surprising that you were drunk and, of course... Chuuya has to take you home.

Once both of you arrived, he laid you down on the couch and started to take off your shoes.

"Doll.. I told you not to drink too much.." He said as he sighed.

"I'm not drunk.. just.. uhhhhh" You were completely dizzy and can't think straight as all you can think you were lying on the soft sofa.

"Yes you are."

Chuuya sighed again and sat down next to you, ruffling your head a bit.

"Maybe you need a sober-up kiss?" He said.

"I'm not reaaally drunk...!" you said, slurring your words as you eyelid slowly getting heavy.

"Mhm sure. You barely can speak."

Chuuya chuckled the way you protested was adorable he then leaned in close to your face.

"You want this kiss or not?"

You were too drunk to think and couldn't really understand much of what Chuuya was saying, as you squeezed Chuuya’s cheeks as you were sleepy.

"You're so haaandsooome..~" you said, giggling and smiling.

Chuuya smiled and then leaned closer and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was tender and gentle. He pulled back after a few seconds and smirked, chuckling slightly.

"Feeling more sober now?"

"Nooo..." You said as you cling to him more, and feeling his warm body makes you more sleepy.

"Hmh. thought so"

Chuuya rolled his eyes playfully and then laid down next to you, wrapping his arms around you and holding you in his arms. He then waits for you to fall asleep.. and kept thinking of how adorable you were as that was what makes him love you more.

Fyodor

You saw a bottle of wine at the table.. you never really saw Fyodor drinking as you decided to take a sip, not knowing this wine was strong.

As you heard the door opened.. You saw Fyodor as he smiled at you.. "Myshka.. forgive me, i couldn't return home early.."

"Hmm.. Welcomeee home..!~" You said in your drunk state and smiling warmly.

Fyodor takes one look at you and there slurred speech. "My, you have been drinking Myshka?.. Perhaps you drink that wine i prohibited you to drink, have you?"

You were in trouble as you forgot about that. You were just curious and take a sip.. you don't know what happened next, and how did you end up feeling heavy and sleepy.

Fyodor lets out another gentle chuckle and slowly walks over to you, his dark eyes locked onto yours and his expression one of slight amusement.

"It is written all over your face, dear. Fyodor frowns, then walks up to you. "Don't play dumb with me."

He said as his tone was getting serious.. and you realize you were really in a big trouble. A dark look slowly takes hold of Fyodor's face as he walks over and sits beside her, his voice taking a sharp tone.

"You can't fool me, dear. This time, you might just have to face a punishment."

You can feel the coldness in his voice as you look at him frowning..

"Im.. sorry.." You said with a pleading look.

"You were told not to drink without my permission. My, my, you've been disobedient, aren't you?" He said sighing..

"Therefore, I must admit, you really are much more... malleable in this state.." His hand lands on your cheek and turns your head to face him as his other hand cups your chin. "In fact, I believe it would be quite fun to spend the rest of the evening with you like this. You're so adorable right now.."

He spoke again, leaning closer to you. "Shall we have fun tonight, Myshka?" Before you could even speak, your sleepiness took over, and you were completely falling asleep.

Fyodor merely chuckles and, with an expert hand, carries you into the bedroom and carefully lays you down on the bed.

"Sleep well.. Myshka.."

Sigma

You were tired of waiting to Sigma to get over from work, so you decided to head to his office.. but before you can even go, you spotted a bar as you decided a few drinks wouldn't hurt, right?

As Sigma finished his work, he saw you stumbled across the hallway. Sigma’s expression dropped almost immediately as he saw you walk towards him while stumbling. He panicked almost immediately and began to walk faster to meet you halfway. He looked slightly worried as he reached you.

"Are you alright, love.." He said his arms, wrapping around you as he looked at you with concerned eyes. He later realized you were drunk as you smelled like alcohol.

You smiled as you nuzzled your face to his neck and clinging to him.

"Hm.. you smell so nice.. i missed you.." You said still clinging to him.

Sigma’s grip around you tightened to stop you from possibly falling over.

“Of course you did love.” Sigma said as he smiled, “But you should listen to me when I tell you to wait for me.” Sigma chuckled once more before speaking again. “Did you drink while I was gone, love?”

"Noo..." You said, looking at him sleepy.

Sigma smiled at you as he stroked your hair.

“Come now, I don’t believe you.” Sigma said. “And you already look so tipsy.” Sigma chuckled again as he looked at you, and headed to your shared bedroom Sigma would then gently place you on the bed and lay you down gently, once you were down he would cuddle up beside you and wrap his arms around you while pulling you closer to him.

“There you go.” He said softly as he sighed and looked into your eyes as he thought you looked so adorable looking drunk and sleepy.

“You should take a nice sleep, love.” Sigma whispered softly as he continued to cuddle up against you. His breath would hitch occasionally as he started to become a bit tired as well.

You've stared at Sigma’s face for a while, admiring him.. as he noticed.. a slight blush appeared on his cheeks as he smiled softly at you and kissed your forehead.

"I love you.." You said as he smiled softly after hearing your words of affection, despite you being drunk.

“I love you too.” Sigma replied as he pulled you closer towards him. He held you tight in his arms as he whispered those three words once more. He knew the alcohol would eventually knock you out, so he decided to continue and say those words one last time before you did.

“I love you, love. I will always love you.” He whispers once more.

As you proceed to fall asleep deeply, while feeling his warm embrace..

٭⊹¤.•⨳•.*☆✬٭⊹¤.•⨳•.*☆✬٭⊹¤.•٭.×٭

[yuzuki-ero]

Increased circulation

Gyomei x y/n (AFAB)

MDNI – Minor do not interact

Word count: 1300+

" " is dialogue

' ' is thoughts

Warning: involuntary erection, nudity, vaginal intercourse, internal ejaculation, size kink, embarrassing moments ,hook up

Ahem ahem pls be kind to me this is my first smut Did you know onsen weren't separated by gender in old jp?

"Ding dong ding dong"

The sound of the bell

The signal that the end of today has come

"Hhphew..." you nearly lay your tired body on the training grounds

After a long day of training, you decided to treat yourself to an onsen

You missed the group onsen yesterday because you were on your last day of periods

"Hm..."

You couldn't resist humming as you submerge yourself in the water, it's one of the most comfortable feelings in the world, along with the texture of freshly made mochi in your mouth

Your journey to dreamland were interrupted as you noticed the toned foot by the corner of your eye

a deep calm voice replied

"Hello"

"... ... ..!!!" it took you a while to recognize that voice

You sit up straight and bashfully make space for his size

"Ah... thank you"

You swear the pool level raised a little when he sits in it

"Ah, hm..."

- An uncomfortable moment of silence -

Your mind were racing a mile per minute

Nervous, due to your limited experience as a demon slayer

Frail, Weak, Ordinary and way too unskilled to find topics to talk about

Yet, you do want to become stronger

"Eh... Gyomei-sama?"

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me how do I get stronger?"

His stoic face breaks into a warm smile

"Sure thing, but why do you ask me? Aren't you under some Cultivator for your breathing style?"

"Because.... I want to look like you, I want to have the muscles that you have"

he could vaguely feel the shape of you from the ripples that reflects on the surface of the water from even your most subtle movements

"Hm... do you really want that? You're cute as you are, I think- "

"I think your body is reflective of your strength Gyomei-sama! I wish I could get stronger, like you do!"

And poor him, it's getting more vivid as you crawl closer to inspect and admire his features. You nearly touched his skin.

...............................................

'Is that supposed to be standing up?'

"Oh" you exhaled shakily softly when you noticed it and turned your face the other way

'It could be normal...' you thought as you draw circles in the water to calm your racing heart

You can tell without looking that Gyomei is bashfully crossing his legs to try to hide it somehow

'It's so big... maybe it's a sign of strength- BAHHH! what am I thinking! Stop right now!'

*splash splash*

You tried to hit any sort of sense back into yourself, with the onsen water, slapping your face, anything

'I bet I would choke on it- STOP! STOP IT'

"Uh- don't- don't drown yourself in the onsen, please..."

*gurgle bubbling noises*

He clap his hands together and chant "Name Amida Butsu..." as tears flows freely from his sightless eyes

…..

You eventually calmed down and sit beside him quietly

At a comfortable distance

But his- um

His erection is not coming down

“So… Is this like… uhhhhh…..”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to offend you”

“Is this part of the result of your training”

“What???”

“No? Oh… ok”

………...

You can’t help the way your eyes linger

It’s throbbing, it’s veiny, it’s moving to the currents created by the waterfall in this onsen

Your head was turned to the side but your pupils are glue to that trunk

You hoped it wasn’t too obvious- Himejima-sama is quite a gentle person, after all, from the way he speak so softly to everyone

But he can feel it, he was ‘staring’ at you too

“Himejima-sama…

Can I help you with that?”

His entire face was heated up with a fever blush down to his neck

“You’re so forward…!”

“Is that a yes or no, Gyomei-sama…”

*gulp*

“Yes” He nods

You scooted to sit closer to him, touching his skin, and hold his face

“May I…?”

He doesn’t reply, only squeezely shut his eyes tight, and lean in to start kissing you

His tongue lightly dabs on your bottom lip, and grazing your teeth

Which is met by your own tongue, receiving his techniques and ministrations

As your kiss stays connected, he lifted you by the hips, under the thighs, to straddle him

“Are you ready?”

“Ready? Ready for- oh… ready for that”

He bit his lip slightly it as it touches the inner your two thighs

“yes” He whimpered out desperately

He gasped as you grabbed his cock and instinctively get a hold of your hips

*gulp*

“Ah…” His mouth wobbles as you start to take him in, slowy

He feels so much but it was so good, he’s gritting his teeth and popping veins on his forehead and neck trying to hold back from setting his own pace

He’s even tearing up a little waiting for you

“Tight…” He hissed out under his breath

He lets out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding when you finally managed to let him sink into you as deep as you can

Your gasps and warmth eatting away at his restraint

He gently moved strands of hair out of your forehead, and held you close as you ground yourself for his size, caressing your arms and your sides, thoughtfully

“Ah…!” winds knocked out of his lungs when you started.

He tried his best to withstand it, his fists clench and release on to the decoration stone he was leaning on for support

It felt so good he wanted to thrust back with his own fervor

But Gyomei don’t want to hurt you, so he just sighs and blow air out of his mouth frequently in his best attempt to let you set the pace, but he hyperventilates so much people might think he’s about to pass out.

He bit his lips, pinch his thighs, flex his abs, anything to make sure he doesn’t start making decisions subconciusly

“Oh…Ah…” He almost congratulates his prayers that you finally starts to move faster

The water starts to spill out of the onsen from the impact you both were making

He grabbed your hips and move it to the pace you’ve set

It felt almost unreal-

Your hips in both of his hands- and that his member disappears in and out of you

Just fast enough to make his dick feel the tingles and goosebumps

“Can we go faster? Please…y/n?” He sniffled out, tears almost fall from the corner of his eyes

He’s so cute! You just want to give everything to this man

You put your hand over his, and say:

“Yes, please guide me”

Feeling your arms draped over his shoulders, he sits up and starts to bounce you off his hips

The water splashed out of the pool so much it’s flooding the surrounding floor

But he has stopped caring about that

Your skins met and clapped together the walls and doors counldn’t hide what you two were doing anymore

Not to mention the both of your faint moans that follows, in sync with each slap

Gyomei was salivating and losing his composure, with his half-lidded eyes and arch in his torso

“Ngh…gah-ah…” That was a raspy grunt of effort, and groan of pleasure,

But his speed is not faltering

In fact, it feels like it’s sped up 3 times more

“Y/n are- are you close too? I don’t think I can hold on much longer” 

He’s biting his lower lips, eyes wide, blushing and sweating all over his face

Goddamn

that’s the sexiest face you’ve ever seen

He starts to jack-hammering as soon as you nod- bulging his arms and wheezing through his teeth

You start to pant and gasps as he nails that G-spot inside you over and over while grazing all the other spots just from his girth alone

It took a few more strokes, before you finally-

“Ah…!”

You feel your pelvic floor tensing and squeezing on him hard in waves of tensing and relaxing

Then it was not long before you feel a surge of fluids busted and filled you on the inside

He pulled you to kiss softly before letting you rest on his body

As you ponder how your relationship with the stone hashira have changed

[a-substantial-trash-pile]

This morning I said goodbye to my childhood dog, Kody. He was 18 years old. He was my baby. My best friend. My whole heart. I love him so much.

I remember the first time we met Kody at the animal shelter. He was actually named Tyra then because the staff had thought he was female. Then the first thing he did in our meet-n-greet was try to pee on my brother's leg, and the staff member with us at the time was like, "oops I think this may be a boy actually." So of course we had to take him. When my dad was signing the adoption forms, the desk person asked what he wanted to rename "Tyra" to since "Tyra" was actually a boy. My dad, put on the spot, just went, "uhhhhh Tyrone?" We still laugh about it to this day.

So my dog went from being a Tyra, to a Tyrone, and then to a Kody, because that was the name us kids wanted. I remember the way we thought that name up was because we watched a lot of the Disney show "Suite Life of Zack and Cody" at that time. But we changed the "C" to a "K" because in our kid minds it made the name cooler and more unique.

Kody was a weird little guy. He had a lot of anxiety, which meant he fit right into our family. He didn't get along with many dogs unless they were old and calm and it took him a while to warm up to strangers. When he went on walks, he would have to go and pee on every tree we came across, even though he had nothing left in the chamber and was just doing the motions. He liked to climb on top of the couch and the loveseat and nap there. He liked to nap in warm piles of fresh laundry and patches of sunlight too. We always joked that he acted more like a cat than a dog. When I tried giving him bones or chews, all he'd do was roll on them and then go stuff them under the couch or behind a shelf without chewing them. Actually, Kody was pretty picky with his food in the early days. Maybe because my mom kept giving him table food. But as he got into senior age, he got less picky. Kody also loved getting nightly scratches from my dad. He'd lay in my dad's lap and get so relaxed from the scratching. I'd get a little jealous because I couldn't get Kody to stay in my lap as long as my dad could.

The only command we ever managed to teach Kody was "sit" and he was real good at it if he knew you had a treat in hand. However when he got older and began developing dementia as well as gradually loosing his sight and hearing, he lost the command. The first time I realized he didn't know how to sit anymore, I cried. The first time I realized that Kody didn't know how to wag his tail anymore, I cried. Watching him deteriorate from what he once was, watching the shine in his eyes become dull and cloudy, watching as he gradually lost the ability to do more and more things... it was so painful.

Last night Kody came over to me and laid his head in my lap and fell asleep. It was the first time he had done that in months. I just sat there and pet him and cried. Now I can never pet him or hold him or kiss him on the head again. And it feels so unbearably, unimaginably painful. I can barely comprehend it. It feels like I'm in a nightmare. It feels like my heart's been ripped out of my chest. It feels like a part of my world is ending. But I know I will be okay eventually. I have to be.

Kody, you were a very good boy. The best dog/cat/rat in the world. I'm going to miss hearing your little feet pitter-pattering across the floor. I'll miss your barking when the doorbell rings. Your excited whines in the car. How you would roll on your back for belly rubs. The way you would burrow under the blankets or just shove them around until you made a nest. Your snores and funny twitches when you're deep asleep. How your fur was soft on top your head and then got coarser on your back. How big and round your eyes were. I'm going to miss it all so much. I hope you know how loved you are. And I hope we meet again someday. Thank you for everything, Kody. I love you.

[leviackermanstoes]

When life brought you back.

Dark wizards!Sebastian sallow and ominis gaunt x auror! Reader.

....

Summary: You haven't seen Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt since your paths diverged long ago. When a cryptic case comes up with the ministery that you know you can't solve yourself, there's only two people who know can help you.

Includes: uhhhhh. Canon typical violence. Seb and omi are dark wizards, Dark, yall, so keep that in mind. Everyone is aged up as this takes place almost 13 years after hogwarts legacy. Reader is a high-ranking auror. Arguing. Angst. Bad writing. Seb and reader are ex lovers.

---

It was a cold night when the letter came.

Auror F/N L/N, when you get this letter, I will be long dead. I hope you will do good.

T.L

Almost immediately after you received the letter, there was a wave of violent murders across London. 4 women and 4 men across three different cities were all killed the same way with their throats cut. All had the dark mark.

During the most rainy days of the month, you were out looking for evidence. London was so unbearably cold when it rained, but there's never a more beautiful time to be outside. you found no more than basic evidence on your time out, and as mud and leaves stuck to your boots like an unwanted companion, you sighed and cursed yourself out.

caught in fallen brown and green leaves, empty cans, and bottles in the street, The streets of London that bore potholes and worn away cobblestone were bare of magic traces and anyone at all. And so you were lost.

When the stacks of paper rolled into your office later in the week, you were screwed. Deciphering the codes and the cryptic messages and symbols one by one over nights and nights became too much even for an auror of your status.

Triangle. Squares. Circles. An oval. A zigzag shape. Line and crosses and dots and squiggles.

One symbol, in particular, of a long s shape down the middle of a triangle struck you hard. You'd seen that before. It reminds you of the dark things you've seen and the many people you've faced that brought you threads length away from death. But most of all, it reminds you of them.

You knew there was only one place you could really go. The place you dreaded, and above all else, the people who hoped you wouldn't see again.

And you were sure they felt the same.

----

Azkaban is bloody dark. And even more so cold. Your cloak of grey warmed you in the sharp chill of the air as you made your way to the guards. Not a dementor, but a young man in a black mask covering his mouth who sat like royalty behind a desk.

"Excuse me?" You placed your hand on the desk.

"What do you want?"

The air was cold, but the masked man's tone was colder. You rolled your eyes at the monotone bass in his voice and continued to speak.

"I have a request to see Prisoners 234 and 235 here from the ministery of magic." You slid the note across where the masked man grabbed it in his slender gloved hand.

"And who are you?" He turnt his head.

"Auror F/N L/N"

"Mmmh," He grumbled and shooed you away.

Without bothering to ask any further, you walked to the elevator where two dementors accompanied you. Chills ran up your spine at the feeling of freezing air that their tattered and haunting cloaks were putting into the small space. Low growls and Sleek, Black creature like hands.

This had better be worth it.

---

Sebastian Sallow was just as handsome as he was all those years ago, if not more. His soft and round childish face grew sharper and more defined into ruggedness. The brown in his hair was darker and it was more more dishevelled. He was different. Larger hands, wider shoulders, and a dark look in his eyes, his emerald, crystalline eyes.

But he had his freckles still. Those goddamn freckles.

Ominis hadn't changed. Yes, his hair wasn't slicked back, and his face wasn't soft, and his once soft, cloudy eyes were glinting darker. But he hadn't changed. His body posture was still reserved and quiet, and he still gave quirks back to Sebastian's antics.

You observed them from outside their cells beside each other. Sebastian leaned with his arms above his head against the jailbars, eyes closed. Ominis leaned with his back at the wall, arms crossed, and one leg on the wall.

"You can't ignore me forever. Just answer my question, would you?"

You folded your arms across your chest and sighed. Ominis chuckled.

"You seriously haven't changed. Always in a hurry."

You watched ominis shake his head and push gently off the wall before he walked to the bars with a certain elegant swagger that only ominis gaunt could pull off. From beside ominis's cell, was the glaring eyes of Sebastian Sallow.

Emerald and Sharp like razor cut grass.

"Why not stick around and wait for a bit? You might find these people are as friendly as they look." sebastian gave a sly smile.

His face close to the bars, cold metal pressing into his worn out skin.

"I've seen them all before" You said simply as you moved your face closely to the bars. Inches from seb. "When I put them in here."

You stepped back and sighed. "Look, you guys, I have a few photos of symbols, I need your help to decipher what it all might mean"

Sebastian scoffed. "Wow. After 13 years and you couldn't even give us a how are you?"

"Not even a hello?" Ominis chimed in.

You looked at the floor. You were ashamed that the only time you'd come to see your best friends was when they were behind the bars of a prison cell. You weren't afraid to admit you had missed them. A lot. The illustrious look in Sebastian's eyes and the cheeky smile that ominis wore.

You had certainly missed it all. And you'd be damned if you didn't say you were just all that glad to see them, even under such circumstances.

Ominis slid his hand through the bars as he leant on them and gestured for you to give him the note.

"What is it?" Seb's eyebrows furrowed.

As ominis traced over the dark ink, the look on his face told you he had caught notice of something you clearly hadn't.

"There's an indentation here," he points to the top of the triangle, or thereabouts. "And some smaller dots across the paper"

"What's that mean?"

And before you could even turn your head, sebastian was already smirking.

"It means they've succeeded in marking their targets. Whoever made this has left small imprints of where they've left their victims"

You looked over at ominis, who nodded.

"Is it supposed to be so out of place?" You asked seb.

And he laughed. He actually laughed.

"Out of place? Love give me the paper" he chuckled.

You took the paper from ominis and gave it to sebastian. Ominis looked like he was suddenly useless.

"Here's a pencil"

"You're not looking clearly if you think it's a mess," seb spoke up as he pointed to the paper with the tip of the lead.

His arms were dangling out through the cell bars as he leant lazily upon them.

"See this?" He drew a connecting line from the tip of the triangle to the next dot then the next until they formed an askew square shape.

The paper now showed a squiggly line, a triangle, and a small askew square protruding off the side of the triangles' right side.

Seb handed the paper and pen back to you and sighed. "Kindergarten work"

You rolled your eyes. "So what's this mean then? That the next victims could be within a square area?"

"Yknow for a high-ranking auror, you're not very bright," ominis retorted. To which seb snickered.

"I didn't come here for smartass comebacks, I came for help. Now tell me what the hell this means!"

Ominis and sebastian sighed in unison. If you hadn't been under such circumstances, you would've kissed them both on the cheek to make them blush before running away like you used to.

"It's an old calling card for when a dark wizard needs help. They would make a hidden square in a symbol or code of some kind. I myself used it before" sebastian spoke.

For a moment. Just for a moment before sebastian said anything, you felt like it was just you three back at hogwarts figuring out mysteries together. You used to get caught by Professor weasley all the time and take the blame for omi and seb.

For a moment, you'd forgotten that your two best friends were now the world's most wanted dark wizards.

"You don't know how much this means to me guys, really,"

You said as you tucked the paper back into your vest pocket.

"So, are you getting us out of here or not?" Sebastian sighed, raising his brows. "Or did you come to gloat and show off your new robe like a preen?"

You couldn't believe this was your seb talking to you like this.

"No. No, I did come here with the intention of helping you both out"

You pulled out a pair of keys from your back pocket. The look in both Sebastian's and ominis's eyes could've lit up the darkest of rooms. Ominis stood up straight, but sebastian was still slumped.

One was hopeful, and one was doubtful.

"I'm getting you out of here...it's the most I could do..."

"For putting us in here..."

sebastian finished your sentence as you approached his cell, and when the keys unlocked the door, there was a moment of deep silence as you went to unlock ominis out of his own cell.

"Yes, for putting you in here"

Neither wizard nor witch said a word until sebastian spoke up.

"Come give me a fucking hug would you?"

And almost pathetically fast, you ran at Sebastian's into his arms. He smelt like the wet azkaban floor and was covered in soot and dry blood splatters on his rags but you couldn't have cared less.

Sebastian was back in your clutch. Both of your boys were. You wouldn't have to look at them through newspaper clippings and notebooks again. They were real this time.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you both" you spoke as you hugged ominis.

"I hope you brought a pair of shoes." Sebastian grumbled.

You chuckled. "I didn't, but I'm gonna take you both somewhere safe okay?"

They both nodded, and for the first time since meeting you, they both felt at peace once again.

And they would never let you go. Again.

----

Still taller than you even now, Ominis and Sebastian Strided alongside you in heavy, hooded cloaks to conceal their identities. You knew it was dangerous to have them out in the open. They were oozing with dark magic traces, and the dementors would surely come after them again and even more so if someone spots them...

It was easy to get them out of azkaban, as the guard had just shooed you off. You were sure that there had to be some kind of punishment for releasing prisoners just like that. especially ones of their status.

But you couldn't complain.

"So where will we go now?" Ominis turnt to you.

His cloak was soaked by the relentless rain, and his face was dripping. Cold rain flooded at his lips as he tried to speak.

The rain battered your bodies. Thuds upon the concrete made it hard to hear anything. Night was falling, and you only had so much energy.

"I don't know, but somewhere safe"

Sebastian scoffed and straightened his back. "There's nowhere safe around here"

He spoke in a doubtful tone. Which you couldn't blame him for.

"I will find us a place. There's a hideout most minstery staff use when they need a safe house. " You spoke as you checked your pocket watch. "We should be there soon. If we walk now, we can make it by midnight"

"A safe house?" Sebastian stopped in his tracks.

"What?" Your brows furrowed.

"You're gonna take us to your high profile safehouse and then what? Use us for our smarts and then give us back to azkaban?!"

You shook your head. "No! No no no sebastian i would-"

"WHAT?!"

He yelled suddenly, drowning out every sense of thunder in the onyx skies. His eyes filled with a dark cloudiness that was haunting to see in the eyes of someone who used to look at you like you were the world.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" You clenched your fists at your sides and couldn't tell which was running down your face, tears or raindrops.

"WOULDN'T DO THAT? NEED I REMIND YOU WHO PUT US IN THOSE CELLS!"

"NO SEBASTIAN SALLOW!"

The sound of your foot stomping on the cobblestone reverberated down the echoing path. Lightning cracked in the distance, and the rain kept its relentless beating upon your back.

You've never called sebastian by his full name. And you hope, for a second, that it scares him. The look in his eyes glints corruption and dark magic, all things you never used to know your sweet sebastian was capable of.

Used to know.

"I'm not trying to screw you over! I'm aware that I've done that before!"

"You could've told them we were innocent!"

"OH GIVE ME A BREAK!"

Your voice hurt from yelling. You felt bad for poor ominis who couldn't see what was happening but could hear the emotion being poured into it, and for the first time in his life, he was almost glad to be blind.

"I know I let you down, okay! I know that you have no reason to trust me anymore!"

Ominis turns to face you. His smoky white eyes haze over you just as they did 13 years ago before he walked away from you. The rain drips down his face, and you can't make out what he might say or might be thinking.

And it makes you want to cry. Because you should know.

"Please don't fight for merlin's sake. Like or not, were all in this together now, alright?"

Sebastian looks at you, but you look away.

------

Let me know if you guys want part 2😭😭😭

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: A Wonderful Winter Time

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

'❄️IT'S SNOWING!❄️' 

You hit send and put the phone down. You glance through the window on the other side of your desk and smile. You have it all set up so your heavy laptop doesn't block out the scenery, though it's just the alleyway.

The suite in the building across from yours usually has a rich array of flowers on the summer. And the sun hits nicely at a certain time of day and almost illuminates the brick. 

The whole desk buzzes and you read the response. Lloyd almost makes you laugh with only a '😿'. He used to tease you for all your emojis but now you find yourself trying to decipher his use of them. Sometimes he doesn't make much sense. He is a funny guy. 

You pick up your phone and take a picture out the window of how the powder starts to pile on the railing across from you. You hit send and add a follow-up, 'so prettttty.' 

You smile as you peer out again. Another swell of nostalgia floods through you then rolls over to a sense of longing. Your dad would love it. He'd be trying to goad you into sledding, even though he always lost control of his toboggan.  

Your phone shakes violently in your hand. This time, it doesn't stop. You answer Lloyd's call, "uh, hi?" 

"Whatcha doin'?" 

"Uhhhhh," you lean your elbow on the desk, "just finished some work. Was going to put the kettle on--" 

"Forget the kettle. I'm outside." 

"Outside? Lloyd." 

"I know, tootsie, you're a creature of habit but I'm a man without rules," he snickers. 

"I didn't even know you were back," you say. 

"Wow, some welcome, huh?" He scoffs. "Thought you'd be happy to see me." 

"I am," you argue shrilly. "Alright, let me just get my stuff. It might take me a few." 

"Sure thing, candy girl," he says, "I'll keep the seat warm. Crank this thing up to ten." 

"Right, bye," you hang up and stand with a sigh. 

You're happy to have a friend but Lloyd can be a bit... demanding. He's a bit oblivious too. He doesn't always ask, he just kind of does. You're much the opposite but you suppose it makes it more interesting.  

You grab some socks before you tuck your feet into your boots. You stand and grab your jacket. You lost a button and replaced it with a close dupe. Still, it stands out. 

You shove your phone in your purse and pause. Your forgetting something. You scurry back to grab the bundle on the armrest then pluck up your keys. You hurry out and barrell down the stares. He may have caught you offguard but you always hate to keep anyone waiting. 

You kick up snow as you near his car and the doors unlock loudly. You sit with your feet outside and shake off the snow. You pull your legs in and shut the door with a brr. 

"I thought you liked this sh--stuff," he snorts. 

"I do!" You hold out the bundle, "welcome back, Lolly." 

He smirks and curiously eyes the sewn pouch. He takes it and chuckles at the nickname. One autocorrect mixup and it just sort of stuck. 

"Remember, you can't call me that around others. I got an aura to maintain," he says as he loosens the string and looks inside. He tugs out the wolly mitt with its black and grey ombre. He narrows his eyes and slips the other free. He examines them, feeling the stitching. 

"You don't have mitts so I made some," you say, "just in time too!" 

He looks at you then back at the wool, "you made them?" 

"Yeah, like mine," you bounce excitedly, "you like them. I hope the colour's okay. I didn't have black but I found that on discount." 

"They're... nice," he says. 

"Please, try them. See if they fit. I had to guess and my hands are tiny." 

"Uh, yeah," he flinches and looks down again. He shoves his hand into one and raises it, stretching is fingers inside, "perfect. Warm." 

"Awesome," you smile proudly. "But uh, you know... if you don't like them. I know they're not really your style. Oh, maybe I could sew in a Gucci tag--"  

"Stop," he slips it off and puts them back in the bag, "I love em, okay?" 

He leans over and pulls open the glove box. He puts them inside, his shoulder against you, and snaps it shut. 

"Make sure I don't lose them," he sits back and rests his hand on your seat, "so, anyway, you're not gonna make me feel like a chump so easy. You're not the only one with a surprise." 

"Please, I'm not dressed for that bar," you protest.  

"Ha, no, don't worry, you'll be fine," he assures you. 

"Can I have a hint?" You ask as he pulls away from the curb.  

"Nope," he makes the P pop. 

"Hmm, alright. I'll be patient." 

"Just sit pretty, tootsie roll," he steers down the snowy street cautiously. "Wanna turn on some of that girly trash you listen to?" 

You roll your eyes and tap the touchscreen of the stereo. You search for the 00s station and hit play. An Xtina classic comes on and you turn it up. 

"Oh, I love this one," you wiggle in your seat. 

"Really?" He remarks, "wouldn't think..." 

You sit back and tap your foot to the rhythm. You watch the snowflakes drift and peer up into the deepening blue evening. It's so pretty. You're just happy not to be alone. 

You look over as the tires crunch to a stop at the light. At least he has the sense not to drive like a maniac in this weather. As you glance at him, his lips curve around the lyrics of the song silently. You chuckle softly and turn back to the window. You knew he liked your music. 

[kindofatheatrekid]

Soft Yandere! Veteran being pegged! (No. You're not on top.)

How long has it been since I promised a male reader pegging this old dude? Uhhhhh... 😢

How about we not think about that and like- uh- focus that it got done? I have absolutely wonderful pookies that motivated me to finish this so let's all thank my lovely alphas for this! I wanted this to be on kinktober but writer's block and all dat- 😄

This has pegging. Which is in the title. It's clearly NSFW. So like-

MINORS DNI. MINORS DNI. MINORS DNI.

Alright! Now that that's all said and done! Enjoy fucking this old man!

TWs: overstimulation, condescending behavior towards reader, cum play, nipple play, I think that's it- comment if I forgot something pls-

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

KINKTOBER DAY ONE: TEMPERATURE PLAY

Pleasure. That’s the only thing you could possibly be thinking of right now. With your dick shoved into his ass, yet he was the one in full control of this situation. It didn’t matter that it was your hands on his hips— no. Your hands were just finding a place to grab onto while he rides you like he’s trying to drain you dry of both cum and life. This had to be why he looked like a silver fox, right? Stealing the vitality of the poor youth that got caught in his seductive ways. Which, in this case, was unfortunately and fortunately you. It was so warm inside him, the slowly cooling water only accentuating just how much more warmer he was— both from the soft walls that were clenching onto your dick like a vice, and from his skin. The wrinkled, aged skin that only made him even hotter in your eyes. White mixed with black hair on his arms just like his head.

Your eyes tear up from the sheer euphoria he was giving you, tongue almost shamelessly lolling as your mouth stayed open. If it wasn’t for that familiar, irritatingly enchanting glint in the old man’s eyes— moan after loud moan would have been falling off your kiss-bitten lips by now.

Speaking of lips, the reason for your current dilemma was now sliding his thumb over your bruised lower lip. His other hand goes to caress your cheek, the warmth forcing a groan to slip from you without warning. He notices the drool that threatened to leak, using it to coat your dry lips— dry from the heavy breaths you forced yourself to take as he rode you.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Cat got your tongue?” He chuckles out as you try to focus a glare on him, pathetically failing due to your vision blurring from the incoming tears. His hips suddenly slam down onto you; a brash, animalistic noise leaving you as you’re buried down to the hilt.

Heaven. This must be what heaven felt like.

Your hands scramble to grab onto his hips, grip almost bruising as if he was the only thing grounding you to reality right now. The almost hypnotic grinding of his groin towards yours not helping with the way your mind wanted to shut down immediately. The cool water, the heat from your combined breaths, the way his hands left trails of fire with every inch they grope your skin— there was just so much for your poor brain to handle.

It honestly felt like you were being used as a dildo with how little work you were doing for maximum pleasure. To be honest, you would happily live your days out as his dildo if that was a choice. His raging hard-on kept on rubbing against your stomach, pre-cum and bath water slick on your skin.

Water droplets dripped down from your hair as you chewed on your lower lip— eyes laser-focused on his cock. His cock that you wanted to touch and feel in your hands. Your left hand lets go of his hip just for it to tentatively stroke his neglected dick; the heat in your palm making you shiver in the water. Thumb slowly tracing circles along the slit of its head, pre-cum continuously dripping down to your wrist and into the already cloudy cold water.

You didn’t want to be the only one losing their head, determined to make him fall into this mindless pleasure you were presently in too. You wanted him to bear himself out like you were doing, to show you the raw, primal instincts that you also had. To the point where manners would be shoved aside, and the two of you would just take and take from each other.

His pace noticeably slows down at the growing pressure of your strokes— hand slowly, yet purposefully, running down his entire length. Fingers smearing the thin fluids along the veined skin, feeling it throbbing in your hands. You could hear the way his heart quickens to the same -if not faster- pace of yours, could see the lust-induced haze in the corners of his eyes.

You use this chance to buck your hips up without warning, relishing in the way his throat hitched. Hand reaching down to squeeze his aching balls that were full of cum ready to be released. Your own cock twitched inside him, not faring better than him— overstimulated, needy, desperate: those were the words that could perfectly describe your deafening thoughts at the moment.

Right when you think that you’ve managed to win this unspoken game between the two of you, his lips curve up into a grin. His eyes held a knowing glint, as if he could read what was exactly on your mind right now— it felt like he was stripping you with his gaze despite your nudity. Crow’s feet deepened while his eyes held an obvious twinkle of mischief.

You should’ve remembered that unspoken games have unspoken rules.

He brings his roughened hands up from the water, skin ice-cold from being in the water for too long. His hands sensually slide up your body -your warm skin prickling from the cold- until they stay on your chest. He could probably feel how hard your heart was pumping right now, wrinkled palm right on top of it. Your eyes meet: calm meeting with panicked, smug meeting with wary.

Rule #1: He’ll always be in charge.

Your back arches when his weathered fingers pinch your nipples— senses confused as warmth floods inside your body, yet everything outside is cold. A gasp-like moan involuntarily leaves your lips, lips formed into an o-shape as your grip on his cock tightens reflexively. A deep groan escaping him as well from the squeeze, cool fingers still refusing to stop as he twisted your nipples almost painfully.

Another, louder, moan is forced out from your vocal cords when his head dips down— lips clamped onto one of your nipples, rough stubble grazing against your wet skin. You couldn’t help but come when his hot tongue swirls around the sensitive nub, teeth grazing against the already tortured skin. Eyes rolled back once again for what felt like the hundredth time. Your other nipple, receiving the same cruel treatment with his icy fingers. He definitely felt when you came; the water significantly more opaque as your cum dripped down his thighs and into the tub you were both in. Your cock still painfully hard in him despite coming just a few seconds ago.

Rule #2: You’re the bitch. Not him.

His eyelashes flutter when he finally releases your nipple from his soft lips, fingers already tweaking it before you could even sigh in relief. Your hand quickly lets go of his cock to grab onto his steel reinforced hips for bearing again— forehead pressed against his chest as you whine for him to stop.

“Why are you moaning, лапочка? I’m the one with your dick in my ass so why are you acting like our positions are reversed, little one?” Fuck. His dirty talk only made you want to beg him for more.

Your moans only get louder as he pulls on your nipples, drool pouring out from your lips like you were a brainless zombie— lips unable to remain closed. Shivers ran across your entire body, body trembling from both the cold and your overused cock. You were sure that you were only shooting blanks by now, every pathetic squirt easily seeping into the cloudy bathwater. You’d need to take a shower afterwards to clean all the come off you.

Rule #3: Don’t ever expect to walk after he’s done.

A choked whimper leaves you when he finally pulls himself off you agonizingly slow, your limbs feeling like jelly by now. You didn’t resist when he brought you into his arms, mind a slurry of contradicting sensations and abused instincts. Your eyelids drooping when he captures your lips in his, the kiss a slow, but careful one— everything he did had a reason and was meticulously planned out. A likely habit from his youth.

“You did so well, Солнце. Such a good boy for me. I’m so proud of you~” He croons out in a heavy voice, peppering kisses all along your face as his scarred hands snake up to your neck— his touch tender as he strokes your warming face. His own, ignored, cock still stiff and raised while he pampered you with the kisses you desperately needed right now. Your voice just whines for more of his attention, arms wrapping around his cold body to pull you closer to him.

The two of you just stay in the chilled bathwater for a moment, clinging onto each other for warmth as your labored breaths become background white noise. His lips trail down to your neck, pressing kisses onto your frigid skin— your breath hitching as his tongue slips out to run a fiery trail of saliva up to your jawline. An almost hissed out groan leaving his lips when he tastes the cold salt on your skin.

His eyes looked practically feral at this point, licking his lips clean of your taste before he crashed his lips onto yours to share what he thought was his own heaven. Swallowing down all your moans and whimpers like a starving man who finally got a feast laid out in front of him.

He reluctantly breaks from the kiss for the both of you to breathe. His hot breaths harsh on your skin as he leans his lips closer to your ear— whispering at a volume where you could only hear even if there was no one else around you two. A little secret that only you would know with him.

“As sweet as ever, Милый.”

Translation:

Солнце = sunshine

лапочка = sweetie pie / cutie

Милый = dear / darling

A/N:

Damn. I honestly didn't think this pegging would win. It was honestly included as both a joke and the consequence of staying up too late for too many consecutive nights... (Y'ALL TORTURED ME. THIS WAS SO HARD TO KEEP THIS OLD MAN'S HOLIER THAN THOU ATTITUDE WHILE BEING RAMMED!!) 😟

There. Y'all got to fuck the old dude. Happy now?? But anyways please comment anything you want me to do. (It'll take time, though. I'm not chat GTP okay?) 😩

Just no vomit, scat, and the works okay? Golden showers are a hell no too. Look. I'm not going to kink shame here, but I cannot write anything like that due to my BOUNDARIES. Non-con, baby trapping, and other dark matters are fine. I love that shit. But yeah. Maybe I'll make another OC, maybe not. It really depends on my mood. 😘

AUTHOR OUT! 😌

[okasuka]

Uhhhhh drabble stuff

Tw : mentions of self harm, light drug use.

First Day Back

The early September morning was crisp, the kind that teased of autumn but still held onto the warmth of summer. Gotham Academy’s imposing gates were buzzing with activity as students reunited, exchanging stories about vacations, internships, or simply surviving another year.

Standing just outside the gate, you adjusted the strap of your bag nervously. You glanced down at your reflection in a nearby car window, making sure your slightly messy brown hair—with its signature red streak—wasn’t too unruly. Not that you cared much about appearances, but first days had a way of bringing out old insecurities.

Your eyes darted through the sea of uniforms, searching for one face in particular. Then you saw him.

Damian Wayne strode toward the gates, his posture as impeccable as ever, his green eyes scanning the crowd with that calm yet calculating intensity you’d come to love. His uniform was perfectly pressed, his tie immaculate, and his dark hair neat and slicked back —practically screaming “perfectly put-together Wayne heir.” But then his eyes landed on you, and that trademark stoicism softened, just enough for a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips.

“Y/N,” he greeted as he approached, his voice steady but warmer than usual.

“Damian!” you called, your grin lighting up your face as you dropped your bag to the ground and rushed toward him. Without hesitation, you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

To anyone watching, Damian Wayne being hugged in public might have seemed like a scandal waiting to happen, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he let out a barely audible sigh and placed his hands gently on your back, hugging you in return.

“It’s only been two weeks since we last saw each other,” he murmured, though you caught the hint of amusement in his tone.

“Two weeks is an eternity when you’re my best friend and my boyfriend,” you shot back, pulling away just enough to look up at him. “Did you miss me?”

His green eyes met yours, steady and sincere. “More than you’ll ever know,” he replied, and while his voice was quiet, you could tell he meant it.

You beamed at him before reaching up to ruffle his perfectly combed hair. “And here I thought you’d come back looking all stoic and business-like. Guess I haven’t lost my touch.”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping back slightly to smooth his hair down. “And here I thought you’d be less insufferable after a few weeks apart.”

“Please, you’d miss me if I wasn’t,” you teased, leaning down to grab your bag.

As the two of you walked toward the main building, you noticed some of your classmates whispering and glancing your way. While Damian ignored them entirely, you rolled your eyes. “You’d think people would be over it by now. What, do they think I’m not good enough for the Damian Wayne or something?”

“They can think what they like,” Damian replied smoothly. “Their opinions are irrelevant. Besides…” He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You’re more than good enough. You know that.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you quickly changed the subject to avoid getting too flustered. “So, what’s our schedule looking like? We still have most of our classes together, right?”

Damian pulled out his neatly folded timetable. “Mathematics, English, World History, and, unfortunately, Chemistry with Professor Clark. I presume you’ve heard about his… ‘enthusiastic’ teaching style.”

You groaned dramatically. “Great. Guess I’m going to need you to keep me from blowing up the lab this year.”

“If you pay attention and follow instructions, I won’t need to intervene,” Damian said with a smirk.

“Oh, like you’re not going to spend half the time criticizing my technique,” you quipped.

“Only if it’s necessary,” he replied coolly, but you could see the faintest glint of humor in his eyes.

As you entered the school and made your way to your lockers, you couldn’t help but marvel at how natural it all felt. The teasing, the banter, the unspoken understanding between the two of you. It was going to be a good year—you could feel it.

“I’ll walk you to first period,” Damian said, closing his locker and adjusting his bag strap.

You grinned. “What a gentleman. Lead the way, Mr. Wayne.”

And with that, the two of you headed down the hallway, side by side, ready to take on another year—together.

As you and Damian stepped into your first-period class, you were relieved to find most of the seats still empty. You scanned the room quickly, looking for two seats side by side.

“Do you see any—?” you started, but Damian was already ahead of you.

“There,” he said, nodding toward a pair of seats in the middle of the room.

But before you could move, a group of students rushed past, snagging the spots you were eyeing.

“Seriously?” you muttered, glancing around again. The only open seats left were scattered across the room, none close enough to sit together.

Damian’s jaw tightened. “Unfortunate.”

You sighed. “It’s fine. We’ll survive one class apart. I’ll sit…” Your eyes landed on an empty seat next to a familiar face, a boy from your grade named Logan. He was nice enough—a little flirty sometimes, but harmless. “There.”

Damian’s gaze flicked to Logan and narrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything. “I’ll take the one near the window,” he said, his tone clipped.

You hesitated. “You sure?”

“I’ll be fine, Y/N,” he replied, already walking to his seat.

You shrugged and made your way over to Logan, who greeted you with a grin. “Hey, Y/N. Long time no see.”

“Hey, Logan,” you said, sliding into the chair next to him. “Ready for another year of torture?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he joked. “Especially if it means sitting next to you.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “Smooth.”

The teacher, Mr. Daniels, walked in and began droning on about classroom expectations, but it wasn’t long before you started to feel lost in the lecture. Chemistry wasn’t exactly your strong suit, and the formulas on the board looked like a foreign language.

You leaned over toward Logan. “Hey, do you get this?” you whispered, pointing to your notes.

Logan smirked, lowering his voice. “Not really, but I’ll pretend I do if it helps.”

You snorted softly. “Wow, so helpful.”

Before you could ask another question, Mr. Daniels cleared his throat loudly, his eyes narrowing on you. “Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice sharp. “Do you mind not flirting in my class and actually paying attention?”

Your jaw dropped. “I—what?”

The class chuckled, and you felt your cheeks heat up as you stammered, “I wasn’t flirting! I was asking for help!”

Logan, however, leaned back in his chair with a grin. “I don’t know, Y/N. Sounded like flirting to me.”

The room erupted in laughter, and you buried your face in your hands, groaning.

From his seat by the window, Damian’s eyes darkened. His jaw clenched tightly as he watched Logan bask in the attention. It wasn’t like you to flirt with anyone, but the way Logan played along—and how the teacher called it out—was enough to irritate him.

When the laughter finally died down, you muttered to Logan, “Thanks for that.”

“Anytime,” he said with a wink.

Meanwhile, Damian’s grip on his pen tightened. He forced himself to focus on the board, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you and Logan. The way Logan looked at you, the way he leaned just a little too close—it was infuriating.

By the time the bell rang, Damian was already out of his seat, waiting for you by the door.

You approached him, still grumbling under your breath. “Can you believe Mr. Daniels? Flirting? Seriously?”

“Hardly,” Damian said, his tone sharper than usual.

You blinked, caught off guard by his demeanor. “Whoa. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said curtly, though his eyes betrayed his irritation. “But perhaps next time, you should direct your questions to someone more reliable.”

You raised an eyebrow, realizing what this was about. “Are you… jealous?”

Damian’s expression didn’t change, but his ears turned slightly red. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You smirked, leaning closer. “You are. Admit it.”

“There’s nothing to admit,” he said, brushing past you. “Let’s go. We’ll be late for the next class.”

Laughing, you hurried to catch up. “You’re jealous,” you sang teasingly, and while Damian didn’t respond, the way his shoulders stiffened told you everything you needed to know.

As the second-period bell rang, you and Damian made your way to your next class—World History. The classroom was much smaller than the last one, and you were relieved to see an empty pair of desks near the middle of the room.

“Looks like we’re stuck together this time,” you teased as you slid into your seat.

Damian didn’t respond right away. Instead, he placed his bag down with practiced precision, his expression unusually stoic.

“Hey,” you said, nudging his arm lightly. “What’s with the silent treatment?”

“I’m simply focusing on the lesson ahead,” he replied curtly, not meeting your gaze as he pulled out his notebook.

You blinked at his tone, a flicker of irritation rising in your chest. “Right. Of course. Damian Wayne, ever the diligent student,” you muttered, opening your own notebook with a bit more force than necessary.

His eyes darted toward you briefly, but he said nothing.

The teacher started the lecture, droning on about ancient civilizations, but you couldn’t focus. Damian’s cold demeanor was grating on you, especially after how playful and sweet he’d been that morning.

About twenty minutes into the lesson, you turned to him, keeping your voice low. “Okay, what’s your deal? Did I do something to piss you off?”

“No,” he replied, not looking up from his notes. “Perhaps I’m simply preoccupied.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Preoccupied with what? Chemistry? Or the fact that I asked Logan for help?”

That got his attention. He glanced at you, his green eyes sharp. “If you’re aware of how inappropriate your behavior was, I fail to see why you’re asking me.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to process his words. “Are you serious right now? I wasn’t flirting, Damian. I was asking a question.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered under his breath, scribbling something in his notebook.

Your patience snapped. “Wow. Okay, so what, you don’t trust me now? Is that it?”

His pen froze mid-sentence, and he finally turned to look at you fully. “It’s not a matter of trust, Y/N. It’s—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as if he was struggling to find the right words.

“It’s what?” you pressed, crossing your arms.

Damian hesitated, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s infuriating to watch someone else act so… familiar with you. Especially when they clearly enjoy pushing boundaries.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his tone. “Damian, Logan wasn’t pushing boundaries. He’s just a naturally flirty guy, and I don’t take him seriously. You know that, right?”

Damian’s gaze hardened. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t take him seriously. The fact remains that he’s disrespectful. And I don’t appreciate having to sit there while he makes a joke out of our relationship.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Damian, I can handle Logan. He’s harmless, and he doesn’t mean anything by it. But this?” You gestured between the two of you. “You snapping at me and acting all cold? It’s not fair.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching. “Perhaps it isn’t fair, but—”

“Exactly,” you interrupted, your voice firm. “It’s not fair. And it’s not me you should be upset with. If you have a problem with Logan, take it up with him, not me.”

Damian exhaled sharply, the tension in his posture barely easing. “You’re right,” he admitted, though his tone was reluctant. “But I can’t help it, Y/N. I… I don’t like sharing your attention.”

Your annoyance softened at his admission, and you gave him a small smile. “Damian, you’re my boyfriend. You already have my attention—more than anyone else. Logan’s just a friend. He doesn’t even come close to you.”

His gaze flicked back to yours, and for a moment, the usual confidence in his demeanor faltered. “I know that. Logically. But…”

“But emotions don’t always listen to logic,” you finished for him.

He nodded, his expression softening. “Precisely.”

You reached over and placed a hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Look, I get it. I’d probably feel the same way if someone was acting flirty with you. But you have to trust me, okay? If Logan ever crosses a line, I’ll shut it down. No one comes between us.”

Damian studied you for a moment, his green eyes searching yours before he finally relaxed. “I do trust you,” he said quietly. “I’m… sorry for being difficult.”

“Apology accepted,” you said with a teasing grin. “But you owe me for making me look like the bad guy in World History.”

He smirked faintly. “I’ll make it up to you. Perhaps a visit to the Gotham Art Museum after school?”

You raised an eyebrow. “As long as you’re not trying to bribe me into forgetting about this.”

“Of course not,” he replied smoothly. “It’s simply… a gesture of goodwill.”

You chuckled, the tension between you finally dissipating. “You’re impossible, Damian Wayne.”

“And yet, you still tolerate me,” he said, his voice lighter now.

“More than that,” you said, leaning closer. “I love you. Even when you’re being jealous and stubborn.”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “The feeling is mutual.”

With that, the two of you turned back to the lesson, the earlier tension replaced by the quiet comfort of understanding—and the promise of a much better day ahead.

After the school day ended, you and Damian walked to the car waiting to take you both to Wayne Manor. The ride was quiet but comfortable, the tension from earlier long forgotten. Damian had even let his hand rest lightly on yours during the drive, a subtle but sweet gesture that made your heart flutter.

As the car pulled into the circular driveway, the grand silhouette of Wayne Manor loomed above you. You grabbed your bag and followed Damian up the steps.

“Do you ever get tired of living in a castle?” you teased as he opened the massive front doors.

“It’s hardly a castle,” Damian replied with a faint smirk. “Though it does have its advantages.”

As you stepped inside, the warm interior of the manor greeted you. Alfred appeared almost immediately, as if he’d been expecting you both.

“Master Damian, Miss Y/N,” Alfred said with a polite nod. “Welcome back. I trust your first day of school went well?”

“Uneventful,” Damian said simply, shrugging off his bag and handing it to Alfred.

“Eventful,” you corrected, grinning. “But in a good way. Thanks for asking, Alfred.”

Alfred’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he turned to you. “I’m relieved to hear it, Miss Y/N. I’ve prepared some refreshments in the living room if you’d like to relax.”

“Thanks, Alfred!” you said before glancing at Damian. “Wanna go chill for a bit?”

Damian nodded, but before you could take a step, a deep voice interrupted.

“Y/N, good to see you,” Bruce said, walking into the foyer. He was dressed in a sharp suit, his usual air of authority surrounding him.

“Mr. Wayne!” you said, smiling brightly. You’d always been a bit in awe of Bruce Wayne, but he’d long since made you feel welcome in his home. “How’s everything going?”

“Busy, as always,” Bruce said, offering a faint smile. “And no need for the formalities, Y/N. You’re practically family.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the comment, but before you could respond, Bruce glanced at his watch, his expression turning serious. “I’d love to catch up more, but I have a meeting to attend. Damian, Y/N, enjoy yourselves.”

“Good luck with your meeting,” you said with a polite nod, watching as Bruce strode off toward his study.

Damian gestured toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s go to the living room.”

You followed him, excited to finally relax after the day’s chaos. Alfred had set out an impressive spread of snacks, including your favorite cookies, and the fire crackled softly in the hearth, making the room feel cozy despite its size.

As you plopped down on the couch, Damian sat beside you but noticeably kept some distance. He seemed lost in thought, his brows slightly furrowed, and his usual composed energy felt off.

“Okay, what’s up with you?” you asked, tilting your head to get a better look at him.

Damian blinked, as though he hadn’t realized you were talking. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been… weird,” you said, shifting to face him fully. “Since school ended, you’ve been kind of quiet. Did something happen?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the floor. “No, nothing happened.”

You frowned. “Damian. Don’t do that thing where you bottle everything up, okay? I can tell something’s bothering you. Talk to me.”

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he said, a bit more firmly this time. “It’s not something you need to worry about.”

His tone stung a little, and you leaned back, crossing your arms. “Right. Of course. Because heaven forbid I try to be a good girlfriend and care about you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, guilt flashing across his face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” you pressed, though your voice softened. “I don’t want to push you, Damian, but I also don’t want to sit here and pretend like everything’s fine when it’s obviously not.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is with you,” you said, smiling faintly. “But I can handle complicated, remember?”

He hesitated again, clearly torn. Finally, he shook his head. “I just… I need some time to think.”

You nodded slowly, though a pang of disappointment hit you. “Okay. If that’s what you need, I’ll give you space.”

“Y/N, it’s not—”

“No, it’s fine,” you interrupted, standing up. “I get it. Sometimes you need time to sort things out on your own. Just… let me know when you’re ready to talk, okay?”

He looked up at you, his expression conflicted. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” you said, grabbing your bag. “I don’t want to hang around and make things awkward for you. Besides, I should probably get some homework done.”

“Y/N,” he said again, standing as if to stop you, but you shook your head.

“It’s okay, Damian,” you said softly. “Really. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before he could say anything else, you turned and made your way to the front door, nodding at Alfred on your way out. As the door closed behind you, you let out a quiet sigh.

You cared about Damian deeply, but sometimes, loving him meant giving him the space he needed—even if it hurt to walk away.

You walked out of the manor, each step heavier than the last. The cool evening air hit your face as you descended the grand steps, trying to shake the weight in your chest. You told yourself Damian just needed space—that this wasn’t about you. But the ache in your heart said otherwise.

The car Alfred had arranged was waiting at the end of the drive, but you hesitated. You didn’t want to leave angry or upset, not when there was clearly something Damian wasn’t telling you. Against your better judgment, you turned back, gripping the door handle and pushing it open quietly.

The sound of Damian’s voice drifted down the hall. You paused, peeking into the living room to see him pacing near the fireplace, phone pressed to his ear. His usual sharp posture was rigid, and his tone was sharper than you’d ever heard.

“I told you, I don’t need advice on how to handle my personal life,” Damian snapped, his back to you. “This isn’t about her. She’s just—” He stopped mid-sentence, exhaling harshly. “It’s not like that.”

Your heart sank at his words. He had to be talking about you.

You stepped into the doorway, your voice quiet but firm. “What’s not like that?”

Damian froze, his head whipping around to face you. His expression was unreadable for a moment, but then it shifted into something colder, something you hadn’t seen directed at you before.

“I’ll call you back,” he muttered into the phone before ending the call and slipping it into his pocket.

“Y/N,” he said flatly. “I thought you left.”

“I did,” you said, crossing your arms. “But I couldn’t just leave things like this. What’s going on, Damian? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I just heard you.”

He stared at you, his green eyes unreadable. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

The sharpness in his tone cut through you like a knife, but you pressed on. “Why? So you could keep avoiding me? Pretending nothing’s wrong?”

“Maybe it’s because nothing’s wrong, Y/N,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Maybe it’s just that I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

“This? You mean us?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Don’t twist my words,” he said coldly. “I don’t need you analyzing everything I say.”

You took a step back, hurt flashing across your face. “I’m not trying to analyze anything, Damian. I just want to understand what’s going on. Why you’ve been acting so distant, so—so cold.”

“Maybe it’s because you don’t understand me as well as you think you do,” he said, his voice cutting like a blade.

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. “Damian… how can you say that?”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Look, Y/N. I care about you, but sometimes, it feels like being with you is—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening.

“Feels like what?” you demanded, your voice breaking. “Say it.”

“Like it’s suffocating,” he finally said, his tone low but firm.

The world seemed to tilt beneath your feet. You stared at him, unable to process what you’d just heard. “Suffocating?”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the floor. “You always want to talk, to fix things, to know every little thought in my head. Sometimes I just need space, Y/N. And you don’t give me that.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I only do that because I care, Damian. Because I love you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said, his voice colder than you’d ever heard it.

That was the final blow. Your chest tightened painfully, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. “I can’t believe you just said that,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I thought… I thought we were in this together.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be,” he said, his voice quiet but unwavering.

The silence that followed was deafening. You stared at him, searching for any hint of regret or hesitation in his expression, but there was none.

“Fine,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “If that’s how you feel, then maybe I should’ve left when I had the chance.”

Damian said nothing as you turned and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last. This time, when you left Wayne Manor, you didn’t look back.

The door closed behind you with a finality that made your heart ache, but you refused to cry—not here, not now. You climbed into the waiting car, gripping your bag tightly as the driver pulled away.

Only then, as Gotham’s streets blurred past the windows, did the tears begin to fall.

The ride home felt endless, even though it was only a short drive. You stared out the window, the Gotham skyline blurred through tear-filled eyes. Every word Damian had said replayed in your head like a broken record. Suffocating. I didn’t ask you to. Maybe we shouldn’t be.

When the car pulled up to your house, you mumbled a quick thanks to the driver and stepped out, your legs feeling like lead. The house was dark and quiet as you unlocked the door and stepped inside. The emptiness greeted you like an old friend.

“Dad?” you called out half-heartedly, even though you already knew the answer.

No response.

The faint tick of the clock in the hallway was the only sound as you dropped your bag by the door. You leaned against the wall, staring into the void of your empty home, the weight of everything crashing down on you.

Tears spilled over as you slid down to the floor, burying your face in your hands. The silence amplified your thoughts, every doubt and insecurity creeping in like shadows.

Maybe Damian’s right. Maybe I am too much. Too needy. Too—

You choked on a sob, wrapping your arms around yourself. It felt like you were unraveling, like every part of you was splitting apart.

You stumbled to your room, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto your bed. The walls felt like they were closing in, the loneliness suffocating. You couldn’t stop crying, your body trembling with each sob.

And then, in your darkest moment, the familiar, dangerous thought surfaced. You’re not enough. You’ll never be enough.

Your eyes darted to your desk drawer, where you knew you’d hidden a small, sharp blade months ago. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t need it again—that you were stronger now. But right now, you didn’t feel strong. You felt shattered.

Your hands trembled as you opened the drawer, pulling the blade out. The weight of it in your hand felt heavier than it should have. You stared at it for what felt like forever, your mind spinning with the whirlwind of emotions.

Maybe this will help. Maybe this will make it hurt less.

You pressed the blade against your skin, the sting sharp and immediate. A small line of red appeared, and for a brief moment, the emotional pain seemed to dull. But the relief was fleeting, replaced by guilt and self-loathing that hit you like a tidal wave. You stared at the mark you’d left on your arm, the faint sting a cruel reminder of how far you’d let yourself fall. Tears streamed down your face as you whispered to yourself, “What’s wrong with me?”

The room was suffocating now, the walls closing in on you as your breaths came quicker. You curled into yourself on the bed, clutching your knees to your chest, wishing for the pain to stop. The silence of the house only made it worse.

Why isn’t anyone here? you thought bitterly. But deep down, you knew the answer. Your dad was always at work, and the few friends you had didn’t know how to handle the pieces of you that you kept hidden.

And Damian? The person you trusted most? He’d made it painfully clear where he stood.

The night dragged on, every minute feeling like an eternity. You didn’t sleep, too caught up in your own thoughts, your body aching with exhaustion and despair. By the time morning came, the idea of going to school seemed impossible.

You sent a quick text to the school’s office, pretending to be your dad, saying you were sick. Then you turned your phone off completely, unwilling to face anyone—not even Damian.

Meanwhile, at Wayne Manor

Damian hadn’t slept either.

The moment you walked out the door, regret had started to claw at him. The image of your hurt expression wouldn’t leave his mind, and his words replayed in his head like a haunting echo.

He sat in his room, staring at the ceiling, his hands clenched into fists. He’d thought pushing you away would give him the space he needed to think—to sort through his own feelings—but all it had done was make him realize how much he hated the distance he’d created.

“Suffocating.” The word sounded so harsh now, so untrue. You weren’t suffocating him. You were grounding him, giving him something real in a world full of chaos and masks.

By the time morning arrived, Damian had resolved to apologize. To fix things. He hated admitting he was wrong, but for you, he’d do it. He couldn’t lose you.

When he got to school and didn’t see you by the gates like usual, unease crept in. By the time first period started and you still hadn’t shown up, his unease turned into worry.

He pulled out his phone under the desk and sent a quick text:

Damian: Where are you?

No response.

He clenched his jaw, staring at the screen as if willing your reply to appear. When the second period came and you were still absent, he finally left the classroom without asking for permission, heading straight to the hallway to make a call.

You didn’t answer.

Damian’s grip tightened on the phone, his heart pounding in his chest. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

By lunchtime, he was already texting Alfred.

Damian: I need a car to Y/N’s house. Now.

Alfred’s reply came quickly, his usual calm demeanor evident even in text form.

Alfred: Understood, Master Damian. The car will be ready in five minutes.

Damian didn’t bother explaining himself to anyone as he left school, his thoughts consumed by you. He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that he’d pushed you too far. That his cruel words had broken something in you he didn’t know how to repair.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

The car ride to your house was a blur for Damian. His fingers tapped anxiously on the leather seat as he stared out the window, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He hadn’t heard from you since the previous night, and every second that passed without a response only made the knot in his chest tighter.

When the car pulled up to your house, Damian barely waited for it to stop before getting out. His hand went straight to the key you’d given him months ago, a small token of trust that now felt heavier than ever. He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his ears, before unlocking the door and stepping inside.

The silence hit him first. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that made his stomach churn. He closed the door behind him and called out, his voice sharp and edged with worry.

“Y/N?”

No response.

Damian’s jaw clenched as he stepped further inside. The living room was empty, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound. He scanned the space quickly before heading toward your room, his heart hammering harder with each step.

When he opened your bedroom door, the sight stopped him dead in his tracks.

The room was a chaotic mess. Comics were scattered across the floor, their colorful covers torn and crumpled. A few bookshelves were toppled over, their contents spilling out in disarray. On the bed, torn photographs of the two of you lay in pieces, the edges jagged and angry.

But what made his blood run cold was the small, bloody blade lying on your desk.

Damian’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at it, his mind reeling. The faint smears of dried blood on the metal glinted under the soft light coming through the window.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, his chest tightening as he approached the desk. His hands trembled as he reached out, carefully picking up the blade. The sight of the blood sent a wave of nausea crashing over him.

He dropped it back onto the desk and turned, his sharp eyes scanning the room again. There were no signs of you anywhere—not even a note. His gaze fell on the ripped photos, and he crouched down to pick up a piece.

It was a picture of the two of you at the Gotham Art Museum. Your smile in the photo was radiant, your arm looped through his, while his usually stoic expression held the faintest trace of a smile—an expression you had drawn out of him so effortlessly back then. But now, the photo was torn cleanly in two, your half discarded on the ground while his was crumpled underfoot.

Damian swallowed hard, his chest tightening painfully. His mind raced with questions. Where were you? What had you done? What had he done?

He forced himself to look away from the torn photographs, scanning the rest of the room for clues. His eyes landed on your desk, where your school bag sat unzipped, papers spilling out of it. A few notebooks were scribbled over with angry marks, as if you’d taken a pen and let all your frustration out in jagged lines and furious scratches.

But what caught his attention most was a small notebook lying open on the desk. He hesitated before stepping closer, his hands shaking as he picked it up. The words scrawled across the page in your handwriting made his heart drop.

“I’m not enough.

I’ll never be enough.

Why does it hurt so much?

Maybe it would be better if I wasn’t here anymore.”

The edges of the page were smudged, as if tears had fallen on the ink. Damian’s hands tightened around the notebook as his breath quickened. His usually composed demeanor shattered, panic clawing at his chest.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “Y/N…”

He spun around, searching the room again, as if you might somehow appear if he looked hard enough. The mess around him was overwhelming, every detail screaming of your pain, your anger, your heartbreak. And it was all his fault.

Damian dropped to his knees, his head hanging low as he gripped the notebook tightly. His mind was a storm of regret and guilt, every cruel word he’d said to you echoing in his ears. I didn’t ask you to. Maybe we shouldn’t be.

The blade. The blood. The notebook. The torn photos. It all pointed to one unbearable truth: he had pushed you too far.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Damian felt helpless. He was always the one who had control, who had a plan. But now? Now he didn’t know what to do.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing your number again with trembling hands.

Damian sat on the floor of your room, phone pressed to his ear, waiting—hoping—for you to answer. The ringing dragged on for what felt like forever, each second stretching into eternity. And then, to his shock, the ringing stopped.

For a split second, hope sparked in his chest. But instead of your voice, the call disconnected.

He stared at the screen in disbelief, his heart pounding. You had declined the call.

“Y/N…” he whispered under his breath, panic threatening to overwhelm him.

He immediately stood, his training kicking in. He needed to find you, and fast. Scanning the room one last time, his eyes landed on a map of Gotham pinned to your corkboard. He spotted a circled area near the outskirts of the city—a dense, secluded forest.

He didn’t hesitate. Pulling out his phone, he called Alfred.

“Master Damian,” Alfred answered calmly, though the sharpness in Damian’s tone quickly changed his demeanor.

“I need the car back at Y/N’s house immediately,” Damian said, already moving toward the front door. “And alert Father. I might need backup.”

“Yes, sir. On my way.”

Deep in the Forest

You sat on the damp ground, surrounded by towering trees that blocked out most of the moonlight. The air was cold, biting at your skin through your thin jacket, but you barely noticed. Your hands trembled as you held the small bottle of pills, the weight of it feeling unbearable.

Your eyes were red and swollen from crying, the exhaustion making every thought feel heavier, more suffocating. You glanced down at the pills, your mind swimming with memories of Damian’s words.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Suffocating.”

A fresh wave of tears blurred your vision as you whispered to yourself, “I was trying. I really was.”

You tilted your head back, staring up at the dark canopy of trees above, your voice breaking as you continued. “I just wanted you to love me. But you gave up on me. On us.”

Your voice cracked, and a sob escaped you as you unscrewed the cap of the bottle, the pills rattling softly.

Damian Arrives

The car screeched to a halt near the edge of the forest, and Damian was out the door before Alfred could say a word. He sprinted into the woods, his heart racing as he followed the faint trail you’d left behind. Broken branches, footprints in the mud—signs he was on the right track.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the trees.

There was no response.

He pushed forward, his sharp eyes scanning the dark surroundings until he spotted you—a faint silhouette sitting on the forest floor. Relief flooded him for a moment, but then his heart sank as he saw the bottle of pills in your hand.

“Y/N!” he called again, louder this time.

You froze, your head snapping toward the sound of his voice. Tears streamed down your face as you clutched the bottle tighter, your body trembling.

“Stay back, Damian,” you said, your voice shaking but firm.

He slowed his approach, his hands raised slightly in surrender. “I’m not here to hurt you, Y/N. Please… just put the pills down.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “Why are you even here? You made it clear you don’t want me around. So why do you care now?”

“Because I was wrong,” Damian said, his voice cracking in a way that surprised even him. “I was so wrong, Y/N. About everything.”

You stared at him, your grip on the bottle loosening slightly. “You don’t mean that. You said I was suffocating you. That you didn’t need me.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, stepping closer. “I was angry, and I said things I didn’t mean. But I do need you, Y/N. More than I can put into words.”

You let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down your face. “You don’t need me, Damian. You gave up on me. On us.”

He stopped a few feet away from you, his green eyes filled with a mix of desperation and regret. “I thought pushing you away would protect me. But all it’s done is hurt the one person who’s ever made me feel like I’m more than just… a weapon.”

Your lip quivered as his words hit you. “Damian…”

“I love you,” he said, his voice breaking. “And I can’t lose you. Not like this. Please, Y/N, put the pills down.”

You stared at him, the raw emotion in his voice cutting through the fog in your mind. Slowly, your grip on the bottle loosened, and it slipped from your hand, landing in the dirt.

Damian closed the distance between you in an instant, dropping to his knees and pulling you into his arms. You sobbed into his chest, your body trembling as he held you tightly, as if letting go would mean losing you forever.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your hair, his voice filled with guilt and pain. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ll never give up on you again. I swear.”

You clung to him, the weight of his words finally breaking through the darkness that had consumed you. For the first time in hours, you felt a glimmer of hope—a tiny spark that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

The ride back to your house was quiet, the low hum of the engine filling the heavy silence between you and Damian. You sat in the passenger seat, your arms wrapped around yourself as you stared out the window, your swollen eyes still red from crying. Damian was next to you, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. He glanced at you every few moments, as if afraid you’d vanish if he looked away for too long.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice soft and raw. “I didn’t mean to love you so much,” you whispered, barely audible.

Damian’s hands faltered for a moment on the wheel, his green eyes darting toward you.

“I’m sorry,” you continued, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry for being too much. For… for making you feel like I was suffocating you.”

His chest tightened at your words, a pang of guilt twisting in his stomach. “Don’t apologize, Y/N,” he said firmly, his voice low. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I was the one who hurt you. I was the one who didn’t see how much you were trying. This… all of this… it’s my fault.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill again. ���I just wanted to make you happy, Damian. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Damian’s grip on the wheel loosened slightly as he let out a shaky breath. “You do make me happy,” he said, his voice softer now. “More than anyone else ever has. I was too blind to see it before, but I’m not going to make that mistake again. I swear.”

Back at Your House

When you arrived, Damian followed you inside, his presence steady and grounding. The chaos of your room was still overwhelming, but this time, Damian didn’t hesitate.

“Let’s clean this up together,” he said quietly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You nodded numbly, and the two of you worked side by side to pick up the mess. Damian carefully gathered the torn photographs, setting them aside, while you stacked the scattered comics and books. He didn’t rush you or push you to talk, letting the silence between you feel safe instead of suffocating.

Once the room was mostly back in order, Damian turned his attention to you. He gently took your hands in his, his eyes narrowing as he examined the cuts and bruises on your arms.

“These need to be treated,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

You tried to pull your hands back, but he held on gently, his touch steady and reassuring. “Please, Y/N. Let me take care of you.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Damian guided you to sit on the edge of your bed as he retrieved the first-aid kit you kept in the bathroom. He knelt in front of you, his movements careful and precise as he cleaned and bandaged each cut.

“You don’t have to do this,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, I do,” Damian said, his eyes meeting yours. “I’ll always take care of you. Always.”

When he finished, he stayed kneeling in front of you for a moment, his hands resting gently on your knees. “You’re not alone, Y/N,” he said softly. “You don’t have to go through this by yourself. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Later That Night

Damian stayed with you, refusing to leave your side. As the night wore on, the two of you ended up lying on your bed, the lights dimmed. You rested your head against his chest, his arm wrapped protectively around you.

Tears continued to fall silently down your cheeks, dampening the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, his presence steady and unwavering.

As exhaustion began to take over, your voice broke through the quiet. “Don’t… leave me, Damian,” you mumbled, your words slurred with sleep and raw emotion. “Please…”

His heart clenched, and he tightened his hold on you. “I won’t,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll never leave you, Y/N. I promise.”

Your breathing slowed as you finally drifted off to sleep, your tears subsiding. Even in your sleep, your fingers clung to his shirt, as if afraid he’d disappear.

Damian stayed awake for hours, watching over you, his heart heavy with guilt and determination. He’d nearly lost you once, and he vowed to himself that he would never let it happen again.

The next day at school, you felt yourself walking the fine line between pretending to be okay and actually feeling like you could survive another day. The previous night’s events still lingered in your mind, but the warmth of Damian’s presence gave you a sense of reassurance that you hadn’t felt in a while. With him by your side, maybe the world wasn’t so cold after all.

As you entered the school grounds, the familiar chatter of students surrounded you, but you felt like you were walking through a haze. You tried to smile when you saw Damian waiting by your locker, but your stomach still churned with nerves.

“Feeling okay?” Damian asked, his green eyes searching your face with concern.

You nodded, though the words felt hollow. “Yeah. I think I’m alright.”

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t true. You weren’t fine—not yet. But you didn’t want to burden Damian more.

You walked through the day, the hours dragging on as you tried to push through the heaviness on your heart. It wasn’t until lunch that things took a turn.

You had been sitting at a table in the cafeteria, quietly eating, when you felt the familiar, sharp gaze of a group of girls approach. They had always been the type to poke fun at you when they could—mocking your hair, your clothes, anything that set you apart. But today, they focused on something else.

One of the girls, a blonde with a condescending smile, leaned over the table and grabbed your sleeve, yanking it up to reveal the fresh bandages on your forearms.

“You really thought you could hide these?” she sneered. “What, did you think no one would notice the little ‘cry for help’ on your arms?”

The others giggled, their voices dripping with mockery. You tried to pull your sleeve down, your face flushed with humiliation, but the girl didn’t let go.

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” she taunted. “Can’t handle the pressure of life? Are you really that fragile?”

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach as the laughter from the group rang in your ears. You felt small—vulnerable—and everything you’d been holding together from the day before seemed ready to fall apart. You wanted to fight back, to tell them off, but your voice caught in your throat.

And then, just when you thought you couldn’t bear it any longer, a familiar, commanding voice cut through the laughter.

“Get your hands off her.”

You looked up to see Damian standing just behind the group, his posture tense, his jaw clenched with anger. The girls froze, the cocky smiles slipping from their faces as they turned to face him.

“Damian,” the blonde girl sneered, her expression turning defensive. “What, are you gonna protect her now?”

Without a word, Damian stepped forward, his green eyes locked onto hers with cold fury. He didn’t shout or raise his voice, but the threat in his tone was unmistakable.

“If you don’t let go of her sleeve, I’ll make sure you regret it,” he said, his voice low but laced with a warning.

The girl hesitated, her confidence wavering under the intensity of Damian’s gaze. The others behind her shuffled uncomfortably, unsure of what to do.

The blonde finally released your sleeve, sneering one last time before stepping back. “Whatever,” she muttered. “It’s not like she can even take care of herself anyway.”

Damian stood his ground, his eyes never leaving the group as they slowly retreated. His presence was a shield, protecting you from their cruelty in a way no one else had. When they were finally gone, he turned to face you, his expression softening as his gaze flickered to the bandages on your arms.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle but full of concern.

You swallowed, blinking back the tears that threatened to rise. “Yeah. I’m… I’m fine.” But it didn’t feel fine. Your chest still felt tight from the encounter, and the words of those girls continued to echo in your mind.

Damian stepped closer, placing a hand on your shoulder, his touch warm and grounding. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Y/N. I’m here. And I won’t let anyone hurt you, not even with words.”

You met his gaze, the weight of everything you’d been holding in your chest finally feeling a little lighter. “Thank you,” you whispered, a small tear escaping despite yourself. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Damian gave you a small, reassuring smile, though it was edged with the same underlying pain. “You’ll never have to find out,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You stayed with him the rest of the lunch period, the both of you lost in the quiet comfort of each other’s company, as if the world outside your small bubble didn’t exist. For now, at least, you didn’t have to be strong alone.

The weeks passed, and slowly, but surely, you began to feel yourself healing. It wasn’t easy—some days, you felt as though you were taking one step forward and two steps back—but with Damian by your side, you were starting to find joy again.

You’d signed up for soccer, something you’d always wanted to try, but never had the courage to do. You weren’t exactly a star player right away, but it felt good to do something that was just for you. It was an outlet—a way to channel the frustration and hurt, to feel like you were building strength in every pass and every kick.

Damian noticed the change in you too. He saw the small spark return in your eyes, the way you laughed when you made a good play. So, without a second thought, he joined in. He wasn’t exactly a soccer player, but that didn’t stop him from running beside you on the field, working together to help you feel less out of place. He didn’t care that soccer wasn’t his thing; he cared that it was your thing, and he’d support you no matter what.

The next match was one of the biggest games of the season, and the whole school was buzzing with excitement. You were both nervous—especially you, with the memory of how the girls had taunted you still fresh in your mind. But this time, you felt different. This time, you weren’t alone.

As you and Damian stepped onto the field together, the opposing team was already on the sidelines, laughing and joking among themselves. A few of the popular boys—part of the group of arrogant athletes who had always looked down on you—shot you and Damian disdainful looks. One of them, a tall jock with dark hair, sneered at you from across the field.

“Hey, look, it’s the freak show and her bodyguard,” he jeered, his friends snickering. “Did you guys really think you could win?”

Damian’s posture immediately straightened, his usual calm replaced with a barely contained intensity. He stepped closer to you, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the boys. His body was tense, ready to take action if needed, but you placed a hand on his arm, grounding him.

“Don’t let them get to you,” you murmured. “We’re here to play, not to fight.”

Damian didn’t say anything, but he nodded once, taking a deep breath.

The game began, and at first, it was clear that the other team was underestimating you. They were trash-talking, trying to get into your head, but you kept pushing forward, focusing on the ball, on the game. As the match continued, you felt stronger—faster—your confidence growing with every successful pass, every goal attempt. Damian was right there with you, supporting you every step of the way, offering encouragement with a smile that made your heart race.

It wasn’t until one of the boys from the opposing team kicked the ball into the net, mocking you with a grin, that the game took a more intense turn. You could feel the eyes on you, and the taunts growing louder, but you refused to back down. You and Damian worked together like a perfect team, passing and dribbling, until finally, with only a few minutes left in the game, you made a break for the goal.

The crowd held its breath as you charged forward, the ball at your feet, and with a single swift kick, you sent it into the net. The roar of your teammates and the audience around you was deafening. The scoreboard flashed in your favor: Your Team 3 - Opposing Team 2.

The other boys on the opposing team froze for a moment, shock written all over their faces.

And then, the one who had been the most vocal earlier, the tall jock, turned to look at you—really look at you—for the first time. His expression shifted from mockery to guilt as his eyes fell to the bandages on your arms, barely visible beneath your sleeves. His gaze flickered to Damian, whose unwavering, icy stare was enough to send the boy scrambling for an apology.

“Hey, uh…” the jock began, his voice faltering. “I’m… I’m sorry about what I said earlier. We were just messing around, but… I didn’t know about… well, what happened to you.” He shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his friends. “We were just… told to act like that.”

Damian didn’t say anything, his presence enough to silence the boy with a simple look.

The jock’s eyes widened in realization, and he mumbled an apology to both of you before walking away, his pride clearly deflated.

The rest of the boys, seeing the awkwardness unfolding, followed suit, quickly backing off and offering half-hearted apologies. You didn’t say a word, but inside, you felt something shift—a weight lifting from your shoulders.

After the Game

The final whistle blew, and your team celebrated the hard-earned victory. You were exhilarated—your heart racing from the rush of the game, the adrenaline coursing through you as you high-fived your teammates. But as you looked at Damian, standing by the sidelines with a proud grin on his face, something deep inside of you swelled.

You walked over to him, breathless and smiling, and without thinking, you reached up and kissed him—softly, quickly, but with all the emotion you’d been holding inside.

Damian froze for a split second, clearly surprised, but then he melted into the kiss, his hand finding its way to the back of your neck, pulling you gently closer. When you finally pulled away, his eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, full of warmth and affection.

“You did great out there,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere.

You smiled, your heart soaring. “We did great,” you corrected. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Damian smiled, a small but genuine expression. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. And I’m always going to be here… by your side.”

And for the first time in a long time, you truly believed it.

As the cheers and celebrations of your team echoed around the field, you and Damian lingered in your own little bubble. The kiss had been spontaneous, but it felt like a long time coming. Even amidst the noise, the world seemed quiet as the two of you looked at each other, the connection between you stronger than ever.

“You’re full of surprises,” Damian murmured, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “What can I say? You bring it out of me.”

Before Damian could reply, your teammates called for you to join the group photo, their voices filled with excitement. You glanced at him hesitantly, unsure if you should leave his side, but he gave you a small nod.

“Go,” he said. “I’ll be right here.”

You ran off to join your team, grinning as you posed with them, the victory still buzzing in your veins. Every now and then, you glanced back at Damian, who leaned casually against the fence, his eyes never leaving you.

The Walk Home

After the game, the two of you decided to walk home instead of taking the bus. The evening air was cool, and the city lights flickered against the darkening sky. Your cleats dangled over your shoulder, and Damian carried your bag without you even asking.

“So,” you began, breaking the comfortable silence. “What’d you think of my moves out there?”

“They were adequate,” Damian said with a teasing edge, though the small smile on his face gave away how proud he really was.

“Adequate?” you repeated, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “I think you mean phenomenal.”

Damian chuckled, his rare laugh warming you from the inside out. “Alright, fine. Phenomenal,” he admitted. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.” You grinned, feeling lighter than you had in months.

The conversation flowed easily as you walked, but soon, the quiet returned, comfortable and filled with unspoken understanding. As you approached your house, you stopped just outside the door, turning to face Damian.

“Thanks for everything,” you said softly, your voice full of gratitude. “For joining soccer with me, for standing up for me, for… everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, his voice steady. “You’re worth it, Y/N. And I’ll keep proving that to you, every day.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness—it was from the overwhelming warmth of knowing someone cared so deeply.

A Quiet Night Together

Once inside, you kicked off your shoes and flopped onto the couch, exhaustion from the game finally catching up to you. Damian followed, sitting beside you and stretching his legs out.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked after a moment.

“I could eat,” you admitted, laughing.

Damian smirked. “I’ll cook something. But only if you promise not to criticize my technique.”

“Deal,” you said with a grin.

He got up and made his way to the kitchen, and as you watched him move around the space, you couldn’t help but marvel at how much had changed in such a short time. Things weren’t perfect—you still had a long way to go—but for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

Later, as the two of you sat together on the couch, eating and talking about anything and everything, you realized how far you’d come. Damian’s presence, his unwavering support, had made all the difference.

And as the night grew late and you rested your head on his shoulder, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you wouldn’t face them alone.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through your curtains, and for once, it didn’t feel so harsh. It was Saturday—a break from the chaos of school—and Damian had insisted on spending the day with you. His reasoning was simple: to replace the comics you’d ripped up in your darkest moment.

You got ready, pulling on a comfortable hoodie and jeans, and when you opened the front door, Damian was already there, waiting. He was dressed casually, in a black jacket and sneakers, but he still carried himself with that same composed air.

“Ready to go?” he asked, his green eyes soft as they met yours.

You nodded, smiling. “Yeah. Thanks for doing this with me.”

The Comic Shop

The bell above the door jingled as the two of you stepped into the cozy little comic shop tucked away in one of Gotham’s quieter neighborhoods. The familiar smell of ink and paper greeted you, along with rows upon rows of colorful covers displayed on shelves and racks.

You felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you wandered through the aisles, memories of weekends spent here flashing in your mind. Damian followed close behind, his hands tucked into his pockets as he scanned the titles, occasionally picking one up to inspect the cover.

“I still can’t believe I destroyed some of these,” you said quietly, your fingers brushing over a stack of graphic novels.

Damian’s gaze shifted to you. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said firmly. “You were hurting. And now, you’re here. That’s what matters.”

You gave him a small smile, grateful for his understanding.

Finding Favorites

After some time, you spotted one of the comics you’d torn up—a special edition issue you’d loved. You picked it up, running your fingers over the glossy cover, and held it up to show Damian.

“This one was my favorite,” you said, your voice tinged with both sadness and excitement.

He took it from your hands, inspecting it. “Then we’re getting it,” he said matter-of-factly, tucking it under his arm before moving on.

“Damian, I can pay for it—”

“No.” He cut you off with a sharp look. “Consider it a gift. Besides, I’ve been meaning to expand my collection, and this way, I’ll know what to get for myself, too.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile as you followed him.

A Quiet Moment

After gathering a small stack of comics—some for you, some for Damian—you both headed to the small seating area in the back of the shop. It was cozy, with a few chairs and a coffee table surrounded by posters of superheroes and villains.

You sat down and flipped through one of the comics, the familiar feeling of the pages between your fingers bringing you a sense of calm. Damian sat beside you, his own book in hand, though you noticed he glanced at you more often than he read.

“Stop staring,” you teased without looking up.

“I wasn’t staring,” he replied smoothly, though his faint smirk betrayed him.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Sure, Wayne.”

For a while, the two of you sat there in comfortable silence, immersed in the colorful worlds of your comics. It felt normal—peaceful—even in a city like Gotham, where peace was often hard to come by.

Wrapping Up

When you finally got up to leave, you felt lighter than you had in weeks. Damian paid for the comics despite your protests, and as the two of you stepped back out into the crisp afternoon air, he handed you the bag.

“These are yours,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said softly, looking up at him. “For everything. Not just the comics.”

He gave you a small nod, his expression serious but full of care. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. I told you—I’ll always be here for you.”

You smiled, and without thinking, you leaned up and kissed his cheek. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away—instead, a faint blush crept across his cheeks, making you grin.

“Come on,” you said, tugging his hand playfully. “Let’s go home. I need to read these properly.”

Damian let out a small chuckle.

The walk back to your house was filled with lighthearted chatter, the bag of comics swinging from your hand. By the time you got home, you were already buzzing with excitement to dive into the stories.

You kicked off your shoes, grabbed the bag, and plopped onto the couch with Damian following close behind. Pulling out the first comic, you settled into the cushions, fully prepared to lose yourself in the pages.

Damian, however, had other plans.

Instead of grabbing a comic for himself, he sat beside you, his arms crossed as he leaned back, watching you with an amused expression.

“You’re just going to stare at me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you turned a page.

“Maybe,” he replied smoothly. “It’s entertaining.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re weird, Wayne.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment,” he quipped.

For the next few minutes, you tried your best to focus on the comic in your hands, but Damian’s unwavering gaze was impossible to ignore. Finally, you sighed and turned to face him.

“Alright, what is it?” you asked, exasperated but amused.

His lips curled into a smirk, and before you could react, he lunged forward, his fingers digging into your sides. A squeal escaped your lips as you flinched away, but Damian didn’t relent.

“Damian! Stop!” you shrieked, laughing uncontrollably as he continued his relentless assault.

“Not until you admit defeat,” he teased, his voice calm despite the chaos.

You tried to squirm away, but he was too quick, pinning you down against the cushions as his hands moved to your ribs. Tears of laughter streamed down your face as you kicked your legs, desperate for an escape.

“Okay, okay! I surrender!” you gasped between fits of laughter.

Damian paused, his hands still resting on your sides as he hovered over you, a triumphant smirk on his face. “That’s more like it.”

You glared at him, still breathless. “You’re evil.”

“Perhaps,” he said with a shrug, his tone playful.

As you caught your breath, you realized just how close the two of you were. Damian was leaning over you, his arms braced on either side of your head, his face only inches from yours. His green eyes met yours, and for a moment, the playful atmosphere shifted into something softer.

Neither of you said a word, the air between you thick with unspoken emotions. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“Damian…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

But before you could say anything more, his smirk returned, breaking the tension. “You’ve got comic ink smudged on your face,” he said, reaching out to gently brush his thumb across your cheek.

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly pushed him off of you, sitting up and grabbing a pillow to hide your embarrassment.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though the smile on your face betrayed your words.

Damian chuckled, sitting back and grabbing one of the comics from the bag. “Maybe. But you’re stuck with me.”

You rolled your eyes, but as you settled back into the couch, this time with Damian reading beside you, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for moments like this. Moments where the world felt lighter, and the weight of everything else faded away.

The rest of the day unfolded in quiet comfort, a kind of domesticity that felt warm and grounding. After finishing a few comics, you stretched out on the couch while Damian remained seated beside you, flipping through one of his own picks with his usual intensity.

“You know,” you said lazily, your head tilted to look at him, “you don’t have to read like you’re memorizing every panel.”

He glanced at you, one brow raised. “Attention to detail is important,” he replied. “You miss things otherwise.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Only you could turn reading comics into some kind of serious study.”

He didn’t respond, but the slight upward twitch of his lips gave him away.

Cooking Together

Eventually, your stomach growled loudly enough to interrupt the peace. Damian looked over, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Hunger finally catching up to you?” he teased.

“Maybe,” you admitted, sitting up and stretching. “Want to help me make something?”

“You mean, do all the work while you ‘supervise’?” he asked, standing up and offering you his hand.

You took it, grinning. “Exactly.”

In the kitchen, the two of you worked side by side, though Damian insisted on taking over whenever you looked even remotely clumsy. You pretended to be annoyed, but the truth was, you liked seeing him in this relaxed, everyday setting.

As he chopped vegetables with precision, you leaned against the counter, stirring a pot of pasta and stealing glances at him.

“You’re kind of good at this,” you said, feigning surprise.

“Did you think I’d be bad at it?” he asked, not looking up.

“Well, yeah,” you admitted with a smirk. “You’re so used to fine dining at the manor, I thought you’d be hopeless at normal food.”

He finally looked up, his expression deadpan. “You realize Alfred taught me, right?”

“Oh, so you’re cheating,” you said, laughing.

Cleaning Up

After dinner, which turned out surprisingly delicious, you both tackled the mess in the kitchen together. Damian washed while you dried, the two of you moving in sync like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“This is weirdly nice,” you said, holding up a clean plate for him to rinse.

He glanced at you, his sleeves rolled up and his hands wet from the soapy water. “What is?”

“Just… doing normal stuff. With you,” you admitted, your voice softer. “It makes everything else feel less… heavy.”

Damian didn’t reply immediately, but he handed you the next dish with a look that was equal parts understanding and affection. “You deserve moments like this,” he said finally.

Movie Night

With the kitchen clean and the dishes put away, you both collapsed onto the couch again, deciding to end the day with a movie. You scrolled through the options while Damian leaned back, his arm casually resting on the back of the couch.

“What about this one?” you asked, pausing on a cheesy superhero movie.

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Really? That one’s notorious for being terrible.”

“Exactly,” you said, grinning. “It’ll be fun to make fun of it together.”

He sighed but didn’t protest, and you started the movie.

About halfway through, you found yourself leaning into him, your head resting on his shoulder as you laughed at the absurdly bad dialogue on screen. Damian didn’t say anything, but you noticed the way his arm shifted slightly, wrapping around your shoulders to pull you closer. It was a subtle gesture, but it made your heart flutter nonetheless.

“See? This is fun,” you said, nudging him lightly as a particularly over-the-top action scene played out.

“If your definition of ‘fun’ is watching actors butcher every basic combat move, then yes,” he replied, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

“Oh, come on, Mr. Perfectionist. Not everything has to be realistic,” you teased. “Sometimes you just need to enjoy the chaos.”

He gave a quiet hum, and you could feel the vibration through his chest. “Chaos isn’t something I usually associate with enjoyment.”

“Well, you’re stuck with me, so you better get used to it,” you said with a grin, leaning further into him.

Late-Night Calm

By the time the credits rolled, you were half-asleep, your head tucked against Damian’s shoulder. He glanced down at you, his expression softening as he noticed your slow, even breathing. Carefully, he reached for the remote to turn off the TV, trying not to disturb you.

“You’re hopeless,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no bite to his words.

He shifted slightly, adjusting you so that you were lying more comfortably against him. As he rested his head back against the couch, he found himself staying awake, watching over you as you slept.

Morning Routine

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of faint movement in the kitchen. Rubbing your eyes, you sat up on the couch, a blanket draped over you that you didn’t remember grabbing.

You followed the sounds to the kitchen, where Damian stood, already dressed, pouring two cups of coffee.

“Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still groggy.

He turned, offering you one of the mugs. “Morning,” he replied. “I figured you’d need this after staying up so late watching… whatever that movie was supposed to be.”

You chuckled, taking the mug and leaning against the counter. “Thanks. And for the record, I stand by my choice.”

“Of course you do,” he said, shaking his head lightly.

The two of you sat down at the small kitchen table, sipping your coffee in companionable silence. It was simple, ordinary, but it felt special—like a glimpse into a life you never thought you could have.

“What’s the plan for today?” Damian asked after a while, his green eyes meeting yours.

You thought for a moment, then smiled. “Maybe something boring. Like grocery shopping or reorganizing my bookshelves. Something normal.”

“Normal sounds good,” he said quietly, his lips curving into a small smile.

And so, the day unfolded in a series of small, domestic moments—sharing breakfast, tidying up, and simply enjoying each other’s company. It wasn’t grand or dramatic, but it was enough. It was everything.

[writingdungeon-inactive]

uhhhhh can you do i, v, y, and z for harvey 🥺🥺🥺

Prescribing you one dose of fluff and 2 tiny doses of angst, sorry, doctors orders

I - Intimacy: Harvey is a shy man, and it takes him quite a bit of time to warm up to people. Once you are able to get past his polite, reserved exterior, you will find that he is a romantic at heart. I mean he rented a hot air balloon for you two and cooks for you. His gestures are subtle but thoughtful. He holds doors open for you, makes sure you are served first at meals, and loves the quiet moments, like sitting together with a good book or enjoying a peaceful evening walk. —-

Leaning back on the couch, you chuckled softly at the show "The Queen of Sauce," enjoying the rare treat of a quiet evening at home. With most of your tasks and chores completed, relaxing was the one thing left to check off your list. You glanced over at Harvey on the other side of the couch, who was engrossed in his book, and hummed softly as you turned down the volume on the TV.

"What are you reading about?" you asked, leaning over to get a better look at the book he was so absorbed in.

"Wiley Post," he replied, chuckling softly as you laid your head on his lap. He looked down at you with a warm smile, his fingers gently brushing through your hair.

"Who?" you asked, barely skimming the words on the page, more wanting Harvey to tell you than to read yourself.

"A pilot who lost one of his eyes," Harvey explained, turning the page as he continued to read. His hand rested comfortably in your hair, the gentle, rhythmic motion soothing you.

"How did he do that?" you asked, your curiosity piqued. You looked up at him, momentarily forgetting about the cooking show that had previously held your attention.

"An oil drilling accident," Harvey responded, his voice soft and patient. He glanced down at you, a small smile playing on his lips. "Despite that, he went on to become a famous aviator. He even set a few records for around-the-world flights."

You listened intently, captivated not just by the story, but by the way Harvey's eyes lit up when he talked about something he was passionate about. His love for aviation was one of the many things you adored about him. 

Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, the details of Wiley Post's journeys blending into a dreamy haze. Harvey's voice became a soft, melodic background, like a lullaby coaxing you into slumber. The warmth of his lap and the tender strokes of his hand on your hair were all you needed to feel utterly at peace.

Harvey continued to speak, his voice a comforting murmur as he described Post’s solo flights and the challenges he faced. You could feel the weight of the day lifting from your shoulders, each word he spoke enveloping you in a sense of calm. His fingers threaded through your hair in a slow, deliberate pattern, their touch as soothing as the words he was saying.

The more he talked, the more you felt yourself drifting. You could barely keep your eyes open, each blink lasting a little longer than the last. The world around you began to blur, the edges softening as Harvey’s hand continued its gentle movement through your hair. You took a deep breath, the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the comforting smell of home, wrapping you in a blanket of tranquility.

The room seemed to grow quieter, the only sounds were the occasional crackle from the TV and the soft cadence of Harvey's voice. You felt yourself being pulled into a warm, inviting darkness, the last thing you remembered being the feel of Harvey’s hand in your hair and the sound of his gentle laughter and him whispering. “Sleep well.”

You drifted off completely, enveloped in the peace and security of Harvey, knowing that you were exactly where you needed to be.

V - Vulnerability: Harvey feels most vulnerable when you are hurt. Yes, it's a cliché, but no one really discusses the ethical dilemma a doctor endures when having to work on their own partner. As the only doctor in town, Harvey must balance his professional responsibilities with his personal feelings. In the medical field, it’s a big no-no to work on loved ones, yet Harvey has no choice if you come in very injured. Maru is only a nurse; while she knows some things, the critical emergencies fall on Harvey's shoulders.

his vulnerability is most apparent in these moments. He’s forced to compartmentalize his emotions, pushing down his fear and sorrow to perform his duties. After the crisis, when the immediate danger has passed, and he finally allows himself to feel, the emotional floodgates open. He might retreat to his office or a quiet corner, where the weight of what he’s just endured crashes over him. He feels the overwhelming relief that you’re safe mingled with the residual terror of how close he came to losing you. —-

Harvey sat on the floor, the cold from the white tile seeping up through his pants, chilling his legs, helping to ground him for a moment. He stared at his shoes, the only sounds he made were his ragged breathing and the wet blinks as he tried to clear his eyes. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood that still lingered from the surgery.

Marlon had found you deep in the mines and brought you to him. You were rough—more than rough. Your body was covered in bloody cuts, and deep bruises, each wound telling a story of the battle you endured. Harvey had no idea what to do, his body and mind falling into a freeze response. He felt paralyzed, his medical training momentarily forgotten as sheer panic gripped him. He was lucky Maru was there to help snap him out of it.

He looked over at Maru as she sat in his swivel chair, her head held low. She had been by his side the whole surgery, working tirelessly to help stabilize you and reminding Harvey that he needed to be professional for your sake. Her hands were still stained with your blood, and the exhaustion in her eyes mirrored his own.

His eyes trailed back up to you lying on the surgery table, eyes closed, looking peaceful yet battered. Your chest rose and fell steadily, a sign that the worst was over, but the sight of your injuries made his heartache. The memory of your lifeless form being carried in by Marlon played on a loop in his mind, a nightmare he couldn't escape.

His tears started to flow freely, a sob ripping out of his throat as he pulled his knees to his chest. The weight of the day’s events crashed down on him, leaving him feeling helpless and overwhelmed. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you, and the fear of what could have happened gnawed at his soul.

He remembered the first time he met you, how your smile had lit up the clinic, and the countless moments you had shared since then. The thought of never seeing that smile again was unbearable. Harvey's shoulders shook with the force of his sobs, the emotional toll of the day finally breaking through his composed exterior.

Maru stood up quickly and walked over to him, kneeling before him and wrapping her arms around him gently, careful not to get her blood-stained hands on him. "It's over now, they're okay. They're okay," she whispered weakly, her voice showing how tired she was.

Harvey leaned into her embrace, finding some comfort in her presence. "I was so scared, Maru," he admitted, his voice trembling. "I… I thought I might lose them. I couldn’t bear the thought..."

"I know," she replied softly, stroking his back soothingly with her arm. "But we did it. They're going to be alright."

Her words soothed his heartache slightly, but the fear and worry were not entirely gone. "It was so close," he murmured. "I kept thinking about... I don’t know how… how I could face losing them."

Maru tightened her hold on him. "You didn’t lose them," she said firmly. "They’re here, they’re stable."

Harvey nodded, taking a deep, shuddering breath as he tried to steady himself. He wiped his tears away, his hands still trembling slightly. "Thank you, Maru…”

Z - Zilch: One thing Harvey has zero tolerance for is neglecting your health. He’s deeply invested in your well-being, both as a doctor and someone who genuinely cares about you. When he discovers the extent to which you’ve been mistreating your body—pushing yourself to the brink with back-breaking work, consuming ungodly excessive amounts of caffeine, and only eating when you’re on the verge of collapse—he takes immediate action.

Harvey won't stand by idly while you jeopardize your health. He insists on a complete overhaul of your routine, ensuring you rest properly and eat at regular intervals. He stays up late, anxiously waiting for you to return home. He doesn't allow you to brush off his worries or ignore his advice. Instead, he meticulously checks you over, from head to toe, ensuring there are no lingering issues, as well as making sure you’re cleaned up and cared for properly. —-

Carefully shutting the front door behind you, you let out a small sigh of relief upon seeing that Harvey wasn’t sitting on the couch, waiting for you. While you appreciated his care, it often felt like he was pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion with his worry for you.

Kicking off your mud-caked boots, and hanging up your bag, the feeling of ache of your day's in every movement. Your joints creaked with fatigue, echoing the exhaustion you felt deep inside. You shuffled toward the bedroom, and with a soft, almost hesitant motion, you eased open the bedroom door, hoping to find Harvey peacefully asleep.

As you peered inside, a nervous smile touched your lips when you saw Harvey lift his gaze from his book. The surprise in his eyes quickly transformed into a deep, palpable concern. His eyebrows drew together in a frown, and he set his book aside with a deliberate, almost frantic urgency. “What’s that?” he asked, his voice a mix of worry and curiosity, tinged with the softest edge of frustration as he started to rise from his chair.

You couldn’t help but glance down at your arm, where a large, deep cut looked back at you. The sight of it made you wince involuntarily, and you instinctively tried to shield it from his view, hiding it behind your back. “Nothing, hun,” you said with a strained laugh, attempting to downplay the severity of the situation as you made a clumsy attempt to sidestep him and head toward the bathroom.

But just as you thought you might escape his scrutiny, you felt Harvey’s hands gently but firmly grasp your hips, his touch both grounding and insistent. His fingers were warm and steady, and his gaze was unwavering as he gently guided you back toward him. “Stop,” he said softly but with an unyielding firmness. “Let me see.”

There was no mistaking the depth of his concern, and you knew that any attempt to brush off his worry would be met with resolute insistence. Looking back at him, you saw his eyes locked onto yours, filled with worry. With a resigned sigh, you turned to face him fully, understanding that there was no reason to resist him.

Harvey’s hands were tender yet thorough as he examined the injury on your arm. His touch was careful as if he was afraid to cause you any further discomfort. “What happened?” he asked softly, his voice laced with genuine concern as he guided you towards the bathroom. “I… Uh missed a block…” you said softly, your gaze falling to the bathmat as you sat on the edge of the tub.

He retrieved the first aid kit from under the sink, the soft rustling of its contents filling the otherwise quiet room. Harvey’s sighed out of his nose, his frustration with the situation showing. As he opened the kit, his eyes remained focused on your arm, each glance reflecting the depth of his concern. The usual calmness in his demeanor was now tinged with an edge of anxiety.

Harvey began to clean the wound with meticulous care, his hands moving with a practiced gentleness. The antiseptic stung slightly, but he worked with a soothing, steady touch, trying to work quickly but diligently. The room was quiet, punctuated only by the soft sounds of his movements and the occasional rustle of the first aid supplies.

As he carefully applied the bandage, his brow remained furrowed. “I… I need you to be more careful,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of his concern. “You push yourself too hard, and it worries me.” His eyes now met yours, and the gentle pleading in them was impossible to ignore.

“Harvey—” you started, but he cut you off by cupping your face in his hands, ensuring that your eyes met his.

“Please, I love you,” he said softly but with an undeniable urgency. “I can’t stand seeing you like this. You’re burning yourself out, and it’s taking a toll on you. I need you to take care of yourself—for you, and for me.”

His words, filled with earnestness and affection, wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. The sincerity in his voice and the intensity of his gaze made it clear how deeply he felt about your well-being. You nodded slowly, feeling a swell of gratitude and emotion. “I understand,” you said softly. “I’ll try to be better about it, ok.”

Harvey’s expression softened, and he pulled you into a gentle hug, resting his chin on the top of your head. “That’s all I ask,” he murmured into your hair, as he gently rubbed your back.

[sageofgrief]

i can't remember your rules but i would like to request krisis getting flustered? thanks. i will llose my mind 💛

from brisquad-unit-4402

flustered krisis!?

︱ gn reader , teasing reader , flirty , established relationship with wilson

divider by cafekitsune

art by papercider (twt)

vezalius bandage

you and zali throw around flirty remarks at each other all the time, whenever one of you tries to catch the other off guard with it, the other just hits you with one right back, its definitely an amusing relationship for an observer.

zali was tending to your wounds after you trip and fell and took a pretty good bruise on your knee caused by the rocky ashy road. "you really need to be more careful, my dear.." he said as he laid the bandage on your soft skin, to which he noticed. despite being a medic healer, he's never had to heal you that often since you were really a careful person, which is why youre confused how this even happened. "your skin.." zali noticed "..what? whats wrong?" you looked at zali then down at your knee, which now was a better sight to be seen than before. "..nothing, it's..so soft" zali caressed the area around the bandage, you chuckled softly as you thought this was another one of zali's flirtatious gestures he was trying to pull on you to finally see you blush. you put a hand on top of his hand and it felt...warm. "youre warm, zali" you took notice, looked back at him and smiled, a smile that stung his heart and the memories of it ringing, bouncing back and forth in his head. he thought of all the happy memories you two had with each other up until this moment and started to form a faint blush on his cheeks. "zali?" "hmm?~" "youre blushing." you said, "am i now? well thats unfortunate now is it?" he chuckled softly, zali didnt care now that he technically loss their little game 'cause all he wanted is to tell you how he was really feeling, and by the look of it, it looked like you felt the same way.

vantacrow bringer

vanta always act so tough but this man will melt if he stares into your eyes for even 5 seconds, maybe even less. you knew this was his one weakness so you decided to challenge him to a staring contest.

"hah! i win once again!" vanta cheered as he released his arm from yours, you two were having an arm wrestling contest, you already knew you'd lose so you just gave up. "what should we do next? ive been winning every challenge so far~" vanta teased you, "how abouuut.. a staring contest?" you suggested. "easy!" he confidently obliged.

you two sat down on a chair across not that far from each other and began. you stared into his purple eyes that windowed into his inner soul. you were doing great, but vanta's eyes seem to be shaking? "why you shaking, bringer?" you asked, "...im not shaking youre shaking...." he nervously murmured.

the man eventually blinks and you declare your victory, but just before you said so, you take a look at vanta who broke the gaze and it looked like the man was out of breath from running a marathon. he had a hand on his chest, he was blushing, and he was sighing. "looks like i won.." you declared. "y-yeah.. you win" he admitted defeat and looked back to you, "are you blushing?" you tilted your head to the side. "uhhhhh..." he tried to come up with an excuse before looking down at his phone, "hey zali's calling, lets meet up with him...!" vanta quickly whipped up a quick excuse just to get you to stop teasing him about his flustered state. while walking though, you could tell that he was still thinking about that moment by the way he smiles randomly from time to time.

yu q wilson

he's a simple boy. just hold his hand and you'll have him hiding his face from you. he also enjoys when you ruffle his hair, when you sit on his lap, oh he also loves when you give him nicknames.

you were in the drivethru at a local fast food restaurant, you were in the driver seat, wilson being your passenger princess. you pulled up and requested your order to the worker, "that's it for me.. you want anything, yu?" you asked wilson if he wanted anything, he told you his order and you told it back to the worker. you decided to pull a little prank and call him your husband instead of your boyfriend. it's a silly prank that you saw on the internet and you knew instantly that you had to try it on him "my husband just wants fries" "HU- hus..band...?" he nearly yelled but covered his mouth before doing so. "yes, thank you" you thanked the lovely worker and drove away from them. you drove up to the window and waited for your order, you decided to look back to wilson and he just had the most confused smile on his face with the most obvious blush on his cheeks. "whaaat?" you acted clueless. "HUSBAND?...husband???" that time he yelled to which you just laughed. right before the worker opened the window to hand you your order, wilson pulls you into a kiss that nearly turned into a makeout session in the car...you freaks.

im SO sorry this took so long 4402!!! but at last, i deliver

intro • masterlist • general rules • detailed request rules • main acc @sageofgrief • nsfw acc @sageofmarionette

[thehistoriangirl]

Hey bestieee can I get uhhhhh.......what u think vik would like to get as a present for the holidays and what he would give reader in return

Hi bestie! Of course ^^ here is it, hope you like it <3

Loving Gifts

Viktor x Fem!(Artist!)Reader----1.2K----SFW

Tags: Established Relationship | Domestic Fluff | Slightly Suggestive at the end |

A dry, cold winter air flowed across the wide boulevards in the Commercial District, with Viktor adjusting the cozy red blanket around his neck to cover up his mouth and nose. With the sky rapidly tinted orange, he saw the Christmas lightning starting to turn on in each of the buildings around him.

He leaned against a wall, consulting the list tucked inside his pocket. 

-Dress (?)

-Custom jewelry  -> next anniversary. 

-Set of pastels (?)

Viktor had been cracking his brain to think about a gift for you ever since the coming of autumn. Last year, he had crafted you a lamp in the shape of a cherry tree, the one that was next to your drawing table, sending pink and golden hues around your atelier like in a perpetual dusk. 

This year, however, he had no idea what to give you, which made him feel quite anxious every time he entered a store, watching around the shelves to see if something caught his attention, like a call, only to end up with empty hands and another blow of gelid wind as he walked toward other business. 

What if he gave you something you didn’t like? He could imagine your eyes dropping slightly and the tense smile expanding your lips. For all the time you’d been together, Viktor had acquired the ability to read you like his favorite book.

He already had a little custom music box half-finished in his lab, kept inside the only drawer that held a key so you wouldn’t find it those times you liked to help him clean his workstation, waiting for Viktor to finish his job for the day. He snuck inside the Music Faculty to ask for a recording of the song that got you both together at the Academy Anniversary Foundation Gala two years ago when he gathered his courage to ask you for a dance.

Viktor smiled at the memory, the characteristic smell of oil and wood familiar as he entered the arts and crafts store you frequent, many of those visits with his arm interlocked in yours. 

The saleswoman smiled at him. “Hello, Sir, what can I help you with?” she said. “Is the Ma'am sick?”

“Ah—” he hung his lips ajar at the name ‘Ma’am’, because you two weren’t married, though you never corrected her, so, why would he? “No. I came here for her… eh, her Christmas gift.”

“Oh, of course!” She responded with a wide beam; her brown eyes squinted. “Do you have something in mind?”

Viktor looked around the clean and organized store, with wooden pencils and brushes, lines of canvas shown behind the counter, and a thousand rainbows shown in sets of crayons, pencils, pastels, and oil paintings.

“Yes. One of your set of pastels, please.” Viktor tapped his fingers along the handle of his cane, looking at the people walking hand by hand passing by him. He sighed, consulting his pocket watch. It was strange the way he’d grown to miss you, just comparable to how he yearned to keep inventing, to keep creating.

“Can you wrap it with newspaper?” he added. “She’s rather… curious, you see.” If you saw a box wrapped in gift paper, there was no doubt you’d start to peek. He thought you were just as mischievous as a cat. And just as adorable. 

“Of course, Sir.” For some minutes, the empty store filled with the sound of paper folding and tape being cut. “Here you have it. Careful, there. It’s heavier than it looks.”

“Thank you.” Viktor put the gift under his free arm, walking out of the store once he had paid.

The air hit even colder now that he had imagined how warm your embrace would be once he arrived home.

“But first,” he mumbled to himself, accommodating his beret and scarf before restarting his walk up the hill. “Let’s hide this in the lab.”

*~*~*~*

You put the photograph aside after watching it for the thousandth time, gently sliding it inside a book as you continue to paint the last details of Eve’s dress, the patches of clothes sewn into the fabric twin to the ones in little Viktor’s pants.

He looked so happy, standing between his parents with pride—you hoped you could mimic the childish delight on his face with your painting. Even if you weren’t good at restoring photos, why shouldn’t you replicate the image in your personal style?

Viktor had shown you the photo after some months of dating, getting it out of his notebook with its edges winkled and the paper thin for being held so much; the brown surface dotted with multiple stains. And yet, love kept emanating from it.

Now, Viktor would have the memory on a bigger canvas he could hang whenever he wished. You hoped he liked the gift, though it’ll be quite obvious wrapped under the tree once the painting was ready—you wished to give him only the best, just as he did with you. 

The brush slid against the canvas, wrist swaying to paint the thin decorative lines of the wallpaper inside his childhood home, the edge of a cold hearth behind the family tree, with Viktor sitting on a chair in the middle of his parents, the familiar toy boat in his lap. 

A smile grazed your face, looking at the round face of the small boy, amber eyes shining even in the now dim photograph. You were blessed with that gaze, too, every time he talked about his new projects and ideas, with the lamp on the nightstand giving his eyes a shine that could rival the stars.

Even when Viktor looked at you, a smile so big you could his adorable tooth gap.

You heard the entrance door creak open, settling your brush down in a vase with water.

“Moje láska, I’m home,” Viktor said, his voice muffled through the closed door of your studio. “Where are you, hmm?”

“I’m going!” You almost interrupted him, carrying the canvas toward the far end of the room, facing the closed window. 

Viktor was expecting you in the hallway, an eyebrow raised upon seeing your hands, and fingers stained with paint.

“Working still, my muse?” he muttered playfully, his hands intertwined with yours as he pulled you against him to give you a kiss on the forehead, then another on the cheek, to finally grace your lips with his own. 

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to give him another, longer, kiss. 

“Yes, handsome,” you teased, poking his cheek that was starting to dust with a pink shade. 

“Should I let you work, then?” He hummed, his hands on your hips. “Wouldn’t like to delay your duties and get you in trouble.”

“Not at all. I only have to let the paint dry to start with the new layer tomorrow.” Tugging his hand, you pried away from the studio, so Viktor couldn’t ask to see the painting and spoil the surprise. “Come on, let’s have dinner together.”

Viktor chuckled, his thumb smudging a droplet of paint across the reverse of your palm. “Maybe I should bathe you first,” he said, eyes twinkling. “You’re always a masterpiece but today… eh, you have more paint on you.”

You laughed, one of your hands over Viktor’s. “Naughty.” Leaning closer to him, you pretended to smell him, scrunching your nose in a dramatic gesture. “You’re also very stinky.”

“That didn’t stop you from kissing me, did it?” His thumb circled your hip, fingers gently kneading the skin. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

“Never,” you giggled.

“Come on, my stinky dove,” Viktor teased, nuzzling his face against your hair. “Let’s draw a bath in the bathtub. I'm quite cold, so perhaps you could warm me up, yes?”