#working on another piece so please have this..

[cutiefulism]

puppyboy!caleb who just wants to fuck a litter into u :((

cw — breeding (dadoy), use of gege, typical caleb activities except hes a germand shepard, pet names (baby, honey, wife but theyre not married). fluffy prequel here.

he thinks you should have known. all the signs were right there, practically jingling in your face.

“did you— mm . . really think i’d invite you over for somethin’ as harmless as a common cold?”

he knows you won’t respond verbally. can’t respond, he thinks, not when his hips are slamming against your juicy ass, cock filling you up to the brim after his fingers and mouth worked so hard to stretch you out.

and even that hadn’t been enough. he still had to go reaaaal slow, ease it into that filthy, drooling hole, and by then he was just so impatient that he couldn’t wait any longer! :p

caleb will be gentle next time, he promises.

saliva and tears dribble down your chin, rolling down your chest and onto his sheets, and he wishes he could lean forward to lap it all up with his tongue. instead, he nuzzles into the side of your tainted neck, pressing little loving pecks against reddened skin as if to make up for the brutal way he’s splitting you open.

“y-yer just so gullible, baby. always takin’ your gege’s word for fact.”

you attempt to shake your head, a few, rare pieces of coherent thought stringing together enough to actually speak. “ungh, ngh! n-no, ‘m not . . not dumb.”

look at you. stubborn as always, ready to defend yourself and your beliefs at a moment’s notice. it’s cute.

“of course you aren’t,” caleb coos with a breathy chuckle, and he takes your soft, warm skin into his mouth, sucking another bruise to join the others. “never said you were. you’re a smart girl. my smart girl, and that’s exactly why i have to breed you.”

he feels the way your velvety walls clamp down on his aching cock at his words, and he grins. he knows all of your little weak protests earlier were fake.

all those “but, caleb, i don’t think it’s a good idea, we’re not even married” and “i’m just not ready yet” and “we’re both so busy, how will we have time for the baby?”

that was all bullshit.

you want this. you know you do, and caleb definitely knows you do.

you’re just in denial. but don’t worry — he’ll fuck that out of you.

“it’s o-only right to— shit–” plap “spread my wife’s beauty and smarts–” plap “to the rest of the world, right?”

caleb slams forward, hips stilling for a moment as he whimpers against your bitten-up neck, and a desperate mewl leaves your own lips as the impact lunges you forward.

his weeping tip is smooching your cervix, ready to pump a load into your temporarily empty womb.

“say . . say you want it.”

you blink, brows drawing together as you try to focus through the drunken haze. “w-wha?”

“say you want my cum, say you wanna be a mommy f’me,” he groans, and despite the low roughness of his voice, you can hear that almost pathetic pleading underneath.

and how could you deny caleb like this?

your head bobs, throat dry. “i wan’ it. please, caleb. fill . . fill me up.”

that’s all he needs.

caleb’s thick tail gives a happy thump against the sheets as his hips start up again, this pace much more demanding than the previous. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d be trying to fuck you into the mattress.

“thaaaat’s it,” he sighs, and all you can do is squeal as the bed creaks and rocks beneath you. “lemme stuff this pretty pussy full, honey.”

“i’ll . . f-fuck, ngh— give you as many pups as ya want. a whole . . a whole fucking football team—!” his words break off into a whine when you clamp down on him again, and he already knows what’s going to happen before you even try to say it.

this time, you really can’t speak. all you can do is moan and attempt silly, broken cries of his name, pleasure coiling to a fever pitch in your gut.

he knows you better than you know yourself, after all.

“mmf, a-ah, ‘m cumming— c-caleb!”

his name sounds so beautiful on your lips, like a siren’s call to his heavy, tightening balls and twitching dick.

within seconds of you gushing all over his cock, squirt spraying all over that dark, almost curly patch of pubic hair, his hips are stuttering, pretty violet eyes rolling back as he mumbles your name again and again like a damn prayer.

caleb dumps thick ropes of gooey seed into your warm, waiting womb and, oh, it is so much. much more than you expected, and it feels . . good.

a small bulge appears on your tummy where caleb has stuffed you to your limit, and you’re sure it’s going to leak out, make an even bigger mess all over your sheets.

the knot at the base of his girth swells, trapping his cum inside, and even if caleb had the traitorous thought of pulling out of you, he couldn’t.

even his basic biology knows that a single drop can’t and won’t go to waste.

he whines, hot, damp breath ghosting across your skin as he shoves his face into your neck again, that feral need mostly disappearing. you can feel his chest heaving in time with your own against your back, fluffy ears twitching.

“i’ll make up to you for rounds four and five, how about that?”

“l-let’s take a small break, okay? ‘m sorry for bein’ so rough on you, baby,” he mumbles, and your heart gives a helpless flutter at the genuine guilt in his tone.

you’ve never quite gotten used to his flips in personality.

doing gradients is actually hell on earth wtf

[fireinmoonshot]

soft hearted | joaquin torres x fem! reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: You're not the type of person to go clubbing – but Joaquin is pretty good at convincing you to come along with him when he goes. Yet, when an interaction with another man at the club goes badly, Joaquin is there to pick up the pieces and make sure you're okay. Warnings: Mentions of drinking/clubbing/eating/food as well as a guy at the club being creepy and physically grabbing the readers wrist, causing a bruise. Word Count: 4.1k A/N: Here I am with another Joaquin fic! I really love how this one turned out. I honestly wrote it just this afternoon in a few hours, I started it and I couldn't stop working on it. I'm really happy with it so I hope those of you who read it enjoy it, even though it's longer than my last Joaquin fic! Please let me know if you liked it and if you'd like to read more Joaquin from me! 💗

“Did I ever say thank you for coming out with us tonight?” Joaquin says, placing a hand on the small of your back to help guide you as the two of you make your way through the crowd, heading back to your booth where your friends are waiting for their drinks.

He’s been texting you all day trying to convince you to join them tonight – but you are the one member of your friendship group that isn’t into partying and clubbing. It’s always difficult to convince you to leave your house once you’re there. 

It never stops Joaquin from trying though. He always enjoys clubbing more when you come out with them. Even just being in your presence is something he loves – whether he’s at a club or anywhere else.

“Oh, just about ten times,” you flash him a grin, trying to avoid bumping into anyone and spilling the drinks. Your friends had been waiting long enough considering how busy the club was. 

Joaquin laughs, the sound audible above the loud music in the bar. It’s a familiar sound and one that instantly comforts you despite your unease at being in such a crowded place. “Definitely room for me to improve, then, angel. What do you think?” 

“I think, pretty boy, that you could probably benefit from inviting me out somewhere other than a packed club sometimes, simply so I can talk to you without having to yell!” You joke, flashing him a look as you finally get back to the booth where your friends are waiting, placing the tray with all of their drinks on it on the table. They all take their drinks, yelling thank you’s at you and Joaquin as you take your seats again. 

“You guys made it!” One of your friends, Cruz, yells out at the both of you.

Joaquin meets your eyes from across the table with a grimace. Cruz is incredibly drunk by the sound of his slurred voice. Joaquin is only a few drinks deep and he’s nowhere near as far gone as Cruz is. You both share an amused smile as Joaquin takes a swig of his beer.

Clubs are not your thing, never have been. It just so happens that you’ve befriended several people that love them – Joaquin being quite the enthusiast. He’s dragged you out to many clubs over the city in the time since you’ve known him. If it were anyone else, you were pretty sure you never would’ve gone… but with Joaquin, you don’t mind it. His presence is comforting, even in such a busy and chaotic atmosphere.

Joaquin is the kind of guy that all the girls and guys in clubs like these like, and on nights like this, you can understand why. The way he looks, a smile on his face as he laughs at something one of your friends says, the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead from the warm air. He’s effortlessly attractive to anyone that looks at him. He’s so comfortable here. You’ve always found Joaquin attractive, but even you can admit that he looks even more attractive when he’s in a place like this – if that’s even possible.

You take a long sip of your drink – water, having decided early in the night that you were gonna be the designated driver for your friends so that they could all enjoy their night properly. 

“I’m just going to the bathroom, okay?” You lean into your friend, Katy, sitting beside you to tell her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll take my phone with me if you need me!”

She nods, a little pre-occupied in a conversation with the guy beside her – someone she’d met earlier in the night at the club and had been with you guys ever since. Your eyes fall on Joaquin briefly, still laughing at something he’d heard, as you stand from the booth.

It’s difficult to make your way through the crowd without Joaquin guiding you, making you feel safe with his hands on you, but you manage. When you see the door to the bathrooms you almost let out a sigh of relief. They’re empty when you finally make your way inside – another relief. Girls at clubs can be nice, but they can also be the entire opposite and it’s nice to have a moment completely to yourself to have a second to breathe.

Once you’re done, you take another long breath before leaving the bathroom, preparing yourself for the walk back through the crowd of people dancing so you can get back to your friends. You walk past the bar first, finding it to be a little less crowded than the dance floor.

It’s louder over this side of the room, the music thudding and thumping since you’re closer to the speakers. It’s probably the reason you don’t hear the voice of someone beside you at the bar trying to talk to you as you attempt to make your way past. You only realise when a hand grabs your wrist, tugging you backwards. You stumble a little, bracing yourself on the edge of the bar, eyes falling on a light haired man sitting on a stool at the bar. The way he’s looking at you already makes you feel uneasy. 

“Do you often ignore people who are trying to talk to you, honey?” He says, voice raised enough for you to be able to hear him.

“I’m sorry?” You furrow your eyebrows. “If you said something before, I didn’t hear it. It’s pretty loud in here.” You point towards the roof of the bar where the speakers are. 

He laughs, a sound completely opposite to the sound of Joaquin’s earlier. This mans laugh immediately unsettles you and if he wasn’t still holding onto your wrist, you would be gone. But he has an uncomfortably tight grip on it and you doubt he’s planning to let go.

“Yeah, sure,” he scoffs, then picks up his drink and takes a long sip of it. “Listen, I don’t appreciate being ignored, okay? I put myself out there to talk to you, so I’d appreciate it if you gave me the same energy in return.”

You swallow, heart in your throat, and attempt to take a deep breath. This is not good. Why had you gone to the bathroom by yourself? Especially on such a busy night in a busy club.

“Okay,” you start. “If you let go of my wrist, I’ll sit down here and we can talk for a bit.” You figure it can’t hurt to try and bargain with him, even though you have every intention of trying to get as far away from him as quickly as possible when he lets go.

“How can I be sure you won’t run away? Nah, I don’t think I will let go.” He adjusts his grip on your wrist, pulling you a little closer to him. Your heart starts beating faster as the fear starts to set in.

You risk a glance across the bar in the direction of your friends booth and feel your stomach drop as you realise you can’t see them from here, meaning they can’t see you either. Surely Katy would notice that you hadn’t come back yet and would come looking for you… you aren’t too far away from the bathrooms, so there’s a chance she’d see you on her way… but you know that she’s too occupied with her new man to come looking for you. 

This is why you don’t like coming out. This is why you always say no when Joaquin or your other friends ask you to come out with them. And the one time you say yes, this is what happens. You should’ve told Joaquin where you were going as well but you figured it’d be okay – it was just a quick trip to the bathroom, what could go wrong?

Panic starts to rise in your stomach and you try your best to push it down and not let it get the better of you. You know you need to keep yourself calm in a situation like this, especially around a man like this, or things can go south quickly. 

“I promise I won’t run away,” you lie, trying not to let your nerves come through in your tone of voice. “But you’re actually really hurting me right now, so I’d appreciate if you let me go. Can we make a deal? I won’t run and you’ll let go.”

You can tell by the look in the mans eyes that he isn’t going to give up this easily. The longer he keeps holding your wrist, the more your breathing starts to get heavier. How can you get out of this situation when he’s not willing to make this deal with you?

A hand gently lands on your lower back and you flinch, just as you hear a soft voice in your ear. “It’s just me, you’re okay,” Joaquin whispers, calming you immediately.

It’s impossible not to let out a breath of relief as your eyes fall on him. He’d come after you. He’d noticed you were gone or Katy had told him you hadn’t come back yet. He’s here. You’re not alone with this man and you know Joaquin isn’t going to leave you.

Joaquin’s hand gently rubs up and down on your back.

“What you’re gonna do right now is let go of the ladies wrist,” he says simply.

You watch as the mans eyes flicker towards Joaquin but then fall back on you, his grip still tight around your wrist. You attempt to step a little closer to Joaquin but it’s impossible to move with him still holding onto you.

“Hey! Eyes over here, man. Not on her.”

The man sighs. “Listen, man–”

“No, you listen to me,” Joaquin steps in-between you and the man, his voice forceful and loud above the music. “What you are going to do right now is let go of her wrist or I am going to break yours right here, right now. And that won’t be all I break either.”

“Okay, sure. You definitely look strong enough to do that, pal,” he scoffs.

You inwardly wince. You know Joaquin is strong enough to do that and worse. He’s a Captain in the Air Force and he’s The Falcon. You’re pretty certain that he could inflict a lot more damage than a broken wrist.

“You wanna find out?” Joaquin asks.

The look on Joaquin’s face must be intimidating because the man finally relinquishes his hold on your wrist. You immediately wrap your other hand around your wrist, holding it to your chest and trying to ignore the pain throbbing through it from his grip.

The man throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes before standing and walking away, further into the crowd of people. Before he’s even disappeared from your view, Joaquin has turned around, his hands moving to take your arm and carefully examine your wrist.

“It’s already starting to bruise… that bastard,” he mutters, his eyes dark. You can hear every word despite the loud music around you simply because of how close he’s moved into your space. “You okay? I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I only just noticed you were gone a few minutes ago and Katy mentioned something about the bathroom so I went there straight away but I couldn’t find you.”

The fear and panic in your stomach has gone, now replaced by nausea. You can feel yourself starting to shake, the adrenaline of everything starting to wear off. “Can you take me home?”

Joaquin doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your waist, hold you close and leading you out of the bar. He figures he’ll just text your friends once you’re both safely in a cab to tell them where you’d both gone – that and he’s a little annoyed at Katy for letting you go to the bathroom alone. He’s annoyed at himself for not noticing sooner that you’d disappeared. 

“I’d drive you home myself but I’ve been drinking, angel,” Joaquin says as the two of you wait for a cab on the sidewalk just up the street from the club. His arm is still wrapped around your waist, holding you close. It’s comforting to you, helping you to remember that he’s still there beside you, not going anywhere. “My place is closer, but we can go to yours if you feel up for a longer cab ride.”

You shake your head. “Your place is fine.” You’ve stayed over at his apartment before, several times, both alone and with other friends. His bed is much more comfortable than your own, you’ve learned, since he never lets you sleep on the couch.

“Okay,” he says, rubbing your back gently as the cab pulls up in front of you.

He lets you in first before sitting beside you and telling the cab driver his address. One of his hands holds yours, his thumb gently sweeping back and forth over your skin in an attempt to help calm you down. He can see how uneasy you still feel after it all. Why had he not gotten to you sooner? Not realised you were missing sooner? 

The cab ride back to his apartment is silent, as is the elevator ride up to his floor. You wait beside him, arms crossed over your chest as he unlocks his front door and lets you inside first. 

“You wanna shower or something?” He asks, closing the door behind you.

“Yeah, I think that’d help,” your voice is small. The sound of it makes Joaquin’s heart hurt. 

“You remember where I keep my clothes? You can help yourself, angel.” 

You nod, reaching over to gently squeeze his hand again before heading towards his bedroom to get some of his clothes to change into before heading into the bathroom just off of his bedroom. 

While you shower, Joaquin kicks off his shoes, steps into the kitchen and starts working on making you something to eat. Something warm, something comforting. He’s become a pretty decent cook over the past few years and cooking for you is one of his favourite things to do. He’s always inviting you over for dinner, which is exactly the reason why you know where he keeps his clothes – you eat, you stay late talking, Joaquin refuses to let you go home when it’s so late at night and he has a perfectly comfortable bed.

His heart almost stops in his chest as he sees you walking out of the bathroom, dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and a shirt. “I know I’ve said this before, angel, but you look damn good in my clothes,” he flashes you a grin. 

You teasingly roll your eyes at him as you walk into the kitchen, arms crossed over your chest as you try and suss out what he’s cooking you. “Bet you say that to all the friends you let stay over and borrow your clothes, Torres.”

Joaquin snorts. “Bold of you to assume I have other friends staying over.”

He doesn’t. Even out of your friendship group, you are the only person who’s stayed over in the last several months and especially the only person he’s let sleep in his bed and borrow his clothes. He’s not willing to admit to himself what that really means. Not yet.

“What are you cooking?” You ask, peeking inside the pot on the stove.

“Pozole,” he says, coming up beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back. He’s apparently incapable of keeping his hands to himself when he’s worried about you. “It won’t be ready for another hour and a half at least, but I figured cooking you something comforting and warm might be nice. I was already gonna cook it for dinner this week so I had everything in the fridge ready to go.” 

“Joaquin, you didn’t have to do that,” you glance over at him. “Really, I would’ve been fine with a cup of tea or a pack of cup noodles. And it’s so late.” You mean it honestly, even though the fact that he’s been prepping everything for this while you were showering sits heavy and meaningful in your stomach. No one ever does things like this for you… except Joaquin.

He shrugs his shoulders and moves away from the stove, hands on your waist so that you move with him. He directs you over to the couch, waiting till you sit down before he puts a blanket in your lap and attempts – badly – to tuck you in. 

“What are you doing?” You can’t help but laugh. 

“You are gonna sit here for the next hour and a half, till the pozole is ready, put on a movie or something, and just try and relax. And I am gonna sit beside you, once I get changed out of these sweaty ass clothes,” he says, standing back up straight. “I’ll be two minutes, angel!” He calls out, hurrying away from you towards his bedroom.

You smile to yourself as you grab the remote to the TV and try your best to curl up under the blanket. It’s amusing, how quickly things can change. An hour ago, you were in the club with Joaquin, who was having the time of his life, and now here you are, curled up on his couch in his clothes. Your eyes drift down to your wrist, where a bruise is already starting to form, and you wince. That’s going to be painful when it fully forms.

Joaquin comes back out a few minutes later, wearing a similar pair of sweatpants and a muscle tank that causes you to focus on his biceps for much too long. You barely even notice that he’s carrying something in one of his hands. 

“Uh, what’s that?” You ask, motioning to the tube.

“It’s cream that’s meant to help bruises,” he says, lowering himself down onto the couch beside you. “I forgot I had it but I bought it for myself not long after I became Falcon. Will you let me put it on you?” 

You nod, letting him take your arm in his gentle grip. He squeezes some of the cream onto your wrist and gently massages it in. It hurts already, even with just the slightest bit of pressure, but you try your best to ignore it and focus on the look of concentration on Joaquin’s face. He looks up at you afterwards, catching you staring. 

“See something you like, angel?”

You look away, a little flustered, and pull your wrist out of his grip. “Thank you.”

He grins and stands up, heading back towards the bathroom to put the tube away and wash the cream off of his hands. He knew it might not be the right time to be teasing with you, but he had to be – this was the Joaquin you knew, and he could tell that right now, the last thing you wanted was for him to treat you like you were something breakable, like what had happened at the bar was something you couldn’t move past. 

“All right, what are we watching?” He says as he walks back to the couch, climbing over the back of it and settling down next to you, resting his arms up on the back of the couch and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “You pick somethin’ good?”

You surprise him by passing him the remote. “You choose. I can’t find anything.”

He almost freezes solid when he feels your head lean down on his shoulder. He lets his arm fall around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest so you can rest comfortably. 

“What if I pick something you don’t like?” He asks, trying his hardest not to stare at the top of your head and hope to hell you can’t hear how fast his heart is beating, even though you’re laying on the opposite side of his chest.

“Nah, you won’t,” you say. “I like everything you like.”

Joaquin clears his throat and huffs a laugh. “Yeah, what if I put on The Conjuring or something?” 

“You wouldn’t,” you mutter, knowing him well enough to know he’s joking.

“What if I’m being serious, angel? What if all I want is to put on a scary movie so you get all frightened and have no choice but to cuddle up to me in search of safety?” He grins. 

“Joaquin, I’m already cuddled up to you.”

He pauses. “Okay, well that’s true.”

“Just pick a movie, Joaquin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You’re thirty minutes into the movie by the time you speak again. Joaquin is invested in the story but the second you speak, his entire attention is on you. 

“Thank you for saving me tonight, Joaquin,” your voice is quiet.

Joaquin gently rubs your shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. You don’t have to thank me for anything, angel. You know that, right? I should’ve noticed and come after you as soon as you left. Katy should’ve never let you go to the bathroom alone either.”

He can’t help the bitterness in his tone. 

“I didn’t meant to ruin your night, Joaquin,” you mutter, seemingly ignoring everything that he’d just said to you. 

Joaquin is quick to sit up straight, making you move from your spot on his chest. You look at him, eyebrows furrowed at his sudden movement. He gently cups your face in his hands. 

“Ruin my night? Angel, you did not ruin my night. Did you not hear anything I just said? In fact, you probably made my night even better than it already was. I mean, c’mon, pozole and being curled up on the couch watching a movie with you is a hell of a lot better than being out in that club without you,” Joaquin admits, his honesty getting the better of him. 

You frown a little, eyes clouding with tears. Joaquin is quick to wipe one from your cheek after it falls. His heart hurts at the sight of the tears in your eyes. 

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you into his chest again, wrapping his arms around you and letting you cry into his chest. Your arms wrap around him, gripping the material of his shirt. One of his hands rubs up and down on your back in an attempt to relax you. “I always ask you to come out with us cause I enjoy it more when you’re there. I thought you knew that. And I know the clubs aren’t your scene, but I figured you didn’t hate them that much if you said yes to me every now and then. I promise I won’t ask you again, angel. Especially after what that prick did tonight. I almost knocked his jaw in then and there.”

He smiles as he hears something that sounds like a sob like laugh come from you. 

“If I ever see him again, I can’t promise I won’t break his wrist, believe me.”

“No, you won’t,” you mutter, pulling away from his hug. 

His hands immediately move to your face again, clearing the tears off of your cheeks. 

“Maybe I will,” he shrugs.

“You’re too much of a sweetheart for that, Joaquin Torres. I mean… look at everything you’ve done for me tonight. You telling me you’re not a soft hearted person?” You ask.

Joaquin smiles to himself. “Angel, I’m just soft hearted for you,” he confesses. “Now, I’m gonna quickly go check on this pozole okay?” He stands up from the couch, stretching his legs and padding over towards the kitchen – mostly just to make it so you don’t feel obligated to say anything in return. 

He’s standing in front of the stove, stirring the pozole with a wooden spoon, when he feels your arms snake around him from behind, surprising him with a back hug. “Uhhh, what’s happening right now?” He asks, pausing his stirring.

“Thank you,” is all you offer in answer.

“Angel, what’s going on?”

You remove your arms from around him so he can turn around and face you again. He’s about to ask you what you’re thinking when you lean up and press your lips to his cheek before bounding back over to the couch without another word. Joaquin stands, staring after you in shock. He feels like his cheek has been burned – in a good way, if that’s even possible.

“Hurry up and finish stirring that pozole, pretty boy!” You call out from your spot on the couch. “I wanna finish watching this movie and my pillow has gone missing.” 

Joaquin lets out a small laugh, gives the pozole another small stir and starts walking back over to you. “I suppose I’m the pillow?” He asks, shaking his head. “I’m comin’, angel. I’m comin’.” 

[aspenmissing]

Congrats on completing all those requests!

So, pretty please could I request the usual guys with a reader who’s a runaway bride? Like they were in an arranged marriage and fled because they wanted to be with their true love! Just something a little angsty and cute :)

Thank ya kindly <3

ʀᴜɴᴀᴡᴀʏ ʙʀɪᴅᴇ ᴘᴛ 1

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 12881 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ, ꜱʟᴜᴛ ꜱʜᴀᴍɪᴍɢ/ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠɴᴇꜱꜱ/ᴀʙᴜꜱɪᴠᴇ (ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ! ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴇᴇᴇᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪᴅᴇᴀ! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ 2 ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ…ʙɪɢ (ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜʏ, ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰᴇʟᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜɪʟᴛ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜɴᴀᴡᴀʏ ʙʀɪᴅᴇ). ʙᴜᴜᴜᴜᴛ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! <3 <3

ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ ᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ

JAYCE

Y/N had met Jayce in his lab, though she had known of him long before that day. As a student at the Academy, she had heard his name murmured in hushed conversations—his talent, his ambition, the way he had shaken the very foundations of hextech research with his ideas. But she had never expected to meet him like this, entirely by accident, wandering too far from the pristine halls of the upper districts, drawn in by the vibrant energy of the lower city.

She had always been curious about the world beyond her lectures and neatly organized textbooks. It was one thing to study hextech in theory, another to see it come to life. And it was in that search for something real, something beyond politics and academia, that she found herself standing in the doorway of a dimly lit workshop, its walls lined with half-finished blueprints and shelves cluttered with spare parts.

Jayce had been hard at work, his sleeves rolled up, arms streaked with grease as he adjusted the settings on a complex contraption. The soft hum of hextech energy filled the air, the glow of blue runes casting sharp shadows across the cluttered workbench. She had lingered there, mesmerized by the sight of him—by the sheer intensity in his gaze as he worked, by the easy confidence in his movements. He muttered something under his breath, tightening a few bolts with a practiced ease, utterly absorbed in his task.

He must have sensed her presence because, without looking up, he spoke. "If you're going to stare, you might as well come in."

Y/N startled, instinctively taking a step back. “I—sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Finally, Jayce turned to face her, wiping his hands on a cloth, his expression more amused than annoyed. "You’re a student, right? From the Academy?"

She nodded hesitantly. “I am. I’ve read some of your work.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Oh? And?”

She hesitated. “Your theories on stabilized arcane energy are… ambitious.”

Jayce laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s a polite way of saying reckless.”

Y/N couldn’t quite hide her smile. “Maybe.”

That was all the invitation he needed. His face lit up with excitement as he beckoned her forward, stepping aside so she could get a better look. "Then you're in for a treat. This—" he gestured to the intricate device on the table, "—is going to change the world. Or at least, that's the plan."

Y/N stepped closer, her curiosity outweighing her caution. "It doesn’t look like much."

Jayce let out a mock-offended gasp. “Ouch. That’s because you’re seeing it in pieces. But once it’s all put together? This could revolutionize the way we harness energy.”

She glanced at the blueprints scattered across the table, trying to make sense of the carefully drawn schematics. They were complex, but the ideas were bold, innovative. She could see the brilliance in them, even if some of the calculations looked… unstable. “And you… you built this?”

"With a little help." He grinned, leaning against the workbench. "Though if you ask Viktor, he’d say I mostly break things until they start working."

She found herself smiling again before she could stop it. "Sounds efficient."

"Painfully."

That day, Jayce had eagerly explained his vision of a brighter future for Piltover, his words brimming with an enthusiasm she had never seen in the stiff, political conversations of the upper districts. His passion was infectious, and for the first time in a long while, she had felt truly captivated by something—not by duty or expectations, but by someone who believed in something greater than himself.

She hadn’t meant to return, but she had. Again and again, always with the excuse of academic curiosity, though deep down she knew it was more than that. Jayce was unlike anyone she had ever met. He challenged her, made her think, made her question the rules she had always lived by. And before she even realized it, before she could even name the feeling, she was falling for him.

=

Months passed, and their connection deepened. Their meetings became more than discussions about hextech or theoretical debates on Piltover’s future. They turned into stolen moments—late-night conversations in the glow of flickering lamps, laughter shared over hastily prepared meals, whispered confessions under the hum of hextech cores.

Jayce made her feel seen in a way no one else ever had. He listened—not just to her words, but to the hesitations, the things left unsaid. He saw through the carefully composed façade she had perfected for the Academy, for her family, for the suffocating expectations of the upper city.

There were nights when she stayed too long, only leaving when the city bells signalled the deep hours of the night. Jayce would walk her as far as he could, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes lingering on her as if memorizing every moment before she disappeared back into the world that wasn’t theirs.

“You ever think about running?” he asked one night, his voice quiet in the dark.

She hesitated. “Running?”

“From all of it,” he said. “The expectations, the duty, the future someone else planned for you.”

Y/N swallowed, looking at him carefully. “And what would I do?”

Jayce gave a lopsided smile, but there was something serious behind his eyes. “Whatever you want.”

She wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe in the freedom he spoke of, in a world where she could choose her own path. But she wasn’t brave enough.

Not yet.

But she would be.

At least, that was what she told herself as she lay awake in the grand, suffocating silence of her family’s estate, staring at the carved ceiling above her bed. The echoes of their conversation haunted her, as they always did.

What if she could be the kind of person who chose herself over obligation? What if, for once, she let herself want without guilt, without fear?

The thought sent a spark through her chest—one that burned with longing and terror in equal measure.

Jayce made it sound so simple. And maybe, for someone like him, it was. Maybe that was what she admired most about him—the way he stood so firmly in his convictions, unshaken, unwilling to let the world decide his future for him.

She wished she could be that way.

One day, she hoped, she would be. One day, she would look him in the eyes and tell him she was ready. One day, she would stop being afraid.

But until then, all she had were stolen moments and the quiet, aching hope that maybe, just maybe, she was brave enough to try.

=

One evening, as they stood on the balcony of his workshop, the city lights glowing below, he had turned to her with a quiet seriousness in his gaze.

“Y/N… if you could choose your own path, what would you want?”

She had swallowed hard, staring at the twinkling lights below. “I don’t know,” she had admitted. “But I know I don’t want this life. I don’t want to be a pawn in a game I never agreed to play.”

Jayce had reached for her hand then, his fingers brushing against hers in a silent promise. “Then don’t let them decide for you.”

It was in that moment she had realized she was falling for him. Not just for his mind or his idealism, but for the quiet strength in his voice, the way he looked at her as if she mattered—not as a tool, not as an obstacle, but as someone who deserved to choose her own future.

The wind curled around them, carrying the scent of metal and ozone from his lab, but all she could focus on was the warmth of his touch. Her heart pounded, not from fear, but from something far more dangerous—hope.

“What if I don’t know how to choose?” she murmured, the vulnerability in her voice barely above a whisper.

=

Y/N had known something was wrong the moment she stepped into the grand hall of her family’s estate. The air was too still, the heavy chandelier casting long, wavering shadows across the marble floors. Her parents sat waiting for her, their expressions unreadable, their posture rigid with the weight of something inevitable.

She barely had time to sit before her mother spoke.

“It’s been decided,” she said, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her gown. “You’ll be engaged to Latimer’s son.”

The words fell like a gavel’s strike. Cold. Final.

Y/N felt the world tilt slightly beneath her feet. “What?”

Her father let out a measured sigh, as if speaking to a wayward child. “This is what’s best for you—for all of us. The Latimers are influential. This match will secure your future, ensure your place in the city.”

“My place in the city?” Her voice felt small, lost in the vast emptiness of the hall. “What if I don’t want it?”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t have to want it. You just have to do it.”

A cold numbness seeped into her limbs. She had known this day would come, had spent years preparing for the inevitable. And yet, sitting here, hearing it spoken aloud, it felt like something inside her was fracturing.

She wanted to fight. She wanted to tell them that she wasn’t some bargaining chip to be traded for power. But the words stuck in her throat, swallowed by the crushing weight of expectation, of duty, of the quiet, suffocating knowledge that there was no escaping this.

So she didn’t argue.

She couldn’t.

Instead, she rose stiffly, keeping her expression neutral, controlled—just as she had been taught—and left the room without another word.

But the moment she was out of their sight, she ran.

=

Jayce’s workshop was the only place she could breathe.

She didn’t knock, didn’t announce herself—just pushed through the doors, her heart slamming against her ribs, her pulse a frantic drum in her ears. The familiar scent of metal, oil, and ozone filled her lungs, grounding her for just a moment.

Jayce looked up from his workbench, confusion flickering across his face at the sight of her. But then he saw her expression—saw the way her hands trembled at her sides, the way her breath came too fast, too uneven—and he was on his feet in an instant.

“Y/N?” His voice was gentle, careful. “What happened?”

She opened her mouth, but the words tangled together, a mess of emotions too heavy to hold back. So she just said it.

“They’ve arranged my marriage.”

Silence.

Jayce’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists before he forced them open again. “To who?”

“Latimer’s son.” The name tasted bitter on her tongue.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he turned away for a moment, as if trying to get his thoughts under control. “And you’re just going to let them do this to you?”

Y/N flinched. “Do you think I have a choice?”

“Yes.” His response was immediate, fierce. He stepped closer, eyes searching hers. “You do have a choice, Y/N. You don’t have to go through with this. You can tell them no.”

She let out a sharp, hollow laugh. “You think it’s that simple?”

“I think it’s worth fighting for,” Jayce shot back, his voice rising. “You hate this life. You’ve told me yourself—you don’t want to be their pawn. So don’t be.”

“I can’t.”

The words came out too fast, too raw, cracking at the edges. She turned away, arms wrapping around herself as if she could hold herself together. “You don’t understand, Jayce. If I say no, I lose everything. My family, my name, my place in the world.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “Would that really be a loss?”

Her breath hitched.

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to tell him that it mattered, that she wasn’t strong enough to throw it all away. But deep down, a small, terrified part of her knew the truth.

She wasn’t afraid of losing everything. She was afraid of what it meant if she let herself want something else. If she let herself want him.

Jayce sighed, running a frustrated hand over his face before stepping closer, his voice gentler now. “Y/N… I know it’s not easy. But if you want out—if you want something more—you don’t have to do this alone.”

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, she let herself imagine it. A different life. A different future. One where she was brave enough to choose for herself. But she wasn’t. Not yet.

“I can’t,” she whispered again, and this time, it felt like she was breaking.

Jayce’s expression softened, but there was something else in his eyes now—something sad, something aching. He reached out, hesitated, then brushed a hand against hers, his touch warm despite the cold that had settled in her chest.

“Then tell me,” he said quietly. “If you could—if none of this mattered—would you stay?”

Her throat tightened.

“Yes,” she admitted, barely more than a breath.

Jayce closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling softly. Then he nodded, his grip on her hand tightening briefly before he let go.

“Then that’s enough for me.”

For now.

And for the first time, she wished it wasn’t.

=

After that night, things changed.

Y/N and Jayce didn’t talk as much.

Not because they fought, not because they had parted in anger—but because there was nothing left to say. She had made her choice, or at least, she had let one be made for her. And Jayce, for all his passion and conviction, couldn’t fight a battle she refused to step into.

Their stolen moments became fewer and fewer, their conversations shorter, more distant. The space between them stretched, quiet and aching, filled with all the things they no longer dared to say aloud. He still looked at her the same way, still lingered just a second too long whenever their paths crossed, but there was a quiet resignation in his eyes now—one that haunted her, one that said I would have fought for you, if you had let me.

And so, she forced herself not to think about it.

She had a role to play, a duty to fulfill. And so, she buried herself in preparations, in fittings and formalities, in endless rehearsals of a future she could barely imagine living.

Until now.

Now, she stood in her bedroom, staring at her reflection in the grand, gilded mirror.

The wedding dress was beautiful. Flawless. A masterwork of silk and embroidery, the fabric flowing around her like liquid moonlight. The delicate lace trailed down her arms, the shimmering gold thread woven through the bodice catching the light just so.

It was everything it was supposed to be. She was everything she was supposed to be. And yet, she felt nothing.

Her hands smoothed down the front of the gown, fingertips ghosting over the expensive fabric, the careful stitching. Every bead, every intricate detail had been meticulously chosen to represent her family’s status, to showcase the elegance and refinement expected of her.

But nowhere in its perfection did she recognize herself.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, staring, searching for something she could hold onto—some part of herself that hadn’t been erased.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

She turned, her pulse quickening, half-expecting—half-hoping—to see him standing there.

But it was only a servant, their expression neutral, their posture straight and rehearsed as they bowed slightly.

“It’s almost time, my lady.”

Y/N nodded, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “I’ll be down soon.”

The door shut softly behind them, leaving her alone once more. She turned back to the mirror, her breath catching in her throat.

This is it. This is my life now.

Then why did it feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall?

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, the smooth silk of her gown bunching beneath her grip. She wanted to move. To breathe. To run.

And then—her gaze drifted, landing on something out of place. Something small, something familiar. Sitting on the edge of her vanity was a small mechanical trinket, a delicate little thing made of brass and silver, shaped like a blooming flower.

Her breath hitched.

She knew this. Jayce had made it for her.

It had been one of the first things he ever gave her—a little prototype he had tinkered with absentmindedly one night, spinning gears and polished metal forming an intricate, delicate design. When he had handed it to her, he had laughed softly, almost embarrassed.

"It doesn’t do much," he had said. "But I thought you’d like it. You always seem like you’re waiting for something to bloom."

Her fingers trembled as she reached for it now, brushing against the cool metal. A small, hidden switch along its side clicked under her touch, and with a quiet whir, the petals slowly unfolded, revealing a tiny gemstone at its center.

A heartbeat. A memory. A promise.

"Then don’t let them decide for you."

Her pulse roared in her ears. She couldn’t do this.

She couldn’t walk down that aisle, couldn’t stand beside a man who wasn’t Jayce, couldn’t trade away the last fragments of herself for duty and expectation. She would fall off that cliff. So she had two choices.

Fall.

Or jump.

The decision came before she could think. Before fear could creep in and stop her.

With shaking hands, she grabbed the hem of her dress, yanking it up as she turned toward the window. The air outside was thick with the scent of rain, the streets below dimly lit, quiet—waiting.

Her heart pounded as she unlatched the window, the cool night air hitting her like a shock. The silk of her gown pooled around her feet, beautiful and useless, not made for running.

She didn’t care. She climbed onto the ledge, looking down, looking forward. Then—she jumped.

And she ran.

=

The wind howled through the empty streets of Piltover, carrying the distant echoes of the grand celebration she had abandoned. The laughter, the music, the clinking of crystal glasses—it all felt like a cruel mockery now. Y/N’s wedding dress, once a masterpiece of delicate embroidery and flowing silk, was tattered from her escape, the pristine fabric now marred by dirt and grime. Her heart pounded as she ran, breath coming in sharp gasps, the weight of her decision pressing down on her chest like a vice.

She had fled.

A grand engagement, an extravagant future, a husband chosen for her by duty rather than love—she had left it all behind.

That was the moment she knew there was no going back.

Now, she pressed herself into the shadows of a narrow alley, her golden bracelet clinking against the stone wall as she hugged herself, trying to steady her shaking breaths. It was the last relic of the life she was meant to have. A symbol of her betrothal, of her father’s expectations, of the cage she had just broken free from.

She should have taken it off. She should have thrown it away.

But she couldn’t.

Not yet.

Because the part of her that had spent years trying to be the perfect daughter, the perfect bride, the perfect pawn—that part still lingered, whispering that she had made a mistake.

The city stretched out before her, its winding streets both foreign and familiar. She had nowhere to go.

No one to turn to.

Except him.

=

Her feet carried her through winding streets, past towering brass structures and shimmering lamps, until she reached a familiar workshop. Her trembling hand rapped against the wooden door, desperate but hesitant. What if he turned her away? What if he thought she was a coward?

The door swung open before she could dwell on those thoughts. Jayce stood there, shirt slightly rumpled, eyes heavy with exhaustion, but they widened the moment he saw her.

“Y/N?”

She shivered, hugging herself. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

He scanned her from head to toe—her ruined dress, her bare feet, the way she trembled not just from the cold but from the sheer weight of her decision. His jaw tensed. Then, without a word, he pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her.

Jayce grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair, draping it over her shoulders. His touch was warm, grounding. He was always warm.

“You ran away.” It wasn’t a question, just a quiet observation.

“I couldn’t do it.” Her voice cracked. “I couldn’t marry him. Not when I—”

She hesitated, but she didn’t need to finish. Jayce already knew. His expression softened, and for a moment, the world fell away. There was no arranged marriage, no expectations, no family breathing down her neck—just Jayce, looking at her like she was something precious.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Y/N…” He took a step closer, tilting her chin up so she met his gaze. “You should’ve told me.”

Tears burned in her eyes. “And what would you have done?”

“Anything. Everything.” His hands slid down her arms, his grip firm but gentle. “I wouldn’t have let them take you away from me.”

A sob broke free, and she collapsed against him. Jayce caught her easily, wrapping his arms around her. He held her like she was something fragile, but also like he had no intention of ever letting go.

“I love you,” she whispered into his chest, finally saying the words she had swallowed for too long.

Jayce stiffened for only a second before he let out a shaky laugh. “You really know how to throw a guy’s life into chaos, huh?”

She managed a small smile against his shirt. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “You chose me, Y/N. You walked away from everything for me. I think I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you.”

The weight of the night still hung over them—the uncertainty of what came next, the inevitable fallout of her decision. But right now, none of it mattered.

Right now, with Jayce’s arms around her and his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek, she knew one thing for certain.

She had made the right choice.

VIKTOR

Viktor had always been good with words. They bent to his will, formed theories, solved equations, built a bridge between ideas and reality.

But not with you. Never with you.

He had known you for years—since the very first time he had stepped foot in Piltover, a hopeful boy with a cane and too many ideas. You had been kind to him when others turned up their noses, when they saw only his limp and his shabby clothes. Where others muttered about a Zaunite who had no place among them, you had offered him a seat beside you.

And ever since, you had been at his side.

You were at his side now, sitting in his lab, idly flipping through one of his research notes while he worked. The warm glow of the lamplight cast golden highlights on your skin, and every so often, he caught himself watching you instead of his work.

He shouldn’t.

But gods, he couldn’t help it.

"Viktor," you said suddenly, breaking the silence. You stretched, groaning softly before tossing the notebook aside. "How long have we been friends?"

He stilled, fingers tightening around the piece of machinery in his hands. "A long time," he murmured.

"Years," you agreed, leaning back against the desk, watching him with a lazy smile. "Feels like forever."

It did. Viktor could hardly remember a time without you. Your laughter echoing through the halls of the Academy. Your voice teasing him when he forgot to eat. The way you looked at him—not with pity, never with that—but with something softer. Something kinder.

Something he would never deserve.

"You ever think about what life would’ve been like if we hadn’t met?" you mused, tilting your head toward him.

His throat tightened. "No."

You blinked. "No?"

Viktor exhaled, setting down his tools. "I do not wish to imagine such a thing."

Your smile faltered slightly, something unreadable flickering across your face. "Me neither," you said softly.

His heart ached.

He had loved you for as long as he could remember.

From the moment you had spoken to him like an equal, when no one else would. From the nights spent in the lab, when the world outside disappeared and only the two of you remained. From every touch, every glance, every moment where he let himself believe—just for a second—that maybe, maybe, you could feel the same.

But he would never tell you.

Because what good would it do? What life could he offer you? A man like him, with a failing body and a mind consumed by work? A man who could barely stand without his cane, who grew weaker by the day?

No. He would not ruin this.

Instead, he reached for his cane and stood, offering you the closest thing he could to the truth. "I am glad we met, (Y/N)."

Your eyes searched his face, as if looking for something. As if you knew. But if you did, you didn’t say.

You only smiled, gentle and warm. "Me too, Vik."

And that would have to be enough.

Even if it wasn’t.

=

The gala was suffocating.

Golden chandeliers bathed the grand hall in warm light, reflecting off crystal glasses and polished marble floors. The air was thick with perfume and wine, and the hum of conversation blended with the soft strains of a string quartet.

Viktor hated these events.

But you were here, and that made it bearable.

You stood beside him near the edge of the ballroom, where it was quieter. Your dress shimmered under the light, a thing of silk and elegance, and yet, you still looked like you—soft, warm, and a little out of place, just as he was.

"You look miserable," you teased, sipping from a glass of champagne.

He smirked, shifting his weight onto his cane. "Ah, yes, because these gatherings are simply my favourite pastime."

You laughed, light and familiar, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, as it always was. For a moment, he could pretend.

Your hand brushed his sleeve as you leaned in. “I’m glad you came, though.”

His breath caught.

“I—” But before he could finish, a voice cut through the air.

"(Y/N), dear!"

Your body stiffened, and Viktor turned just as your parents approached. Your mother was smiling—pleased, eager—but your father’s gaze was calculating as he flicked a glance toward Viktor before settling on you.

"Come," your mother said, wrapping an arm around yours. "There's someone we'd like you to meet."

Viktor saw it then—the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, the way your fingers tightened slightly around your glass.

You didn't want to go. But you let yourself be led away. And he let you go.

Viktor watched as they guided you toward a man standing near the centre of the room. He was tall, well-dressed, handsome in the way that Piltover high society admired. A man of wealth, of power. A man who could give you everything Viktor could not.

Something twisted in his chest.

You turned your head, just for a moment, catching Viktor’s eyes from across the ballroom. And in that fleeting second, he saw it—an unspoken plea, a silent wish.

But what could he do? What could he say? So, Viktor did what he had always done. He said nothing.

And he watched as the world took you away from him.

=

The lab was quiet at this hour, save for the soft hum of machinery and the distant rumble of Zaun beneath Piltover’s pristine streets. Viktor sat hunched over his desk, fingers absentmindedly tapping against his cane as he read through a set of schematics.

He hadn’t seen you much in the past few weeks.

Not like before. Not like the days when you’d linger in his lab, curled up in a chair beside him, teasing him for forgetting to eat while he worked. Those moments had become rare now, slipping between the cracks of time and obligation, buried beneath the weight of your engagement.

But you still came. Sometimes in passing, sometimes under the guise of checking in, sometimes just long enough to share a look—one that said all the things neither of you dared to speak aloud.

And yet, when the knock came—three soft raps against the door—his breath still caught.

For a fleeting second, he considered not answering. If he ignored you, maybe you would leave. Maybe you would walk away and let him fade into the background of your life, where he belonged.

But then your voice came, quiet, hesitant.

“Vik… it’s me.”

His resolve shattered.

Slowly, he set his work aside, gripping his cane as he pushed himself up. The floor creaked as he made his way to the door, and when he opened it, there you stood.

You looked different.

Not in a way the world would notice, but Viktor did. He always noticed. There was something hollow in your eyes, something weighed down by exhaustion, as if you had been carrying a burden too heavy for one person alone.

His throat tightened. “(Y/N)…”

Your lips parted, but for a moment, you said nothing. Just looked at him—looked through him—like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground.

Then, you whispered, “I need to show you something.”

=

The city was quiet this late at night, but the air inside your dimly lit bedroom was heavy with something unspoken. A single candle flickered on the nightstand, the glow casting jagged shadows against the walls. Viktor sat beside you on the edge of your bed, still as stone, his golden eyes locked onto the figure before him.

You.

Dressed in your usual clothes, but before you, draped over the vanity chair like a ghost of your future, was the dress.

It was exquisite—delicate lace embroidery, pearls sewn along the bodice, the softest silk cascading onto the floor in an endless train. A gown fit for the life that had been chosen for you. One you never wanted.

The gala. When your parents led you away. When you met him. The man they had chosen for you.

“That was what it was,” you had murmured earlier, when you first appeared at his lab, voice shaking with something exhausted, something broken. “When they introduced me to him that night… it wasn’t just pleasantries. It wasn’t just some nobleman. That was my fiancé, Viktor. That was the moment they decided my future for me.”

The moment they took you from him. And now, here you were. The dress draped over your chair like a cage waiting to be closed. The proof of your impending fate.

And you, sitting beside him, looking at him, as though he was the only thing keeping you from drowning. He should not be here. He should have let you go, let you slip through his fingers like all things meant for better men.

But he had let you take him

And now, sitting in the dim glow of your bedroom, with only the weight of what would never be between you, he found himself incapable of looking away.

You swallowed hard, eyes still fixed on the gown. “I can’t do it, Viktor.”

Silence stretched between you.

Viktor’s gaze flickered between you and the dress, something unreadable crossing his features. After a moment, he spoke. “They will be looking for you. If you leave, you know this, yes?”

“I know.”

“They will not let you go easily.”

You turned to him then, desperate. “I don’t want their life.”

A bitter chuckle left him. “And you think I can give you something better?” He shook his head, looking away. “I am no safe haven, Y/N.”

His words stung more than you expected. You had spent years at each other’s sides—laughing, talking until sunrise, lingering in spaces too small for two people who shouldn’t have been so close. And yet, despite everything, despite how much you knew he cared, he still wouldn’t say it.

Your throat tightened. “I would rather be ruined than live without love.”

His breath hitched, and when his eyes finally met yours again, something in them cracked.

Because he had spent years convincing himself he was not enough. That he had nothing to offer you but friendship. That the idea of keeping you was selfish.

And yet, sitting beside him with your whole future crashing down around you, you had never looked more his.

But still, he shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I will not let that happen.” His fingers curled tightly around his cane. “You have to go through with this, Y/N. It is the only way.”

Your stomach twisted. “So that’s it?” Your voice wavered, sharp with disbelief. “You won’t even fight for me?”

Something flickered in his gaze—pain, hesitation, longing so raw it nearly shattered his restraint.

Then, abruptly, he stood. The floor creaked beneath his uneven steps, and for a brief, fleeting moment, his fingers ghosted over yours. A touch so light, so hesitant, that it almost wasn’t there at all.

“You deserve more than stolen moments in the dead of night,” he murmured, his words cracking at the edges. “You deserve more than someone who cannot even stand at your side without a cane.”

Your breath caught.

Viktor’s jaw clenched as he forced himself to take a step back, his expression unreadable—locked behind the same walls you had spent years trying to break down.

And then, softer, more broken than before—

“You deserve more than me.”

You didn’t try to stop him this time. You just stared at the dress, at the life suffocating you, as silent tears began to slip down your cheeks. Your shoulders trembled, and then, all at once, the weight of it crashed down.

A sob broke past your lips.

Viktor stopped. His fingers twitched against the head of his cane, nails pressing into the wood. He could feel the way his body ached to turn back, to wipe your tears, to whisper that he loved you, that he had always loved you, that you didn’t have to go through this alone.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Because if he turned around now, he would never let you go.

And so, he forced his feet to move, each step heavier than the last, until the door clicked softly behind him, leaving you alone with the dress.

Leaving you alone with everything.

=

The cathedral was suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of incense, curling through the vast stone chamber like a phantom, and the weight of a hundred expectant stares pressed against your skin.

You stood before the altar, the silk of your gown pooling around you like a cage, heavy and inescapable. Your fiancé was beside you, his grip firm yet impersonal, like he was securing a business deal rather than taking a wife.

The priest spoke, his voice steady, rehearsed. You barely heard him. The walls felt like they were closing in, the candlelight flickering against the stained glass, casting eerie halos around the saints above.

Your fingers trembled in your fiancé’s grasp. This was wrong. All of it was wrong.

Then came the question.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

The world went silent. Your lungs constricted. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

This was the moment—the point of no return. You saw the years stretched ahead of you, a life not your own. A home devoid of warmth, a man who would never understand you, a bed that would always feel cold.

Your lips parted. “I—” Your breath hitched. Your gaze flickered to the grand doors of the church. And then, clarity struck like lightning.

"I'm sorry."

Run.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You ran.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, shocked murmurs rising like a wave. Your mother’s voice, sharp and furious, pierced the air, but her words barely registered. Your father called your name, and then the stunned, outraged shout of your fiancé cut through the chaos.

But you didn’t stop.

You lifted your gown, your legs burning as you sprinted down the aisle, past the horrified nobles and scandalized whispers, past the heavy wooden pews and the golden altar that was meant to seal your fate.

The moment your feet hit the marble steps outside, you gulped in the cool air like it was your first breath in years.

And then, you really ran.

The streets of Piltover blurred around you, your slippers slipping against the cobblestones, your dress catching on debris, ripping at the hem as you pushed forward, desperate, breathless, free.

People stared. They gawked at the runaway bride tearing through the city like a ghost fleeing its grave, but you didn’t care.

Because you knew exactly where you were going.

=

Viktor’s workshop was dimly lit, the glow of his blueprints casting flickering shadows against the cluttered walls. The scent of oil and parchment filled the air, the steady tick, tick, tick of his mechanical work the only sound.

He sat at his desk, hunched over his latest project, fingers curled tightly around his cane, as if he had been sitting there for hours—waiting, thinking, regretting.

And then—

The door slammed open.

His head jerked up, golden eyes widening at the sight of you standing in the doorway, breathless, wild, your wedding dress in ruins.

For a long, frozen moment, neither of you spoke.

The fabric of your gown was torn, dirt-streaked from the streets, and your chest heaved with exertion. Loose strands of hair clung to your damp skin, your hands trembling at your sides.

Viktor’s fingers tightened around his cane, knuckles white.

"Y/N," he breathed. His voice was hoarse, disbelieving.

You took a shaky step forward, and then another, and suddenly your knees buckled beneath you. Before you could fall, Viktor was there—his cane abandoned, his arms catching you before you hit the ground.

You collapsed against him, gasping, gripping at his vest as though you were afraid he would disappear. His scent—books, ink, something faintly metallic—was familiar, grounding. The world still felt like it was spinning, but in his arms, it didn’t matter.

His breath was uneven against your hair, his heart hammering beneath your palm where it pressed against his chest.

“You absolute fool,” he whispered, but there was no malice in his words. Only something raw, something breaking. His hands clung to you, one pressed firm against your back, the other gripping your waist as if he feared you would be torn from him.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your vision blurred with unshed tears. “I had to.” Your voice was barely a whisper, fractured and desperate. “I couldn’t—not without you.”

Viktor’s throat bobbed. His hands flexed against you, hesitant, as if part of him still thought this was a dream.

His golden eyes searched yours, wide and aching, as though trying to memorize every part of you—every piece of this impossible, reckless choice you had made.

“You left everything,” he rasped, his fingers ghosting along the curve of your jaw. “For me?”

Your breath hitched.

“For us,” you corrected.

A shuddering exhale left him. His forehead pressed against yours, his fingers threading into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer.

“You are going to be the death of me,” he murmured.

And then, finally, finally—

He kissed you.

It was desperate, trembling, inevitable. A kiss that tasted of longing and missed chances, of too many almosts and a love buried under years of silence. His lips were warm, unsteady, but when you sighed against him, when your fingers tangled in his curls, he broke.

A quiet sound escaped him, something fragile, something relieved, and suddenly, he was clutching you—one hand cradling the back of your head, the other gripping your waist like you might disappear if he let go.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips, voice trembling. “I have always loved you.”

Viktor sucked in a sharp breath, his grip tightening. When he spoke, his voice cracked.

“You are insufferable,” he murmured, a wry, breathless laugh escaping him. “Brilliant. Infuriating.”

He kissed you again, slow and lingering, as if he could pour all his unspoken words into the space between you.

And then, softer—softer than you’d ever heard him—

“I love you too.”

Your chest tightened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of the world didn’t feel so heavy.

You had run. You had abandoned everything for this—for him.

And Viktor, who had spent years convincing himself that he was undeserving, that he was less, held you like you were the only thing in the world that had ever mattered.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you dared to let go. Because for once—just once—this moment was yours.

And neither of you would let it slip away.

JAYVIK

The first time she met them, she hadn’t expected them to change her life.

She had been wandering through Piltover’s academy halls, drawn by the quiet hum of machinery and the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the corridors. The walls, lined with polished brass plaques and intricate blueprints, seemed to breathe innovation, whispering of endless possibilities. It was a place where minds far greater than hers were shaping the future, molding science into magic. And yet, despite knowing she didn’t belong among these scholars, she couldn’t help but be fascinated by the impossible things that could be created with just ingenuity and the right materials.

She didn’t mean to intrude. She told herself she’d just peek, just steal a glance before moving along. But curiosity had a way of rooting her in place, of pulling her toward a partially open door where the glow of warm lamplight spilled into the dim hallway.

Inside, two figures stood in the midst of an animated discussion.

One was broad-shouldered, gesturing with an easy confidence as he spoke, his voice rich and full of conviction. He had a presence that commanded attention without effort, his movements fluid and expressive. The other was leaner, more reserved, standing with the aid of a cane, his brace visible beneath the folds of his coat. He twirled a small mechanical piece between long, dexterous fingers, golden eyes flickering with sharp intelligence. He followed the conversation with the kind of quiet calculation that suggested he was always three steps ahead.

Jayce and Viktor.

She barely had time to process before Jayce turned, catching sight of her lingering in the doorway. His dark brows lifted, but rather than irritation, his face lit with curiosity. “Hey, you lost?”

She froze, caught between the urge to flee and the realization that she didn’t want to. The warmth in his tone, the lack of immediate dismissal—it was enough to keep her rooted in place.

“No,” she said quickly, smoothing down the fabric of her sleeves. “I just—was passing by.”

Viktor tilted his head, assessing her with quiet interest. He was less overt in his scrutiny than Jayce, but his sharp gaze missed nothing. Adjusting his weight slightly on his cane, he studied her, his expression unreadable. “Passing by,” he echoed, his accent thick around the words. “And yet, you stopped.”

She felt her face heat under his watchful stare, suddenly hyperaware of how out of place she must seem. “I guess I got curious.”

Jayce’s mouth curved into a grin, arms folding across his chest. “Curiosity’s a good thing. You interested in tech?”

Her instinct was to downplay it, to say she was just a casual observer, but something about the way both men looked at her—expectant, open, intrigued—made her hesitate. She didn’t want to sound foolish, not in front of people who clearly lived and breathed this world.

“I mean… I don’t know much,” she admitted, “but I like watching how things work.”

Viktor’s lips quirked, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “An observer,” he mused. “That is often where all great minds begin.”

There was something about the way he said it—something validating, something that made her feel less like a trespasser and more like she belonged here, in this space filled with half-finished blueprints and sparks of invention.

Jayce stepped aside, nodding toward their workspace. “You want a closer look?”

Viktor shifted slightly, leaning more on his cane, waiting for her response with a quiet kind of patience.

She hesitated for only a moment before stepping through the doorway, crossing the threshold into a world she didn’t yet realize she would never want to leave.

And just like that, without even realizing it, she had taken the first step toward falling in love with them.

=

Time passed, and she kept returning.

At first, it was sporadic—an occasional visit, a fleeting conversation. But each time, she lingered longer. Jayce’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Viktor’s mind was an endless puzzle she longed to understand. They welcomed her as though she had always belonged there, offering explanations, demonstrations, and challenges that sparked something deep inside her.

It was Viktor who first noticed the way her eyes lingered on the complex schematics pinned to the walls, the way her fingers itched to trace the fine lines of the designs. One evening, after watching her hesitate by the worktable for too long, he slid a half-finished mechanism toward her without a word.

She blinked at him, startled. “What?”

“Try,” he said simply, resting his weight against his cane. “You are watching so intently. Perhaps your hands should do more than that.”

She hesitated only a moment before picking it up, feeling the cool metal under her fingers. Jayce leaned in, watching with interest as she studied it, testing the small gears with careful movements.

“You’re good at this,” Jayce noted, a grin forming. “You sure you’re not secretly an engineer?”

She scoffed, but there was warmth in her chest, a kind of pride she hadn’t expected to feel. “I just… pick things up quickly.”

Viktor hummed. “Quick thinking is valuable.” He nodded toward the blueprint on the table. “But understanding why it works—that is more important. Here.” He handed her a pencil and tapped the paper. “Explain how you think this functions.”

It started as a test, but soon, it became something more. With each visit, she grew bolder, speaking her thoughts aloud, questioning their designs, offering her own theories. And each time, instead of dismissing her, they encouraged her. Viktor would challenge her ideas with sharp precision, his golden gaze alight with intrigue. Jayce would grin, offer counterarguments, and praise her insight with genuine excitement.

She found herself thriving in their presence, her mind stretching in ways it never had before. They saw her not just as an observer, but as someone capable, someone intelligent.

And slowly, she began to see it, too.

=

The lab was unusually quiet that evening. The hum of machinery filled the space, but neither Jayce nor Viktor spoke. They worked, side by side, as they always did, the rhythm of their movements familiar, comforting. Y/N had always found peace in this—watching the two of them lost in their world of creation, a world she had slowly, unwittingly become a part of.

But tonight, that peace felt fragile, as if her words might break something irreparable.

“I have something to tell you both,” she started, voice careful.

Jayce looked up from his blueprint first, brows knitting together. “That sounds serious.”

Viktor didn’t glance up immediately, but the way his hand stilled over his notes told her he was listening.

She took a deep breath. “My parents arranged a marriage for me.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Jayce’s jaw tightened. Viktor slowly set his pen down, finally lifting his golden gaze to hers. “Arranged,” he repeated, his accent making the word feel heavier, as if he were weighing it, turning it over in his mind like an equation he couldn’t solve.

She nodded. “It’s… tradition. My family believes in securing beneficial ties. He’s from a respectable background. Kind, polite—he’s never been cruel to me.”

Jayce let out a sharp exhale, his fingers flexing against the table’s surface. “And you’re just supposed to accept that?” His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

“I don’t know,” she admitted honestly. “He’s sweet, Jayce. He’s not a bad person.”

Viktor hummed, though there was no amusement in the sound. ���That is convenient,” he murmured, tilting his head. “If he were cruel, it would be easier to refuse.”

She swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. “I just… I don’t want you to think this is some nightmare for me. It isn’t.”

Jayce crossed his arms, his expression stormy. His dark eyes locked onto hers, as if searching for something—an answer, a reassurance, anything. “That doesn’t mean it’s what you want.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Because, deep down, she wasn’t sure.

Viktor exhaled slowly, tapping his cane against the floor as he leaned forward. His gaze was unreadable, but something flickered beneath the surface—something unspoken, restrained. “And what do you want, Y/N?” His voice was softer now, as if he already knew the answer but needed to hear it from her.

She looked between them—the two people who had become so important to her, the ones who had never looked down on her, never doubted her mind or her place among them.

The ones who made her feel alive.

She knew. She had known for a long time. But the words refused to form.

Jayce had always been warmth and fire, his passion as boundless as his belief in her. His confidence made her feel like she could do anything, like she belonged in this world, in their world. He was the one who had laughed with her, challenged her, made her feel like she was more than just a name, more than just a duty to her family.

And Viktor… Viktor, with his sharp mind and quiet, steady presence. He never underestimated her. He saw her—truly saw her—not as a curiosity, but as an equal, someone with thoughts worth sharing, ideas worth hearing. When he spoke, it felt like he was unraveling pieces of her she hadn’t even known were tangled.

They were everything she had ever wanted, and yet, none of them had ever dared to say it.

Because how could they?

How could she?

Her throat tightened. She forced herself to meet their gazes, to hold onto this moment for just a little longer before reality crushed it.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, the words a betrayal to everything she truly felt. But then, softer—so quiet she wasn’t sure if they heard—she admitted, “But I don’t think it’s him.”

Jayce let out a breath, his posture shifting as if he wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t find the words. Viktor’s fingers tapped soundlessly against the edge of the table, his golden eyes lingering on her as though memorizing every detail of her face.

None of them spoke the truth that hung between them.

But they all felt it.

=

Weeks later, the academy hosted a grand gala, an event filled with Piltover’s finest minds and most influential figures. It was here that she introduced Viktor and Jayce to her fiancé.

He was charming, well-mannered, and impeccably dressed, with the kind of polished refinement that made him fit effortlessly into Piltover’s elite. At first glance, he was everything a suitor should be—kind, attentive, even engaging in light conversation with Jayce about Hextech advancements.

But there was an edge to his words when he spoke to her. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless.

“You always did have a fascination with tinkering,” he remarked smoothly, offering her a practiced smile. “It’s sweet, really. Like watching a child take apart a clock and pretend to understand it.”

Viktor’s grip on his cane tightened ever so slightly. Jayce’s easygoing expression faltered, his jaw clenching.

She forced a smile. “I’d like to think I’ve learned more than just pretending.”

Her fiancé chuckled, as if amused by her response. “Of course, darling. But some things are best left to those who truly understand them, don’t you think?”

Jayce’s grip on his drink tightened, while Viktor’s golden eyes darkened. They exchanged a glance—silent, but telling.

She exhaled, the warmth and acceptance she had found in Viktor and Jayce’s lab suddenly feeling like a stark contrast to the cold, condescending words of the man standing beside her.

And for the first time, she truly questioned whether this was the future she wanted.

=

A week before her wedding, she hesitated before bringing up the idea to her fiancé. The weight of it sat heavy on her chest, suffocating. But she wasn’t afraid—at least, not yet. Up until this point, he had been nothing but kind to her, always polite, always well-mannered. There had been comments, little things that didn’t sit right, moments that made her pause.

You’re so bright for someone who never studied formally.

It’s adorable how passionate you are about things you don’t really need to understand.

I admire your determination. Even when it’s misplaced.

But he had never been cruel. Never raised his voice. Never done anything to make her fear him.

So she smiled as she brought it up, thinking nothing of it.

“I want to invite Jayce and Viktor,” she said lightly, swirling her tea in its porcelain cup. “They’ve been such an important part of my life these past few months, and I just know they’ll be thrilled. I was thinking we could seat them right up front.”

She looked up at him, expecting him to nod, perhaps even chuckle at her enthusiasm.

Instead, his entire demeanour shifted. His fingers stilled against the rim of his glass, his jaw tightening so subtly she almost didn’t notice.

“No.”

The finality in his tone sent a shiver down her spine.

She blinked. “What?”

His eyes were unreadable, his expression calm—too calm. “No,” he repeated.

Her smile faltered. “Why not? They’re my friends.”

He sighed as if she were being difficult, setting his glass down with deliberate care. Then, he reached for her wrist. The touch was gentle at first, the way he had always been with her.

But then his grip tightened.

“Because I said so.”

A strange, heavy feeling settled in her stomach. His fingers, once reassuring, were firm now, like steel wrapped in silk. She let out a quiet laugh, confused. “That’s not a reason.”

His grip hardened. Not enough to bruise—not yet—but enough that she felt the warning beneath it. A subtle, possessive force pressing into her skin.

“You spend too much time with them,” he said, his voice lowering. It was still smooth, still perfectly controlled, but there was something beneath it now, something sharp. “I see the way you look at them. The way they look at you.”

Her breath hitched. Had she been careless? Had it been that obvious?

“They’re my friends,” she repeated, her voice smaller now, unsure.

His thumb traced over her wrist, deceptively soft. “Stay away from them.”

The air in the room suddenly felt too thick, pressing against her lungs. “You don’t get to tell me—”

She didn’t get to finish. His fingers clamped down harder, yanking her forward with a force that stole the breath from her lungs. Her pulse spiked. Panic flickered in her chest like a warning bell.

“Do you understand me?” His voice was quieter now, more dangerous, more intimate in its threat.

She swallowed, her throat tight. “Yes,” she forced out, nodding quickly. Her heart was hammering so hard she thought it might burst.

He stared at her for a moment longer, his gaze sharp, assessing, searching. Then, as if nothing had happened, his grip loosened. He brushed his fingers over her wrist in a slow, mocking caress, as if smoothing over the damage.

“Good,” he murmured, before turning away.

She stood frozen in place, skin burning where his fingers had been, breath coming in short, shallow pulls.

The moment she was alone, she staggered back against the nearest surface, clutching her wrist. She could already see the faint bruises forming—shadows of his grip, a physical mark of the line she had dared to cross.

She should have fought back. She should have said something.

But all she felt was the overwhelming sensation of being trapped.

=

For the few days, she didn’t speak to Jayce or Viktor. Whenever they approached, she found an excuse to leave. It felt like she was constantly running, ducking out of hallways, slipping past the lab doors before they could call her name. Avoidance became second nature, but she could still feel them watching, waiting, their concern growing with every passing day.

Jayce was the first to try, his voice warm and inviting, the way it had always been. “Hey—Y/N, wait up!” He caught her just outside the Academy, his broad frame blocking her way. His smile was softer than usual, hesitant, as though he already knew something wasn’t right. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

She forced a laugh, shaking her head as she hugged her arms close to herself. “No, I’ve just been busy. Wedding preparations, you know how it is.”

Jayce frowned. “Right,” he said slowly, eyes flickering down to where her sleeve had slipped just enough to reveal the faintest glimpse of a dark bruise on her wrist.

His expression shifted in an instant. The easy warmth in his features drained, replaced by something hard, unreadable. “What happened?”

She quickly pulled her sleeve down, heart hammering. “Nothing. I—” She swallowed, forcing a breathy chuckle. “I fell. It’s not a big deal.”

Jayce’s frown deepened, skepticism clear in his dark eyes. He reached out, gentle but firm, fingers brushing against her wrist before she jerked away, stepping back as if burned.

“I have to go,” she blurted, turning so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. She didn’t look back as she walked away, feeling the weight of his stare follow her long after she disappeared into the city streets.

The next day, it was Viktor.

She had thought she could avoid them both, but Viktor had always been patient. He waited, watching, until the moment was right.

He found her alone in the archives, tucked between tall shelves of books, pretending to be absorbed in a text she wasn’t even reading. She barely had time to react before his cane tapped against the floor beside her, his voice quiet yet firm.

“You are hiding from us.”

She inhaled sharply but didn’t look up. “No, I—”

“Lying does not suit you.”

She flinched. His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was something about the weight of his words that made her chest tighten. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet his, and there was no mistaking the way his golden eyes settled on the faint bruise peeking out from under her sleeve.

Viktor didn’t reach for her, didn’t crowd her the way Jayce had. Instead, he simply stared, his mind clearly working, calculating.

“What happened?” he asked, softer now, but there was no missing the steel beneath it.

She forced a smile, trying to make it seem convincing. “I fell.”

There was a beat of silence between them, long and heavy.

Then Viktor tilted his head. “You are not clumsy.”

She let out a shaky breath. “I—”

“Do not insult my intelligence,” he cut in gently, but there was an unmistakable sharpness in his tone, a warning. His fingers tapped against the head of his cane, his gaze never leaving hers. “Tell me the truth.”

Her throat tightened. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to spill everything, to lean into the safety of his presence, to hear Jayce’s reassuring voice tell her that everything was going to be okay. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t.

She stepped back, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Viktor’s expression darkened, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes. He inhaled as if about to speak, but she didn’t give him the chance.

“I have to go.”

And then she walked away. She felt his gaze burning into her back, the sound of his cane against the stone floor echoing in her mind long after she was gone.

=

The wedding day arrived, a day she had once thought would bring stability, duty, and an end to the expectations pressed upon her. But now, as she stood at the altar, her fiancé’s hand clasped over hers, all she felt was dread.

The grand hall was filled with polished faces, people dressed in their finest, murmuring their approval at what was meant to be the perfect union. Golden chandeliers bathed the room in warm light, but she felt none of its glow. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, suffocating. She had always imagined weddings to be filled with love, with warmth.

Instead, all she felt was cold.

Her fiancé squeezed her fingers, hard enough that it stung, forcing her to meet his gaze. His smile was as practiced as ever, but there was a sharpness to it, an edge only she could see. He leaned in, voice low, meant only for her ears.

“Pull down your sleeve,” he murmured, his grip tightening slightly. “Cover those bruises. They’re disgusting.”

Her breath hitched, the words slamming into her like ice water down her spine. A chill crept into her chest, spreading outward, paralyzing. Her fingers trembled, the fabric of her dress feeling too tight, too restrictive.

Disgusting.

The bruises he gave her. The marks left behind from nights of soft-spoken cruelty, from fingers that gripped too hard, from reminders that she belonged to him. Disgusting.

She had lied to herself. Lied and convinced herself that this was just a duty, that she could endure it. That she had no other choice.

But she did. She always had.

Her heart pounded, blood rushing in her ears as she pulled her hand from his grasp, stepping back. The air shifted, whispers rippling through the crowd, but she didn’t hear them. All she could hear was the sound of her own breath, the way her pulse hammered as realization crashed over her.

She had to go. Now.

And then she ran.

Gasps followed her, voices rising in confusion, in outrage, but she didn’t stop. She lifted the hem of her dress and sprinted down the aisle, past rows of stunned guests, past the weight of expectation and control.

Someone called her name—her fiancé, maybe. Or her parents. But she didn’t listen. She shoved through the grand doors, bursting into the open air, the cool wind hitting her face like a slap.

She didn’t know where she was going.

But she knew exactly who she was running to.

=

The silk of the wedding dress clung to her like a ghost of a life she never wanted. A gilded cage of ivory lace and expectations. Her breath came fast, fogging the cool night air as she ran, the hem of her gown dragging through the grime of the streets. Her veil had been lost somewhere along the way, but she didn’t care. She was free. Or at least, she was trying to be.

Behind her, she could still hear the distant shouts of guards searching for their missing bride. The weight of her arranged marriage had pressed down on her for months, a slow suffocation, until she couldn’t take it anymore. Not when her heart belonged elsewhere—to two brilliant minds who had captured her in ways her fiancé never could.

Viktor and Jayce.

The thought of them made her chest ache, hope and desperation twisting together as she reached Piltover’s academy entrance. Her fiancé had always known of her affections, and that’s why he had forbidden it. Locked her away with threats of what he could do to them if she disobeyed.

But she was never the obedient type.

=

She pounded on the door to the lab, her fingers trembling from both the chill and adrenaline. Her lungs burned from running, her body aching under the weight of exhaustion, but she didn’t stop. She had nowhere else to go.

For a horrifying second, she feared they weren’t inside, that she had escaped one nightmare only to be stranded in another. But then—hurried footsteps. The familiar creak of the door swinging open.

Jayce stood in the doorway, his usual vest and rolled-up sleeves now slightly rumpled from hours of work. His eyes widened in utter disbelief as they landed on her.

“Y/N?”

She barely had time to speak before he pulled her inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. His warmth, his presence—it was a stark contrast to the cold, suffocating weight of her wedding day. His hands hovered near her shoulders, hesitant but protective, as he took in her dishevelled state. The torn fabric of her dress. The bruises peeking out from her sleeves.

“You—what the hell happened?” he asked, voice wavering between concern and panic.

She swallowed, shaking from more than just the cold. “Where’s Viktor?”

“I’m here.”

Viktor’s voice was softer, but no less urgent. He emerged from the back of the lab, his cane tapping lightly against the floor as he approached. His golden eyes swept over her, taking in every detail—the ragged breaths, the way her arms clutched at herself, the marks on her skin that shouldn’t have been there. His jaw twitched, his fingers tightening around the handle of his cane.

“You ran,” he said simply. But there was something behind those words. Something raw. Something furious.

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t marry him.” Her voice cracked. “I needed to be here. With you two.”

Jayce exhaled a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, Y/N. He’s gonna come looking for you. He won’t just let this go.”

“I know,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “But I didn’t care. I had to take the risk.”

Viktor stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until he was within arm’s reach. He didn’t touch her—Viktor was always careful with his affections—but his presence was steadying, grounding. His eyes searched hers, looking for something, anything that would tell him she was safe now.

“You are hurt,” he murmured, his voice measured but tight. “Did he do this?”

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. A barely-there movement, but enough. Enough for Jayce to curse under his breath, his entire body tensing beside her. Enough for Viktor’s grip on his cane to tighten so hard his knuckles turned white.

A thick silence settled between them, heavy and crackling with restrained emotion. Jayce’s breathing had turned unsteady, his hands clenching and unclenching as if he didn’t know what to do with the rage simmering inside him. Viktor, though quieter, was no less affected—his eyes burned with something dangerous, something deadly.

=

A sudden, violent crash shattered the fragile peace as the lab’s door was nearly torn from its hinges. The force sent sparks flying from the broken lock, the heavy metal door groaning as it swung inward.

Y/N’s breath caught as her fiancé strode in, flanked by armed guards, his expression twisted with fury.

“Y/N!"

Her fiancé. His voice carried the weight of humiliation, of wounded pride, of a man who had never been denied anything—until now.

Jayce was already moving, stepping in front of her with his hammer gripped tightly in his hands, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to strike. Viktor, though slower, lifted his cane just slightly, his golden eyes sharp with calculation.

“You think you can just run away from me?” Her fiancé’s voice dripped with venom. His gaze flickers between the two men before settling back on Y/N “Like some common whore scurrying off to her filthy lovers?”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at the insult, but she refused to flinch.

“Let me guess,” he sneered, taking a step closer. “You couldn’t wait to spread your legs for them, could you? You always were a little harlot, always chasing after men who have no future, no status. Do you really think they love you, Y/N? Or are you just a game to them?”

The sound of metal scraping against stone filled the air as Jayce shifted his hammer in his grip, his knuckles white from how tightly he held it. His entire body vibrated with restrained fury, muscles coiled as if he were moments away from striking. The air in the lab felt charged, humming with the tension of a battle waiting to unfold.

"Say one more word," Jayce warned, his voice low and lethal, each syllable laced with the promise of violence. "I dare you."

Viktor, though eerily calm beside him, was no less sharp. His golden eyes gleamed under the dim workshop light, his fingers flexing subtly against the head of his cane. When he spoke, his tone was smooth, his words cutting like a finely sharpened blade. "Your insecurities are showing," he observed, adjusting his grip with measured ease. "It is not a good look."

A laugh echoed from the doorway, but there was no humour in it, only bitter amusement masking barely-contained rage. Y/N’s fiancé took another step into the workshop, his sneer curling with contempt as he eyed her and the two men standing between them. His confidence, shaken but not yet shattered, dripped from every venomous syllable.

"You really think you can keep her?" He scoffed, his voice gaining a manic edge. "You think you can protect her from me?"

Y/N took a slow, deep breath, steadying herself before stepping forward, placing herself between Jayce and Viktor before either of them could make a move. Her pulse pounded in her ears, the weight of the moment pressing against her chest like a vice. She felt the heat of Jayce’s fury behind her, the quiet steel of Viktor’s presence beside her, but she did not waver. She would not let this man dictate her fate any longer.

"I was never yours to begin with." Her voice was steady despite the tremor she felt deep in her bones. Her eyes met his, unwavering, unflinching, burning with a conviction she had never spoken aloud before. "I belong to no one but myself. And I chose them."

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, stretching unbearably as the weight of her words settled over the room.

And then—

"Enough."

The single word cut through the tension like a knife, sharp and commanding.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as the guards at the doorway stiffened, stepping aside to make way for the man who had just spoken. A tall, imposing figure emerged from the dim light of the street outside, his heavy coat swirling as he stepped into the lab. His expression was unreadable, his face set in the kind of cold composure that sent a chill through the room.

Her father.

Her mother followed close behind him, her usual poise slightly cracked, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as though trying to hold something together. The air shifted, the power in the room subtly tilting. Even the guards hesitated now, caught between their orders and the unspoken authority of the man before them.

Her fiancé, the arrogant, entitled man who had spent the night throwing insults like knives, suddenly found himself at a loss for words. His mouth opened, then closed, his gaze flickering between the older man and Y/N, realization dawning like a slow, creeping poison.

They had heard everything.

Her father’s gaze swept over the scene—the shattered door barely hanging on its hinges, the guards standing rigid at attention, Jayce and Viktor poised to defend Y/N with every ounce of their being. And finally, his eyes landed on his daughter.

"Y/N," he said, his voice calm but firm, betraying nothing of what he might be thinking. "Come here."

She did not move.

The command that once would have sent her falling into line now barely made her flinch. She was not a child anymore, not the obedient daughter who would bow her head and step forward simply because duty dictated it.

Her father studied her carefully, his sharp gaze piercing through the heavy air of the lab, and then, after a long pause, he let out a slow breath. His next words caught her completely off guard.

"Is this truly what you want?"

It was not a demand. It was not an accusation.

It was a question.

A choice.

Her hands clenched at her sides, not from fear, but from the overwhelming weight of the moment. She swallowed hard, turning her head slightly to look at Jayce, at Viktor, at the two men who had risked everything for her, who had given her a chance at something real. Jayce, all fire and passion, his heart too big for his own good, his unwavering belief in her stronger than anything she had ever known. Viktor, all quiet brilliance, his mind a fortress of calculated logic, but with a depth of understanding in his golden eyes that told her she was not just something to be protected—she was something worth standing beside.

She turned back to her father and lifted her chin. "Yes," she said, her voice steady and certain. "This is what I want."

Her father exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting away from her for the first time, moving to the two men at her side. And something in his expression—subtle, but undeniable—changed.

Because these were not nameless, lowborn men from the undercity.

Jayce Talis, co-creator of Hextech, the man who had revolutionized Piltover’s future, stood before him with an unrelenting presence, a man who had carved out his own legacy, who held power not just in name, but in action. Viktor, the brilliant mind behind it all, carried himself with quiet certainty, a man whose intelligence had shaped the very foundations of Piltover’s progress.

These were not insignificant men. They were innovators. Visionaries. Men of status. Men who had power in their own right.

Men who would protect Y/N from anything and anyone.

Her father turned back to her fiancé, the young man now pale and rigid, his confidence crumbling under the weight of the shift in power.

"The arrangement is off," her father stated coolly, leaving no room for argument.

Her fiancé gaped at him, his entire body going taut with disbelief. "You can’t be serious! She belongs to me—"

Her father’s gaze snapped back to him, sharp and unwavering. "She belongs to no one."

A tense silence filled the space, thick with the weight of finality.

Her mother finally stepped forward, her voice softer but no less firm. "You have embarrassed yourself tonight," she said plainly, her eyes sweeping over the room before she addressed the guards. "Escort him out."

There was hesitation—just for a moment—but then the guards moved. One by one, they turned on their heels, the power of status winning out over the remnants of loyalty.

Her fiancé’s face twisted in fury, his lip curling as he cast one last glare in Y/N’s direction. "You’ll regret this," he hissed, his words a desperate attempt at control.

Jayce stepped forward, his hammer still in hand, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike. "Try to come near her again and see what happens."

Viktor didn’t move, but his voice, soft and deliberate, held an edge sharper than steel. "I assure you, it would not end well for you."

The last flicker of arrogance drained from her fiancé’s expression. He had lost. He knew it. With a growl of frustration, he turned on his heel and stormed out, his boots echoing loudly against the stone floor.

The moment the door shut behind him, the room seemed to exhale.

Y/N’s knees felt weak, but before she could stumble, Jayce was already at her side, steadying her with a hand on her back. Viktor exhaled beside them, adjusting his grip on his cane, his expression unreadable but not unkind.

Her mother reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear. "You always were stubborn," she murmured. "You could have just told us."

A breathless laugh escaped Y/N’s lips. "Would you have listened?"

Her mother did not answer. But the silence spoke volumes. As her parents turned away, Y/N looked up at Jayce and Viktor. Relief, exhaustion, love—all of it tangled together inside her.

She had won.

She had chosen her own future.

And she had no regrets.

[owiil]

Sterek prompt: birthday surprise!

“No.”

“You can’t just say ‘no.’ Besides—” Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes. “—if you didn’t actually want him, you would have said something.”

Derek stared at him for a long handful of moments. Blinked. Continued starting. “I would have said— Stiles. This. I opened the door and you literally said ‘surprise.’ For what part of a surprise am I supposed to tell you, in advance, that I don’t want it?”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed in an attempt to read Derek’s face better, to see if there was some lingering hint of an expression other that exasperated… disappointment? Irritation? Whatever was accompanying the exasperation wasn’t positive. And, unfortunately, it didn’t look like there were any secrete messages lingering in Derek’s eyebrows or any other part of his face.

He snorted. “You have werewolf hearing Derek. I’ve been actively working toward this for three months.” Twisting, he gestured emphatically at the living room, which now, aside from Derek’s normal living room furniture (and the couch that Stiles will always say is his since he picked it out), there was an empty pet crate on the floor and a rather cozy looking orange cat curled on the middle cushion of said couch. "You really expect me to believe that you didn’t overhear what I was doing? I mean, come on. I was zero percent expecting this to be an actual surprise. How are you surprised?”

At that, Derek looked… lost, almost. Caught off guard by the undeniable truth of Stiles’ argument. After a moment, his jaw went square and his brow furrowed. “You spelled yourself.”

Stiles snorted, again, louder, more derisive. “No.”

A moment passed between them during which the only sound came from Clive’s monstrously loud purring from across the room—which, Stiles hadn’t gotten the cat because his name was Clive, but… honestly, hilarious. No. No... Clive had been a scalpel sharp application of an accumulated full year of research into both Derek and cats.

“I’ve literally been asking you about pets.”

“That was a year ago,” Derek said, immediately, because clearly he was catching on, knew Stiles well enough to know that, at this point, despite all appearances, the appearance of Clive in his home at six PM on a Wednesday was not, in fact, spontaneous.

“I got you to sign up as a shelter volunteer with me.”

“Last summer,” Derek said, also immediately, but less confident, and Stiles knew what was happening, knew he was starting to collect all of the pieces, put them all together.

“I mean, I said ‘surprise’ when you walked in— Also, Derek, why… Please tell me you didn’t not hear two heart beats? What is wrong with you?”

“I—” Derek said, the words choking in his mouth but the flush blossoming over the tips of his ears giving him away better than anything else could have and Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh. My. God!” He laughed some more while taking a step forward and sliding into Derek’s space. “You were thinking about birthday sex. You were so distracted by the thought of bending me in half like a… I don’t even know, bendy straw—”

Derek’s brow pinched as he looked away—to the side and up, as though praying to someone or something, anything.

“—you didn’t even notice there was another heart in your own house. I don’t know if I should be flattered or mortified for my own safety.”

Derek’s eyes rolled and took their sweet time drifting back to him, his lips pressed into a fine line. “You are the last person I need to worry about the safety of these days. At this point, I’m more of a damsel than you are.”

Unable to help from grinning, Stiles shrugged, preening as he continued to lean even further into Derek’s space. “I mean, you’re not necessarily wrong. And while I’m very happy that we’re at a point in our lives now where the biggest drama of the week is the fact that you, adorably, think you are not keeping Clive—”

“Clive,” Derek sighed, like it was curse or, perhaps, the most ridiculous word to leave his mouth.

“—Clive,” Stiles repeated, raising his hands and pressing them to Derek’s chest, massaging his fingers against Derek’s pectorals. “—I do get a little sad that I don’t get the opportunity to treat you like the pretty princess you are.”

Despite looking thoroughly put out and begrudged, warm hands settled on Stiles’ ass. “You did save me plenty in high school.”

“Never got to carry you princess style,” Stiles lamented.

And then, finally, the corners of Derek’s lips twitched and he laughed. A soft huff of a thing, but a laugh nonetheless and more than enough to break the utter sourness that had been his expression since the moment he walked into the room. “You think you could now?”

Stiles shrugged. “Give me three weeks to do some charting and scrounge up the money for another tattoo and I’m sure I could inject some super strength into my body that would last long enough to traipse you around beautifully.”

Rolling his eyes, again, Derek leaned forward and pressed his smile and his face into the junction of Stiles’ neck. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“I’m adorable, and the biggest reason you’re mad at Clive is that you probably think that him being on the couch means that you have to do something cat dad-ish right now instead of screwing me literally anywhere else except the couch. Except you don’t, because I already moved all of his things into the coat closet and he’s fed and watered and ten years old so all he’s going to do is sit around and sleep while you both take naps in the sun.”

He tilted his head as he spoke, giving Derek more access to rub his stubble against him until the skin turned red and became sensitive, just to stop before it could become borderline painful and start kissing. “I’m not into voyeurism.”

Stiles laughed, loud and bright, hands sliding down Derek’s chest to hook in the belt loops of his pants. “Oh my god, Derek. It’s a cat, not Scott.” Just to gasp and cackle when, with an indifferent hum, Derek hooked his hands around the backs of Stiles’ thighs and hauled him up over his shoulder. “Wait. Wait!”

Obediently, Derek waited, standing still, fingers tapping an impatient tempo against the backs of Stiles’ legs. “What?”

“Close the door. Clive’s never been outside and he’s far too old and too precious to be let roam around.”

Heaving a put upon sigh, Derek turned around and closed the door. “I knew you would love him.”

Derek snorted. “I love you. I’ll tolerate Clive.”

“You’re going to be a great cat dad,” Stiles said with a laugh that cut off with a soft grunt when Derek slapped his ass hard enough to sting—the good kind that went straight to his dick. “Come on. Get me behind a door before Clive sees something he shouldn’t.”

[lesmisshippingshowdown]

Hello and welcome to the Les Mis Shipping Showdown!

That's right, we're bringing ship brackets to the Les Mis fandom! The Shipping Showdown is an all new, 5 round contest intended to answer some of the internet's greatest questions, such as "is E/R's dominance really as overwhelming as AO3 statistics would have you believe?", "what is the fandom's all time favourite Les Amis pair the spares combo?", and "what would happen if we tried to Jurassic Park the ship wars of 2013 back into existence 12 years later?". Ignore that last one, maybe.

ROUND ONE IS NOW LIVE! Polls will expire in the evening (GMT/UTC) of March 6th 2025, with the next round of week-long polls following shortly thereafter.

Special rounds between particularly iconic matchups may occur at a later date if they do not get a chance to face off in the bracket proper.

Finally, if you're a fanartist or editor and spot your OTP/OT3 in the bracket, ESPECIALLY if it's a rarer pair, please feel free to submit pieces of your art to this blog to be used -with credit - in the relevant polls!! (no AI generated art though, please)

CURRENT BRACKET BELOW:

We the mod team look forward to seeing you all pokémon going to the polls later today! <3

Please see below the cut for FAQ, rules, and mod details:

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS

Q: Who is responsible for all this? Great question! The Les Mis Shipping Showdown is the brainchild of @lonelyroommp3, with invaluable assistance including graphic design, bracket seeding, and wildcard suggestions from @glindalesbian. We are both veterans of the Les Mis fandom, and although it's not been either of our main fandoms for a while we're both still filled with love and nostalgia for both the work itself and the memories the fandom and its myriad shipping messes evoke<3

Q: Woah, wait! How did you decide upon these specific ships? 29 of the ships are - as far as it's possible to accurately sort these things on AO3 - the 29 most popular romantic relationship tags in the Les Misérables (All Media Types) fandom category. This sorting method isn't foolproof, and if we've missed something major we can only apologise! If you bring to light a really notable ship that we've missed, it may get included as part of a special round at a later date if demand is sufficient.

In addition, between the two mods we have chosen three wildcard entries based on such scientifically rigorous selection criteria as "one of us personally shipped this back in the day", "we remember this being really popular but the AO3 stats don't seem to reflect that", and, in one case, "we thought it would be really funny." It is up to you, dear reader, to try and figure out which ship fits in each category.

For the sake of transparency, a couple of ships have been excluded because they have significant overlap with another, more popular ship. For example, both Joly/Bossuet and Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta have AO3 works in the hundreds, but including them both felt a little redundant, so we made the executive decision to just include the more popular combination of the above characters.

Q: Are platonic/familial/queerplatonic relationship tags included? What if I like a combination of characters in a given match up, but only platonically? All my love to the non romantic relationship dynamics in Les Mis - after all, "to love another person is to see the face of God" is a lyric that intentionally does not specify a type of love! However, to keep things streamlined, this poll is specifically about romantic/sexual ships. Whenever you see a match up, assume you are being asked which combination of characters you personally would prefer to see depicted in a romantic relationship and/or sucking and fucking.

Q: Can I submit propaganda? Where should I do this? Yes! You are welcome to add propaganda in the reblogs of any given poll, or send asks or submissions to this blog. We will try to reshare propaganda as long as it follows other rules, but this is not a promise because we're busy people! We also ask that you do NOT send propaganda directly to the mods' personal blogs.

Q: Can I share this blog/contest/specific polls outside of Tumblr? If you're sharing on a small scale with a discord server, individual friends without Tumblr accounts, etc, please go ahead! We would, however, politely request that if you are lucky enough to have contacts who are, or have been, involved with professional productions of Les Misérables in any capacity that you do NOT share this competition with them directly or go shouting about it in places they are likely to see it, no matter how funny you think it may be to try and get some organic propaganda off the US Tour's 2nd cover Grantaire or whoever. Some of us are fujos in the sheets and actual theatre professionals in the streets, and we'd prefer to keep those two streams of our lives as separate as possible. Please respect this!

Q: You've used my fanart in a post and I don't want it in there/it's been credited incorrectly. If this happens to you, please let us know via asks ASAP with a link or clear reference to the offending post & artwork, so we can either remove your art or amend the credit accordingly!

FURTHER RULES

We were both around in this fandom in 2013 when people were in the actual trenches about certain ships, and we know this can be a testy subject. We also think a bit of healthy competition and ship warring is fun from time to time, and the Les Mis Shipping Showdown is not intended to be a totally sanitised arena where we take everything super duper seriously and everybody has to be really really niceys 100% of the time. However, we do ask that good taste and interpersonal respect is considered:

You're free to fight about ships until the cows come home, but please refrain from personal attacks on other users in any arena related to this tournament.

Any hate speech in propaganda, notes of official tournament posts, asks/submissions, or any posts about the tournament brought to the mods' attention will NOT be tolerated and will result in an instant block (+ the offending account being reported if deemed necessary).

We've both seen shipping tournaments play out in other fandoms and know that it's absolutely impossible to avoid botting & vote rigging. However, any cases of the above that are deemed excessive, malicious, or generally against the spirit of the tournament may result in a match up being aborted, repeated, or, in extreme cases, a ship being permanently excluded from the tournament. Just be normal pleaseeeeeee

[the0p]

letters

based off of "to all the boys I loved before" cuse YES I AM A LOSER LIKE THAT FIGHT ME. mlm, fluff, and some spice?? very long story also a bit of a size thing going on cuse...yeah.

I sat on the floor of my bedroom writing yet another letter to a guy I had complications feeling towards.

it was a recurring patern in my life as the moment I shared something special with someone instead of telling them my feelings I'd write them down on a piece of paper and trow it in a box I kept under my bed.

it was a bit pathetic for sure, but can you blame me? love has never worked out for me before, so I much rather admire from a distance.

this letter was addressed to a guy in my school.

Jeong Yunho.

back in 6rd grade, me, him, and some other friends had a small party where we played spin the bottle. at the time a friend of mine had a crush on him that I knew about, so I begged for the bottle not to land on him, but of course it did. I was hesitant, but nonetheless, we shared a short, small kiss, which was my first. safe to say me and her are not on good terms even till this day.

the cringe letter was finished, and I folded it up nicely, putting it in an envelope and writing down his name on it before throwing it in the box and sliding it under my bed.

I didn't think much of it knowing they couldn't get out, so I chose to go to bed for the night.

in the morning, I rushed to the kitchen, my sister sitting on the sofa on her phone, ready to go as I ran around looking for my laptop.

"we'll be late, you know." she said, looking at me from the sofa standing up, trowing her bag over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, okay, i just can't find my computer. can you go back to my room and look? maybe I missed it. please?" I asked her with a pleading look, hoping she'd go check, and thankfully, with an annoyed groan, she agreed.

she came back after a few minutes computer in hand. "it was by your bed, clothes trown over it."

"Thank you so much." I said, taking it from her and rushing out the door to my car, her following not too far behind me.

the school day passed by normally. the usual boring classes until lunch period hit.

I never ate in the cafeteria as it was way too crowded for me, so I always camped out in the bathroom eating and scrolling through my phone. sure it wasn't the most sanitary thing to do, but it was quiet.

as I was enjoying my lunch devouring a sandwich I made in a rush I heard the door open a familiar voice coming trough.

"y/n? you in here?" it was yunho. I was confused about why he was looking for me, but I didn't make a sound, wanting him to leave in all honesty. I brought my legs up so he couldn't see which stall I was in, but sadly, my phone fell out of my lap as I did so making a lot of noise.

I knew he heard as he knocked on the door. I didn't answer until he slid my letter under the door.

my heart dropped.

I quickly put my things in my bag, stuffing the sandwich in my mouth, and opened the door.

"how did you get that?" I asked my words a bit muffled thanks to the food.

he stumbled back as I opened the door, putting one hand into his jean pocket.

"I found it in my locker this morning. you didn't put it there?" he asked obviously a but confused.

I was panicking. the thought of him knowing how I felt about him was one of my biggest nightmares. I shook my head, no trying to figure out how he could have gotten it and if any of the other guys got it.

he must have picked up on the panic "your hand writing is nice. I'm actually quite flattered you think of me this way."

his words caught me off guard. was he playing, or was he for real?

"Look, you were never supposed to get it. just forget about it, okay?"

"What if I feel the same way? do I still forget about it?"

I stayed quiet, staring at him, not expecting anything like that to come out of his mouth. he sighed, putting the letter in his bag and turning his attention back to me.

"it's actually a bit funny how you never picked up on any of the signs. I don't just go around the school campus trying to strick up a conversation, give compliments, and try to hang out with random people, but you seem quite obvious."

the last sentence struck a bit of a nerve. "I'm not obviou-"

my words were cut off by a pair of soft lips on mine. I was shocked, eyes wide in surprise, tho slowly I calmed down and returned the kiss my hand making its way to his cheek.

he pulled away first, both of us silent as we registered what we (he) just did.

he opened his mouth to say someone, but the bell rang, signalling us that lunch was over.

I pulled away, clearing my throat, and my ears a bit red from embarrassment.

"Let's talk after school, okay? we can meet you back here...if you want, of course."

he nodded the sweet smile on his face that I always adored. "See you then"

...........time skip............

I stood in the bathroom waiting for him. I was a bit scared he would end up not showing up, but I tried to have a bit of hope. my sister decided to go hang out with her friends after school. I didn't really have anything to rush.

20 minutes had passed, and he was still not here. it was upsetting, but somehow, I wasn't too surprised, so I just chose to leave. I got home relatively late as I had stopped at the store to get some food since our fridge was very empty.

my sister was already home sprawled out on the sofa watching a movie as I placed the bags on the kitchen counter.

"How was school?" I asked, glancing at her. for some reason, she was avoiding all eye contact and seemed a bit on edge.

"it was okay. how about you...?"

"it was...interesting, to say the least." I responded, putting the food away as she nodded and stayed quiet.

Once everything was done, I went into my room and instantly checked the box that I kept my letters in. the rest where there but the one yunho got. I instantly knew my sister must have done it in the morning. I wasn't mad, tho since maybe she even did some good?

I sighed and changed, choosing to put my homework off for a bit and relax for a bit to decompose everything that happened today.

it was calm for a while. silent even. until my sister barged in practically braking my door down as I quickly sat up from my bed worried that something had happened. i looked her way, a mischievous smile on her face as she pushed yunho inside my room.

wait, yunho!?

he stood there an awkward smile on his face as he looked around and back at my sister, who closed the door quickly.

"use protection!!" were her last words before she left us there.

I got up quickly and started picking up my clothes, throwing them in my closet to make the place some what clean.

"Hi yunho, I wasn't really expecting anyone, so it's a bit messy"

he laughed and took off his coat, placing it on my dresser that was by the door looking around the room. "it's okay. I did show up without a warning."

I hummed fixing myself up as well to not look too much of a mess.

"I'm sorry that I didn't show up today. I got held back in class. I promise I didn't do it on purpose."

his words seemed honest, and his face had regret written all over it. he walked closer to me, towering over me thanks to his height.

"I couldn't have even texted you a heads up cuse I don't have your number, and I'm so sorry"

I let him finish staying quiet. I had figured as much cuse he didn't seem like the type of person to do something like that. Once he was done, I just kissed him.

I didn't know I had the guts to do something like that but I was glad I did as he returned the kiss immediately his hands finding their way to my waist as mine wrapped around his neck pulling him down slightly.

it got a bit heated surprisingly enough, which I wasn't expecting.

we had moved to my bed making out. it was obvious to both of us that we've been wanting each other for a very long time as things wouldn't be going this far otherwise.

his hands moved up, and my legs, as I pulled away, taking his shirt off, pulling him back into the kiss, we were both getting desperate, but sadly, we got interrupted by my sister.

she came in, completely ignoring the sight in front of her, and sat down on my bed, throwing her homework next to us.

"help me." is all she said.

me and yunho were both very embarrassed, but nonetheless, we stopped what we were doing and both ended up helping her.

[emmg]

wiiiip not Wednesday lol

tagged by @heylittleriotactand tagging fellow babes in turns hehehhehee @aldisobey @jainydoe @caffeinatedmunchkin @thepalehorsevictoria @excited-hiss

I have bits and pieces written here and there, but nothing solid except for that one passage where Emmrich googles the definition of sugar daddy, texts Rook to ask if that’s what he is, gets a lolwut in response, and then has to google that too because he doesn’t understand youthful slang lmao.

So instead, here’s something from Herbarium that I’m working on, because I am absolutely, furiously, seething over the fact that Veilguard didn’t even give us the bare minimum of a chance to call Emmrich out on how utterly insane lichdom is in the context of a romance. Nope, all we get is the option to deliver a thumbs up, like great job, buddy, enjoy your undeath, let's boink! Yet, somehow, the concept that you can love someone without blindly supporting their worst decisions is just... nonexistent? Our Rooks should have had the option to say, I love you, I will support you, and I will help you chase your dream, but I can’t stay by your side if you go through with this. Even if I love you more than anything. But no, apparently nuance is too much to ask for. Anyway.

****

"I'm sorry. Deeply, terribly sorry," he whispers, his arms encircling her waist, his face pressed against the rise of her ribs. "I love you; entirely, inexorably. You need not return it in full, only in the measure you can bear. But you are my last, Rook, my very last, and I cannot begin to imagine what I would do if you did not return. I love you as I am, and I will love you in lichdom, and I will be able—" 

Above him, a sigh. Her fingers move through his hair in uneven strokes.  

She sounds depleted when she speaks, and then he remembers—she is. The hollows beneath her eyes have grown pronounced, the skin bruised with fatigue. Her hair, dull and lank, clings to its unwashed roots. 

"Please stop talking about it," she says, neither entreating nor reproachful. There is no sharpness left in her, no irony, no venom. Just a voice stripped of its essence. "I will support you, no matter what. You know that." 

"Support is not the same as acceptance. To bear something is not to embrace it." 

Her fingers continue their indifferent sweep. "No," she murmurs. "It isn’t." Another breath. "Can we sleep now, Emmrich? Don’t you want to sleep? I’m cold, and I want to sleep. And I want to hold you." 

He loved them, he told them, all those figures trailing behind him, the blurred procession of his past. Some answered with a nod, a perfunctory thank you. Others only blinked, uncomprehending. A few, after a pause, offered a measured well, then. Fewer still returned it, though never for long.

Rook says it differently. Quieter. She presses it to his cheek, light as the slip of paper one tucks away without reading, its corners already worn, its message already known. Groggily, she moves, sliding beneath the covers, lifting them just enough for him to follow. She is not sentimental—that, precisely, is why her I love you, spoken without tremor or weight, drained of inflection, is the only one that lingers, the only one that resists erosion. 

Suddenly, he feels as if he has forgotten all those that came before; their voices die out, sinking into the same nothing that swallowed old promises, childhood prayers, the smell of rooms he will never step into again. He strains to recall them, but there is nothing left to grasp. Only hers remains, colorless and bland, like the last light left burning in an empty house. 

Love is acceptance. Love is support. But they do not always converge. This is what rattles him, what makes him press his face into her shoulder, trying to quiet the lurking dread. 

Oh, she will support him. She will watch, nodding, shifting her weight from heel to toe, a restless pendulum of feigned ease. She will smile, make some awful quip to puncture the silence, to quell her own unease. She will tell him to go through with it, whatever it may be. She will take his father’s butchering blade, wipe it clean, and place it, without hesitation, into the hands of the one chosen to sever him from life. Then, when he returns—when he steps over the threshold, no longer a man but a thing made of magic and will—she will greet him, kiss the bare curve of his skull, wish him a good eternity, and walk away.

Because Rook has never struggled to seek out what she likes. She will continue. She will find something, someone, to cherish, and to cherish her in turn. She will support him, yes. But she will not accept. 

He wants to seize her hands, press them between his own, feel the warmth of them before it is too late. He wants to shake her, to shake sense into her—or out of her—until she understands, until she sees what he sees. Why, why, why can she not grasp that this is the better course? She would not have to lead the charge, would not have to stand where death is swiftest. He would take that place, step into the fire, let the blade that might have cut her down pass through him like wind through a hollow. What harm could it do? He would be beyond harm. A creature of eternity, of patience, of limitless devotion, the power of the Necropolis at his back.

He would not sleep. Would not tire. Would not falter. He would guard the tombs, guard her, keep vigil over the living and the dead alike. He would serve Nevarra, and he would serve her, and in time, oh, in time, perhaps he would find something—a loophole, a secret, some arcane twist of fate to keep her from slipping away, to keep them both here, tethered, together. 

No one would have to cross that final, irreversible threshold. No one would have to see what lies beyond—whether it is the blank serenity of the Maker’s realm or a silence so absolute it swallows even the thought of regret. 

Please, please, please, he wants to say, pressing his forehead to her shoulder, his breath wasted against the fabric there. Let me love you like this. Let me stay. Let me make it so you never have to leave.

She would not even have to look at him, if the sight of what he became repulsed her. He would spare her that, too. He would wear a veil, an illusion, his old face, preserved like a saint’s death mask, a perfect glamour.  

Nothing would have to rot. Nothing would have to change. Nothing at all. 

[expansion-stories]

more belly expansion in the works?

Nadia stumbled down the hallway, trying to ignore the increasingly urgent sloshing inside of her. Her thighs had started to rub together, and it was getting harder to keep balance.

It was getting harder to do anything.

C’mon, exit, exit, it has to be somewhere…

She was completely lost in winding hallways. Loud wails and moans of pleasure seemed to echo down them, reminding her of her friends’ fate.

They all turned into…into…

“Is anyone out there?! We need help!” There was a note of desperation in her voice, as she held her breasts in her hands to stop the jiggling. She could feel them plumping up, heavier and heavier each minute.

Another button pinged off her dress, her swollen belly pushing forward to fill the gap. Only one was left, the only thing holding her figure in.

Into the same thing she was becoming. Nadia closed her eyes for a moment. The memory flashed through her mind, of her best friend screaming for help as her belly pooched out, years of workouts erased in an instant.

Nadia was part of a small group of urban explorers. She’d found a strange series of rooms off a subway tunnel and invited her group to help. At first it was fun, looking at the endless pipes and large, circular doors- oh please no.

Nadia’s eyes went wide as she realized what that meant. She looked down at her swelling belly, easily exceeding nine months pregnancy size and quickly approaching the realm of inhumanly large.

It didn’t even have the decency to hurt. Her expansion was like sliding into a warm bath, the taste of rich cream still on her tongue.

What’s this stuff doing to me?

She stroked her widening areolae, letting out a shuddering breath as her body expanded like rising dough.

“F-fuck! Okay, stay calm…” Part of her brain simply couldn’t accept her new situation. Maybe since I had the least, it’ll slow down soon? She had only had a sip, and it had taken nearly ten minutes to start growing. Compare that to the woman who had half a glass…

The idea she would slow down was wishful thinking. With a yelp, her last button burst, and her dress completely burst open, belly jiggling like so much jello. She was thickening all over, butt overwhelming her panties, thighs becoming chunkier as she began to round out.

“Stop growing, stop growing, please…” Nadia whimpered pitifully as she realized her arms didn’t go straight down at her sides. Her walk was more of a waddle now, each step a struggle. She’s checking the doors, slower and slower as she grows. Empty room. Locked door. Another featureless hallway.

It’s so much worse when you’ve already seen it happen. Nadia knew exactly what the experience looked like- seeing her friends widen, the tearing of fabric, the desperate pleas for help replaced with pleas to be milked…

“I’m sorry, ok! I shouldn’t have taken that milk!” Talking directly to her figure felt silly, but it was the only think she had. Maybe it’ll just leave me obese, and that will be punishment enough?

There was a loud SNAP as her panties burst over one leg, but she jiggled far less now, too swollen and heavy to do even that. Nadia stopped to lean against the wall, to catch her breath, but discovered that was almost impossible. Her body was so big she had to shift the entire swollen mass to step, and she could feel stitches pop as the last pieces of her dress ripped off.

“I don’t…want…this big…” Tears ran down her face as she slumped forwards, placidly wheeling her arms in an attempt to rebalance. Or trying to, moving anything now was like walking in molasses.

Nadia’s body hit the ground and almost bounced. It was the difference between SQUISH and THUD- much quieter than she might have expected- and she realizes with horror how massive she’d gotten. She was firmer than a water balloon, but still loose enough to jiggle. Her panicked arm motions sent ripples through her enormous boobs, each nipple rocking back and forth as she tried futilely to move.

Nadia felt a pinching sensation in her nipple, and her eyes widened in surprise as she realized she was lactating. And not just milk- the same cream she’d foolishly drank, that she was blowing up with…

She moaned, trying to reach her nipples. Never mind ever walking again, a little release was the only thing on her mind. Nadia wobbled inside her swollen form like a waterbed, only serving to work herself up more as her soft flesh rubbed the floor and wall.

“Please….no more…milk….” Nadia was losing herself, but other things were happening. Deep inside the facility, a red light on a console turned green. Making four in a row.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Goku + Vegeta when their spouse is away on a work trip headcanons

warnings: established relationship, husband/wife, fem!reader is taking Chi-Chi and Bulma's place as the Saiyan’s significant other in each separate, respective scenario.

If this does make you feel comfortable, please hit the back 'button' on your phone or laptop and do not leave any mean comments. This blog is a safe space for everyone to share their thoughts and enjoy fics.

Special thanks to @actuallysaiyan for being my beta-reader and cheerleader, this piece wouldn’t have been possible without her.

I would love to hear feedback on these types of scenarios for Dragonball/Dragonball Z and if I should continue them or what I should try writing next~!

divider by @cafekitsune

Son Goku

Goku would definitely be excited to have the house all to himself for an entire week because that meant he got to spend more time training to get stronger! Your sons would also be home while you’re gone on this business trip, so that’s a bonus right there!

As much as he loves to fight, he would like to make up for the time he had missed seeing Gohan grow up and get to know Goten more. Goku wouldn’t exactly be called the best father, but he had been putting in the effort after the Old Kai had given him another chance at life. He had an inkling just how hard you worked at your job to provide for the family from Gohan, but once you were out of the door? Totally different story.

Goku only knows how to cook simple meals, but he would wait until almost all the food you had meticulously prepared for your departure was almost gone. At least before he walked in the door one evening after a grueling session with Vegeta and he saw Gohan cooking in the kitchen with Goten clinging to his side. Not just what you would you normally eat, but the portions you always dished out that would fill him and the boys up.

Turns out that after he had died and his oldest son defeated Cell, you had developed a new routine in his absence: You would be up first thing in the morning, followed by Gohan, who had early morning classes. He would take care of making lunches while you did breakfast, then wake up Goten. Gohan would fly with Goten to West City to go to school, and you would leave for work. If you left work on time, then you’d come straight home and start cooking dinner. If you had to work a few extra hours, then Gohan would be in charge of the kitchen. Goten would help with setting the table, since he was still too young to do any cooking or handle sharp objects.

Once dinner was served and finished, you would clean up the kitchen while Gohan helped his little brother with homework or getting him ready for bed. Afterwards you would read Goten a bedtime story, then it was lights out for everyone until the next day arrived. Gohan would be an exception to the rule if he wanted to put in a few extra hours of studying.

This routine taught the boys not only how to do chores on their own, but also to be a little more independent. It was actually Piccolo’s idea; the Namekian had helped you with looking after them when they were younger on days when you would be stuck at the office longer than expected when Bulma couldn’t. She already had her hands full as the new president of Capsule Corp and being a mother herself.

You were more than happy to compensate for Piccolo’s time with jugs of high-quality water or a meal. It was no surprise that he became a father-figure to Goten as he had been to Gohan.

Hearing all of this from his oldest son stunned and made Goku’s chest swell with happiness and pride. He had sacrificed himself to save the world from Cell, but it wasn’t until after he arrived in the Other World that he realized he had left you all alone. It couldn’t have been easy, especially after Goten was born, but you all did it. He was very proud of you, and he wished you were here now so he could show you just how much he appreciated you.

But you weren’t here. You wouldn’t be back for another six days. Maybe that’s why it felt sort of lonely to go to sleep that night, noticing how cold your side of the bed was.

By the third or fourth day Goku will be whiny, constantly annoying Vegeta during their training sessions on how much he misses you and wants you to come soon so he could eat your cooking or worse, complains why you had to leave for this trip when you could have stayed home before the Saiyan Prince points out how many times he has left his family alone before promptly kicking Goku out of the gravity room.

On the fifth day, he was more than ready to fly wherever you were and bring you home. Unfortunately, the reason you had suddenly called the house right after dinner was because you wouldn’t be coming home like you had planned. Something unexpected happened with a major project at the office, and the higher-ups put you in charge of damage control. Right now you were looking for another day, maybe two days? You promised to keep him or Gohan updated, but Goku was not happy with the news.

He knows your job is important, but what about your family? Nope. You have already worked enough, someone else can handle the problem! You were coming home in two days, no ifs or buts.

You had better be prepared to get the shock of your life if you decide otherwise, because Goku will use Instant Transmission to be wherever you are and suffocate you with bone-crushing hugs and wet kisses. Don’t worry about the kids, he called Piccolo to watch them until the two of you got back.

Now, please give him some attention~.

Vegeta

Vegeta is an arrogant and stubborn-ass Saiyan, even if everyone else says he’s definitely calmed down a lot after getting married and having Trunks. This guy will never admit how much you have changed his life for the better.

Like Goku, he would be delighted to hear that you are leaving for a weeklong work trip; to him, this means he has more time to focus on getting stronger than being forced to sit with you after dinner to watch a show you liked and cuddle for a bit in bed before it’s lights out. It was also an excellent opportunity to get Trunks in the gravity room. He will not tolerate the idea of Kakarot’s younger son being more powerful than his heir apparent.

He would definitely rely on either the meals you prepared ahead of time because he cannot cook or takeout with the emergency black card you’ve left for them on the counter to use while you are gone. Vegeta is a hazard in the kitchen unless it’s warming up something on the stove and microwave.

Although he is technically a stay-at-home dad, Vegeta would quickly realize just how much you do around the house. Regardless of the extra hours you put in at the office, you had always made sure everything was spotless, there was plenty of food on the table, and spent time with him and Trunks. Vacation days? Used only to take four day family trips together or if you were sick.

On the third day, he wouldn’t spend it training from morning to late afternoon in the gravity room or spar with Kakarot. Instead, he scrubs the house from top to bottom once he’s dropped Trunks off at school; washing the dishes in the sink, throwing out expired foodstuff, and decimating the dust bunnies with the vacuum. Once the last load of laundry is done, he rushes to get his son.

He would make Trunks clean his own room. If it was dirty or didn’t meet his expectations of cleanliness? Extra thirty minutes of training or doing one hundred push-ups would serve as his son’s punishment. He did not raise a lazy son, thank you.

He would be more moody than usual in your absence and not realize until Yamcha or another Z-Fighter pointed it out at a surprise cookout at Capsule Corp held on the fourth day. Vegeta would scowl silently and not say anything, even if he took up Mrs. Brief’s offer to take home any leftovers.

As much as he wanted to use the new Instant Transmission technique and bring you home immediately, his pride prevents from doing so. He is the Prince of Saiyans. He is not a weakling to where he cannot handle you being gone for an entire week.

(He does not take it well when you call him on the day before you are supposed to be back that you need to stay for another day to work on a report for the higher-ups. Trunks had to remind him to breathe and loosen his grip on the phone or he’d break the damned thing)

Expect Vegeta to act like a grumpy and super clingy cat as soon as you walk in the door. He will literally follow you into the bathroom because he does not want to be left alone like that again. Do not even think about denying Vegeta the opportunity to take a bath or shower with him because he will have a hissy fit.

Trunks will have to wait to cuddle with his mother. A prince’s needs come first after all~. 

Taglist: @uninhabitedsworld-18 @nasty-redrum @zvmbieb0y @boonsmoon @mythoswarrior-23 @jadeprouductions @hoodiepandaninja16 @jurikuran86 @vegeta-bananabluish @fanboilingwriter

[kravinoffswife]

Red Hood x fem!reader (Bridgerton AU) Part 3

Warnings: Vague description of sex, reader is AFAB

You were awoken by the gentle warmth of the early-morning sun streaming into the room through the cotton curtains. You stretched and let out a soft sigh. The memories of last night flooded back as you regained full consciousness. Lord Todd's fingers undoing the buttons of your gown with an adeptness that made you believe he had done this many times before. His hands, surprising calloused, rubbing against your side. His pretty lips sucking on your breast as he stared up at you with that intense emerald gaze. The feeling of your limbs intertwined.

Said man was nowhere to be found, the only evidence of him was a slight dip in the mattress from where he had been laying.

His mattress. This was his home. It was morning and you were not in your own home. You had never returned to the ball. You groaned as you thought of the consequences of your pursuit of pleasure. After searching for your dress and various pieces of undergarment that had been flung across the room in a lust-fueled haze, you attempted to make your hair look like you had not just engaged in an illicit romp. Successfully deluded into thinking you looked perfectly fine, you exited the room.

Your hunt for Lord Todd brought you to his study. It was nearly entirely mahogany wood with heavy furniture and shelves upon shelves of novels that looked like they would be very good at collecting dust. It was a far cry from the florals and pastels of your chambers.

"Lord Todd." You broke the silence from the threshold of the study.

"Jason." He corrected without looking up from his work.

"Jason." You repeated, your face turning ruddy. There was an air of awkwardness that comes only when two people have explored each others bodies. It was not there before and you did not know what to do about it.

"I assume you slept well." He still looked down at the paperwork on his desk but he wore a raking smirk.

"Very well, thank you." You said flatly.

"Would you like my driver to take you to your uncle's estate?"

"Please." You responded.

"Very well then, tell Alfred." He said, almost dismissively.

"Alfred?"

"He is my . . . butler."

"I see."

As you walked out you collided with another young man. He was equally as handsome as Jason but in a very different way. While Jason was tall and pure muscle, this gentleman was of average height and lean and toned. His eyes were a deep periwinkle shade rather than Jason's twinkling green. There were slight lines around his eyes which made you think he smiled and laughed often. He did not look happy in that moment.

"Pardon me, my lady." His expression was polite.

"Richard. I was not expecting you." Jason glared.

"I have come to discuss father's-" He paused and glanced down at you questioningly. Jason shook his head. "-estate."

Jason sighed. "Come in, then. Lady [l/n] was just leaving."

You stepped out into the hallway, the door shutting behind you with slam. You could not help but feel confused by the tension in the room but decided you had other things to worry about. Namely: getting home and trying to explain where you disappeared to yesterday.

"Lady [l/n]?" A voice rang out. You nodded.

"I am Alfred. Lord Todd said that he wants me to arrange your transport back home, yes?" His voice and demeanor was kind, wise, parental.

"That is correct, Alfred." You smiled. "And please, call me [y/n]."

He returned the smile. "The stableboy is preparing the horses. Please allow me to serve you some tea and cakes in the sitting room while you wait."

You ignored the anxiety that gnawed at you. Something about the old man's presence made you feel soothed. "That would be wonderful, thank you."

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

You snuck back into your uncles estate via the servants quarters. Once you returned to your chambers, you collapsed onto your four poster bed, your emotions in turmoil. Lord Todd had been so cold, so secretive, so dismissive. Though, you supposed that was just the nature of men - to use and discard. At least that is what your mother used to tell you prior to her detainment. You had not understood when you were younger just as you had never understood her. You had never felt as close to her as you did in the glow of the morning after.

In the grand scheme of things, Lord Todd's newfound stand-offishness did not matter. You would likely never interact with the man ever again. It felt good at the time. That was what truly mattered. Though, you were unsure if you would give into your hedonistic desire again any time soon. It would stay between the two of you, no one would ever find out about your night-time affair.

You sighed, deciding that you must get ready for the day and make an appearance downstairs. You picked out another dress, did your hair and made your way to the family room. As you made your journey through the fairly grand manor, you came across two servant-girls exchanging hushed gossip. You caught a glimpse of the paper in one of the girls, the newest edition of Lady Whistledown.

Your heart stopped. There it was, in beautiful black font, your name quickly followed by that of Lord Todd's.

[yuzukult]

drafts: i've been a little lost lately || jww & reader

drafts: unfinished works by yuzukult. please do not steal or try to recreate. draft title: i've been a little lost lately pairing: jeon wonwoo & reader genre: angst word count: 2.2k warnings: break up!au, second chances!au a/n: weee another draft, i hope you guys like it lol

Laying in your bed, you suspect it’s been forty minutes since you’ve actually woken up. The ceiling is painted white—blank, bleak, and plain, just like how your life has been feeling lately. Even with the sun shining through the sheer curtains, a warm glow hitting the pale walls, it remains dull. How many days has it been? Weeks? Months? Years? Truthfully, it’s not a question, rather you used to count the days since the break-up, but you’ve already stopped lying to yourself that he’ll come back. You’ve stopped enumerating the amount of time by now.

But mornings like these, the ones where there isn’t an agenda other than to just waste the day away, you miss him. You miss tossing in the bedsheets, turning to meet your gaze with his; soft brown eyes that resembled the burning wood in a campfire, pools of hot chocolate in cups during the winter with a marshmallow in each serving, and the walnuts he’d attempt to fling into your mouth from across the couch before the two of you would laugh breathlessly when he would miss and hit another part of your face. His hair would always be messy; stray strands poking up analogous to antennes, and you’d poke fun, asking if he was receiving any signal from the satellite from above. There was the aroma of freshly brewed coffee that filled the room, the sizzle of the eggs that hit the heated pan on the stove, and the smile that beamed so brightly sitting in front of you at the kitchen table seemed to be a lost piece of your life, one you don’t think you’d ever get the chance of seeing again.

Not all loves last, you learn wistfully, and remembering the day he shut the door of your apartment behind him with his duffle bag in hand and a backpack that sat atop his shoulders, it’s a reminder that he’s really gone. There’s no big, flamboyant gesture that you could do to bring him back, and if you really wanted to, a portion of you knows that this is what he wishes for. To be apart. You respect him too much to put him in another uncomfortable position by asking if he could stay.

Glancing over at your phone screen, you groan. 12:31PM. 

You’ve been laying here for what feels like forever, but the forty minutes that you assumed is a measly five.

The smell of breakfast and coffee, the loud clutters from the pans under the cabinets that used to come from outside your bedroom, and the exchanged delicate kisses during these mornings weren’t there anymore, and they haven’t been for two years now.

So why the fuck are you still thinking about them?

Rubbing your face tiredly, you force yourself to sit up on your bed. He’s not here, and he hasn’t been here in a while, and the fact that the memories still haunt your thoughts like a bad dream is frustrating. Why would he still infiltrate your head like he belongs there, like he deserves to be there, when he hasn’t been here physically in two years? He’s like a plague you can’t seem to cure yourself from, and even if you did, remnants of him prevail. You’d think you’d have the antibodies or something and your system could get rid of him before it takes over.

Maybe you’ll catch up on laundry, possibly do something today instead of nothing so that your head could be too busy to think of anything else. Toothbrush in hand and staring at yourself through the mirror, you’ve caught yourself once again pondering why he would pop in your head again when you’ve been doing so well lately. Shaking yourself from these thoughts, you went on with your morning routine. Brush, facewash, and skincare. 

The thought of coffee crosses your mind again, this time, you’re contemplating if you’re favoring ordering delivery or opting to make a cup for yourself.

Unlocking your phone, you skim through the pages of your homescreen before your finger hovers the Instagram icon. Purple, pink, red, orange, and yellow, who knew a square with a plethora of colors could weigh so heavy on your heart. Barely a month ago, you scrolled through the app casually before that familiar username pops up, one that used to sit in your direct messages almost daily, now hidden deep in your history. He posts a picture that seems like forever ago since he last did, the image of him with the silhouette of a pretty girl is on your feed and you could almost hear your heart audibly crack.

You’ve moved on. So why were you still aching?

Before you could decide on ordering or making coffee yourself, there’s a knock at the door.

And in all fairness, you weren’t sure of what you were expecting. You should’ve checked the peep hole in the door, or even taken a glance at the monitor that shows who’s outside in the hall—but oddly something in you is out of order today and when the door opens to expose who it is standing by the threshold of your apartment, you freeze.

If this is what it feels like for your heart to drop to your ass, then you’ve just experienced it.

There he is. Jeon Wonwoo in the flesh, in the halls of your apartment complex with an oversized beige jacket and two cups of coffee placed in a pulp fiber drink carrier.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft and barely a whisper. The expression on his face is pained, like he’s just been through a heartbreak. Why was he here?

“Uh, hi?” Rubbing your nape, you’re left confused and speechless. Do you invite him in? Do you yell and scream because he left you that night, without a real explanation on why he decided to go? Or do you leap into his arms and tell him how much you’ve missed him, and how even when you’ve moved on and found others to love, your heart still came back to him. “What… What can I do for you?”

Wonwoo inhales a deep breath, lifting up the carrier in his hands. “I… I brought us coffee to talk, if you’re willing to invite me in.”

You roll your lips. “What are you actually doing here, Wonwoo? We broke up. I’m sure you remember that.”

“I got lost,” he admits abruptly, like it was the words that got caught in his throat all these years, as if it’s what he wanted to tell you all along. “I got lost, and I thought that what we had wasn’t supposed to be the end. I saw what it was like being with other people and I—I fucked up. It was a mistake.”

You don’t know what to say. This was something the old you wished for, dreamed for, even, but the person presently here doesn’t know what she wants. “Um,” you begin, clearing your throat. “What’s in that cup?”

“My apologies,” Wonwoo answers humorously, but it’s only a front. “Hot matcha latte with two shots of espresso. Just as you liked years ago.”

He went through the efforts to get the right drink for you. Maybe you’ll give him a chance to explain himself. “Twenty minutes—tops,” you clarify before stepping aside for him to enter.

Your apartment is in the same location, but the interior is different. He takes note that you’ve moved your desk to face the window, for sunlight he assumes, and you’ve shifted your couch over to make room for it. Your dishes used to sit out at the table, he remembered correctly, but you’ve overcome the habit and your sink is empty, plates cleared, and placed where they belong on the shelf. 

“Quick. Timer is starting.”

You’re quick to snag the drink from him, and a soft smile tugs on his mouth. He missed you, and even if he doesn’t outright say it, he feels it in his core. “I got engaged.”

You nearly spat out your matcha. “You what?”

Wonwoo nods, fingers tapping against the granite countertops of your island, swallowing all his nerves so he could fully explain himself. “I was seeing someone and… it got serious. So I did what seemed best at the time, and I proposed.”

“She looked nice,” you say, drawing imaginary shapes on the outside of your cup to calm yourself. Hatred buzzed through you, not the two shots of espresso, but you weren’t going to show it. You assumed it was his girlfriend that he proposed to, and to be fair, she seemed lovely—how could you blame him? “And she was pretty too.”

“She was great,” Wonwoo admits, and you wonder why he came in the first place. “Kind, charming, sweet—she was the whole packaged deal.”

Remaining silent, you figured it wasn’t time to start a fight. As tempting as it was, you still wanted to hear what he had to say.

“But she wasn’t you.”

You weren’t expecting that. 

“So I left,” he sighs, his jaw tensing at the memories. “I told her how I truly felt and walked out.”

You purse your lips. “Well, you do what you know best.”

It stings.

For him, his weakest spot has always been you. You were the one that made his heart skip a beat the first time, the one who made him feel whole as a person without making it feel like he needed you to fill it. You taught him to love himself, to accept who he was because he got to see himself through your eyes.

And he let that go. He fucked up and let go of the one person that helped him grow and be better as a person. For himself, for your relationship… for you.

But he abandoned you. Now he’s here and begging for forgiveness.

So when you say those words, they sting and burn like alcohol poured on to an open wound, but he’d stand there and take it because deserves it from you. 

“I—I know what I did, and I don’t know how to make it better.”

“Go marry her and be happy.” 

Now he wasn’t expecting that.

With furrowed brows, he switches the weight on his one leg to the other. You don’t mean that, do you? “What? You want me to marry her?”

“Yeah,” you reply, fists at your side clenched. “I want you to be married and happy, not still thinking about a ‘what if,’ with me. Wonwoo, as much as I wished it was me, I don’t want that for her. I don’t want her to deal with what I did, watching the love of your life walk out on you and never come back.”

“But I came back.”

“And you’ll go back to her. I also have too much self respect to just let you waltz into my life like you didn’t just throw away four years into the trash for you to get engaged and come back.”

He’s silent.

Your response catches him dumbfounded, but everything with you leaves him on the edge of his seat. It’s why your relationship had always been an excitement—the spontaneous road-trips, the surprises you’d give on random days to show your love, and the subtle things you’d do for him just because—with you, even when you’re just lounging on the couch with nothing to do for the day, he could never be bored.

“I’m not going back to her,” Wonwoo states, firmly this time.

“And why’s that? Because you got lost for a second?” You snap, and it feels like it was a slap to the face.

“Because I don’t love her.”

Scoffing, you place your drink into the counter. “So now what? You love me instead?”

“No,” he heaves out a heavy sigh, because he knows that you’ve put up a wall to protect yourself. It’d be hard for you to allow him through to you again, but he knows it’s worth it. “I’ve always loved you.”

Your heart swells. But of course it does, this is Jeon Wonwoo you were talking about here. With just one look, he makes people weak in the knees, heart stuttering in its beat, and steals the breath from their lungs. He’s a walking dream, and you’d be crazy to turn him down—and you didn't, but that was before. Things are different now. You’ve already given him the chance, and he took advantage of that.

“That’s great, Wonwoo, I’m happy that you realized that. But I don’t know what you want me to do—open my arms and let you leap back into them? Not really a Disney movie we’re living in here. This is reality.”

“I get it, in reality, there aren’t always second chances.”

You quirk a brow. “Well, if you get it, then why are you still here?”

“Because you’re a realist, and sometimes so am I. But I met a hopeless romantic, and he told me that if I still love you, I should still try.” 

There’s a pregnant pause. “Here I am, trying.”

In all honesty, Wonwoo knows you. He knows what comes with coming back to ask you for a second chance. It’s always been easy to love you, the difficult part was convincing you to admit you still love him back. You’ve been known to be stubborn, hard headedness being the bane of his existence because you’ll never cave in that easily.

But what you also knew and previously loved was his persistence.

He’d never leave unless you let him at least try winning you back.

With a heavy sigh of defeat, it’s the first time Wonwoo wins an argument against you. It doesn’t require much effort this time, he takes note, and he likes to think you’ve changed for the better since he last saw you.

[ollypopwrites]

Weekly WIP Preview

Got tagged by the wonderful @razildor to share some WIP goodness.

This is a (very rough first draft) bit from a fic I’m working on called Grace and Fervor, which highlights Emmrich’s perspective on falling in love with Mourn Watcher Rook. I’m undecided if it’s going to be explicitly about Vanya Ingellvar.

It features some fun head canons i have about magic and mourn watch stuff!!!

As usual, pls forgive how rough this is. I’m a firm believer in First Drafts just being about getting the words on the screen.

no pressure tagging @flightlessangelwings @bankabb (ART WIPS IFYOU FEEL UP TO ITTTT) and @aldisobey

“Got a bit sidetracked there,” Rook said as they made their way back towards the Veil Jumper camp and the eluvian. “Sorry, Bel.”

“No,” the elf said quickly. “No, that was good! I think I get it now, the Mourn Watch stuff.” She smiled genuinely but sadly, “thanks for doing all of that, I’ll let Irelin know where to find the bodies.” Then she jumped as if she had been shocked by her own electrical magic, “oh! I did want to grab something from the artifact vault, I completely forgot! Damn, and we were just there!” She groaned, “I’m sorry. Can we go back? It’ll be quick!”

“Of course we can,” Rook said easily.

Bellara hurried forward, leading the way back towards the vault. Emmrich stayed a few steps behind with Rook, hands behind his back.

“You did wonderfully with that spirit, Rook,” he complimented. “It pleases me that we can enlighten others on how to prevent Spirits from getting into those knots that make them lash out.”

Rook smiled, genuinely this time. “Me too. There are a lot of spirits here in Arlathan that I think could be set back on their course. The business with the Gods and the Veil, it doesn’t just affect us.”

“Very true.” He agreed. “You know, you would have done well in my Spirit Calling course.”

“I thought about taking Spirit Calling,” she said, “but I didn’t really think I needed to be taught how to do it. And it interfered with a course on Bone-Throwing.”

“I had no idea you dabbled in the divinatory!”

“I haven’t done a good divination ritual in a while. There’s a lot I’ve had to put on the back burner, recently,” she sighed. “Y’know Varric and Harding still think I majored in fortune telling.”

He paused, not wanting to put too much emphasis on her slip up with Master Tethras. The grieving mind sometimes did mix up the semantics, not used to adjusting to the absence.

“Divining is as widely a misunderstood subject as Necromancy,” he said with a sigh. “Yet it is so easily explained, it’s not the future we seek, but traces of messages in the unknown of the Fade. What is your preferred method of throwing?”

“I use my own baby teeth.” Rook grinned. “And any little bits and pieces I find. Arlathan has so many animal bones, I’ve had to restrict myself to one keepsake a trip.” Digging into the bag at her hip, she procured a mesh bag, dozens of little teeth and small bones inside as she shook them.

“Delightful!” Emmrich grinned. “You must show me some time, I admit, I was only ever very talented in scrying.”

“I could never sit still long enough for scrying,” she said, tucking her collection back in her bag.

“You do have a natural way with the Spirits, though, Rook. You ought to hone it. Spirit Calling does not always need to be taught to a mage, but there is something to be said about nurturing natural talent.” He said.

“Right.” She smiled, another tight lipped one that was more out of politeness than anything else. “But… they’re your specialty. That’s what we have you here for, isn’t it?”

He had done something wrong. Yet, he couldn’t figure out what. But he felt it as she pushed ahead, the ease of conversation abruptly ruined as she avoided looking back at him or engaging in any further discussion.

It was no wonder the others found his presence unsettling, when Rook herself seemed to be unable to decide whether she was comfortable with him being there or not. She flipped wildly from eagerly discussing home with him to seeming as if she couldn’t be as far away as possible. A brick in the wall would wiggle, slip out of place so he could peer through and then she would swiftly turn tail and run.

He had hoped her presence and influence would be a comfort to him, another Watcher so far from home when most never wandered too far. That had not been the case, thus far.

[puddii-ng]

a beautiful museum that lies on the sand of an hourglass ✧･ﾟ

[1000sunnygo]

I did write the summary on the wiki lol - happy to see that people use it! On a separate topic, and if you're interested, I remembered another bonus story released for Jump Victory Carnival 2021 about Luffy and Law bug hunting for beetles (imgur /a/Txt6ayl). It hasn't been included in any of the volumes (like the rest of the JVC stories)

LMAOAOA

the image quality got significantly worse after lettering, here's the raw link (credits: @walrsu)

THIS NERD NAMED 4 BEETLES IN 2 PAGES (the 'welcome ⬆️' signboard HAHA)

+ Luffy's face in this panel 😭 I love him being a little shit with Law

This made my day, thank you again!

[sysig]

Coding woes (Patreon)