#under the rocket's glow | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingbuckets · 16 days ago

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𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

paige bueckers x reader

wc: 6.8k

a/n: i present to you... jealous paige bc this is one of my favorite tropes literally ever! this was 16 pages on google docs so i apologize for that, gonna go through all my posts and add warnings to them so i shall see you later <3

You’re sprawled out on your bed, limbs heavy against the soft blanket, phone clutched in one hand. The screen casts a faint glow in the dim room, illuminating the furrow of frustration etched into your brow. Your thumb idly scrolls through your message thread with Paige—a barren wasteland of unanswered texts. Each message feels like a tiny stone dropped into the pit of your stomach, adding to the growing weight.

Monday

Hey, how’d practice go? You alive?

Wednesday

I know you’re busy, but can we talk soon? Paige?

Friday

Cool. Guess I’ll take the hint.

You sigh heavily, locking your phone and tossing it onto the bed beside you. The device bounces slightly before settling face down, but your mind refuses to let it go. A sharp buzz suddenly cuts through the silence, jolting your heart into a sprint. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers. You snatch up the phone, only for disappointment to flood in when Jasmine’s name lights up the screen instead.

You swipe to answer, switching to speaker and tossing it back on the bed. “What’s up, Jas?” you say, your tone flat and lacking its usual warmth.

“Clearly not you,” Jasmine replies, her voice teasing but tinged with concern. “You sound like someone kicked your puppy. Is this about Paige again?”

You pause, chewing on your bottom lip, the weight of your emotions threatening to spill over.

“She’s been ghosting me all week,” you finally admit, bitterness seeping into your voice like a slow drip. “I get that basketball keeps her busy, but is it really that hard to send one text? Like, ‘Hey, sorry, can’t talk right now’? That’s all I’m asking. It’s not rocket science.”

Jasmine’s incredulous tone comes through loud and clear. “Wait. She hasn’t responded at all? Not even a quick ‘Hey, I’m swamped’?”

“Not a word,” you reply, the edge in your voice sharpening. “Meanwhile, she’s out here talking about how much she likes me and how she wants to make things work. For what? So I can sit here, feeling like a damn afterthought, while she… I don’t even know what she’s doing anymore.”

“You deserve so much better,” Jasmine says firmly, her voice a grounding presence.

“Tell me about it,” you mutter, picking up your phone again despite yourself. It’s a reflex, a bad habit you can’t seem to break. You open Instagram, swiping through stories without purpose, when something stops you cold.

KK’s latest post dominates the screen. It’s a picture of the team crammed into a booth at Ted’s, smiles wide and carefree. Paige is smack in the middle, holding up Dirty Shirley, her grin so effortless it’s like she hasn’t ignored a single text in her life. She looks happy. Relaxed. Completely unbothered.

The caption reads: “Dubs only, baby! Turnt up with the squad 🏀.”

Your grip on the phone tightens as heat rises to your cheeks. Your jaw clenches involuntarily. So, she has time for this? Time to party, to hang out with her team, to go to Ted’s of all places—your spot—but can’t find two seconds to acknowledge you?

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, the words simmering with anger.

“What happened?” Jasmine’s voice snaps you back to reality.

“She’s at Ted’s,” you say through gritted teeth. “With the team. Laughing, drinking, looking like life is perfect while I’m over here wondering if she fell off the face of the Earth.”

“Oh, hell no,” Jasmine says, her indignation matching your own. “She thinks she can ignore you and get away with it? Nope. Get up, put on your hottest outfit, and remind her who the hell you are.”

You sit up, heart pounding as the idea takes root. Your glare is fixed on KK’s post, as if staring at it hard enough might erase the image entirely. Locking your phone, you toss it onto the bed before swinging your legs over the side.

“You know what?” you say, your voice steady and laced with resolve. “Maybe I will.”

The moment you’ve had enough, something shifts inside you—like a fire being reignited. The frustration that’s been simmering all evening finally boils over, and you grab your phone with newfound determination. Sitting upright on your bed, you unlock the screen, your fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced ease.

Y’all down for Ted’s tonight? Need backup.

The message is direct, no frills. This isn’t just a night out—it’s a mission.

Jasmine’s reply comes almost instantly, as if she’s been waiting for an excuse to hit the town. Say less. On my way in 20. Her energy is palpable even through a text.

Seconds later, Veronica chimes in: I’m in. Let’s cause some trouble. Her signature wink emoji follows, and you can’t help but smirk.

Finally, Serena’s response lights up your screen with a single word: Bet. Short, sweet, and packed with confidence.

With your friends locked in, you toss your phone onto the bed and head straight to your closet. It’s time to make a statement—one that’s impossible to ignore. You stand in front of your wardrobe, fingers brushing over hangers as you mentally critique each option. Too casual. Too plain. Too predictable.

After what feels like an eternity, your hand lands on the one. It’s bold, sleek, and undeniably sexy—a figure-hugging dress that accentuates all the right places and practically demands attention. You pull it off the hanger, holding it up in front of the mirror. The deep color complements your skin perfectly, and the hem does the absolute minimum in covering the bottom of your ass.

You slip into it carefully, smoothing the fabric over your body and adjusting it until it fits like a second skin. Taking a step back, you examine yourself in the mirror, tilting your head as a small smile plays on your lips. You look good. No—scratch that. You look amazing. But tonight, looking amazing isn’t enough. You want to turn heads. You want Paige to feel it.

Not done yet, you move to your vanity, flipping on the lights. Your makeup bag sits waiting, and you dive in with practiced precision. First, a flawless base, smooth and glowing, like your skin was kissed by the perfect Instagram filter. You follow with a contour that defines your features, giving you a sharp, sculpted look. Then comes the winged liner, bold and dramatic, with a flick so precise it could cut glass. Smokey eyeshadow enhances the look, making your gaze impossible to ignore, and a high-shine gloss adds the perfect finishing touch to your lips.

You lean back, giving yourself a final once-over in the mirror. Every detail is on point, down to the faint shimmer of highlighter catching the light on your cheekbones. It’s flawless, if you do say so yourself.

As you’re spritzing on your favorite perfume—a scent both intoxicating and unforgettable—your phone buzzes again. Jasmine’s text reads: Outside. Let’s do this.

You slip on your favorite pair of chunky, heeled boots, the ones that make you feel like you own every room you walk into, and grab your bag. The rhythmic click of your heels on the pavement mirrors your determination as you stride out to Jasmine’s car.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you’re met with a low whistle from Jasmine. “Damn, girl,” she says, giving you an approving once-over. “Are you trying to destroy someone tonight?”

You smirk as you buckle your seatbelt, tossing your bag onto your lap. “Not destroy. Just remind a certain someone what she’s about to lose.”

Jasmine’s laugh fills the car as she reaches over for a fist bump. “Now that is the energy I needed. She won’t know what hit her.”

The ride to Ted’s feels electric. The bass of the music pulses through the car, a perfect soundtrack to your rising confidence. Jasmine keeps hyping you up the whole way, stealing glances at you every so often.

“You look so good, you’re probably going to start a fight,” she teases with a grin.

You meet her eyes with a smirk, adjusting a strand of hair in the mirror. “Good,” you say, your voice dripping with confidence. “Let her be mad. She’s got it coming.”

Jasmine’s laughter rings out, blending with the music as the two of you pull into the crowded parking lot. The neon sign for Ted’s glows against the night sky, and the hum of voices and laughter spills out into the cool evening air.

You step out of the car with purpose, adjusting your outfit one last time as your heels click against the asphalt. One final glance in the car’s side mirror confirms what you already know: you’re a vision, and tonight, you’re a force to be reckoned with.

Ted’s won’t know what hit it. And neither will Paige.

The low buzz of voices and the faint clinking of glasses hit you the moment you step into Ted’s. The warm glow of string lights overhead bathes the packed bar in a golden hue, and the energy in the room is palpable—loud laughter, animated conversations, and the occasional cheer erupting from the direction of the pool table. Your heels click against the floor as you make your way in with Jasmine, Veronica, and Serena flanking you like a well-coordinated squad.

It doesn’t take long to spot her. Paige is exactly where you expected, seated in a large booth near the back with Azzi, KK, Ice, and Jana. She’s dressed casually, black denim shorts, a black crop top, and an unbuttoned, white shirt, but she might as well be wearing a neon sign with the way she draws attention. She’s laughing, leaning back with her arm draped casually over the seat, completely at ease. You can see the sparkle in her eyes from here, even as she remains blissfully unaware of your presence.

The sight makes your stomach twist, but you shake it off. Tonight isn’t about Paige. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Let’s hit the bar,” you say, keeping your voice steady as you lead your friends in the opposite direction, deliberately ignoring the booth and the person in it.

The bartender greets you with a smile, and you order a couple rounds of shots for your group, letting Jasmine and the others hype you up as you throw them back the second they’re placed in front of you. Once you feel enough of a buzz to quell your anxiety, you decide to settle for a mixed drink to sip on for the remainder of the night. It isn’t long before you notice someone approaching, a tall, athletic-looking girl with broad shoulders and an easy grin. She’s wearing a fitted T-shirt and jeans, and the confidence in her stride is unmistakable.

“Hey,” she says, leaning against the bar. Her voice is low, smooth. “You look like you’re having more fun than anyone else here.”

You flash her a smile, tilting your head slightly. “You could say that.”

Her grin widens, and she introduces herself, launching into a conversation that you quickly match. Her compliments come freely—your outfit, your laugh, even the way you carry yourself—and you don’t hold back, laughing a little louder than usual and letting your fingers brush against her arm as you talk.

Across the booth, KK nudges Paige, a look of concern flickering across her face. “Uh, hey, isn’t that Y/N?” she says, nodding toward the bar.

Paige’s head snaps toward KK, her expression darkening as she follows her teammate’s line of sight. Her brows knit together as she takes in the scene—your effortless smile, the way you lean into the girl’s space, her hand resting on the bar just a little too close to yours. She recognizes the look in your eyes, it’s the same look she was on the receiving end of the first night you met.

“Yeah,” Paige says shortly, her voice clipped. She sets her drink down with more force than necessary, her grip tightening around the glass before she looks away.

Meanwhile, you pretend not to notice the silent storm brewing across the room. You keep your focus on the girl in front of you, leaning in just enough to keep the conversation flowing, though you can feel the heat of Paige’s jealousy from where you stand. It sends a thrill through you, equal parts satisfaction and spite.

As the girl laughs at something you’ve said, you turn your head to the side slightly, trying to catch a glance at the booth where Paige sits. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her tense, her hand balling into a fist on the table as she murmurs something to Azzi.

You can feel it in the air, Paige is reaching her breaking point. And that’s exactly what you wanted.

Paige sits stiffly in the booth, her grip on her drink tightening as her knuckles blanch. Her jaw works furiously, muscles twitching as if she’s holding back an eruption. The sound of your laugh, airy and effortless, cuts through the din of the bar, and Paige’s eyes flicker with barely concealed rage. Her teammates exchange uneasy glances, sensing the storm brewing beside them.

Azzi nudges KK and leans in. “Uh, is she okay?”

KK shrugs, her voice low. “I don’t think so.”

Paige suddenly stands, her movements sharp and deliberate. The scrape of her chair against the floor draws their attention.

“Where are you going?” Azzi asks, concern softening her voice.

Paige doesn’t look at her, her gaze fixed like a laser on you across the room. “I’ll be back,” she mutters, her voice clipped.

She doesn’t wait for a response, weaving through the crowd with purpose. Her steps are quick, her shoulders tight, and her eyes never leave you. You’re at the bar, leaning casually against the counter, completely absorbed in your conversation with the tall, athletic-looking girl beside you. The girl leans in close, her hand grazing your arm as she says something that makes you throw your head back with a laugh.

Paige’s chest tightens, and the corners of her vision blur with the heat of her jealousy. Each second feels like an eternity as she closes the distance, her blood boiling at the sight of the stranger getting a little too comfortable with you.

When she reaches you, she doesn’t pause to think. Her arm snakes around your waist in one swift motion, pulling you firmly against her side. The sudden contact makes you gasp, your conversation abruptly cut off. The flirty girl takes a step back, startled and clearly intimidated by Paige’s possessive presence.

“We’re leaving,” Paige says, her tone low and commanding. Her words are sharp enough to slice through the tension in the air.

You turn your head sharply, blinking in surprise as your eyes meet hers. The fire in her gaze burns so brightly it could scorch you, but you’re too stubborn to back down. “Now you have time to talk to me?” you ask, drawing the sentence out with deliberate sarcasm. “I think I’m fine right here.”

Paige’s jaw ticks, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, her arm tightens around your waist, her fingers pressing firmly into your side. It’s a silent warning, one you choose to ignore as you plant your feet against her attempts to steer you toward the door.

“Paige, what the hell?” you protest, your voice rising with irritation.

“Not here,” she snaps, her tone cold and final. Her grip remains unrelenting as she continues to lead you away from the bar.

Your friends notice the commotion, Jasmine standing halfway out of her seat. “Y/N, are you good?” she calls, her brows furrowed with concern.

You twist in Paige’s hold just enough to look back at them, throwing a hand up in a dismissive wave. “I’ll text you!” you shout over your shoulder, your voice dripping with frustration.

Paige doesn’t slow her pace until the two of you are outside, the cool night air biting at your skin. She releases you near her car, and you immediately step back, glaring at her.

“Seriously, Paige?” you snap, your voice sharp as you cross your arms over your chest. “You think you can just show up, ruin my night, and drag me out like this?”

Paige’s nostrils flare as she turns to face you fully, her expression thunderous. “I think I just did.”

Eventually you arrive at her apartment, and she has to practically pull you out of her car by your arm. The second you step into Paige’s entryway, you rip your arm out of her grip with enough force to make her stumble slightly. You spin around to face her, your chest heaving with frustration. The door slams shut behind you, echoing through the space like a gunshot.

“What the hell is your problem, Paige?” you shout, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. Your words are sharp, fueled by anger that’s been simmering for days.

Paige whirls around to face you, her face already twisted in fury. “My problem?” she fires back, her voice rising to match yours, letting out a humorless chuckle. “You’re out there all over some random girl, and you’re asking me what my problem is?”

You take a step closer, refusing to back down. “Yeah, I am! Because you ignore me all week, and the second I talk to someone else, you suddenly care? Make it make sense, Paige!”

She runs both hands through her hair, pacing in jerky, frustrated strides between the door and the counter. “Do you know how insane it made me to see you with her?” she snaps, her words laced with raw, unfiltered emotion. “Laughing, touching her, looking like you were having the time of your life? Like I didn’t even exist?”

You laugh bitterly, the sound sharp and humorless as you cross your arms over your chest. “That’s rich, Paige. At least she actually talked to me, which is more than I’ve gotten from you in weeks.”

The room feels charged, every word hanging heavy in the air, but Paige isn’t done. She steps forward again, her voice low and rough with frustration. “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t want to talk to you? You’re all over her, touching her like it doesn’t matter, and it’s driving me crazy—"

“Gee, sounds like you finally get it,” you fire back, your words sharp with bitterness. “But hey, don’t worry, I’ll stop talking to people if it’ll make you feel better. Maybe next time, I’ll just sit in the corner and wait for you to remember I’m here, like some sad little backup plan.”

You turn your head, preparing to walk out, but before you can take a single step, Paige’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist with a force that stops you in your tracks. Your heart pounds in your chest as you turn to face her, ready to throw another snarky remark her way.

But before you can speak, she’s there, bringing her hands to grab both sides of your face, her lips crashing into yours with an intensity that takes you by surprise. You freeze for a split second, then instinct kicks in. You try to pull away, pushing against her chest with as much force as you can muster.

But she doesn’t let up. Her kiss deepens, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, keeping you in place. The anger you’ve been carrying fades, replaced with confusion and something else you can’t quite name. You can feel her tension, her frustration, her need for something—maybe an answer, maybe redemption.

She slides one of her hands down to anchor around the front of your throat, her other hand drifting to grab at your hip through the thin material of your dress. She slowly starts to back you towards her kitchen, not stopping until the top of your ass is pressing against the island counter. She brings both hands to your hips, tapping the side of your ass with one hand, encouraging you to jump, and roughly squeezing your hip with the other.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as she lifts you effortlessly onto the cool marble countertop. Her hands slide possessively up your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress higher. She steps forward, wedging herself between your parted legs.

"You look so fucking good in this dress," she says, her voice low and thick with desire. One hand slips under the fabric to caress the bare skin of your hip while the other tangles in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat.

She dips her head, warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin before her lips press against your racing pulse. Your back arches as she nips at the delicate skin, soothing the pinch with her tongue and surely leaving a mark. A breathy moan fills the air and it takes you a moment to realize it came from you.

Her lips trail lower, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. You shiver as her tongue flicks out to taste your skin. The hand on your hip slides inward, fingertips skimming teasingly along the inside of your thigh.

You wrap your legs around her waist, pulling her in closer, desperate for more contact. She chuckles darkly against your throat, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure racing down your spine. "I love it when you get like this," she murmurs approvingly. "All desperate and needy."

To punctuate her point, she rolls her hips, grinding against your center. The pressure and friction draw a keening whimper from your lips. Your hands fly up to grip her strong shoulders, nails digging into taut muscle through her shirt.

Her lips glide over your skin, a delicate yet fervent touch, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. As she moves up from your jawline, each kiss ignites a spark, and her breath, hot and teasing, touches your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. "I've been thinking about having you like this all night," she murmurs.

You whimper as her hands skim higher, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin fabric. She captures your lips in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to claim your mouth, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

She reaches up to pull your dress down, revealing your bare breasts. Her lips immediately latch onto one of your nipples, sucking and biting it gently. You arch into her touch, a moan escaping your parted lips as she places full attention on the sensitive bud. Her tongue flicks and swirls, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Her other hand palms your neglected breast, kneading the supple flesh. She rolls the pebbled nipple between her fingers, pinching and tugging in time with the ministrations of her mouth, each pull sending another rush of heat flooding your body.

"So pretty, baby," she says, the words vibrating against your skin. She gives your nipple one last hard suck before trailing her lips across your chest to the other breast, circling her tongue around the straining peak. Her mouth is relentless, her tongue swirling and flicking over your nipple until it’s aching, her teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. Her free hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing the curve of your hip before slipping between your thighs. You’re already wet, your panties soaked through, and she groans against your skin as her fingers brush over the damp fabric.

Your head falls back as you cry out, hands fisting in her silky hair to hold her close. She smirks against your skin, clearly enjoying the reactions she's pulling from your trembling body. Your back arches involuntarily, pressing your body closer to hers as you desperately seek more of her touch, the sound of her soft chuckle making you shudder with pleasure.

"Patience," she whispers, the word barely audible as her fingers trace lazy circles around your clit through the lace of your underwear. The sensation is frustrating, and you can't help but whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily in search of more contact.

You can feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your body responding to her touch in ways you never thought possible. You already know she's jealous, you saw the way she looked at you earlier when you were talking to that other girl. But you can't help but feel thrilled at the way she's touching you now, as if she's trying to claim you as her own.

You lean back on your hands, your eyes locked on Paige's as she continues to tease you. Her gaze is intense, fiery, and you can see the possessiveness in her eyes. It sends a thrill down your spine, making you even more turned on.

"You're mine," Paige murmurs, her voice low and husky, filled with an undeniable possessiveness. The words send a thrill throughout your body, making your heart race with excitement. “Say it.”

"I'm yours," you whisper back, your voice barely audible as the tension builds within you. You can feel the pressure growing more and more intense, your body aching for release.

Paige's fingers finally slip under the waistband of your underwear, making contact with your sensitive skin. The feeling is electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You cry out, your hips bucking wildly as she begins to stroke you. Her touch is firm and confident, her fingers expertly finding your most sensitive spots.

You feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm, your body trembling with anticipation. Paige's gaze is locked on yours, her eyes filled with a fierce intensity that makes you feel both vulnerable and powerful at the same time.

She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "Come for me, baby."

And with those words, you finally let go, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cry out her name. Paige holds you close, her fingers still moving rhythmically as you ride out your orgasm. As the waves of your orgasm begin to subside, Paige pulls her fingers away from your clit.

Before you can fully catch your breath, Paige is on you again. She moves with a speed and agility that takes you by surprise, pushing your back onto the counter with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your body splayed out beneath her, you feel a thrill of excitement run through you. You're completely at her mercy, and the thought is intoxicating. Paige's hand makes its way back to your throat, her grip firm and unyielding. She pins you to the counter by your throat, her body pressing against yours as she holds you in place.

You gasp at the sudden change in position, your heart racing with a combination of fear and excitement. The feeling of being completely dominated by Paige is both terrifying and exhilarating, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Paige's other hand slides back between your legs, her fingers finding your entrance with ease. You can feel yourself growing wetter with each passing moment, your body responding instinctually to her touch. She finds your g-spot easily, her fingers curling and pressing against it with just the right amount of pressure. You moan softly, your hips bucking as she begins to stroke you, her movements slow and deliberate at first, before building up to a feverish pace.

But she’s not content with just bringing you to orgasm. She wants to claim you, to mark you as hers in every way possible. And as she continues to finger you, her grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, you know that you're completely and utterly hers.

Paige's movements become more insistent, her fingers moving faster and harder as she brings you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel yourself teetering on the brink of another orgasm, your body writhing and bucking beneath her touch. Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps as she continues, her movements growing more frantic as she feels your body starting to give in to the pleasure. “Paige, I can’t… it’s too much.”

“Nah, baby, I’ve been so mean to you this week, I just wanna make it up to you.” You moan louder now, your voice echoing through the room as Paige brings you to new heights of pleasure. Your body feels like it's on fire, every nerve ending sparking with pleasure. “C’mon, I know you can take it.”

And then, with one final stroke, you reach the peak of your orgasm, your body convulsing and shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Paige's fingers continue to move inside you, prolonging your orgasm and sending you spiraling into new heights of ecstasy. When it's all over, you collapse back onto the counter, your body spent and satisfied. Paige pulls her fingers away, a satisfied smirk on her face as she looks down at you, bringing her fingers to her mouth to suck at the remnants of your orgasm.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended, though the heat in your cheeks betrays your embarrassment. You quickly move to fix your dress, suddenly feeling self-conscious now that the moment is over.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Paige replies, her voice steady but softer than usual. Still, her gaze doesn’t waver, her blue eyes fixed on you.

The silence in the apartment feels suffocating, filled with the weight of everything unspoken. The distant hum of the refrigerator is the only sound, an almost mocking contrast to the charged tension between you. Sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, you swing your legs idly, trying to feign a casualness you don’t feel. The cool surface beneath you does little to soothe the heat creeping up your neck as Paige stands in front of you, close enough that her presence seems to fill the room.

When you finally look at her, expecting that same smug, self-satisfied smirk she’s perfected, you’re caught off guard. Her expression isn’t cocky; it’s something else entirely. The spark of amusement is gone, replaced by something heavier, something raw. Her blue eyes hold yours, steady and searching, as if she’s trying to find the words buried somewhere between you.

Paige shifts slightly, her hands resting on the counter on either side of your thighs. She takes a breath, her chest rising and falling in a way that betrays the steady confidence she usually exudes. For a split second, it feels like the world narrows down to just this moment, just the two of you.

Her voice finally breaks the silence, low and uncharacteristically serious. “You know we need to talk about everything.”

The words hang between you, heavy and undeniable. Her tone is firm but carries a vulnerability that makes your stomach twist. She’s not brushing this off or dancing around it like you half-expected. No teasing grin, no playful deflection—just a directness that makes it impossible to pretend this is something you can both walk away from unscathed.

Paige shifts her weight slightly, standing even closer now, the space between your legs shrinking until there’s barely any left. The warmth of her body radiates against you, and you suddenly feel hyper aware of every inch of space she occupies. Her eyes don’t leave yours, and you can tell she’s waiting, giving you the chance to push her away—or pull her closer.

But the way she looks at you, so open and unguarded, makes it hard to do either. It’s a stark contrast to the Paige who had been ignoring your texts all week, and yet, it feels so achingly familiar. You’re torn between wanting to stay guarded and giving in to the pull of the moment. Finally, you arch an eyebrow, your voice steady despite the swirl of emotions threatening to surface.

“Okay,” you say, your tone more challenging than you intended. “Start talking.”

Paige’s shoulders stiffen, and for a second, you think she might retreat into that wall of stoicism she hides behind so well. But then her jaw tightens, and she steps even closer, her closeness making your nervousness spike, but you don’t flinch, meeting her gaze head-on.

“I can’t stand seeing you with someone else,” she says, her words thick with frustration. “I don’t want you flirting, laughing, or even looking at anyone but me. I want you, Y/N. Only you. I want us to be exclusive. I’ll do better. Just… don’t ever do that again.”

Your breath catches, and you almost flinch at how accurately her words cut to the truth. Still, you say nothing, giving her the space to continue.

“I messed up,” she begins, her voice quiet but deliberate. “I know I’ve been distant. I know I’ve made you feel like you’re not important to me, like basketball or… anything else in my life comes before you.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to maintain your composure, the snarky defense you’ve built up around yourself threatening to crack. You cross your arms, fighting to keep the sarcasm in your voice, even though your insides are a tangled mess of emotions.

“Exclusive, huh?” you challenge, your voice sharp, almost taunting, as you raise an eyebrow. Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, creating a barrier between you and the vulnerability she’s suddenly laying at your feet. “And what happens when basketball gets in the way again? When I’m just another item on your to-do list?”

Paige flinches, just barely, but you catch it. The slight crack in her usually unshakable confidence stirs something in you—satisfaction, maybe, or guilt. You can’t quite tell. Her jaw tightens, the muscles working as if she’s biting back the first response that comes to mind. Instead, her gaze shifts, no longer carrying the frustration or defensiveness you’ve grown used to. Instead, there’s something softer, rawer, in the way she looks at you now. The intensity of her eyes locks you in place, her expression quietly pleading yet resolute.

“I’m not going to let that happen again,” Paige says, her voice low and steady. “I know I’ve screwed up before. I’ve made you feel like you’re not a priority, like you’re just… there, waiting for me to fit you in.” She pauses, the weight of her own admission hanging heavily between you. “But that’s not how I see you. That’s not what I want us to be.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. There’s no rehearsed apology, no empty promises. Just a raw honesty that feels like she’s peeling back the layers she’s kept hidden from everyone else. Your heart twists, torn between holding onto your frustration and the pull of what she’s offering.

You narrow your eyes, unwilling to let her off the hook so easily. “And how do I know this isn’t just another one of your moments? That it won’t be the same cycle all over again?”

Paige exhales, her shoulders rising and falling with the weight of your skepticism. “Because I don’t want to lose you,” she says simply, her tone almost breaking. “Because when I saw you with her tonight, it felt like the ground was being ripped out from under me. I don’t want to feel that again, Y/N. I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re not enough, or that you’re not worth my time.”

You’re still sitting on the counter, and the height difference gives you a brief sense of power, though it doesn’t last long under the intensity of her gaze.

“You’re not some item on a list,” she continues, her voice softening as she tilts her head to meet your eyes. “You’re the list, Y/N. You’re the one thing that matters more than all of it. And if that means I have to rearrange my life, show up differently, or prove it to you every single day, then that’s what I’ll do.”

The vulnerability in her words catches you off guard. For a moment, all the anger and bitterness you’ve been clinging to starts to loosen its grip. Still, you’re not ready to let her win that easily. You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly as if to study her, daring her to flinch under your scrutiny.

“You’re really laying it on thick, Bueckers,” you quip, though the usual sharpness in your tone is softened by the faintest hint of a smirk.

Paige’s lips twitch upward, a flicker of her usual confidence returning. “That’s because I mean it,” she counters, her voice steady. “I’m not going to let you walk away from this—not without fighting for you.”

You’re quiet for a moment, the air between you charged with unspoken feelings and the lingering tension of everything that’s gone unsaid for far too long.

“So, you’re telling me I’m the priority now?” you ask, your voice quieter this time, a little softer, though you keep your arms crossed in a weak attempt to shield yourself. There’s hesitation in your tone, an uncertainty you can’t quite hide, but the words still slip past your lips. “Not basketball, not your schedule, not the team?”

Paige doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t waver. Her blue eyes hold yours with an intensity that pins you in place, her conviction written all over her face. “Yes,” she says, her voice steady, as though the truth of it is something she’s carried for a long time. “You. Only you, Y/N.”

You look down at where her hands rest, then back up to meet her eyes—those piercing blue eyes that seem to hold nothing but honesty and a hint of fear, as if she’s bracing for your rejection. Your defenses falter. The weight of her confession, the raw emotion in her voice, the way she’s standing there, so vulnerable—it all seeps into the cracks of your resolve. Slowly, your arms drop to your sides, the tension in your shoulders easing as you exhale a shaky breath.

“Paige,” you murmur, your voice quieter now, fueled with something more forgiving. “If you screw this up—”

“I won’t,” she interrupts, her voice firm but not forceful. Her hands slide up slightly, resting on your hips now, anchoring herself to you. “I swear to you, Y/N. I won’t.”

You hold her gaze for another long moment, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But all you see is determination—determination and something deeper, something so achingly familiar it makes your heart clench.

“Okay,” you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s enough. Enough to make Paige’s expression soften, her shoulders relax, and a spark of hope flicker in her eyes.

Her grip on your hips tightens slightly as she steps closer, standing between your legs, her face just inches from yours now. “Okay?” she repeats, as if she can’t quite believe it.

“Okay,” you say again, your voice steadier this time. You tilt your head slightly, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But you’d better back it up, Bueckers. I’m not making this easy for you.”

Paige chuckles softly, a sound filled with relief and affection. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Before you can respond, she leans in, her hands sliding up to cup your face gently, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks. She hesitates for the briefest moment, giving you a chance to pull away, but when you don’t, she closes the distance.

The kiss is slow at first, almost tentative, as if she’s trying to convey everything she can’t put into words. But it doesn’t take long for the intensity to build, for her to pour every ounce of her emotions into the connection. Her lips move against yours with a mix of passion and desperation, and you can feel her heartbeat pounding in sync with your own.

Your hands find their way to her shoulders, then slide up to thread through her hair, pulling her closer as you kiss her back with just as much fervor. The tension, the anger, the frustration of the past week melts away, replaced by a warmth that spreads through your chest like wildfire.

When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads resting together. Paige’s eyes search yours, her lips curling into a small, almost shy smile. “I’ll make it up to you, Y/N. Every day. You’ll see.”

You can’t help but smile back, your fingers still tangled in her hair. “You’d better,” you reply, your tone soft but teasing. “Because I’m holding you to it.”

Paige grins, and for the first time in what feels like forever, it feels like everything is falling into place.

#paige buckets #paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wcbb #wcbb #wlw fanfic #wlw post #uconn x reader

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whimsicaldoxy · 1 month ago

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𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 - 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

pairing: fred weasley x reader

summary: you and fred share a cozy evening at the burrow on new year’s eve, surrounded by the weasley family’s warmth and chaos.

notes: established relationship, pre-war, insinuated fem!reader, no use of y/n, fred loves pet names, fluff

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The time was creeping closer and closer to midnight, and the evening air was filling the Burrow, the scent of smoked wood and Mrs Weasley’s famous treacle tart.

Fred was sat beside you on the patchwork sofa in the living room, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders. The pair of you were half-buried under a hand-knitted blanket, sharing a butterbeer.

“Go on, admit it,” Fred said, leaning closer as his freckled face glowed in the firelight. “You’re only dating me for my charm.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back into the sofa. “Oh, absolutely. It’s definitely not for your constant, irritating smugness or the way you ruin a perfectly good evening by stealing all the treacle tart before I can even get a bite.”

Fred gasped dramatically, his hand flying to his chest. “Darling, you wound me! You know my heart belongs only to you.”

George, his brother, who perched on the arm of the couch like a smug cat, chimed in. “That and his stomach. Mum’s cooking ranks a close second.”

Fred ignored him. “You’re not denying it, though,” he said, his grin widening as he looked back at you. “See? Can’t even argue because you love me.”

“Love might be a strong word,” you said, lifting the mug to your lips, hiding your smirk behind the rim.

“Oi!” Fred started, his finger gripping the blanket in attempt to pull it. George gave him a sharp jab in the side. “Off you go, Freddie. Don’t embarrass yourself further.”

You yank at the blanket, pulling it fully over you as Fred bickered with his twin. “Speaking of embarrassing yourself,” you said, raising an eyebrow at Fred. “Are you going to ask what my New Year’s resolution is, or are you too scared to know?”

He perked up at that, his golden-brown eyes gleaming with curiosity. “All right. Let’s hear it. Let me guess—it’s to learn to tolerate my unparalleled wit?”

You leaned closer, the corner of your mouth quirking into a grin. “It’s to beat you at Exploding Snap this year. Every. Single. Time.”

Fred blinked once. Then twice. Then he threw his head back in a loud, delighted laugh before leaning forward. “Blimey, darling. That’s ambitious, even for you.”

“You’ll see,” you replied smugly, leaning in.

“Five minutes to midnight!” Mrs Weasley’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “Everyone grab your drinks and get outside for the fireworks! And George, if you light a single one before we’re ready, so help me—”

The whole family shuffled outside, you included, the cold winter air hitting you like a sudden shock after the warmth of the house. Snow crunched underfoot, white, soft and glittering under the light of the stars. The garden was a chaos of footprints and hastily trampled paths, leading to a makeshift firework display that George was already fussing over.

A stack of colourful rockets stood ready, haphazardly tied together in what could only be described as a precarious masterpiece.

As your head tilted to stare up at the stars overhead, Fred slipped his hand into yours, his fingers warm and rough against your own. He guided you towards the edge, his arm curling around your waist, pulling you to his side as the first firework shot into the air with a loud crack—it exploded in a burst of crimson and gold, lighting up the sky.

Fred leaned down, his voice soft in your ear. “You know, it doesn’t matter what resolutions you make this year.” His tone was so different from his usual teasing—gentle and sincere. “As long as you’re with me, that’s all I’ll ever need.”

The weight of his words settled in the air around you, and for a moment, you forgot about the cold or the impending war that loomed on the horizon. You turned to him, standing on your toes to press your lips to his. He tasted like butterbeer and laughter, his lips warm against yours despite the chill in the air.

Around you, the fireworks continued to burst in brilliant waves of colour—and when you finally pulled away, Fred was grinning again, his lopsided smile even more dazzling in the firework-lit night. “Next year,” he said, his tone edging back into a familiar playfulness, “I resolve to make you laugh at least twice as much. Shouldn’t be too hard—I’m brilliant, you know.”

“You’re something, alright,” you replied, shaking your head at him fondly. The words were laced with affection, and Fred clearly heard it, because he squeezed your hand tighter.

“Happy New Year, love,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

“Happy New Year, Fred,” you replied, leaning into his warmth as another firework burst overhead, painting the night sky in silver and blue. For this one perfect moment, the world felt safe and whole, and the future could wait until tomorrow.

#☆—𝑪𝑬𝑪𝑬 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑺.#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley drabble #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #fluff

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ha-rinrin · 1 month ago

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CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

Summary: Jinx and Isha still believe in Santa, and you’re the magic behind, making sure everything goes perfectly.

Pairing: Jinx x Fem!reader

Wordcount: 2.4k

Authors note: Happy early Christmas everyone!! hope you guys get a lot of presents and love 🤍

It was Christmas Eve in the heart of Zaun, and while the streets outside were cold and busy, the warmth inside your home was a stark contrast. The fire crackled in the fireplace, casting a cozy glow across the room. You were curled up on the couch, attempting to relax, but your attention kept being pulled to the two most excited people in the house.

Isha, though silent, was practically vibrating with anticipation, her eyes wide and hands fluttering with excitement as she signed rapidly to Jinx, who was already animatedly responding in kind.

"I swear, I can hear him coming!" Jinx grinned, wearing a ridiculously oversized Santa hat and bouncing around as she set up little decorations around the room. She paused dramatically, giving you an exaggerated look. "You do believe in Santa, right? Because if you don't, I might have to have a little chat with you, and it’s gonna be uncomfortable."

Isha signed something to you then, her eyes sparkling, and you read it aloud, "She says Santa will bring the best presents. He’s real, right?"

You smiled, amused by their shared enthusiasm. "Well, of course he’s real," you said dryly, your tone teasing. "I mean, if Santa’s not real, who would’ve been sneaking presents under the tree all these years, hmm?" You raised an eyebrow, playing along, though inside you couldn’t help but smile at the sheer magic of the moment.

Isha giggled and nodded eagerly, signing again, this time to Jinx, who laughed loudly and clapped her hands. "Exactly! You heard it here first, folks!" Jinx was fully in her element now. She turned to you, pulling her Santa hat down even further over her eyes. "Santa’s real. And he’s gonna bring a mountain of candy and maybe a new rocket launcher—no promises on that last one, though."

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "Santa doesn’t bring rocket launchers, Jinx."

Isha signed something that made Jinx pause, looking a little more serious for a moment. "Oh, she’s asking if we can leave out carrots for the reindeer!" Jinx beamed. "Yes, we’re doing it! And the cookies, of course. Gotta have cookies. Maybe a little extra for me when Santa isn’t looking."

As you prepared the cookies, you couldn’t help but marvel at the way the two of them seemed to exist in this shared fantasy world. It was pure joy, the kind of innocent belief that could only come from a child and someone who had never quite lost her own sense of wonder, even as chaotic as she could be.

You smiled softly as you watched Isha going to her room to curl up under her blankets, still trying her hardest to keep her eyes open. Her little hands were tucked under her head, her gaze occasionally darting to the window, waiting for a sign of Santa’s arrival. You gently adjusted her covers, brushing a few stray locks of hair away from her face.

"Isha, honey, you have to sleep," you whispered, brushing your hand over her cheek. She shook her head stubbornly, eyes fluttering but not quite closing. Her hands signed something, and you chuckled, reading it aloud. "She says she’ll only sleep if she sees Santa's sleigh."

"Tell her Santa can’t come if she’s awake," Jinx chimed in, appearing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a dramatic sigh. She was still wearing that oversized Santa hat, her face lit up with excitement. "Santa’s not gonna come if she’s spying on him, toots. He needs some quiet so he can sneak in."

Isha shot her a playful glare, but it didn’t last long. Her eyelids were growing heavier by the second, and before you knew it, her little sighs slowed, her breath deepening as sleep finally claimed her.

You smiled as you watched her drift off, and Jinx tiptoed over to the bed, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on Isha's forehead. "Goodnight, kiddo. Sweet dreams, okay? Santa’s on his way."

Jinx stood up, her eyes gleaming with that familiar excitement. "Alright, toots, it's go time!" She grinned at you, clearly eager to keep the Christmas magic alive for the both of you. "We gotta make sure everything’s perfect for Santa! I’m talking cookies, carrots for the reindeer, and maybe some milk, too"

You laughed softly, as you both made your way to the living room, where the tree sparkled with lights. The soft glow of the fire in the chimney filled the room with a peaceful warmth, and for a moment, you felt a wave of contentment wash over you. It was moments like these that made everything feel magical.

Jinx carefully arranged the cookies, placing them on a plate next to the tree, her movements full of purpose. "Carrots for the reindeer, right?" she asked, holding up a bunch she’d already prepared, before setting them neatly next to the fireplace. "They need their snacks for the ride."

She stepped back to admire her work, hands on her hips, nodding to herself. "Okay, okay, everything’s perfect. Now we just need to sleep, or Santa’s not gonna come. We gotta let him do his thing!"

You looked over at her, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, you found yourself caught up in her joy. There was something about the way Jinx saw the world, so full of wonder and possibility, that made everything feel like it had a little extra magic.

With a sigh, you smiled and took her hand. "Alright, alright. We’ll go to sleep. But I’m warning you, Santa doesn’t like it when you snore too loud."

Jinx laughed, pulling you toward the bedroom with a playful grin. "Hey, I’m quiet! i don’t even snore!, i don’t know what you’re talking about, toots" She joked as you both snuck into bed, the warmth from the blankets wrapping around you both.

You couldn’t help but smile as you turned off the lights, the soft flicker of the fireplace in the other room casting a gentle glow. Jinx snuggled close to you, her face still glowing with excitement. "Merry Christmas, toots," she whispered, squeezing your hand.

"Merry Christmas, love," you whispered back, feeling the magic of the night settle around you like a soft blanket. And as you closed your eyes, you couldn't help but believe that, for Isha and Jinx at least, Santa really was on his way.

The room was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of Jinx's soft breathing beside you. She had finally drifted into a peaceful sleep, her form curled up beside you under the thick blankets. The firelight flickered gently in the corner, casting long shadows on the walls.

You lay there for a while, listening to Jinx’s muffled snores, her face blissfully relaxed in a way that made you smile. Slowly, you slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb her, and padded quietly toward the door. The excitement of the night wasn’t quite over yet.

As you tiptoed down the hall, a mischievous grin tugged at your lips. You had a plan tonight, and Sevika was already waiting for you in the living room. It was the same tradition you two had kept up for years, even though you were both far past the age of believing in Santa. But you couldn’t resist the fun of making it feel real for Isha—and Jinx, of course, who never really grew out of her childlike wonder.

You rounded the corner into the living room, and there she was, leaning casually against the fireplace, half-eaten cookies in one hand and a drink of milk in the other. Sevika’s eyes met yours, and she raised an eyebrow with a grin, clearly enjoying herself.

“Sevika,” you whispered, stepping in the room with a playful smirk. “What are you doing standing there, eating all the cookies and drinking the milk?”

Sevika looked up, unfazed, with a dramatic sigh. “I’m just making sure that Santa keeps his energy up for the big night,” she said, a small chuckle escaping her as she picked up another carrot and took a bite. “Besides, you don’t want Santa running on empty, do you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of her, leaning casually against the fireplace as if she were the one delivering the presents. “Right,” you said, crossing your arms. “You and me both know Santa’s going to be mad at you for raiding his stash. But fine, fine, get your fix, but we have a job to do.”

Sevika wiped her mouth, grinning. “You’re right. Let’s get this over with.”

She followed you toward the pile of gifts hidden in a closet, both of you moving with a practiced ease. You’d been planning this for weeks, carefully choosing the right presents for Isha and Jinx, getting the things from their Christmas list, and now it was time to put them under the tree.

Sevika chuckled as she helped you arrange the gifts, a little smirk playing on her lips. “I can’t believe we’re still doing this for an adult,” she said, shaking her head as she set a large box under the tree.

“Hey,” you said, half-laughing, “we’re not doing it for just Jinx. It’s for Isha too. She’ll love it.”

“I guess that’s true,” Sevika said, her voice softening just a little as she glanced at the sleeping child’s room down the hall. “Can’t help but want to see their faces when they wake up.”

You nodded, your heart light as you finished setting up the last of the gifts. “Exactly. I just love seeing them excited, even if we’re the ones pulling the strings behind the scenes.”

Sevika leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky I’ve got a soft spot for Christmas magic. Next year, though, I’m leaving all the work to you.”

You shot her a playful look. “Deal. I’ll take all the credit”

The two of you shared a quiet laugh before you finally stepped back, admiring the tree, the gifts stacked neatly beneath it. The milk was mostly gone, the cookies nearly finished, and the carrots all but devoured. It was a picture-perfect holiday moment—one that you were both proud of.

“Alright,” you said softly, standing up and brushing your hands together. “Everything’s set. We’d better get out of here before Jinx wakes up and catches us.”

“Agreed.” Sevika winked at you. “Merry Christmas, kiddo.”

“Merry Christmas, Sevika” you replied with a grin. “Now let’s get back to bed before she notices we’re gone.”

As the two of you quietly snuck back to your rooms, the excitement of the night still buzzing through your veins, you knew that tomorrow would be filled with even more joy. The look on Jinx and Isha’s faces when they saw the tree in the morning would be worth every bit of sneaky work you’d done tonight.

The morning sun barely filtered through the thick curtains, casting soft light over the room. You were still nestled under the blankets, trying to cling to those last few moments of sleep when a loud voice jolted you awake.

“MARRRRY CHRIIIISSSSTMAS, EVERYONE!” Jinx’s voice rang out through the space like an explosion of energy. You felt the bed shift as she bounced on it, practically vibrating with excitement. “TIME TO SEE IF SANTA CAME!”

Before you could even rub the sleep from your eyes, she was already off the bed, sprinting toward ishas room, completely disregarding the noise she was making. You heard her knocking on the door, “ISHA! COME SEE IF SANTA CAME!”

You groaned, half-laughing to yourself, knowing full well there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. Slowly, you dragged yourself out of bed and followed the excitement that was spilling out into the living space.

As you reached the room, you found Jinx already knocking on the door with exaggerated flair. Isha, her eyes still heavy with sleep but slowly waking up, crawled out of her bed as soon as she noticed Jinx’s face lit with excitement. She gave you a sleepy smile before following Jinx, who pulled her along, her small hand clasped tightly in Jinx’s.

“Look! Look, Isha!” Jinx practically shouted, her excitement nearly overflowing. You followed them into the living room, still trying to shake off the drowsiness, but a smile tugged at your lips when you saw them both staring in awe at the scene under the tree.

Isha’s eyes widened in silent awe, her hands fluttering with excitement as she pointed toward the empty plates where cookies and milk had been. Jinx kneeled beside the plates, inspecting them with a gleam in her eyes. “See? I told you they needed the snacks to keep going!” she said, lifting the empty milk glass. “Reindeer are like us—super hungry!”

Just then, Sevika emerged from the kitchen, holding a plate with a couple of the leftover cookies and sipping from a mug of coffee. She paused when she noticed the excited scene, an eyebrow raising at the display. "Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Christmas does bring out the kid in everyone,” she commented, then took another sip of her coffee like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “Sevika, really? You’re just going to stand there drinking coffee while we’re all here in a Christmas frenzy?”

Sevika shrugged, unfazed. “Someone’s gotta stay sane around here,” she said with a smirk, taking another sip from her mug. "Can’t be all about cookies and milk. A girl’s gotta have her coffee."

Isha signed something quickly, looking between you, Jinx, and Sevika. You translated for her, “She says she’s glad Santa’s real.”

Jinx, ever the bundle of energy, jumped up. “You heard it here first, folks!” she declared with a wide grin. “Santa is real, and he’s got a serious appetite! Look at those empty plates!” She looked at Sevika with mock seriousness. “And I’m gonna need a little more carrot next year. Maybe some cookies, too.”

Sevika rolled her eyes but kept her grin. “Yeah, yeah. More cookies next year.”

“Alright!” Jinx grinned, tugging Isha over to the tree. “Now that we know Santa came, let’s open presents!”

You stood back, watching as the two of them eagerly circled the tree, their faces lit up with pure joy and excitement. You smiled, your heart warm from the moment. It was messy and chaotic, but it was perfect. Christmas in your house with your little family—Jinx, Isha, and even Sevika—was exactly what you’d dreamed of.

“Let’s get started,” you said with a smile, kneeling down beside them.

The three of them eagerly started opening presents, and you couldn’t help but feel like everything was just as it should be. The holiday magic was alive and well, and for a moment, nothing else mattered.

#jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx x y/n #jinx/you #arcane jinx #jinx x fem!reader #jinx posting #jinx lol #jinx league of legends

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littlelamy · 1 month ago

Note

heyy! i love your writing! do you think you could do one with reader and drew where they’re getting a bit freaky but reader can’t work out drew’s belt and they have a laugh about it! thank youuu

author's note: i hope you like it! credits to @mochilly for the the divider <3

the room was warm, the soft glow of the lamp casting just enough light to highlight the mischievous smirk on drew’s face. his lips were tracing along your jaw, hands roaming your waist, the tension between you two practically crackling in the air. your fingers slid down his chest, determined to rid him of the pesky belt keeping you from what you really wanted.

“why the fuck won’t this come off?” you muttered under your breath, fumbling with the buckle.

drew pulled back slightly, eyebrows raising as he looked down at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “seriously? it’s just a belt, babe. not rocket science.”

you glared up at him, your frustration only growing. “this thing is more secure than a damn safe. what is this, a chastity belt? who even makes shit like this?”

he threw his head back, laughing that deep, contagious laugh that both annoyed and endeared you in the moment. “you’re killing me right now,” he said between chuckles. “do you want me to do it for you?”

“no!” you snapped, though your tone held more frustration than malice. you tugged harder, the stubborn clasp refusing to budge. “i’ve got this.”

drew leaned back on his elbows, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “oh, i’m sure you do,” he teased, his eyes glinting with amusement. “take your time, though. i’m not going anywhere.”

“you’re such an ass,” you shot back, your cheeks heating as you yanked at the belt. “why does this stupid thing hate me?”

“maybe it’s trying to protect me,” he joked, biting his bottom lip as he fought back another laugh.

“protect you?” you scoffed, finally managing to loosen the buckle. “from what? your incredibly horny girlfriend?”

“exactly,” he said with a grin, sitting up as you finally ripped the belt free and tossed it dramatically to the floor.

“there. fuck you, belt,” you muttered triumphantly.

drew’s hands were on your hips in an instant, pulling you onto his lap, his breath warm against your ear. “i don’t think the belt’s the one you’re about to fuck,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

you couldn’t help but laugh, swatting at his chest. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, you love me,” he shot back, his lips brushing yours before you both gave in to the heat of the moment, laughter dissolving into something much more intoxicating.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel l @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah

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infinitelystrangemachinex · 3 months ago

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Mel has magic armor and chose to save Jayce, but she's keeping it a secret from him

First frame of episode 1: something is glowing gold

The camera is blurry because this is Jayce's POV and he's reeling from the explosion. The camera focuses enough to let us see Jayce's face. He's holding Mel. We see her gold pieces in the same location as the glowing gold parts in the previous frame.

Jayce focuses. He clearly doesn't know how he ended up in this position. He blinks in confusion, then sees Mel.

Mel's back is still to the window. Jinx's rocket literally was going to hit her directly in the back. Jayce is in the wrong place to have put his body between her and the rocket.

We're made to think that Jayce, being a big strong guy, somehow protected Mel from the explosion. But there's nothing a human body can do against a whole entire rocket. How did Mel survive, but also, how did Jayce survive? His survivor's guilt torments him.

Mel is sad for him and tells him simply that it's senseless that one person survives while another person dies or is injured. The quickest way out of needing to provide an explanation is to point out that no explanation is needed.

Jayce probably thinks that he, like the audience is supposed to believe, had a hand in protecting Mel, because he doesn't wonder how Mel survived.

Mel's gold parts were glowing. It's definitely armor. And for SOME REASON, she's not telling Jayce. And I really want to know what that reason is. And I would also really like to know how Mel feels about having had the power to choose one person to save, because I can think of one feeling that's worse than survivor's guilt.

One final piece of proof:

In the Council scene in episode 1, there's a fair amount of emphasis placed on the stone floor, which is mostly destroyed and riddled with cracks. This is to emphasize Salo's wheelchair as well as Piltover and its Council literally crumbling under their feet. However:

In the lower right corner, we see a PERFECT CIRCLE of untouched stone. Even that part of the Council table is intact. Everything else is cracked or destroyed or covered in ash. But not the spot where Mel and Jayce were. Also recall that Fortiche has said that a perfect circle represents the Arcane.

We get a glimpse of it again in episode 3:

The floor is cracked everywhere except in the lower right.

#arcane #mel medarda #jayce talis #mel arcane #spoilers #arcane spoilers #arcane s2 #mel is probably just trying to let jayce get past his grief and survivor's guilt first #but i kind of hope there's another reason and that her armor is something VERY SPECIAL #i love mel so much what is going on in my girl's head

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huntfeld · 2 months ago

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Home for the Holidays

Pairing: Vi x Reader

Summary: Vi and her family spend their first Christmas with the reader’s, finding warmth, laughter, and a sense of belonging in each other’s company.

———

The house buzzed with holiday energy. Twinkling lights adorned the tree, the fireplace cast a golden glow, and the smell of cinnamon and pine filled the air. Laughter and the sound of cookie decorating echoed from the kitchen while Jinx darted around the living room, a whirlwind of energy.

“This place is so shiny,” Jinx said, her wide, Shimmer-pink eyes darting to every ornament on the tree. “You’ve got, like, fifty tiny explosions hanging here. I love it!”

Isha, sitting cross-legged by the window with a steaming mug of cocoa, let out a soft hum of approval. She gave a small nod, her lips quirking into a faint smile as she traced the rim of her mug with a finger.

“They’re not explosions, Jinx,” Vi said with a smirk, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “They’re just lights.” She tilted her head toward Isha. “Right?”

Isha rolled her eyes playfully and gave Vi a thumbs-up, the corner of her mouth twitching in quiet amusement.

Jinx wasn’t paying attention anymore. She was too busy stealing a candy cane from the counter. “Bet I could turn this into a rocket launcher,” she mused, twirling it between her fingers.

“Please don’t,” you said, laughing as you caught her eye. “My mom just fixed the kitchen wall last week.”

“Fine, fine,” Jinx relented, plopping onto the couch and sprawling across it dramatically. “But only because it’s Christmas.”

Vi crossed the room to stand beside you, slipping her hand into yours. She leaned down, her voice soft enough that only you could hear. “Your family’s great. They’re treating us like we’ve been here forever.”

You smiled, lacing your fingers through hers. “That’s because you belong here.”

Her grip tightened ever so slightly, her thumb brushing over yours. “I’ve never really felt like I belonged anywhere before.”

“Well, now you do,” you said softly, leaning your head on her shoulder.

For a moment, you both stayed like that, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s presence. Vi shifted slightly, turning to look down at you with a playful grin.

“You know,” she said, “there’s one thing missing from this whole ‘belonging’ thing.”

“And what’s that?” you asked with a smirk, knowing full well what she meant.

Without another word, Vi cupped your cheek and leaned down to kiss you—soft at first, then deeper, her lips warm and steady against yours.

“Oh, gross!” Jinx’s voice cut through the moment like a firecracker. “Get a room, you two!”

Vi pulled back just enough to glare at her sister, her cheeks flushed pink. “You could’ve just… looked away, Jinx.”

“Uh, no way!” Jinx retorted, throwing a blanket over her head like a makeshift cloak. “You two were practically oozing mushy love goo all over the couch!” She peeked out from under the blanket with a devilish grin. “And Vi, you’re blushing. That’s weird. Stop that.”

“I’m not blushing!” Vi shot back, her voice raising an octave.

“You totally are!” Jinx sang, tossing a pillow in Vi’s direction. “Look at her! Little Miss Tough Girl caught red-handed!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, and Vi groaned dramatically, burying her face against your shoulder. “I swear, she was easier to deal with when she was trying to blow things up.”

“You love me!” Jinx called, her voice muffled from beneath her blanket.

“Unfortunately!” Vi shouted back, but her lips quirked into a small smile as she turned her attention back to you. “Where were we?”

“Right about here,” you said, tugging her in for another kiss.

Your mom peeked in from the kitchen, her hands dusted with flour. “Vi! Jinx! Isha! Come grab cookies before the kids get to them!”

Jinx sprang up immediately, her pink eyes glowing faintly as she snatched a cookie with exaggerated speed. “I like her,” she said, pointing at your mom with a cookie in hand.

Your mom laughed, ruffling Jinx’s hair affectionately. “I like you too, sweetie.”

Isha followed with a curious tilt of her head. She took a cookie and held it up with a questioning look as if asking, Is this homemade?

Your mom nodded enthusiastically, and Isha’s expression brightened. She gave a little approving hum before taking a bite, her eyes crinkling at the corners in delight.

Vi leaned closer to you as the others mingled. “You sure we’re not too much for your family?”

“Are you kidding?” you whispered back, smiling as you watched your dad teach Isha how to play a board game, while Jinx entertained your cousins with wild stories. “You all fit perfectly.”

Later, as the house settled into a calmer rhythm, Vi pulled you aside into a quieter corner. The glow of the Christmas tree painted soft highlights on her face as she wrapped her arms around you.

“You really mean it? About us belonging here?” she asked, her voice low and hesitant.

You reached up to cup her cheek, your thumb tracing the faint scar along her cheekbone. “Of course I mean it, Vi. My family loves you. And I…” You paused, your voice catching slightly before continuing. “I love you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she just stared at you, as if trying to process the words. Then, with a soft smile, she leaned in, pressing her forehead to yours. “I love you too,” she whispered. “More than I can even explain.”

The two of you stayed like that, the world fading away until it was just you, her, and the soft twinkle of lights.

As the night wound down and snow began to fall outside, the house grew quieter. Jinx was curled up on the couch under a blanket, her pink eyes half-lidded as the energy of the day finally caught up with her. Isha sat nearby, flipping through a book she’d found on your family’s shelf, occasionally nodding in approval at something she read.

Vi sat with you in front of the fire, her arm wrapped around your shoulders as you both watched the embers dance. She tilted her head to rest against yours, her fingers lazily tracing circles on your arm.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice a low rumble, “this might be the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

“Just wait,” you teased lightly. “You haven’t even opened your present yet.”

She chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. “You’ve already given me the best gift, babe.” She kissed the top of your head, her lips lingering as if to seal the moment. “You’ve given me a home.”

For the first time in years, Vi—and her unconventional family—felt like they had truly found their place.

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meleeyz · 2 months ago

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୭ 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗙𝗜𝗫 ˚. ᵎᵎ

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ Bro is going to fix the mess he made with his family from another dimension 🙏

୨୧ This is not exactly the result of what I wanted but it works ;)

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The sun dipped below the horizon, its last golden rays painting the sky in soft shades of pink and lavender. The walk back felt longer than usual, the weight of the day pressing on your shoulders. The afternoon had passed in a whirlwind of preparations for Violet’s birthday—small, meaningful plans to make tomorrow special.

But now, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. Inside the house, the warmth of home embraced you. Dinner had been a blur—a simple meal shared with your children before they yawned and rubbed their eyes, ready for bed.

After clearing up, you found Wyeth in his room, the soft glow of his bedside lamp casting a gentle light over the space. He sat cross-legged on his bed, with his broken rocket cradled in his small hands.

You paused in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight. His furrowed brow and the way his little fingers traced over the toy’s worn edges tugged at your heart. Quietly, you stepped into the room and sat on the edge of his bed.

"Hey there, sweetheart," you said softly, brushing your hand over his cheek.

Wyeth looked up at you, his wide eyes searching your face for reassurance.

"Mommy," he began, his voice a small whisper. “Is Daddy mad at me?”

The question caught you off guard, but you schooled your features into a gentle smile.

“Mad at you?” you asked, feigning lightness. “Why would you think that?”

His shoulders slumped, and he set the rocket aside, its bent fin catching the lamplight.

“I’ve been bad lately,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “Maybe that’s why…”

“Sweetheart, no.” you interrupted, leaning in to cup his face in your hands. “Daddy isn’t mad at you. He’s just tired, that’s all. He’s been working really hard and sometimes when grown-ups work too much, they get a little grumpy. But it’s not your fault, okay?”

Wyeth hesitated, his small brow still creased, but eventually he nodded.

“Okay” he whispered.You smiled and kissed his forehead, lingering just long enough for him to feel the warmth of your love.

“Goodnight, my little rocket man. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Mommy,” he murmured, burrowing under his sheets and clutching his blanket close.

You stood, dimming the lamp as you left the room, glancing back to see him already drifting off, the broken rocket abandoned beside him.

In your own room, the silence was heavier. You moved through the motions of preparing for bed, your body exhausted but your mind far from settled. As you pulled back the covers, your eyes flicked to the window. Outside, the night stretched endlessly, dark and quiet. Still, there was no sign of Ekko.

A sigh slipped from your lips as you turned to Violet’s crib. You smiled faintly. She slept soundly, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, her soft coos occasionally breaking the quiet.

Finally, you climbed into bed. The room felt emptier than it should, the absence of Ekko gnawing at you in ways you didn’t want to admit. Your thoughts lingered on him, on the tension from earlier, on the strange distance that had settled between you. As sleep began to pull you under, you found yourself hoping that, come morning, things would feel a little less heavy.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The house was quiet as Ekko slipped inside, the soft creak of the door barely audible over the hum of crickets outside. He paused in the entryway, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, his breath hitching as he looked around.

He had to ask Heimerdinger where his own house was. The thought stung, but as he stood there, surrounded by warm tones and small, comforting touches, a sense of belonging crept in. This was his home—at least, it was for the Ekko who lived here.

The garden outside had been beautiful, a serene patch of green dotted with soft, colorful flowers and lanterns. Inside, the air smelled faintly of lavender and something sweet, a scent that grounded him as he moved deeper into the house.

Pictures lined the walls and shelves, drawing his gaze. Each frame seemed to tell a story, a life lived in a world so far removed from his own. His steps slowed as he reached for one in particular: a photo of his wedding day.

The image stopped him cold, his stomach flipping in a way he hadn’t expected. You looked radiant, your smile wide and bright as you leaned into him, your hands entwined. Ekko—this Ekko—was grinning from ear to ear, his expression caught somewhere between elation and disbelief.

His fingers brushed over the ring on his finger. He could tell it was handmade—gold, with delicate carvings of fireflies and his hourglass symbol etched into its surface. Of course, he thought. He probably made it himself, ensuring it was worthy of the person he gave it to. You didn’t deserve anything less.

Ekko chuckled softly, shaking his head. He’d thought about his wedding day before, in fleeting moments between battles and responsibilities, but it always felt like a distant dream. Something he could never afford.

He moved to another photo, this one capturing the moment of Wyeth’s birth. You were in a bed, holding a tiny, wrapped in blankets, your face glowing with exhaustion and joy. Ekko stood beside you, his grin wobbly and his hair a mess, like he’d just finished pacing the room for hours. He could imagine exactly how that had gone—nervous energy radiating off him, snapping at anyone who told him to relax, only to apologize afterward.

Ekko swallowed hard and tore his gaze away, continuing up the stairs.

The walls of the staircase were covered with more pictures. Wyeth as a toddler, clutching a makeshift artifact in his hands; Violet giggling in a field of wildflowers, her chubby cheeks and wide eyes making her look like the cutest baby in the world.

His steps slowed as his chest tightened. The memory of what he’d said earlier came rushing back

Why did I say that?

It wasn’t true. He knew it wasn’t true. You were his wife, those were his babies, and he didn’t doubt that. Not for a second. But the words had spilled out of him, born from the confusion and guilt swirling in his mind.

He clenched his fists, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He hated the thought of you thinking, even for a moment, that he didn’t want this. That he didn’t want you. He had to fix it. He had to make it right.

When he reached Wyeth’s room, he cracked the door open just enough to peek inside. The boy was sound asleep, curled under his blankets with the broken rocket still resting on the nightstand. Ekko exhaled softly, relief mingling with guilt. He hoped he hadn’t confused the kid too much with his words earlier. Wyeth deserved better.

And then, an idea struck him.

If he wanted to make things right, he couldn’t just apologize. He needed to show you—show all of you—that he was here, that he cared. That no matter how he got here, this was his family.

Ekko closed the door as quietly as he could, slipping back downstairs with a newfound determination. He paused only to glance at the pictures on the wall one more time, steeling himself. Then he slipped out the front door, heading toward Powder’s hideout.

The night air was cool against his skin as he moved through the streets, the city was quiet but alive. He didn’t care if Powder hated him for waking her up; this needed to happen. He couldn’t wait until morning.

By the time he reached the hideout, his heart was pounding—not from exertion, but from the resolve burning inside him. He knocked softly at first, then a little harder when there was no answer.

“Powder,” he called in an urgent cry. “I need your help.”

It didn’t matter how late it was. Ekko wasn’t leaving until he fixed things.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The morning light filtered through the curtains, warming the room with its golden glow. You stirred slowly, the weight of sleep still heavy on your body. Your hand reached out instinctively, seeking the comforting presence of your husband, but the bed beside you was empty.

The absence hit you harder than you expected. Memories of the previous day lingered in your mind, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You sat up, running a hand through your head, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine.

It wasn’t until you glanced toward Violet’s crib that the unease turned to panic.

It was empty.

Your heart raced as you threw off the covers and bolted out of the room, your bare feet padding quickly down the hall. The first place you went was Wyeth’s room, pushing the door open with trembling hands.

“Wyeth?” you called, your voice shaking slightly. “Sweetheart, are you in here?”

But the bed was empty, his blankets neatly tucked at the edges.

Your chest tightened. Where were they?

“Violet?” you called, louder this time, your voice echoing through the house as you hurried down the stairs.

You rounded the corner into the dining room, your mind spinning with worst-case scenarios, and froze.

Ekko sat at the table, a knowing grin on his face. A bouquet of fresh flowers sat in the center of the table, their pastel hues soft and welcoming. Beside them was a spread of breakfast—pancakes, fresh fruit, and coffee—all laid out with surprising care.

“Morning,” Ekko said, his tone teasing, as though he hadn’t scared you half to death.

Your panic hadn’t completely subsided.

“Where are the kids?” you demanded, your voice sharp.

His grin widened, his dark eyes dancing with mischief.

“It’s a surprise,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair as if to emphasize how utterly unbothered he was.

Your brow furrowed, a mix of frustration and confusion bubbling to the surface.

“Ekko—”

“You’re cute when you’re worried,” His gaze swept over you, lingering on your sleepwear, and his grin turned decidedly more suggestive. “By the way, you look… incredible this morning.”

Your cheeks burned as his eyes trailed over you with that familiar, almost predatory glint you’d come to know all too well. It was the kind of look that once made your stomach flip in a good way, but now? It just left you reeling.

“Ekko, stop,” you muttered, looking away in an attempt to regain composure. But his playful chuckle made it clear he wasn’t about to let it go.

“Stop what?” he teased, his voice dropping slightly. “Admiring my wife?”

You shot him a sharp look, your emotions tangled in a confusing mess of frustration and something you couldn’t quite name.

“You’re confusing me so much,” you said finally, your voice quiet but firm.

His laugh was soft but rich, and it only made your frustration deepen.

“Good. I like keeping you on your toes,” he said with a wink, leaning forward slightly.

You exhaled, exasperated, wondering not for the first time, What is wrong with this man?

“I’m just trying to make things right,” he said as if he read your mind, his voice softening slightly.

The sincerity in his tone made your heart skip a beat. You wanted to be mad at him, to demand answers, but the warmth in his eyes made it difficult.

Ekko reached for the coffee pot, pouring you a cup with an easy grace that only confused you further.

“Eat first,” he said, sliding the plate of pancakes toward you. “Then I’ll tell you everything. Promise.”

You hesitated, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sight of his earnest smile made it hard to argue. You sighed, picking up your fork. Whatever he was up to, you’d get to the bottom of it soon enough.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

If you thought you were confused before, Ekko’s antics that morning had turned your head into a whirlwind of questions. After changing into a simple but comfortable outfit, you found yourself blindfolded by your husband, his hands gentle yet firm as he secured the cloth over your eyes.

"Ekko," you began, your tone edged with exasperation, "what are you doing? We don’t have time for this. We need to get to The Last Drop and finish setting up for Vi’s birthday."

"Relax," he said smoothly, the grin evident in his voice. "I already have it covered. Trust me."

You sighed, a grunt of disapproval slipping past your lips as he guided you forward with a hand on your arm.

"Trust you? Ekko, you’re lucky I love you."

"Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it," he teased, laughter bubbling in his throat.

You kept up a stream of complaints the entire way, though your protests were punctuated by the occasional chuckle or muttered threat. His laugh echoed through the space as he steered you with careful precision. After a while, you noticed something odd—your voice echoed more than usual.

"Wait," you said, your pace faltering.

"Are we in the sewers? Ekko, you better not—"

"Shh," he interrupted, and before you could finish your thought, he stopped you. His hands brushed your shoulders, and with one swift movement, he removed the blindfold.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The scene before you seemed to be pulled from the pages of a fairy tale. The air was alive with fireflies and butterflies flitting between the lush greenery. Birds chirped softly from branches above, and in the center of it all stood an enormous tree, its wide canopy casting dappled light over the ground below.

You turned to Ekko, your mouth slightly open in disbelief, but he simply smiled, gesturing for you to take it all in.

Before you could say a word, several silhouettes approached. The first to come bounding into view was Wyeth, his grin stretching from ear to ear. He ran straight to you, wrapping his arms around your legs.

"Mommy!" he exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. "Look! Daddy fixed my rocket! He made it better, and now it can fly without breaking anything!” He held up the toy, his joy infectious.

You crouched down to admire the handiwork, running your fingers along the rocket’s smooth edges as Wyeth babbled on.

“And we climbed the tree, Mommy! It’s so tall! You should come see!”

A voice behind him interjected playfully.

“Let your mama breathe, rocket man.”

You looked up to see Powder striding toward you, her blue hair styled into two playful space buns. She carried Violet in a baby carrier strapped to her chest, the little girl now clad in the pastel green dress Powder had shown you the day before. A delicate butterfly charm nestled in her curls added the final touch to her outfit.

"Happy birthday, my sweet Violet," you cooed, leaning in to kiss your baby’s cheek. Violet giggled in response, her tiny hands reaching for you.

“She’s been in full princess mode all morning,” Powder said, rolling her eyes affectionately.

You smiled as you looked around again. Decorations were everywhere—streamers in bright, cheerful colors, balloons that bobbed gently in the breeze, and a large table set up beneath the tree, big enough to seat the whole family. Your heart swelled at the sight.

"Ekko," you began, standing and turning to your husband, "what is this all about?"

He stepped forward, taking your hand with an easy smile.

“What do you mean?” he said, his tone light. “It’s Vi’s birthday, isn’t it?”

You raised an eyebrow, suspicion tinging your voice.

“Right. And you did all of this?”

“Of course,” he said, leading you gently past the table and toward the other side of the massive tree. “Come on. There’s one more thing I want to show you.”

As you rounded the tree, your breath caught again.

There, painted across a wide section of the bark, was a stunning mural. Vibrant colors swirled together to create a picture of your family—Ekko, you, Wyeth, and Violet—all smiling and holding hands beneath the glowing canopy of the tree. The fireflies painted around the edges seemed to dance, their light giving the mural a soft, almost magical quality.

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing over the bark.

“Ekko…” you whispered, unable to find the words.

He smiled, his hand coming to rest lightly on your waist. “It’s us,” he said softly.

“My wife, our babies, and me. The people who mean everything to me.”

You turned to him, emotions swirling in your chest, but before you could respond, he took both of your hands in his. His expression turned serious, his eyes locking onto yours.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice low but steady. “About yesterday. About everything. I don’t know why I said what I said—I felt so strange, so out of it—but I know that doesn’t excuse it.” His grip on your hands tightened slightly, as if anchoring himself to you. “I just want you to know how much I love you. You, Wyeth, Violet. You’re my whole world, and I’m going to make sure today is Violet’s best first birthday ever.”

His words were earnest, his gaze unflinching. He lifted your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to each of them before leaning forward, aiming to kiss you properly.

Before his lips could meet yours, a familiar voice groaned from behind.

“Ewww!”

Wyeth’s loud protest made you both turn. He stood a few steps away, his face scrunched in exaggerated disgust.

Ekko laughed, scooping the boy up in one swift motion.

“What? You don’t want Mommy and Daddy kissing?”

“No!” Wyeth giggled, squirming as Ekko nuzzled him.

“Well, too bad, but don’t think you’re safe, buddy. I’ve got kisses for you too!”

Wyeth squealed as Ekko peppered his face with kisses, his laughter filling the air. You couldn’t help but join in, tickling his sides as he giggled uncontrollably.

“Okay, okay! Stop!” Wyeth cried, still laughing as he wriggled free.

At that moment, a familiar voice called from the distance.

“Well, look who we have here!”

Wyeth’s head snapped toward the entrance, his eyes lighting up.

“Grandpa Benzo!” he yelled, bolting toward the sound of his grandfather’s voice.

Ekko set his son down and watched him run off before turning back to you. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you close. His voice dropped to a low murmur, meant only for you.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet. I’ll leave it pending till tonight.” he said, his tone dripping with playful promise. He winked at you before turning to follow Wyeth, leaving you standing alone by the mural.

You exhaled deeply, hugging yourself as you looked up at the painting. It was vibrant, alive, full of hope and love.

You smiled softly. You chose well.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

tags: @bbybubbles @bookies16 @xelzaria @honeyfewr @bubblegupyy @iwasholic @chaeisbroke @emforjin @itszazouu @kriss-w @moonlight-dreamer04 @iloveavatar @sturngs

#ekko x reader #arcane x reader #arcane season two #ekko fluff #ekko imagines #arcane league of legends #ekko fics

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akela-nakamura · 1 year ago

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DPxDC Prompt

Summoning is an imperfect art, mispronouncing a name or having an incorrect symbol can lead to unexpected, and sometimes explosive results. Summoning can open unexpected doors. No one's prepared for what--or who--steps through when a rising gang tries to summon backup.

My little ficlet for this is below the cut:

Smoke. The acrid slam of it in the nose, brought on by the screaming wind. Chanting. A chorus of voices, steady and thrumming. Pain. Everything is hazy, and it’s equal odds on it being from the smoke or the potential head injury.

Bruce stumbles to his feet, body throbbing.

This was not how he’d planned this night.

Of course, he hadn’t planned for Gotham to suddenly be overrun with a new…gang? They claimed to be a government organization, but Bruce has his doubts. He hadn’t had a chance to go through the GIW’s information, but according to Barbara, their claims were sketchy at best.

The shouting about ghosts and waving around sci-fi weapons with no trigger discipline certainly didn’t help their claims.

Government organization or not, they had no right to raid homes, to drag people out onto the street, or overall threaten his city.

His ears ring, and the chanting rises in volume, impossibly. His chest reverbes with the sound. It’s steady enough to feel like a second heart. His blurry vision locks onto the center of the summoning circle. Because this night couldn’t get any worse, of course.

First the GIW had rocketed up his list of threats with one simple move.

They’d gone after Jason.

Jason, who even now was laid out in the middle of the summoning circle, eyes bright, bright, bright green through the haze.

First they’d taken his son.

Then they’d used him as a sacrifice.

Bruce bared his teeth, locking eyes with the closest GIW agent. The man held up his weapon, a glowing baton. His form is weak.

The baton gord flying, Bruce’s armored elbow slamming the man to the ground. The agent curls up, groaning. Nightwing’s escrima sing electric in the background, followed by the whip of Tim’s bow staff. Damian’s sword glints through the haze, and purple flashes through the crowd of white, white, white.

He can’t see Cass, but he doesn’t expect too.

The ground rocks under his feet, and it takes several precious seconds to regain his balance. There seems to be an almost endless flood of agents, with more and more meeting his fists as he tries to make it through the gauntlet.

Suddenly, the air shifts, the scream of it heading for the circle instead of out.

The circle glows toxic green, and Jason’s at the center, frozen in the light.

“No!” Bruce shouts, the sound ripping from his soul.

It’s echoed by Dick, who stands just outside the circle’s boundaries. His hands are pressed against the light, his blue eyes a shock against the green.

It’s a confusion of people - GIW white and the summoner’s black. The GIW is here to end whatever it is they need Jason to summon to them. The summoners themselves seem to have broken away from the “agency” and want power from the being they’re calling. It’s a fight on multiple fronts, with the GIW fighting the summoners and Bruce and his family fighting them all.

The temperature drops.

“HOOD!” Dick screams, as Jason is swallowed by the green.

The chant is all he can hear, even as he shoves towards the circle, even as he slams against the same wall Dick’s against.

The world goes bright and he can’t keep his eyes on Jason. On his son.

When the light fades, Jason’s not alone.

A being sits six feet in the air, Jason collapsed over his lap, somehow hovering with the - what is he? He looks human, but there’s something wrong. Off. Bruce can’t quite pinpoint his age. A crown glows on his head, an ever shifting cape spills down his back, dragging close to the floor. His eyes are green as Lazarus, and just as deep. Jason is breathing, Bruce notes. The being’s hands curl in Jason’s hair, playing with it idly.

The air is *rigid, and everyone’s stopped fighting. No one can draw their eyes away from the being.

“You dare to summon me with one of my own?” The being speaks, and it’s like crackling glaciers. Someone whimpers.

“We - wanted to give you a gift,” One of the men in black says, his voice chattering.

It’s like breathing in ice.

“A gift?” The being says and the sound is fury, banked in a waiting avalanche. “What kind of gift is this? A denizen of my Realms, trapped and tortured? Used to summon his king, against his will? This is no gift.”

“B-but we didn’t know,” another speaks, and then obviously realizes he shouldn’t have.

“Ignorance will not save you,” the being says, and it - he’s? - still holding Jason like he’s something precious. “And I am not the only one you have infuriated.

“I am not the only one you have awoken.”

To a man, the GIW agents cry out in panic. Bruce turns, looking for the threat but - the agents are buried to various depths in the cracked concrete floor. The ground is decidedly solid beneath Bruce’s feet but the agents would obviously not agree. They flounder, like the concrete is quicksand. The summoners are next, but it’s ice that gets them, crawling up their bodies until they’re locked into place.

“My lord!” One cries and promptly finds himself gagged.

Bruce can’t stay silent any longer. “Hood was used against his will to summon you,” he starts. The being’s eyes meet Bruce’s. “He didn’t want this. Is he alright?”

“Your son is fine,” the voice is rough, but feminine, and obviously not from the being. It’s around him, dancing through the steel beams and pushing through concrete. “You are mine, my knight. You and yours are mine. The little king will not harm him, nor you.” A figure forms off to his right.

“Holy shit,” Dick whispers. Bruce has to agree.

She’s made of concrete, of broken brick and dust, of bone and police tape, of twisted metal and more.

“Gotham,” Bruce breathes, and he doesn’t know how he knows but he does.

“Hello, my knight,” she says, her form shifting. She turns slightly, and there’s something sharp in her movement. “Hello, little king.”

“Lady Gotham,” The being - the king? - returns. “You look well,”

Lady Gotham laughs, a ringing sound - it’s bells and gravel, fresh air on a summer day and rising wind. “How you flatter me, little king. Do you fear me?”

The being grins, mischief dancing around him, white hair floating high. “I respect you. It’s good to see you awake, Milady.”

“What is happening?” Tim asks no one in particular. Dick shrugs and Steph just leans harder on Tim. Cass holds Damian’s shoulder firmly, watching carefully.

Bruce wishes he had an answer.

“It is good to be awake,” Lady Gotham says, and she shifts closer to the circle, fingers skimming against the barrier of light. “How long do you intend to keep my reaper from me?”

Reaper. Bruce thinks, and it’s a gut punch.

It makes sense, to describe Jason. Jason can go where Bruce cannot, do what Bruce cannot.

The king laughs lightly. “The summoning harmed him, Milady. I’m just keeping him safe. I’m not here to undermine you,” the king’s eyes glow. “But remember who is king.”

Lady Gotham smiles. “I’m aware of hierarchy little king.”

“My son,” Bruce says, because there’s no point in pretending Jason is anything less. He’s talking to - the embodiment of gotham and a king of - something. “He’ll be okay?”

Lady Gotham sighs. “He will be fine, my knight. The little king cares for his own.”

“What - what are you the king of?” Tim asks, bold.

The being smiles.

“I am Phantom,” he says. “I am the Ghost King.”

Jason stirs in his lap, and the implications crash over Bruce. Maybe Reaper has more meaning than he’d thought.

#DPxDC #Akela's Antics #Prompts #Ficlets #Crossover #DP x DC

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satorusugurugurl · 8 months ago

Text

Manicure

Summary: Gojo decides to FaceTime you while on a mission. But when he calls you while you're doing your nails, there's a twitch in his pants that he can't ignore.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 1,477

Warnings: horny Gojo, cursing, jerking off, reader unaware

A/N: I loooove facetime smexy stuff and masturbation. Bork bork woof!! Just a short little drabble!!

Overseas missions were the worst. One, Gojo hated them because he was away from you, his beautiful girlfriend, and second, he always got incredibly horny. Now the thing about Gojo Satoru was that when he was around you, he was horny all the damn time, but you know what they say. Distance makes the heart grow fonder?

Yeah, well, distance made his dick harder.

Luckily, the special grade curse he was sent to handle was taken care of. The only bad thing was that he had to attend a stupid meeting in Kyoto the following day. So he sulked in bed, brushing his damp hair back as his phone rang, waiting for you to pick it up. If he could hear your voice and see your pretty face, he might be able to survive the next day.

The instant your face lit up his screen, he smiled wide, muscles relaxing as your cheeks flushed as you beamed. “Toru!” You greeted enthusiastically, swaying in the chair you sat in. “Hi, baby! I miss you!” Seeing your grinning face was enough to ease the sore, stiff muscles in his back.

“Hi, sweetheart, what are you doing?”

Looking at the counter you sat on, he noticed several items. A bottle of nail polish, a bottle of nail polish remover, and your UV light lamp. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to put what you were doing together. But there was something about how excited you got explaining the process of doing your nails that always left him smiling.

You had been doing your nails for the last few years to save money. Satoru had offered multiple times to pay for you to get your nails done, but you insisted that you preferred doing your nails, but he could pay for your pedicures if he wanted. You were never the type of girl to have him pay for everything despite him wanting to.

“I’m doing my nails!” You excitedly told him, holding up the hand that wasn’t under the glowing blue light. “See, I found this pretty cerulean blue that matches your eyes!”

Satoru glanced at the screen but wasn’t focusing on your nails. He was staring at your hand. The pretty hand that looked utterly gorgeous wrapped around his cock. His mind trailed off, thinking of how pretty the blue would look against his stiff shaft as you jerked him off.

“Mmm, it’s pretty.” Slowly, he slid his hand down his chisel chest, dipping it underneath his sweatpants. “I like the shape.”

“Oh yeah,” you moved your hand, turning it so you could look at the shape of your nails. Your fingers curled in slightly, and Satoru imagined his cock sliding in and out of your hand as he stroked himself. “I tried to do a more oval shape, but I prefer the square shape.”

“I-I think your nails look good regardless.” His hand squeezed around himself as he stroked up and down his throbbing, thick shaft. Moving up to the tip, where he massages the sensitive head, a dribble of beading pre-cum over his slit. “Mmmn, such pretty nails. Pretty hands and a pretty face.”

“Whoa, someone misses me!” You tease, pulling one hand out before sliding the other under the lamp. “But what about my personality?”

Satoru stroked himself hard, groaning as softly as he could as you held your hand out in front of you, examining the work you’d done. “You’re beautiful inside and out, babe, so pretty. Big brain, good heart, and a nice ass.” And he could not wait to get behind, slapping and groping you as he fucked you into the mattress. From that position, he’d be able to see you dig those beautifully painted nails and the sheets, gripping onto them for dear life as he fucked the life out of you.

“That’s more like it.” You glance at the camera with a grin that fell as soon as it tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Satoru? Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah, why?” He stroked himself faster, exhaling through his nose, doing his best not to clue you in on what he was doing. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have phone sex with you, but he knew until you put the topcoat on your nails, your gel polish would be tacky and easy to mess up. He also knew that if you were to get on your skin, the possibility of you developing an allergy was very likely. So he’d have you sit this out and get off to your pretty pretty face without knowing for now.

“Your cheeks are red, and you seem out of it?” Concern flashed over your features as you pulled your hand out from under the lamp. “The higher-ups are seriously seriously pushing you too far. You need to tell them you need a break.”

Oooh fuck, he loved it when you got all heated like that. There was something about the carnal anger that made its way across your features that made his cock throb, which was currently doing so in his hand. He just nodded his head, biting his lip as he smeared more pre-cum over his aching tip.

“I know, I know, baby.”

“You know what? I’m taking this into my own hands.” You put another coat of the shimmer blue polish on your nails. “Your next mission will involve me taking care of you before I turn into a special grade curse.”

Satoru stroked himself faster, biting his lip as you focused on your nails. “Yeah~? How are you going to take care of me?” You shut your eyes with a gentle smile without looking at the camera.

“Well, I would start with your nice warm bath.” God, why the fuck were you so cute? “Then I’d make you a nice home-cooked meal, and we’d have your favorite kikufuku for dessert.” God, hearing you talk about spoiling him had his body relaxing as Satoru stroked himself faster, playing with his balls before squeezing his tip. He watched your face as you continued doing your nails without knowing he was masturbating. “Then I would give you a nice massage, run my fingers through your beautiful hair, scratching your scalp, and then I would let you fall asleep on my tits because I know you love to do that.”

Satoru’s balls clenched in his hand as he bucks his hips forward fucking into his fist. “I-I love you, fuck, I love you.” He was so close, oh so fucking close to cumming.

“Awe, Toru, I love you too.” You blew him a kiss, which sent him over the edge. Ropes of cum coated his hand and chest, leaving him groaning as he chewed on his lip, trying not to alert you as to what he was doing. But as he lay there, cock twitching limply against his abdomen. You finally took him in as a whole.

Something wasn't right, from his sweat-coated forehead to the rosey tint to his cheeks and chest. You fought against the panic rising in your chest. You figured perhaps maybe the exhaustion was getting to him. The higher-ups had pushed him too far this time; he was a thousand miles away, and there wasn’t anything you could do.

“Satoru? Baby, are you okay?”

Your white-haired boyfriend chuckled breathlessly. “I’m fucking fantastic. God, I love you; I miss you so fucking much.” He sat up, bringing the phone close to his face. “If I didn’t have to go to this stupid fucking meeting tomorrow, I would teleport right there and show you just how much I miss you.” This time, your cheeks were burning with a blush as he pulled your hand out from under the UV lamp. “Finish up doing your nails, take a hot shower, and text me when you’re in bed.”

“Huh, why wou—” you choked on your words as he held up a hand coated in white sticky cum, “I-I—!”

“I need to show you my mess and return the favor. Get your Bluetooth vibe out, and text me when you're ready. God, I fucking love you.”

Without another word, the lying disconnected, leaving you sitting there, hands half-painted and panties wet. You weren’t sure if you were in shock over the fact he had jerked off to you talking about normal stuff? Or how the hell had he gotten away with jerking off without you knowing it? All you knew was that you needed to finish doing your nails fast because you have a phone sex date to get to!

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks

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angelesca · 29 days ago

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w.c. 3.4k💀so much words for this crap / sunday x truckdriver!gnreader (dafuqq is this dynamic), small stories, 99% of the penacony cast are impressed by you(they should be), robin is a cutie pie, sunday is a closeted robin fan, you and sunday squabble daily, sunday your wonweek is showing💗, wrote this in the tumblr drafts vro🔥part crack [𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐬]: 1 ┃ 2 ┃...

a/n: farted this out bc i got inspired by this otome isekai manhwa i was reading [truck knight taekbae] + aesthetics inspired by [who made me a princess]

darkness monopolised your vision ever since you got here; day time never graced you. the insulated walls do their job well—only the vibrations, the frayed edges of sound, can be heard.

chains grip your wrists, the metal twisting into your skin, wringing it like cloth. ouch. what now? maybe if you fart consecutively, and hard enough, you can blow your way out?

"brother... why…?" vibrations again.

"don’t… monitor… danger."

the iron door creaks. light shines a single ray though the gap, and like the sun, the radiance blinds you. you squint your eyes, tracing the outline of two silhouettes.

the taller one approaches, each stride covering an equal, set amount of distance without a lost beat. "i have one question," their tone dashes against the whetstone, pointing a sharpened blade at you. "who are you?"

their eyes did not welcome any light, no reflection of you in them, as if you were only a whisper of the air. you feel the cracks in your throat. "me? i’m just a truck driver."

you are having tea with sunday.

after the less-than-ideal introductions, the picture cleared: you, a truck driver, are isekai’d into penacony via truck inception(?).

"i apologise for my manners," sunday sips his cup. "when you... suspisciously appeared in my bathroom, unresponding, there was no room to be courteous."

"sorry about that," you play with the rim of your cup awkwardly. "i'm not sure what happened either." the honest truth.

sunday shakes his head. he's majestic. "so, you said that you were…" he taps his chin.

"a truck driver."

"a criminal?"

"... truck driver."

“an assassin?”

"..." you almost turned into one.

little did you know, your lone walk was accompanied by a slithering shadow. except... it was no shadow. it was a dazzling spotlight that had fans and reporters following her repslendent glow, as expected of penacony's halovian songstress: robin.

"you mentioned you were a truck driver," finally, someone knows what a truck driver is. "will you allow me to see it?"

yes, your truck teleported into the dreamscape too. how could you live without them? they sit by a pavement on penacony's streets, hoarding the stares of confused citizens.

you watch an infinite cosmos flare in robin's incandescent eyes. your truck is just that impressive. "wow...! it's so beautiful!"

"what a curious machine," a blue and blonde-haired pair are analysing. "a vehicle that inefficiently operates on wheels? rather old-fashioned."

"what in the ever-lovin' fudge? my great-great-great-great-great gramps had one of those!"

"a sight of blissful beauty blooms before my eyes. amazing!"

“where am i?”

“acheron, it hasnt even been a minute yet and you’re confused.”

people's eager stomping tremble the earth and sky. it's just that impressive. in the distance, an extra pair of wary eyes observe you.

"i admit, i am still suspiscious of you," sunday crosses one leg over the other. "robin sang nothing but praises. however, i'm afraid i'll need you under my surveillance to prove your trustworthiness."

urk. possessive much? "why are there knives, swords, and rocket launchers on the table?" sunday cocks an eyebrow at you, expecting you to make a move. "... i'm really not an assassin, sunday." but you do know his entire life story, so you're actually his stalker.

suddenly. the room blurs. an annoying static repeats, plucking the sensory wires from your circuit. is he... is he using his thingamajig powers?

"you may not be one... for now." he looks out a large window. you follow his gaze. wait a minute. what are they doing to-

“MY TRUUUUCK!!!” your passion transcends boundaries, past the lower-case and forcing the caps lock. lunging, you rush outside the mansion. "HEy!"

"aaaaa!! run!"

"eeek!"

"nyaa~!" who the hell was that?

"what the..." you are stunned. how dare they vandalise your truck! "was this your order?" you turn to sunday, infuriated.

"what will you do now?" a corner of his lips lifts, provoking.

you clench your fist. no one messes with you, the best truck driver, and only truck driver, in penacony.

hypothetically, if you got hit by a truck and ended up here, could you, a truck driver, hit a penaconian and isekai them over to your world?

"hey, robin?"

"hm?" her smile is innocent, gazing at you with a prospering kindness deserving of its own halo.

you smack your head. a dozen times over. then a few more.

"hey, aventurine?"

"hi hi~"

you shake your head. wouldn't his luck interfere? if anything, you'd be the one to get run over again.

"hey, acheron?"

"who are you?"

doesn't even know who you are despite telling her a minute ago. if she ended up in your world, she'd be asking the same question anyway: "where am i?"

you pick your nose. she'd slice you in half. period.

"hey, rappa."

"dazzling ninja rappa at your service!"

"as am i, the dimension-trespassing truck driving ninja!"

unfortunately, ninja roleplay with rappa is too fun. every friday, you play dnd together and you can't miss it this week.

there's only one person left.

"hey sun-"

"don't."

you stare blankly. "i didn't say anything?"

sunday glares back. "if you are going to speak to me, do it in front of me, and not while starting the engine of your truck."

"tch... damn."

"could i use your truck as a stage prop for my next concert?"

"oh, what if it suddenly rains?"

"what if i accidentally trip?"

you notice a gap in robin's behaviour. "how come you're so nervous today?"

robin looks at you, mouth on the verge of speaking. she looks down at her shoes. "hmm..." she tilts her head, lips mumbling. she hesitates, unready to spill her heart.

there's one thing you do best. you suggest, "why don't we go for a ride in my truck?"

robin's hunched back quickly reshapens itself. it's been some time since you've had a passenger, but with the way robin swiftly adjusts herself in the seats, excited, you don't worry about the mess in the truck. you start the vehicle, ready to stroll penacony's streets.

you hand her a piece of unexpired candy from a compartment, and she accepts the gesture. it doesn't take long before robin settles herself afterwards. she sighs. "... it's my brother, he'll be attending a show for the first time. i'm a bit nervous."

"why would he not be supportive?" you question.

robin shakes her head. "it may be because my brother is a perfectionist. i can't help but believe that he'll be expecting a flawless performance."

halovian songstress robin, a nation-wide icon, for her, expectations continually rise without rest. but for now, she sits next to you as robin herself, without the embellishments and performing. a breath of fresh air.

words of reassurance may be able to tend her heart. "make as many mistakes as you want," you comfort, "you are robin yourself before you are a singer, a civilian, and a sister."

the candy in her palm is scrunched. her heart, opens. robin herself, smiles. not because she is expected to, not because she is told to, but because she wants to. "thank you."

on the eighth day, grant... sunday getting down on one knee for you. wasn't this a bit fast?

your mouth opens. "are you proposing right now?"

"what are you on about?" sunday looks up at you, eyebrows scrunched. in his hands, a riiiiiiiiiiing- no, he's just cleaning his shoes with a cloth. better luck next time.

robin suggested to use your truck like a cabbie. that way, you can still keep your pride as a truck driver, and provide ears for wary hearts:

a student struggling with academics.

someone who doesn't know which direction to take.

the ramblings of a doctor whose words are spoken with precision, slicing his words into the victim's flesh. but behind the gloves are trembling hands that only wishes to sew tight the rotting wounds of a poor gambler, if only he would let him.

a galaxy ranger who witnessed the brevity of lives in the isolated expanse of the universe, walked along the shore of nihility. she departs with you her true name so that when she returns, your heart can accompany her solitude once more.

a young girl who cannot tell if the blood on her hands are someone else's, or her own. every allude to life reminded her of a deathly fate. however, as your passenger, she is reminded that she can forge a life of her own, undecided by destiny. penance and redemption, then, in the end, she hopes to regain her humanity.

you've listened to them all. unlocked each of their hearts, always gave back the key if they ever wanted to return again. turns out, the people of penacony are not much different from those in your world.

robin would pass out if she saw this.

from what you remember, there were 88 doors in the oak family's residence (you're a dedicated fan). you've explored each one, door 86, 87, 88... 89?

a secluded door that can only be seen with eagle eyes. the mystery kindles sparks in your chest, flaming curious fires. you slowly open the door. 86, 87, 88, 89... robins? (one for every door?) they all stare at you within their enclosures, as either posters, figurines, or books cover. in the middle sat a familiar head of grey hair, lowered, back turned towards you.

"sunday?"

the head moves up. gradually, it creaks. never in your life, did you expect to see a robin-crazed hidden room, nor a red-faced sunday. oh robin, the brother you were so worried about, is actually your no.1 fan. sunday's halovian wings flap furiously, doing nothing to cool his face down. his expression seems annoyed to have been caught in the act. "... what?"

"is this your robin shrine?" this is it. this will be your revenge, and the beginning tastes sweet. "so, you're the real criminal out of the two of us."

one can imagine the fumes blowing out of his ears. his eyes glisten, on the verge of tears. oops, he's really embarrassed.

you turn your face away, allowing sunday as much privacy as possible within his very private room. or rather, you are avoiding his eyes to suppress laughter. "you're coming to robin's concert, right?"

"you coming?" you gesture towards your majestic truck. it's a beautiful night for a truck ride.

sunday, your victim, is reluctant, of course. he probably still believes that you are an assassin who will run him over. "i won't die, will i?"

you huff. "i'm just a truck driver. what's the worse i could do? kidnap you?" sunday stares at you, frightened. it does not take much for him to believe in your potential for evil. "it's a joke... i'm not a criminal. or an assassin."

"just for a few minutes," he resigns. score. you open the door for sunday, who eventually sits down. you start the engine.

"welcome." sunday is in your truck. what an achievement. heh. you place your foot on the pedal.

it is silent apart from the engine's buzzing. you hand sunday an unexpired bag of chips from the compartment. he receives it, inspecting the packaging. his eyes trail to the window, studying how the sunset paints penacony with autumn's palette, but beyond it, he is watching the dots of people. you watch the melancholic sunday.

"what's on your mind?" you ask.

"nothing significant."

"well, the whole point of my trucking service is to listen to passengers." you turn the wheel. honestly, you don't know where you're going, and neither does sunday. the moon guides you tonight, two lost souls. "say anything."

sunday fiddles with the bag of chips. "...maintaining the oak family status, work, the people," he finally speaks, "it balances on my shoulders."

you hum, signalling him to continue.

"wouldn't a utopia free from suffering solve everything?"

quite a hard-hitting question for a truck driver, sunday. you nod. "of course. the only problem is that it is not real - everyone is forced into the current reality. it is harsh and cruel..." you blink. "but we are not powerless to it."

"how do you suggest we solve it?"

it is quiet for a moment before your mind wanders to every passenger you've had. they all had one thing in common. "i guess, a lot of people want a shoulder to lean on, an ear to open for them, and a voice to validate their feelings. we can do that."

all those passengers seemed to shine brighter at the end of the ride, ready to chase a dream. you may not be saving the world - you are no hero, just a truck driver - but you help tend the invisible wounds of people: the blood that drips from sharp words, the bruises that sting from deprecation, the headaches.

isn't it fine to take it slow? navigate the dark, little-by-little, and by the end, there will be an even brighter light.

"... i see." sunday watches your hands manoeuvre the truck's mechanics. the flick in your eyes that turn to him, to which he shies away from. then, he rests his eyes. as the truck drives, a silence hangs, one of quiet understanding. bit-by-bit, you gaze into sunday's heart.

it's been some time since you got run over.

adjusting to penacony was difficult at first. you had to adapt to life at the family's mansion, and the daily customs. however, the burden was eased slightly, all partly thanks to a special helper.

every morning, a cup of coffee or freshly-squeezed juice presents itself in the kitchen. every afternoon, your favourite bookshop always happens to have the book you wanted, already reserved for you. every night, your bedroom door slowly opens, quietly. your blanket, moves up to cover your torso. the mess in your room, rearranged and picked up. the back of a hand, feathers over your cheek. and nothing more happens. your little helper is easily satisfied at the sight of a peaceful you.

"does robin know about this room?" you are flipping through an ancient truck magazine.

sunday is wiping the display cabinets. his wings are flapping again, turning to you. "you didn't mention it to her, did you?"

"no, but she's going on tour soon after," you play with the corner of a page. "why don't you send her your encouragement?”

"what do you suggest?" he asks.

you look at the ceiling. it's full of robin's pictures. "a heartfelt letter? personally, i would buy her a truck but i don't think she needs that."

a small laugh escapes sunday's lips. you did not expect that. "that would be nice." he moves over to a desk, and from a drawer he pulls out a page adorned with blue flowers, and a pen.

you walk over to his desk. "you're into stationary?"

"i don't see why not," sunday says, "my work requires mostly writing, after all."

he begins from the top: 'dear sister,'. from there, sunday is a bit clumsy and awkward, asks her how the weather is and if she had breakfast. "... i've never done this before," is what he said. but gradually, the pen picks up, and the words flow. now, there was too much left unspoken when sunday reaches the final line, and had to cross out the sentence he was writing. a total of four pages, both sides filled, with more words waiting to be said - those would be left for when the siblings reunite.

"maybe we can have the people of penacony sign it too." you smile, imagining robin's elation when she reads it.

sunday nods. he scratches his signature and hands the paper to you. "here."

you take the pen, hesitant. "what's this for?"

sunday raises an eyebrow. "you're a citizen of penacony, are you not?"

... oh. were you? your throat dries. when did you become a part of penacony? weren't you... just a truck driver?

sunday watches you contemplate. a silence drawls. suddenly, he wraps his hand around yours, holding the pen still. "why are you hesitating?" nib meets page. ribbon by ribbon, the ink dances. "you belong here, don't you?"

your chest grows warm. you weren't expecting that either. full of surprises, aren't we? the same person that chained your hands and observed you, coldly answered to you, is offering his warmth. his hand is resolute, unwilling to let go. it reassure your doubts. you smile.

the pen lifts:

'from, your loving brother and, your dear friend.'

surprisingly, sunday has gotten comfortable with your presence in his forbidden robin cove. as you have with his in your magnificent truck.

yet, as much as you've driven closer, the gap is bottomless. sunday doesn't appreciate you looking at him, yet, he's allowed to drill holes in you when you're not aware?

you've asked robin, but she answered cryptically with a smile. "he used to watch over me as well, overprotective as always, but i'm sure that's his way of expressing himself when words fail him."

you reccount the passing moments.

a person more of action, lesser of words. for his people, he worked endlessly without their validation. for robin, he hid in the shadows of his much brighter devotion and support. for you, he let you slowly seep into his life, and you absorbed him into yours. a truck driver and an overqualified partner-in-crime.

quiet devotion is a tender song. without the beating of his loud commands, penacony would be left unprotected. without the instrumental scratching of his pen, there would be no light on the streets. without the percussive clicking of his shoes, the citizens would not be able to dance and celebrate.

this was sunday's song; no one else heard it, but it hums beneath the surface, invisible. those who press their ears against it can sense its vibrations. a silence that speaks louder than words or lyrics. and now, you can't mistake it, your heart beats to the silent song.

it is the night of robin's last stage in penacony. you and sunday stand on a balcony, watching over her. the final song sways along the night-caressed breeze, setting free the wings of hopeful listeners and dreamchasers.

though for a certain someone, he was using more of his eyes than ears. when you meet his golden pair, they turn away as usual.

"what's with you?" you lean against the railing.

his hands hide behind his back. "nothing significant."

"hey, i thought we were past that already. i told you i'm a truck driver who listen to their passengers."

silence hangs. a few more spoken words, "and? have you told your story?"

"me?"

his eyes find yours, but they don't turn away anymore. behind his role as penacony's figure and as a brother, it is sunday who is talking to you. in his gaze, it doesn't judge, impartial, waiting to listen, asking if it is okay for you to lend him your key.

he's come a long way into this journey. now, he awaits at your doorstep. the words catch in your throat. "i'm... just a truck driver..." you close your eyes. "a truck driver who got lost here."

sunday shakes his head. "i’m not asking about one miniscule part of your life. behind that is you who experienced a reality that built the person in front of me," his voice is shaky. an unsteady hand opens and closes, hopes to reach out for yours, but is uncertain. "i'm... asking for permission to learn all of you."

"..." robin's song is about to come to an end.

you look at the mirror. a mirror that always reflected only you, now fits one more person in the frame. that is your answer.

the you who is listening, reading, watching, all your past versions converge into this quiet meeting. usually, the mirror rejected, criticised, and distorted. but today, it finally listens. the mirror holds your reflection to be true. before you got to penacony, before you stood in the middle of a road, before you became a truck driver, you were...

"speak to me. i'm here to listen as you have for others." and keep that key to his heart, for it remains open unconditionally, always a place for you in there.

two losts souls, under the moon, found a home in each other.

a person closes the novel they were reading. they pick up their phone and start typing:

“-4.2/5 rating, absolute horror. where was robin at the end? i was waiting for her! and what’s with all the mirrors and life lessons? preeeeetty criiiinge. i'm reading a fantasy novel, not a lecture. why is mc even a truck driver anyways? also, not enough hand holding, and definitely not enough kissing. zero points!” this random nobody criticises, slamming fingers on the screen. they pause. “i wonder when the next volume will be released…”

a/n: great use of my holiday tbh, get everything out b4 i'm busy again💖i hate drawing hoyo charas they're so detailed, applause to all the hoyo artists u guys r goated fr i thought itd be cute to turn this into a series. i have some deleted ideas since i only wanted this to be a short piece (i got carried away smh). but tbh this fic ended off nicely, i dont think it needs continuing. idk. i like pistachio ice cream thanks for reading!!😲

#hold me back b4 i do a sunday arranged marriage isekai #with a train conductor reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr sunday #sunday x reader

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xnalux · 1 month ago

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astronaut!vi hcs

modern!au, engineer!reader, enemies!to!lovers

warnings: mention of claustrophobia and panic attack, fem!reader

pictures are from pinterest and they're not mine except the edit of astronaut!vi who screams ''graphic design is my passion''

author’s note: my christmas was the shittiest so i had to cope somehow and yesterday while i was watching the new ''alien'' this idea came to my mind. this turned out longer than i inteded it to be but i still hope you like it. also it would mean the world to me if you'd let me know what you think about it and if you want to be tagged when i post the part two.

-a kiss on the ass to all of u ♡

astronaut!vi: when she was a child, vander introduced violet and powder to the world of ''star wars'' and from then on it became their dream to go to space.

They used to hide themselves late at night under a big blanket on violet's bed, with the glow of a flashlight illuminating the pages to read comics about intergalactic adventures. That's how vander would found them most of nights.

Powder's breath hitched as the plot thickened, her small hand reaching out to clutch her sister's arm.

"What happens next, Vi?" she whispered, her voice filled with anticipation.

Violet smirked, her confidence unshakeable.

"Don't worry, pow pow. They're going to save the galaxy."

The two sisters were lost in the narrative, their hearts pounding in unison with the pulse of the story. The flashlight flickered slightly, casting dancing shadows on the walls, as if the spacecraft in their comic had somehow entered the room.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and the harsh light from the hallway spilled in. Vander, loomed in the doorway.

He had the look of a man who had been roused from a much-needed sleep by the sound of whispers and rustling pages. Despite his stern expression, there was a hint of fondness in his eyes.

"Girls," he began, his voice a gentle rumble. "It's way past your bedtime."

Violet froze, the flashlight beam quivering in her hand. She had been so lost in the story she hadn't heard his approach. Powder, yanked the blanket up over their heads, turning their sanctuary into a cocoon of darkness once more.

"We're almost done" Violet called out, her voice muffled by the fabric. "Just one more page."

Vander chuckled, his footsteps heavy but soft as he crossed the room. He knew this dance well—their secret nightly ritual. He bent down.

"Violet, you know the rules," he said, his voice a gentle scold.

Violet sighed dramatically. "Yes, sir,"

she replied, emerging from the blanket with a sheepish grin.

"But you know how it is with Captain Nova. She never knows when to quit."

Powder poked her head out, her cheeks flushed with excitement and a hint of guilt. "We'll go to bed right after this, promise," she chimed in, her eyes pleading.

Vander sighed, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Fine," he relented. "But this is the last time, you two. You've got school tomorrow, and you need your rest."

With a nod of understanding, Violet and Powder tucked themselves back under the blanket, the flashlight beam once again illuminating their faces. They shared a conspiratorial smile before Violet resumed her tale.

astronaut!vi: her and powder room when they were kids was a sanctuary for their shared dreams and ambitions.

The walls were a soft shade of midnight blue, filled with glow-in-the-dark stars that they had meticulously applied. It was their own personal galaxy that they would gaze upon each night before drifting off to sleep, dreaming of the adventures they would one day embark upon together.

On one side, Violet's bed was neatly made, her sheets adorned with images of rockets and planets, the pillows arranged with military precision. Above her bed was a bookshelf filled with well-worn copies of astronomy textbooks, science fiction novels, science magazines. Above the bookshelf shelf, a poster of a fiery comet streaking across the sky served as a daily reminder of the thrill and beauty of space exploration.

Powder's space, on the other hand, was a bit more chaotic but no less enchanting. Her bed was covered in a blanket that looked as if it had been plucked straight from the surface of Mars, with swirls of red and orange hues that whispered of alien landscapes. Scattered across her side of the room were models of various spacecraft, each in a state of half-assembly. Her desk was a treasure trove of sketches and doodles, depicting her own imaginative interpretations of the universe. These drawings were taped to the walls, creating a mural of stars, planets and aliens.

The center of the room was dominated by a large, wooden telescope that their Vander had built for them and the floor around it was often littered with astronomy magazines and star maps, evidence of the countless hours they had spent poring over them, plotting their future adventures.

Above their beds, suspended from the ceiling, were twin planets, crafted from papier-mâché and painted with meticulous care.

astronaut!vi: her lesbian awakening was ellen ripley from alien.

After watching it with powder for the first time she became obsessed by it. saved up her money to buy all king of merchandise that revolved around it.

At first she just brushed it off as just being fashinated by a very fucking great movie thus “the aliens were freaking cool” but after the tenth time she rewatched it she started to notice how her gaze lingered on the curves of the astronaut's body, how her heart did a little twirl in her chest whenever the woman was on the screen.

It was the kind of revelation that changes a person, that makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself. But it was also thrilling, a secret she kept close to her chest, a bud of self-discovery ready to bloom.

at some point even powder noticed it and started teasing her about it.

One day, while the two were window shopping in a comics store, Powder pulled out from a shelf a magazine with an image of Sigourney Weaver as Ripley on the cover.

She held it up to Violet with a smirk, saying,

"Look who it is, your girlfriend."

Violet's cheeks turned bright pink ''shut up'' she snatched the magazine, feigning annoyance. But deep down, she knew her sister was onto something.

From that moment on, Powder took every opportunity to tease her big sis about her newfound infatuation.

It started with playful nudges and knowing looks, escalating to whispering "Ripley" every time she caught her off guard. Violet would roll her eyes and swat her away, but the truth was, it didn't bother her as much as she let on. In fact, it was almost like Powder was giving her permission to explore this new aspect of herself, to embrace it without shame.

astronaut!vi: who had a mental breakdown when she found out, late in her middle school years, that she was dyslexic thinking it would get in the way of achieving her dream of entering the astronaut academy.

it felt as though the universe had suddenly turned against her. The diagnosis didn't just shake her world,it fractured it.

For a week, she retreated into her room, refusing to come out or engage with the world that had so cruelly deceived her. Her books, once her solace and companions, were now her enemies, each page a silent testament to her perceived limitations.

Powder, tried everything in her arsenal to lift her spirits, silly jokes, spend all her saved up coins to buy her the new action figure of alien, even her infamous "World's Best Sister" cinnamon toast, but nothing could penetrate the thick fog of despair that had enveloped Violet.

One evening, as the sun began to set, painting the sky with a palette of fiery oranges and purples, Vander knocked gently on Violet's door. "Kiddo" he called out softly, "can I come in?"

Violet's voice was small, "Yeah, sure."

He entered, his eyes immediately going to her desk where her schoolbooks lay scattered like the ruins of a defeated army. He took a deep breath before speaking,

"you know I don't say much, but when I do, I hope you listen." he continued looking down at vi "I know it's been tough, but you can't let this get to you."

Violet looked up at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears,

"How can you say that? Everything I've ever worked for…it's all gone!"

Vander took a seat beside her, his face a picture of calm determination, "It's not gone, not even close. Being dyslexic doesn't define you, it's just a part of who you are."

He took her hand in his,

"Do you know how many great minds were dyslexic? Einstein, for one, couldn't read until he was seven. He went on to change the way we understand the universe. Or take Edison, he failed over a thousand times before inventing the lightbulb. And what about Walt Disney? He had to overcome dyslexia to create an empire of imagination."

Violet listened, her spirit slowly rising like a phoenix from the ashes of doubt, "But, the Astronaut Academy…"

"Violet" Vander said with a gentle smile, "if you want to reach the stars, you will. There's no rulebook that says you can't get there because your brain processes information differently.''

He leaned in, "You're, capable, and smarter than anyone I know. You've always found a way to conquer challenges, and this is just another one. You're going to prove to everyone that you can do it, that you can be the best of the best."

His words resonated within her, a spark igniting in her chest. Vander had always been her rock. As she looked into his eyes, she felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could still make it happen.

With a sniffle, she nodded, "You're right. I'll figure it out."

Vander's smile grew, "I know you will. And remember, you're not alone in this. We're a team, you and me and powder…''

As soon as the name of the younger girl fell out of vander lips the door flew open and a little ball of energy bounced inside, blue hair glinting in the dim light of the room as powder quickly jumped on vi's lap.

''the dyslexic team'' she exclaimed dripping with enthusiasm and innocence.

Violet couldn't help but burst in laughter ''that's not how it works pow pow'' powder jutted slightly her lip pouting

''but i want to be as cool as you''

violet just ruffled her blue hair ''you're already the coolest squirt''

astronaut!vi: who from then on worked her ass off and graduated at the top of her middle and high school classes all the while training her physics hitting the gym, running marathons, or practicing kickboxing. she pushed herself to the edge and beyond, sculpting a body that could keep up with the demands of her curious mind.

astronaut!vi: who has a double STEM degree in computer and pshysical science and in the end get accepted in the astronaut academy. when it was time for her to move in to the academy powder cried even tho she still denies it.

Violet was focused intently on the task at hand, zipping up her duffel bag.

Vander appeared in the doorway. He cleared his throat, his calloused hands gripping the doorframe as he assessed the situation.

“You all set, kiddo?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble that echoed the pride he felt for her.

Violet nodded, not looking up from her task. "Yeah, just about."

Powder was sit on the edge of her bed trying to mantain a stoic face but her blue eyes glimmered with unsheaded tears.

vander stepped closer, his hand resting on vi's shoulder in a firm, comforting squeeze.

"Remember, you can do this," he said, his voice low and steady. "You've worked hard, and you're going to be amazing out there."

violet fondly rolled her eyes ''you're getting soft old man'' she tried to lighten up the mood even tho she could feel a lumpforming in her throat.

As soon as vander had left the two girls alone telling violet he was gonna wait for her in the car, a silence filled the room.

vi stood with her arms outstreched her gaze set on powder who was still looking at the point of her colorful boots.

''what? aren't you gonna say bye?''

violet voice was soft, trembling slightly due to the multiple different emotions she was feeling. Powder looked up and suddendly she surged forward throwing herself on the chest of her sister.

violet felt the warmth of Powder's embrace and the weight of her younger sister's head against her chest.

She wrapped her arms around her, her own eyes misting over.

"Hey, squirt" she murmured, stroking powder's back.

"It's just a couple of years, okay? You'll be up there with me before you know it."

"You better send me some cool nasa stuff" powder sniffed, her voice huffled due to her face squished agaist vi's chest.

Violet chuckled, her eyes shining with love and a touch of mischief. "You know I will" she said, ruffling her sister's braids, something she always did to annoy powder "And don't you dare get into any trouble while I'm gone."

As they pulled away, Powder managed a teary smile ''no promises''

the blue haired girl held out a small, folded piece of paper. ''I got you something" she said, her lips curling in a mischievous smile.

"A little… inspiration for when you get lonely at the academy''

violet took the paper, her curiosity piqued. As she unfolded it, she couldn't help but laugh. It was a photocard of none other than Ellen Ripley.

"You little…" Violet said, smiling and shaking her head, her cheeks a bit flushed.

"remember to always kick some asses" Powder said with a firm nod. "And hey, maybe you'll find your own space girl there."

Violet rolled her eyes playfully. "Powder…"

"What? It could happen!"

Their laughter filled the room as Violet tucked the photocard into her pocket.

She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, taking one last look around her room. It had been her sanctuary for so long, but now it was time to move on to greater things.

"Alright, let's go" she said, her voice steady.

astronaut!vi: who becomes a girl crush at the astronaut academy.

During the physical exams at the atronaut academy she shines. Whether it's the zero-gravity maneuvers, the endurance tests, or the high-pressure simulations, violet excels.

Her peers watch in awe as she glides through the obstacle course, her muscles rippling beneath her sleek spacesuit.

The whispers started in the locker room, where the other female cadets couldn't help but steal glances at her broad shoulders and the way her uniform fitted just right.

They talked about her in the mess hall, trading stories of her latest feats of strength or the time she figured out a solution to a physics problem that had stumped everyone else.

The crushes were subtle, the glances lingering, but the admiration was clear.

astronaut!vi: who is actually fucking oblivious and never get the hint when girls actually flirst with her.

one day, as the academy's cafeteria buzzed with the usual mix of recounted training sessions and space trivia debates, a fellow girl cadet, approached Violet's lunch table.

She approached Violet with a tray of food and set her tray down gently next to Violet's.

"Hey, Vi, how'd you manage to nail the zero-g obstacle course today?" she asked, her voice a little softer than the usual. "I mean you are always so strong and capable."

Violet, her mouth full of food, looked up with a cheeky grin. "Just a bit of luck and a whole lot of practice"

she said, shrugging off the compliment.

the fellow girl cadet leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling like distant stars. "Maybe we could practice together some time?" she suggested, her voice a delicate balance between casual and hopeful.

But Violet, lost in her own little world of space-induced euphoria, took her words at face value. "Sure, I could use the company," she said, patting the seat next to her. "We can go through the simulations again tonight if you want."

that's how violet usually accidentally friendzoned girls. In the end it would always ekko, Violet's best friend and a fellow cadet who was as sharp as a tack, who made her notice what she was so oblivious to notice.

''you are aware she was hitting on you right?''

Violet's eyes widened, and she choked on her drink. "what?!" she sputtered, coughing. "she just wanted to train more!"

Ekko smirked, slapping her on the back. "geez, you're fucking hopless" he teased her ''at this rate you will land on mars before even losing your virginity''

violet's cheeks turned a delightful shade of red, and she playfully shoved Ekko.

"Shut up"

astronaut!vi: who absolutely couldn't stand you, you were a cadet at the academy with a STEM in engineering but who lacked a bit on the physical strenght and practical thinking or as she liked to call you ''a smartass know it all who wouldn't last one second if she actually got to space''. You two always ended up bickering during simulation training.

like when during an intense space shuttle emergency drill simulation, you and violet were tasked with navigating a simulated crisis together. The lights were flashing, alarms were blaring, and the stress levels were through the roof. you had to work as a team to save your hypothetical spacecraft and its virtual crew.

She started commanding you around as you began to suggest alternative procedures based on some engineering manual you had read and even though some of them deserved merit she wasn't listening to you leaving you feeling frustrated.

''if you just stopped for a second and listened to me'' you bursted out clenching your fists to the side

She rolled her eyes and shot back.

"This isn't the time for your textbook theories, we're following the protocol!"

but you didn't falter and your suggestions grew more frequent, and she had had enough. She grabbed the intercom and announced

"Mission control, we have an uncontrollable know-it-all on board. Requesting immediate evacuation."

The room burst into laughter, even the instructors couldn't help themselves.

But Violet's message was clear: she didn't trust you to follow through in a real crisis and this infuriated you.

astronaut!vi: who actually couldn't shut up about you. she never lose the chance to bring u up in the conversation to rant about something infuriating you did that day to powder when they videocall at night in her room until one night powder had had enough.

Violet, sat in the dimly lit confines of her dorm room at the astronaut academy, her laptop screen casting a bluish hue on her face. She was dressed in her tank top with the academy's logo emblazoned on the chest, and navy blue sweatpants that hugged her muscular thighs. Her hair pulled back into a tight bun, revealing the contours of her sharp jawline and the small scar above her right eyebrow.

on the screen was powder, with a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, powder leaned into the camera, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"So, what'd she do this time?" she drawled, a knowing look in her eyes noticing the sour mood violet was in.

"You wouldn't believe it"

Violet began falling right in the trap of the blue haired sister, and with her voice filled with a mix of exasperation and incredulity she dived in a rant about something you did that rubbed her in the wrong way during training.

powder's smirk grew wider as she leaned back in her chair.

"what a surprise sis, talking about the infamous smartass again" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What's her name again?"

"Doesn't matter" Violet replied, waving a dismissive hand. "what matters she's always questioning my methods, always assuming she knows better when she probably couldn't even find her way out of a paper bag if she didn't have a GPS.''

"you know" Powder suggested, her voice playful. "for someone who affirm to not stand her you surely mention her a shit-ton of times"

Violet rolled her eyes crossing her arms over her chest. "what's that even supposed to mean"

"oh, come on" Powder teased, her eyes glinting. "Admit it. you've got a crush on her and your pining is getting pathetic sis"

The room grew silent as the words hung in the air.

Violet's cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson, and she sputtered, "What? No! That's ridiculous. I can't stand her!"

Powder leaned in closer, her smirk morphing into a full-blown grin. "But why do you talk about her so much, then?''

Violet opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Her mind raced back to the times she'd found herself stealing glances at the you.

"You know what, Powder?" she finally said, her voice tight. "You're out of your mind.''

Powder's grin became even bigger and she sing songed "you want to scissor with her in space so bad''

Violet almost choked on her own spit as she let out an horrified high pitched sound.

''what the fuck pow''

astronaut!vi: who from that night on from that moment on, Violet couldn't function around you the way she used to. Her usual sharpness was blunted by an awkwardness that was unexpected. whenever you entered a room, she would stumble over her words, her sentences trailing off into nothingness. Her eyes, which once bore into you with a look that could cut through the vacuum of space, now darted away, unable to hold your gaze due to her mind conceiving image of you two in compromising situation always ending up cursing herself under her breath ''get a fucking grip''.

during training sessions, she'd stumble when you offered a solution to a problem, her mind racing with thoughts she hadn't allowed herself to entertain before. In the weightlessness of the zero-G chamber, she'd fumble with the equipment, and when you'd gracefully glide over to assist, she'd snap at you, her voice cracking under the weight of her own denial.

After all she was an hormonal young woman who suddendly became hyper aware of how attractive you were even tho you still got under her skin like no other.

you, on your end, noticed the shift in her demeanour and the how the tension between you two had shifted to something different but you were too convinced she hated you to actually understand what was right in front of you.

astronaut!vi: who one day kisses you.

It was during a routine simulation, one that you'd both done a hundred times before, that things took an unexpected turn. You were supposed to be running through the emergency protocols for a spacewalk gone wrong.

You were in the simulator, the walls closing in around you, the artificial gravity playing tricks with your inner ear.

Suddenly, the room grew smaller, the air thicker, and your heart began to race. You had never told anyone about your claustrophobia, not even the academy psychologists. It was your secret, your weakness, and you had hoped it would never come to light.

Violet was in the control room, watching the monitors as you fumbled with the virtual equipment. She had her usual smirk on her face, ready to make a snide remark about how you'd probably trip over your own feet in zero gravity.

But then she noticed something off about your movements, something she hadn't seen before. Your hands were shaking, and your eyes were darting around the tiny space like a trapped animal's.

"Come on, you've got this" she said over the intercom, expecting you to snap back with a clever retort. But instead, there was only silence, broken by your rapid, shallow breathing.

Panic was setting in, and you were unable to respond, let alone move.

Her smirk faded, replaced with a frown of concern. "What's wrong?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "Why aren't you responding?"

You tried to speak, to explain, but the words wouldn't come out. Your mouth was dry, and your chest felt tight. You could see her getting frustrated, tapping her fingers impatiently on the control panel.

"This isn't the time for games" she said, her voice tight. "You need to focus."

But it was no use. your mind was racing, and you couldn't control the fear that was overwhelming you.

It was then that she saw it: the sheen of sweat on your forehead, the way you were clutching at the console. And she realized it wasn't you being a know-it-all who was incapable of action. It was something else entirely.

Her expression softened, and she stepped away from the controls. "Hey, it's okay" she said gently. "Just breathe. In… out… in… out…"

Your eyes found hers through the small window of the simulator, and you tried to follow her instructions, but the panic was like a beast that had you in its grip.

violet made a split-second decision. She knew you were in trouble, and she couldn't just stand there and watch. She hit the emergency override, and the simulator popped open, revealing you, gasping for air.

without a moment's hesitation, she climbed into the simulator with you, ignoring the safety protocols. Her strong arms gripped your shoulders, shaking you slightly trying to get you out of your mind.

"You're okay" she murmured. "You're okay. It's just a simulation."

But the words weren't enough. You could feel your heart racing, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

''I c-can't'' you choked out, your own hands shoot up grabbing at vi's gear.

violet's eyes searched yours, the blue of them piercing through the fog of your panic. She saw the desperation in your gaze, the silent plea for help.

Her hands moved to cradle your face, and she leaned in closer, her breath warm against your cheek. "Look at me'' she whispered firmly, her voice a soothing balm to the chaos in your head. "Breathe with me."

your eyes remained wide, but you managed a nod, focusing on her face. Her thumbs brushed away the beads of sweat from your forehead, a tender gesture that somehow grounded you.

"In" she instructed, drawing in a deep breath, "and out." Her exhale was slow and deliberate, and you tried to mimic it, but your breaths were still ragged.

"Violet, I… I can't" you stammered, your voice trembling.

her grip tightened, and she leaned in even closer, her eyes never leaving yours. "You can" she insisted, her voice a gentle command. "You're strong, smartass"

but the panic was a raging storm, and her words alone couldn't calm it. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched you struggle, and she remembered something stupid she once read somewhere.

Without giving it another thought, she leaned in and pressed her lips to yours. It was a soft, brief kiss, but it was enough. Your eyes widened in shock, and for a second, the panic took a backseat.

as Violet's lips met yours, the world outside the simulation faded away. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, there was only the feeling of her breath mingling with yours, the warmth of her touch, and the sudden, inexplicable calm that flooded through your body. The claustrophobic walls of the simulator no longer seemed so daunting.

Her kiss was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the tough exterior she usually presented. It was like a lifeline thrown into the abyss of fear that had consumed you. Your breathing slowed, the hyperventilation subsiding, as the warmth of her embrace began to replace the cold grip of panic.

When she pulled away, you remained still, your eyes locked with hers, trying to understand what had just happened. You felt a strange mix of relief and confusion. The room around you was the same, the cold metal and the artificial lights, but something within you had shifted.

Violet's cheeks were flushed, and she looked surprised at her own actions. "I… I read somewhere that a kiss can help stop a panic attack" she said clearing her throat, her hand scratching awkwardly her nape and her usual confidence momentarily forgotten. "It's… it's supposed to help ground you, I guess."

the air between you crackled with an awkward tension as you stared at each other. Your chest was still heaving, but the fear was slowly subsiding.

the instructor's voice through the intercome pulled you both back to reality "Cadets, report status."

Violet cleared her throat and responded, "We're… we're okay. Continue with the simulation."

#vi arcane #arcane vi #arcane au #arcane spoilers #vi league of legends #vi x reader #jinx #vander #ekko #arcane s2 spoilers #arcane #arcane fandom #lesbian #sapphic #wlw #wlw post #vi #lgbtq #arcane violet

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evvyyypeters-fics · 5 months ago

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A Ghost In the Bed

Perv!Tate Langdon x dom!f!reader oneshot

Warnings! Pure smut, porn w/ zero plot, masturbation (male), handjob, obsession, pantie fucking, femdom, a lil mommy kink, humiliation

In honor of it being officially Murder House season (to me at least) I bring u this masterpiece I created. Inspired mainly by @fear-is-truth

It was the blood moon tonight, and suspiciously every time the sun dipped under the horizon and the moon glared down onto the cold ambience of autumn, Tate’s libido sky rocketed. His eternal teenage hormones spiking to a point that was unbearable. And it didn’t help now that you were living in the infamous ‘Murder House’, Tate’s obsession with you dark and lustrous like the red glow of the other-worldly planet.

You were out at a friend’s house tonight, Tate had overheard you asking your mom to go, and she obliged as usual. Needing you so desperately, he craved. Imagining your soft skin, biting it, tasting it’s warmth. Feeling it tingle through his cold, dead soul. The harmonic string of melodies that he could pull from your throat as he buries himself in your flesh, caressing it, pounding you. Even the way your tits rested under your shirt, your cleavage peaking sometimes and sending sparks through his body, or the view of your ass as you walked up the stairs, always making sure he followed behind you just to see it and hopefully a glimpse of your panties that day from under your skirt. The ghostly feeling of his imaginations traveling straight to his cock, twitching uncomfortably in his pants. He needed relief, and he needed it bad. If only you were there to help him, if only he knew you wanted to help him.

At first his mind muttered silent prayers that you wouldn’t somehow find him desperately rutting into your favorite pair of cotton panties, his hand wrapped tightly around his shaft as he used the soft fabric to create a strangely pleasurable friction, his pre-cum soaking them with the perfect amount of lube.

The sounds were obscene, yet muffled by the cloth. On the other hand, his moans were not. Shamelessly he whined, whimpering obscenely as he came closer and closer to the edge, using his fantasies of you as fuel as he fist fucked into your panties like a bunny in heat, but there was no final wave. No release, just the aching feeling of the weight of his hard cock, pounding. He was starting to get too desperate, his thoughts drowning as all he wanted anymore was for you to save him from this torment. He didn’t care if you hated him for it, he just needed your touch. Your comfort. To cum.

“Tate…?” A familar voice chirped curiously, the door creaking open.

Shit. He thought. You were back early.

He instantly sat up, hiding his proud cock with a nearby pillow resting on your bed. His face was beat red, his eyes watery and skin persperating with small beads of sweat. Pupils blown, his jaw slack as he stutters an excuse than hangs from the tip of his tongue, it’s clear what happened. Tate was ready for the scream, the insults, the anger, the disgust. But there was none, you surely looked surprised, but he couldn’t see any distain in your staring eyes.

“Why are you back? You weren’t supposed to be back yet!” He blurts out a little loudly, his voice trembling. He didn’t mean to be accusatory, you knew.

“I got bored and wanted to come home..” You reply slowly, taking invisble steps closer towards the bed.

“You know…what are you doing in my bed, Tate?” You ask, wanting to taunt him in his vulnerable state, see how far you can push him and make him melt even more into a puddle. He shivers as he begins to notice the growing warmth of your body leaning closer to his frozen position on your mattress. Hoping your eyes don’t look down at the conspicuous pillow, anxiety striking his heart as just in that moment you do. There’s something predatory in it that makes his spine shiver.

“N-Nothing. I just…missed you.” The words are forcefully calm and monotone, trying to sound casual. A dumb excuse he came up with spontaneously that you both knew didn’t work to hide anything.

“You missed me, huh?” You smile devilishly as you press a hand in the mattress next to him, his whole body lighting on fire, his breathing begins to labor with the pure lava of lust flowing to his dick. Your hand mere inches away from where he needed you most.

“Is that all?” He swallowed thickly, his eyes darting from your hand to your gleaming eyes.

“I—uh.” He chokes on his words. “N-no..” He admits shamefully, his gaze tilting away.

“Do you want me to help you fix it?” You lean into his ear, whispering hotly against it which makes his face light up pinker, every hair on his body on end.

He swallows thickly again before nodding.

“Use your words, puppy.” You croon, pinching his chin between your fingers and gently forcing his glossy coffee eyes to look at you.

“P-Please.” He whines, causing your heart to squeeze a little.

“Good boy. Let mommy see.” You smile slyly, pulling away your hand as he lays back comfortably into the mattress, removing the pillow from over his length as you climb beside him. Kneeling over his legs.

“So naughty.” You tease as you pull away the sticky pair of panties wrapped around his shaft, precum beading thickly at his tip as he twitches from the touch or lack thereof.

His hips automatically jerk up, trying to reach your hand as you pull away the material. A small giggle slips past your lips that makes him whine into a bitten lip.

“Poor baby, all worked up, I won’t tease you any longer.” You coo, prodding a pad of your finger at the practically purple pillowy head.

He instantly lets out a muffled gutteral moan, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, embarrassed by the pathetic sounds as you wrap your hand around him. Collecting the slick and coating his cock with it as you start a leisurly pace that slowly picks up, leading him to buck into your fist wildly.

“Let me hear you, puppy.” You say softly, watching between his perfect cock and his adorable face as he tries to hide the very obvious sounds bellowing from his throat. “Let me hear those pretty sounds you make.” Forcing a gutteral sound to spill from his lips as you press a finger into the sensitive head.

Your words make his heart and brain melt, the feeling of your hand on him being even better than he anticipated. He can feel himself getting closer, hips slamming at the same pace as your fist, pre-cum drooling over your hand as he moans pathetically. The sound of his voice getting thicker and more desperate, his muscles tensing.

“Cum for me, puppy. C’mon, let it all out.” You soothe, something clicks in his brain and he instantly busts, long and thick milky ropes shoot out, more than you thought was possible and drawing a long moan from his lips as his head pushed back into the pillow behind it. His thighs shuddered, toes curled until the ropes subsided and rested coated on your hand and his cock.

“Feel better?” You ask, slowly removing your hand as he comes down from the high.

Practically drunk on pleasure and blissed-out, he nods silently.

“Good. Next time, maybe just ask me first before jerking off into my panties.” You scold light-heartedly as you raise up the half-crusted fabric to the culprit’s gaze and he quickly hides his blushing face guiltily.

Taglist (you can be added or removed at any time):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @xrag-dollx @lacucarachapisser @alittleobsessedbitch

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