#you could say you are... gnawing on it even

[soapcloth]

CW: ghost/referenced ghoap x reader, slight angst, possessive behaviour - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Being the one to pick up Soap’s wardrobe from a secondhand store— the donation so fresh that the scent hadn’t even had the chance to fade and mingle with the rest of the shop. You’re wearing a dead man’s hoodie and you haven’t got the faintest clue.

You like his overbearingly rugged smell; find yourself lifting up the collar to inhale and wonder what the person who donated it is like. The hoodie is emblazoned with a name— maybe he’ll see you on the street one day in his old clothes and use it as an ice breaker. The thought is nice. You don’t even know.

Soap was a man who liked personlized items; a taste for things that were one of a kind— just like him. Everything he touched had been marked by a man living a full life and was wholly unmistakable to the discerning eye of the shadow who knew him inside out.

So why was ghost, absolutely swamped in grief, forced to see an interloper wearing his boy’s clothes? He just wanted a fucking coffee.

Johnny’s official family funeral had been no more than a month ago and there was already a stranger wearing his stuff. If ghost had the privilege to grab that box of Johnny’s items and run, it would be neatly tucked away in his closet, silently cherished. Not hanging off the frame of some random civilian who could never even begin to fathom the depths of a man like John MacTavish.

It must’ve been the world playing a sick joke on him that you, who didn’t even know the man, would be able to collect Johnny’s stuff before him. Never allowed anything.

Suffice to say, he’s pissed when he spots you. Stands a bit too close to you so Johnny’s scent can catch in his nose. You’re clearly nervous, but manage to smile hopefully when he makes an offhanded comment about liking the garment. You probably think they’re his clothes, don’t you?

Well, for all intents and purposes, they are.

You ask if he’s ‘MacTavish’ and something in him wants to scream at you that the world hated him far too much for that to ever happen— instead he just nods, leering at how happy that makes you. He can’t tell if your response lights up his brain because he wants to bite your head clean off— or because somewhere, deep inside him, seeing someone so excited about ‘finding’ Johnny is nice.

He hatches a plan. Knead away at your apprehension towards his intimidating appearance, bag a quick fuck— god knows he needs one, grab the clothes, and disappear from your life with Johnny’s items finally where they belong. It’s perfect.

Well, it’s perfect until an unavoidable, nagging voice starts to rattle around in the back of his skull that Johnny would have been absolutely smitten with you. You might have been one last parting gift sent from his boy, how could he ever turn that down? The thought of fucking you in Johnny’s clothes, being able to nudge his crooked nose into the fabric and chase the scent that’s starting to entangle with your own— it sends him reeling

Johnny would be so pleased if the scent of their sweet lamb caught. Can vividly picture him absolutely beaming while huffing at the clothes before urging ghost to take a sniff for himself.

He latches onto the notion that maybe, just maybe he could tuck you and the clothes away somewhere safe for his eyes only— teeth already sunken deeper into you than he could ever possibly imagine by the point he finally acknowledges the gnawing revelation.

Johnny would want this for the both of you. This time he’d keep you safe.

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

BIGGER THAN THE WHOLE SKY

drew starkey x fem!reader

SUMMARY: while filming an emotional scene, y/n receives devastating news about her mum, leading to a heartbreaking breakdown on set as her boyfriend drew and their co-stars comfort her.

based on this ask !! thank you @xoxosblogsblog for another amazing request, a very emotional one to write as i’ve lost a parent, but it was therapeutic to write <3

(check out my other drew starkey & rafe cameron works here !!)

WARNINGS: death of a parent, crying, panic attack, descriptions of dissociating, grief, the cast being adorable :’), very angsty but a comforting ending !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 2k

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N sat in her trailer, staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror.

The makeup artists had just left, the remnants of their work leaving her looking polished, camera-ready. Her character was meant to be grieving in today’s scene, but they had only given her a touch of concealer, a dusting of powder to dull the shine of the lights, and a hint of smudged mascara to make it look like she had been crying.

She was supposed to pretend to be devastated.

The irony was almost cruel.

Her phone vibrated against the counter. She glanced down at the screen, expecting to see a message from Drew, maybe a reminder from the assistant director to head to set soon. Instead, her father’s name flashed across the screen.

Her stomach twisted.

It wasn’t like him to call during the day. He knew she was working, knew she was filming one of the biggest scenes of the season. A sudden chill crept up her spine, a visceral knowing before she even answered.

With slightly trembling fingers, she swiped to accept the call.

“Dad?” she answered, her voice steady despite the unease gnawing at her.

There was silence for a beat too long.

Her father was a strong man, always composed, always measured in his words. But when he finally spoke, his voice was hollow, stripped of all its usual warmth.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, and in just that one word, she felt her world tilt on its axis.

She sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

Another pause. Then a sharp inhale, like he was bracing himself.

“It’s your mum,” he said, and the way his voice wavered sent ice coursing through her veins.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the phone. “What about her?”

His breath hitched, and then—

“She’s gone, love.”

The words didn’t compute. They didn’t make sense, didn’t fit into any conceivable reality she had prepared herself for.

“What?” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

“She passed away this morning.”

Her father’s voice was thick, like he was struggling to hold himself together. But she barely heard him now. The words looped in her mind, repeating over and over, yet still, she couldn’t understand them.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

That wasn’t possible. She had just spoken to her mum a few days ago. She had promised to visit after the season wrapped. She had plans with her, had texts left unanswered, had so many things left unsaid.

A strange ringing noise filled her ears, drowning out whatever else her father was saying. She felt the weight of her own body disappear, like she was floating outside of herself, detached and weightless.

Her vision blurred.

The room around her suddenly felt too small, too quiet. The air too thick.

“… I know you’re at work,” her father was saying, his voice distant, “and I don’t want to take you away from that. There’s nothing you can do right now, sweetheart. I’ll handle everything here. Just—just get through today, yeah? Then we’ll figure everything out.”

Get through today.

That was the only option, wasn’t it?

She would have to book flights, pack a bag, make arrangements—but none of that could happen now. If she left set immediately, what would she do? Sit in a hotel near the airport, trapped with nothing but her grief?

At least here, she had something to do.

At least here, she could pretend for a little longer.

She swallowed, her throat raw. “Okay.”

Her father hesitated. “Y/N—”

“I have to go,” she interrupted, her voice eerily calm.

“Sweetheart, wait—”

But she ended the call.

The phone slipped from her fingers, landing on the counter with a dull clack.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

She stared at the mirror, at the girl looking back at her—the girl who, ten minutes ago, had been fine. Normal. Whole.

Now, she felt like a cracked porcelain doll, barely held together, each fissure running deeper and deeper beneath the surface.

Her face remained passive, her lips slightly parted, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—her eyes gave her away.

She wasn’t there anymore.

She was somewhere else, floating through the spaces between reality and nothingness.

Her body felt heavy, yet she was untethered.

Her fingers curled against her lap, gripping onto the fabric of her costume as if that alone could keep her from slipping away entirely.

It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

Because if it was—

A soft knock at the door made her flinch.

“Five minutes to set!” called a PA from outside.

She blinked.

Five minutes.

A deep inhale. A slow exhale.

She forced herself to move, to pick up her phone, to smooth down her clothes. She had a job to do.

She pushed everything else aside, packed it into a box, sealed it tight.

She would grieve later.

For now, she would pretend.

She opened the door and stepped onto set, not realising that in just a few short minutes, the cracks in her facade would shatter completely.

—

The set of Outer Banks was alive with the usual buzz of controlled chaos—crew members adjusting lights, directors conferring in hushed tones, the distant hum of the ocean blending into the background. It was supposed to be just another day of filming, another scene to capture before moving on to the next.

It was a heavy one.

Her character had just lost her father. The Pogues were there, trying to comfort her, trying to remind her she wasn’t alone. Even Rafe—played by Drew—stood nearby, a complicated mix of emotions brewing in his expression. The cameras were rolling, capturing everything.

Y/N tried to focus, tried to remember her lines, but something inside her cracked wide open.

She felt the grief swell like a rising tide, swallowing her whole. It was too big, too raw, too real.

When she started crying, no one questioned it. She was an incredible actress—everyone knew that. The scene demanded tears, demanded heartbreak. But as her sobs grew heavier, more uncontrollable, the air on set shifted.

Rudy shot a glance towards Chase, brows furrowed. Madelyn, kneeling beside Y/N in the scene, squeezed her hand, her own eyes glassy with concern. Drew, standing just out of frame, felt his pulse quicken.

Something wasn’t right.

The way Y/N clutched at her chest, the way her breathing hitched, sharp and ragged—it wasn’t just acting anymore.

Still, the cameras kept rolling.

Adrenaline surged through Drew’s veins. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his instincts screaming at him to cut through the scene, to pull her out of whatever was happening. But he hesitated. Y/N was a professional. If this was her choice, if she was using real emotions to fuel the performance, he had to respect that.

Then she collapsed to her knees.

The sob that tore from her throat wasn’t scripted. It wasn’t crafted for the scene. It was pain—real, unfiltered pain.

That was when the director finally called, “Cut!”

But Y/N didn’t stop.

She was still sobbing, her body trembling, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. The cast and crew hesitated, frozen in the moment, unsure whether they should intervene.

Drew didn’t hesitate.

He was by her side in an instant, dropping to his knees, hands grasping her shoulders. “Hey, hey—Y/N, breathe. You’re okay.”

She wasn’t okay.

Her body was shaking so violently that she could barely hold herself upright. Tears streamed down her face, her expression twisted in anguish.

“Y/N,” Madelyn whispered, stroking her back. “What’s going on?”

“Someone get her water,” Chase called, already stepping forward.

Drew cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. “Love, talk to me.”

But she couldn’t.

The world around her blurred at the edges, the voices of her friends distant, muffled. She felt like she was floating—adrift in a sea of grief, unable to grasp onto anything solid.

“Come on, baby,” Drew pleaded, his own voice shaking now. “You’re scaring me.”

Y/N gasped for air, her chest constricting so tightly it hurt. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

Madelyn was rubbing soothing circles into her back, whispering soft reassurances, while Rudy and Jonathan exchanged worried glances. The crew had fallen into an uneasy silence, watching the scene unfold.

Finally, through the sobs, through the suffocating grief, Y/N forced out the words that shattered the air around them.

“My mum… she’s gone.”

Drew’s heart stopped.

The words didn’t register at first. He blinked at her, his grip tightening instinctively.

“What?” he breathed.

Y/N choked on another sob, pressing her hands to her face as if she could somehow block it all out.

“My dad called me before we filmed,” she whimpered. “She—she died. I—I didn’t know what to do—I thought I could just—” She gasped, shaking her head frantically. “I thought I could just get through the day, but—”

Drew didn’t let her finish.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse them together. She collapsed into him, gripping the fabric of his shirt with desperate hands.

The rest of the cast looked on, their own eyes brimming with emotion. Madelyn covered her mouth with her hands, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Jesus, Y/N…” Chase muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I—” Her voice broke again. “I couldn’t.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Drew murmured against her hair. His own eyes were wet now, his throat thick with emotion. “We’re here. I’m here.”

She let out a broken whimper, gripping him tighter.

Madelyn sat beside them, wrapping her arms around Y/N from behind. Rudy joined a moment later, then Jonathan, then Chase. A pile of bodies, all holding onto her, surrounding her with warmth, with love.

The weight of Y/N’s revelation hung heavy in the air, casting a sombre pall over the once-bustling set. The cast remained huddled around her, their collective warmth a fragile barrier against the encroaching chill of grief.

Drew held her as if anchoring her to the present, his fingers gently threading through her hair. “We’re here, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re not alone.”

Madelyn, her own tears silently falling, whispered soothing words, her hand never leaving Y/N’s back. “It’s okay to let it out. We’re with you.”

Chase knelt beside them, his usual playful demeanour replaced with earnest concern. “Whatever you need, Y/N. We’re family.”

Rudy and Jonathan exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting a shared resolve. “We’ll get through this together,” Jonathan said softly, his voice steady.

As Y/N’s sobs gradually subsided into quiet tremors, the director approached, his expression a mix of compassion and uncertainty. “Is there anything we can do?” he asked gently.

Drew looked up, his eyes red-rimmed but determined. “I think she needs some time. We… we need to get her home.”

The director nodded, understanding the unspoken request. “Of course. We’ll arrange for flights immediately. The production will cover all expenses.”

Y/N lifted her head, her eyes swollen and glassy. “I don’t want to be a burden,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

“You’re not,” Madelyn insisted, squeezing her hand. “You’re family.”

The crew moved with quiet efficiency, making the necessary arrangements. Within the hour, flights were booked for Y/N and Drew to return to her hometown. The cast remained by her side, offering silent support as she navigated the haze of shock and sorrow.

As they prepared to leave, Y/N turned to her friends, her voice trembling. “Thank you… all of you.”

Chase stepped forward, enveloping her in a gentle embrace. “We’ll be here when you’re ready to come back.”

Rudy nodded, his eyes earnest. “Take all the time you need.”

Jonathan offered a reassuring smile. “We’ll keep things running smoothly here.”

Madelyn hugged her tightly, her voice breaking. “We love you.”

Drew took Y/N’s hand, their fingers intertwining. “Let’s go home,” he said softly.

As they departed, the set remained in a hushed stillness, a testament to the profound impact of shared grief and the strength of chosen family.

The grief wouldn’t disappear. The pain wouldn’t lessen. But in that moment, she wasn’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was a every emotional one, but i hope you all enjoy it !! my requests are still open until i go away on wednesday so please send some in :)

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[aventurineswife]

Hello, I just had the cutest idea, for Jing Yuan, Blade, Sunday, and Jiaoqiu, what if the reader dressed up their toddler in a mini version of their father's outfit, ngl lie I think that would be so cute.

Little Reflections

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Blade x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Fluff, Family Bonding, Domestic Moments, Miniature Costumes, Parental Love, Tender Interactions, Slice of Life.

Jing Yuan lounged on a garden bench in the Luofu’s arboretum, a cup of tea balanced delicately in his hand. The peaceful atmosphere seemed to mirror his unhurried demeanor. Despite his reputation as the "Dozing General," his eyes missed nothing—especially not the sound of small, uneven footsteps heading his way.

He turned his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You approached, holding the hand of your toddler, who waddled toward him with as much dignity as a two-year-old could muster. Jing Yuan's sharp gaze softened when he noticed what the child was wearing: a perfectly tailored miniature version of his own uniform.

The tiny cape draped over your child’s shoulders fluttered with each step, and the golden accents on their blouse glimmered in the sunlight. Even the nian-inspired armor on their right arm had been lovingly recreated, though made of light fabric instead of metal.

“Look who’s decided to join the Cloud Knights,” Jing Yuan teased, setting down his cup. He crouched and opened his arms as the toddler tottered into his embrace.

“Say hello to General Jing Yuan,” you teased back, watching as the child babbled nonsensical sounds, clearly more interested in tugging at Jing Yuan's ponytail ribbon than any formality.

Jing Yuan chuckled, adjusting the red ribbon so it wouldn’t be pulled loose. “I must say, this little knight already looks the part. Who made this for them?”

“I had some help from the tailors,” you admitted. “But the design is all mine. Do you like it?”

Jing Yuan stood, cradling the toddler in one arm while placing a hand on your shoulder with the other. “Like it? I love it. Though I think they might upstage me at the next council meeting.”

You laughed. “Well, maybe they’ll share the workload, too.”

Jing Yuan smirked, looking down at the child now trying to gnaw on the tassel hanging from their hip. “Perhaps. But for now, I’ll enjoy having both of my little stars by my side.”

Blade was rarely one to let emotions show, but when he stepped into your living quarters and saw your toddler standing proudly in the middle of the room, even he paused.

The child was dressed in a miniature version of Blade’s attire, complete with a tiny replica of his tailcoat. The red inner lining peeked out with every wobbling step they took toward him, and the dark blue embroidery shimmered faintly in the dim light. They even had a bandaged arm and a toy sword strapped to their waist.

“Is this your idea?” Blade asked, his voice soft but laced with curiosity.

You smiled from where you sat nearby, a sewing kit still on the table. “Do you like it? They wanted to look like their papa.”

The child reached Blade and tugged at his coat, their bright red eyes looking up at him expectantly. Blade knelt, his usually piercing gaze softening as he reached out to brush a hand over the child’s head.

“You’ve done well,” he murmured, though it was unclear whether he was speaking to you or the toddler.

The child giggled, gripping the toy sword and thrusting it forward with all their might. “Fight bad guys!” they announced, their high-pitched voice echoing in the room.

Blade chuckled—a rare, genuine sound that you hadn’t heard in a long time. “You’ll need a lot more training for that.”

You approached, resting a hand on Blade’s shoulder. “I thought it might make you smile. Do you like it?”

He stood, the child now perched on his arm, their small hands gripping his coat. “I do,” he admitted quietly. “It’s...perfect.”

Sunday was deep in thought when you entered his study, guiding your toddler into the room. His sharp eyes shifted from his documents to the sight before him, and he froze.

The child wore a small version of his regal Halovian outfit, complete with a tiny halo hovering above their head—a clever accessory you’d crafted using lightweight materials. The gold cross-shaped cutouts on their gloves and the navy wing-like vest were lovingly recreated, and the soft gray blazer hung slightly oversized on their small frame.

“Is this...my little successor?” Sunday’s voice was tinged with amusement, though his piercing gaze softened as he took in the sight.

You grinned. “They wanted to dress like their papa. What do you think?”

The toddler toddled toward him, their hands reaching out to grab at the papers on his desk. Sunday leaned down and scooped them up, careful not to disturb the halo balancing atop their head.

“I think they’re a vision of perfection,” he said, his tone warm. “Though I might need to keep them away from my work.”

The child giggled, their small hands patting Sunday’s face. “Papa!” they exclaimed, clearly delighted to have his attention.

Sunday chuckled, pressing a kiss to their forehead. “Perhaps this is a sign,” he mused, looking at you. “A reminder to step away from work every now and then.”

You smiled. “I thought it might bring some joy to your day.”

“It has,” he said, cradling the child in one arm. “Though I think our little angel might outshine me in this outfit.”

Jiaoqiu sat quietly on the veranda, his feather fan resting on his lap. Despite his blindness, his ears perked up at the sound of light footsteps approaching, accompanied by your soft laughter.

“Who’s there?” he asked gently, his closed eyes tilting toward the noise.

“It’s us,” you replied, guiding your toddler closer. “And we brought a surprise.”

The child toddled forward, their tiny hands gripping the edge of Jiaoqiu’s robes. They were dressed in a miniature version of his healer’s attire, complete with a feather fan of their own. The soft salmon-colored fabric matched Jiaoqiu’s hair perfectly, and their fluffy fox ears twitched with excitement.

Jiaoqiu’s lips curved into a smile as he reached out, his fingers brushing over the child’s outfit. “What’s this?” he murmured.

“They wanted to be like you,” you explained, kneeling beside him. “Do you like it?”

The child climbed onto Jiaoqiu’s lap, giggling as they waved their tiny fan. Jiaoqiu let out a soft laugh, his hands resting gently on the child’s shoulders.

“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice warm. “Though I think they’ll make a better healer than I ever could.”

You leaned against his shoulder, watching as he playfully ruffled the child’s hair. “I just thought it might make you smile.”

Jiaoqiu turned his face toward you, his gentle expression full of gratitude. “It did,” he said quietly. “Thank you—for reminding me that even in the darkness, there is light.”

[luvst4rc0r3]

CAN YOU DO A JINX X READER FIC BUT READER IS PREGNANT AND LIKE SHE DOESNT KNOW HOW TO TELL JINX.

IF YOU DO IT TYYYYYY❤️❤️

“Two Pink Lines”

Jinx x F!Reader

WARNINGS: Mention of abortion?

WC:2311

NOTE: established relationship.

Your POV

You had been pacing the tiny space of your shared room for the last ten minutes, the little pregnancy test feeling like a bomb in your hands.

Your heart was pounding so hard it made your head hurt. You knew this wasn’t something you could just ignore—Jinx deserved to know. But saying it out loud? Actually forming the words? That felt impossible.

“Hey, Jinx, so, funny story—I’m pregnant.”

Nope. Too casual.

“Jinx, I have something to tell you… I’m having a baby.”

Too dramatic.

“Surprise! You knocked me up!”

Oh, hell no.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. Every option sounded worse than the last. There was no way this wouldn’t shake her, no way this wouldn’t send her brain spinning in all directions. Jinx wasn’t bad with emotions—she just didn’t always know what to do with them. And this? This was big.

You had seen how uneasy she was lately, the way she watched you with that nervous, twitchy energy. She knew something was up, but instead of pressing, she’d let it fester, probably assuming the worst.

Jinx had been through too much, lost too many people, and she had this awful habit of thinking everything was her fault. And you had not been helping, avoiding her questions, brushing off her concerns, all because you didn’t know how to say it.

That had to stop.

You exhaled sharply.

You needed to tell her. But you also knew that telling her face-to-face might make it worse.

Jinx was all reaction—she acted before thinking, emotions bubbling over before she could grab hold of them. If you just told her, there was a chance she’d shut down, that panic would take over before she even had time to process.

But if you left the test somewhere she’d find it, without the pressure of you standing there waiting for a reaction… maybe that would help.

Your eyes landed on her workshop.

That’s it.

She was always working on something, always tinkering with gadgets and bombs. Her workbench was her safe space—the one place she could think things through. If you left the test there, she’d have time to work through the shock before she had to deal with you staring at her, waiting for an answer.

Decision made, you swallowed hard and forced yourself to move.

Jinx wasn’t in the workshop, which was perfect. You stepped inside, ignoring the usual chaos of scattered blueprints and half-finished projects, and placed the pregnancy test dead center on her workbench.

She wouldn’t miss it.

You took a shaky step back, staring at the little plastic stick like it might suddenly shout the news for you.

This was the best way. You had to believe that.

Taking a deep breath, you turned and walked out. You’d give her a couple of hours—enough time to let her mind run in circles, freak out, and hopefully settle before you came back.

You just had to hope she wouldn’t blow anything up in the process.

‧͙*˚⁺‧͙ㅤ ওㅤㅤֺㅤ ⠀⠀✧ ⠀ ㅤֺㅤ ওㅤ ㅤ*̩̩͙‧͙*˚⁺ ͙

Jinx’s POV

Jinx felt like her skin didn’t fit right.

Something was wrong.

You were gone again, and she had no idea where or why. You kept sneaking off, looking at her like she was some kind of fragile bomb that might explode if you said the wrong thing.

She hated it.

Hated not knowing.

Hated the pit of anxiety gnawing at her stomach.

She stomped into her workshop, muttering to herself, fingers twitching at her sides. Maybe she could work on something, blow off some steam, keep her hands busy before she—

Her eyes landed on her workbench.

Jinx froze.

There, right in the middle of the mess, was something that didn’t belong. A little box.

Her brows furrowed. She stepped closer, picking it up and flipping it over in her hands. The words on the front made her stomach drop.

Pregnancy Test.

Her breath hitched.

That wasn’t—

No way.

She ripped the box open, fingers fumbling as she pulled out the little plastic stick inside.

Two pink lines.

Her heart stopped.

She stared at it, willing the lines to disappear, to change, to be anything else.

Two lines meant—

It meant—

Jinx’s breath came fast and shallow, her grip tightening around the test. Her thoughts were spiraling too fast to grab onto.

You were pregnant.

With her baby.

Her lungs felt too tight. Her hands were shaking. The world tilted, her brain screaming at her to do something, but she didn’t even know what.

This was why you’d been acting weird. This was why you were avoiding her, why you looked so nervous every time she got too close.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Did you think she’d be mad? Did you think she wouldn’t want this?

Jinx stumbled back, almost knocking over a pile of scrap metal.

A baby. A tiny, fragile thing that would need her, to touch her, to need her warmth.

Her.

Jinx.

A girl who broke everything she touched.

She squeezed her eyes shut, sucking in a sharp breath. No, no, don’t go there, don’t—

Her brain wanted to run, to slip into that dark, gnawing place where she wasn’t enough, where she couldn’t be enough. But another thought cut through the panic—sharp, insistent.

You hadn’t left.

You didn’t run.

You left this for her to find, trusting that she’d handle it.

She blinked down at the test again.

Her fingers loosened.

The fear was still there, lurking under her skin, but something else was rising up too—something warm and unfamiliar.

You were having a baby.

Her baby.

Jinx let out a breathless, slightly manic laugh.

She had to find you. Now.

And you had a lot of explaining to do.

̩̩͙‧͙*˚⁺‧͙ㅤ ওㅤㅤֺㅤ ⠀⠀✧ ⠀ ㅤֺㅤ ওㅤ ㅤ*̩̩͙‧͙*˚⁺‧͙

You took your time getting home, dragging your feet through the dimly lit streets of Zaun. Every step felt heavier than the last, your stomach in knots.

You had done it. You had left the test on her desk. You had given her time.

Now you had to face whatever came next.

But the closer you got, the more the fear crept in.

What if she freaked out?

What if she shut down?

What if she left?

Jinx had a habit of running from things that hurt. And this? This had the potential to destroy her.

Your hands were ice-cold when you finally reached the door. You hesitated, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat.

Then, slowly, you pushed it open.

Jinx was standing in the middle of the room.

Her shoulders were hunched, her hands curled into fists at her sides. The pregnancy test was still clutched in her fingers, white-knuckled like she had been holding onto it for hours.

The moment she saw you, she went still.

Completely still.

Your breath caught.

She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t moving toward you.

She was just staring.

The weight of it crushed you.

She didn’t want this.

You could see it in the way she held herself, in the way her fingers trembled slightly around the test, in the way her mouth parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t force the words out.

Your stomach turned, a sick, hollow feeling settling in your chest.

She didn’t want this.

And that meant—

You swallowed hard, your voice coming out quiet, fragile.

“I can get rid of it.”

The second the words left your mouth, Jinx broke.

“No!”

Her voice was so sharp, so panicked that it actually made you flinch.

Your breath hitched.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room was suffocating, thick with something raw and unbearable.

Jinx’s breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling too fast. She looked—

Terrified.

Not of you. Not of the baby.

Of losing you.

“You don’t—” her voice cracked, and she shook her head so violently her braids whipped around her shoulders. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think—”

You took a step back.

Jinx moved forward immediately, closing the distance like she was afraid you’d slip away if she didn’t grab hold of you now.

“You thought I didn’t want this?” she asked, voice strangled. “You thought I—?”

You had.

She saw it in your face.

Her expression twisted, something like hurt flashing behind her eyes, and it made your chest ache.

“Shit,” she breathed, voice cracking. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “I don’t—I don’t know how to do this, okay? I don’t know how to be—” Her throat bobbed. “I don’t even know how to be a person most days. How the hell am I supposed to be a—?”

She cut herself off.

Didn’t say the word.

Couldn’t.

The weight of it was too much.

You looked down, eyes burning. “Then maybe—”

“No,” she snapped, voice hoarse. “Don’t. Just—don’t.”

Jinx ran a shaking hand over her face, dragging her fingers through her hair.

“I want this,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I want you. I want—”

Her gaze dropped to your stomach, and something in her expression cracked.

“I want them.”

It was barely a breath, barely a sound, but it knocked the air from your lungs.

She looked lost, like she didn’t know how to want this but did anyway.

Your throat tightened.

“You do?”

Jinx let out a soft, broken laugh, but it was filled with confusion and fear. “I do,” she whispered, her eyes glossy. “I just don’t know how. I don’t know how to be ready for this. But I want to try. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose us.”

Her voice wavered, and she reached out, her hand trembling as she placed it gently on your stomach. It felt tentative, like she wasn’t sure if she had the right to touch you, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to have a future with you and the baby.

But her fingers lingered there, almost as though she were trying to feel something real, something to ground herself. Her breathing was shallow, her body stiff, like she was holding herself together by sheer will.

You didn’t know what to say.

You could see it in her eyes—the fear, the doubt, the overwhelming weight of everything crashing down at once. She loved you, she wanted you, she wanted the baby, but she was terrified. And the last thing she wanted was to ruin everything. She couldn’t bear to mess this up.

But all you could think about was the space between you, the way she was afraid to touch you too hard, like she might break something precious.

“I don’t want to do this alone,” Jinx muttered, her voice cracking as she looked up at you, her face twisted with desperation. “Please, don’t make me do this alone. I… I don’t know how to be a mom. I don’t even know how to fix myself half the time, let alone another person. But I swear to you, I’ll try. I’ll try, okay?”

Her words hung in the air, raw and painful, and you could feel your heart breaking for her. You reached out, pulling her close, wrapping your arms around her. She tensed at first, but then she melted into you, pressing her forehead against your shoulder, her body trembling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not leaving this. We’ll figure it out. Together. I promise.”

Jinx clung to you tightly, as if she feared you would disappear if she let go for even a second. Her hands dug into your back, her nails pressing into your skin as though she were holding onto the last thread of stability in her life.

But even as she held onto you, you could feel her shaking. Her whole body was trembling with the weight of everything she was carrying—the fear, the guilt, the uncertainty. She was scared, and you could feel it in the way she breathed, in the way her fingers tightened around you, as if she thought she might lose her grip.

“You don’t have to do it all alone,” you whispered, your voice soothing, trying to reassure both her and yourself. “We don’t have to have it all figured out right now. We’ll take it one day at a time, okay? No pressure. We can be scared together.”

Jinx pulled back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes. Her face was streaked with tears, her cheeks flushed, and her gaze was still full of uncertainty. But there was something else there, too. Something softer.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I’m terrified. But I want this. I want you.”

Her confession hit you like a wave, crashing through the walls you’d built in your own heart. You couldn’t stop the tears that welled in your eyes, couldn’t stop the sob that escaped your throat. You didn’t want to be scared anymore, either. You didn’t want to doubt everything you had with her, everything that was coming next.

You kissed her then, gently, softly. It wasn’t a kiss of passion or desperation, but one of quiet understanding. Of shared fear, shared hope.

When you pulled away, you both stayed close, your foreheads resting against each other, breathing in unison.

“I’m not leaving,” you repeated, almost to yourself, as much as to her.

Jinx nodded, her breath shaky, but she didn’t pull away. “Promise?”

You smiled faintly through your tears, nodding in return. “I promise.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the silence between you stretch, the weight of everything pressing down on both of you. But there was a new understanding there now. An understanding that no matter how broken you both felt, no matter how terrifying the future seemed, you wouldn’t face it alone.

You had each other.

And that, for now, was enough.

YALL I LOVE THIS REQUEST!!

I want food

[aspenmissing]

hiii~ could you please write the arcane mains (especially jayvik) with an asexual reader? thank you~~

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʙꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ɴᴇᴇᴅ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ || 3401 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴜᴘ?, ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ꜱʜᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜɪʏᴀ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ~ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ!

ᴀʟꜱᴏ, ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴀꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ɴᴏ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ. ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ꜱʜᴀᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ

JAYCE

Jayce had always been patient. More than patient, really. He adored Y/N, cherished every moment with her. From the way she absentmindedly played with his fingers when they held hands to the way she always found the perfect words to comfort him after a stressful day at the Council.

She was his anchor, the one person who made all the chaos bearable.

But he wasn’t oblivious. He noticed things.

They’d been together for a while now, and while Jayce was never one to rush things, a quiet curiosity had begun to settle in the back of his mind. It wasn’t just the absence of intimacy in the way most people defined it—he never minded taking things slow—but there was something unspoken between them. A line Y/N never seemed to want to cross, even when they were wrapped up in each other, bathed in soft candlelight and whispered affections.

Had he done something wrong? Was she simply not ready, or was there something deeper that she wasn’t telling him?

Jayce had tried not to dwell on it too much. He loved her, that much was certain. But the uncertainty was starting to gnaw at him, and he didn’t want to be left in the dark any longer.

So, one evening, when they were curled up together on the couch in their shared home, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, he finally gathered the courage to ask.

"Hey, Y/N?"

His voice was gentle, hesitant. He didn’t want to ruin the moment—didn’t want her to feel cornered—but the words had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for far too long.

Y/N hummed, shifting slightly so she could look at him.

Jayce hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his. "I just—" He let out a soft chuckle, trying to ease the weight in his chest. "I guess I've been wondering... is there a reason we haven’t, you know, gone further?"

The moment the words left his mouth, he felt Y/N stiffen slightly against him. It was subtle, but enough for him to notice.

Jayce’s heart clenched. He immediately backtracked. "Not that I’m upset or anything!" he rushed to say, his grip on her hand tightening as if to reassure her. "I just—if it’s me, if I’ve done something wrong, you can tell me. I want to understand."

A silence settled between them, thick and heavy with unspoken words. The light from the fire flickered against Y/N’s face, casting shadows that danced across her features as she looked down at her hands, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

"Jayce, it’s not you," she finally said, voice quiet but firm. "It’s not anything you’ve done."

Jayce felt a strange mix of relief and confusion at the same time. "Then… what is it?"

Y/N took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for something difficult. "I just... I’m asexual."

The words hung between them for a moment, and Jayce blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to curiosity.

"Asexual?" he echoed, tilting his head slightly. "What does that mean?"

Y/N hesitated, gathering her thoughts. "It means I don’t experience sexual attraction," she explained carefully. "It’s not that I don’t love you, because I do—so much. But I don’t feel the same kind of... need for intimacy that most people do." She swallowed, watching him closely for his reaction. "It doesn’t mean I don’t want to be close to you, or that I don’t want to share my life with you. It’s just... different for me."

Jayce was silent for a moment, processing her words. And then, he nodded slowly.

"...Oh."

It wasn’t a bad "oh." It wasn’t one of disappointment or rejection. It was an "oh" of understanding—of something clicking into place.

Y/N offered a small, somewhat sad smile, her eyes searching his face for any sign of a reaction she feared. "I get if that’s not what you expected," she murmured. "And if that’s something you need in a relationship, I understand. If—if you want to leave, I won’t hold it against you."

Jayce frowned, his brows knitting together as his chest tightened. "Leave?" He immediately reached out, taking her hands in his, squeezing them gently. "Y/N, I love you. That’s not changing because of this."

She looked at him, uncertainty flickering in her gaze. "Jayce, I don’t want to hold you back from something you might need."

Jayce shook his head. "Y/N, being with you isn’t about that for me. I love you—everything about you. The way you challenge me, the way you make me laugh, the way you make all the stress fade away just by being here." He cupped her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. "Being Asexual won't make me love you any less. It just means I understand you more now."

Y/N’s eyes softened, the tension in her shoulders easing. "...Really?"

Jayce let out a chuckle, pressing his forehead against hers. "Of course." His voice was warm, reassuring. "I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was confused for a bit—I thought maybe I was doing something wrong. But now that I know, it’s just... part of who you are. And I love every part of you."

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, leaning into his touch. "You’re the best, you know that?"

Jayce grinned. "I do try."

She laughed, the weight on her chest finally disappearing. And as Jayce wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, she knew—he wasn’t going anywhere.

He never would.

VIKTOR

Y/N sat at her workbench, fingers absently tracing the worn edge of a blueprint, though she wasn't really reading it. The dim candlelight flickered, casting wavering shadows along the walls of their shared workshop. The quiet hum of the city outside felt distant, drowned beneath the steady thrum of her thoughts.

She needed to tell Viktor.

It had been weighing on her for months, an invisible wall between them that she felt responsible for. Every time she tried to gather the words, shame curled in her throat, swallowing them whole before they could pass her lips. It wasn't as though Viktor had ever pressured her—far from it. He was patient, ever understanding, but that only made the guilt press down on her harder. She felt like she was keeping a secret, a fundamental piece of herself, and the longer she held it in, the more suffocating it became.

Y/N exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of the workbench before pushing herself to stand. She turned, eyes landing on Viktor where he sat by his own desk, scribbling away in his journal. His brow was furrowed in thought, the soft glow of the lamp outlining his sharp features in gold. The sight of him made her heart ache in the best way.

“Viktor,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced up immediately, always attuned to her voice, to the slightest change in her tone. “Yes, Drahý?” (Dear)

Y/N swallowed hard. “There’s… there’s something I need to tell you.”

Viktor set his pen down, turning his full attention to her. “Of course.” He gestured for her to sit beside him, and after a moment’s hesitation, she did.

She wrung her hands in her lap, staring down at them as if they held the answers she sought. “I—” Her throat tightened. She tried again. “I’m asexual.” The words felt foreign leaving her mouth, like they belonged to someone else, someone braver.

A beat of silence passed, and she dared to lift her gaze to meet his. He wasn’t surprised. There was no confusion, no rejection in his expression. If anything, there was something warm in his eyes—something soft.

“I know,” Viktor said gently.

Her breath hitched. “You… you do?”

He smiled, a little sad but mostly fond. “I suspected for some time.” He reached out, his fingers brushing over hers with care, an invitation rather than a demand. “You hesitate before touch. You flinch when people assume intimacy is something expected. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable, so I waited.”

She blinked, stunned. “Waited for what?”

“For you to reach for me first.” His fingers curled around hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “For you to decide what you need, what you want.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. The weight in her chest loosened, something inside her cracking open in relief. “You’re not… disappointed?” she asked, voice unsteady.

“Why would I be?” Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. “You are the most brilliant, kind-hearted person I have ever met. My feelings for you are not dependent on physical expectations. I love you, Y/N. As you are.”

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it, and Viktor reached up, brushing it away with his thumb. She let out a shaky laugh, leaning into his touch.

“I love you too,” she whispered.

Viktor pulled her close, careful, always careful. She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in, letting the warmth of his presence steady her. For the first time in a long time, she felt whole.

And she knew, with unwavering certainty, that she was safe in his hands.

JAYVIK

Jayce had noticed it first—how Y/N would always stop when things got too heated. It wasn’t abrupt or panicked, but there was a moment, a breath, where her body tensed, her hands stilled, and she pulled away with a nervous chuckle or a soft excuse. It had happened enough times that doubt began to creep into his mind. Had he done something wrong? Had Viktor?

He hated the thought. The last thing he ever wanted was to make her uncomfortable.

One evening, after another moment where Y/N had hesitated before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips and retreating to the safety of their bed, Jayce finally voiced his concerns to Viktor. They sat together in Viktor’s study, the dim glow of the Hextech crystal casting long shadows across the walls. Viktor, ever perceptive, had noticed as well—but he had not drawn the same conclusions as Jayce.

“She is happy with us,” Viktor murmured, fingers absentmindedly tapping against the edge of his cane. “I do not believe we have done something wrong, Jayce.”

“Then why does she always stop?” Jayce sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to push her, but… I need to understand.”

Viktor hummed in thought, gaze flickering toward the door leading to their shared bedroom. “Perhaps we should ask?”

Jayce blinked, then let out a short, breathy laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

Viktor gave him a wry smile. “Because it is. We trust her. And she trusts us.”

With a nod, Jayce followed Viktor into the bedroom, where Y/N lay curled beneath the blankets, a book resting open on her lap. She looked up at them as they entered, a small, sleepy smile on her lips. “You two look serious,” she teased, setting the book aside. “Did something happen?”

Jayce hesitated, but Viktor, always the one to cut straight to the heart of things, sat beside her and took her hand. “Y/N, we have noticed… a pattern.”

Her fingers twitched in his grasp, and she glanced between them, wariness creeping into her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Jayce sat on her other side, rubbing the back of his neck. “You always stop when things start to get, well… heated.” He exhaled sharply. “Did we do something? Did I do something? If we made you uncomfortable, please tell us.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and she sat up properly, reaching out to take Jayce’s hand in her free one. “No! No, you haven’t done anything wrong.” She glanced away, chewing on her lip before taking a steadying breath. “It’s me.”

Viktor squeezed her hand gently. “Go on, Lásko’.” (Love)

She exhaled slowly, meeting their eyes with quiet resolve. “I’m asexual.”

Jayce and Viktor remained silent, not out of shock, but to give her the space to explain in her own time. She searched their faces for any signs of discomfort or rejection, but all she found was quiet understanding and patience.

“I love you both. So much.” Her voice softened. “But I don’t feel… that kind of attraction. I like being close, I like kissing, I love being with you—but when it starts going beyond that, it’s like a wall goes up in my head, and I just… I can’t.”

Jayce’s shoulders relaxed, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You should have told us sooner, sweetheart.”

“I was scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want you to feel like I didn’t want you. Or that I wasn’t enough.”

Viktor sighed, shaking his head as he pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “You are more than enough, Lásko.”

Jayce cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over her skin. “We love you, Y/N. You don’t have to prove anything to us.”

She swallowed thickly, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “You’re really okay with this?”

“Of course we are,” Viktor murmured, nudging his forehead against hers.

Jayce grinned, wrapping his arms around both of them and pulling them into a tight embrace. “You’re stuck with us, love. Whether you like it or not.”

A watery laugh escaped her as she melted into their warmth, holding onto them as tightly as they held onto her. “I think I can live with that.”

And as they lay together that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, she knew—with absolute certainty—that she was loved.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quiet that evening, a rare moment of peace in the Undercity. Most of the regulars had already turned in, leaving only a few stragglers nursing their drinks. Vander sat at the bar, his large hands wrapped around a mug of ale, watching Y/N as they moved around the tavern, straightening chairs and wiping down tables.

Vander had always admired Y/N. From the moment they’d stepped into his life, they had been a steady presence—a sharp mind, a warm heart, and a will stronger than steel. He’d never been one for grand speeches, but with Y/N, he’d never needed to be. They understood each other in ways words couldn’t quite capture.

Tonight, though, something lingered between them, an unspoken weight. Y/N had been quieter than usual, their usual lightness subdued. Vander frowned, setting his mug down with a soft clink. “You alright, love?” he asked, his voice gentle but firm.

Y/N paused, fingers tightening around the cloth in their hands before exhaling slowly. “I… there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Vander straightened, nodding. “Of course.” He gestured for them to sit beside him. Y/N hesitated for a moment before slipping onto the stool, their fingers fidgeting with the hem of their sleeve.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” Y/N began, their voice steady despite the nervous energy in their hands. “About us.”

Vander’s heart gave a small, uncertain lurch, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Alright.”

Y/N took a breath. “I love you, Vander. You mean the world to me. But… I need you to know that I’m asexual.”

The words hung between them for a moment, and Vander saw the way Y/N braced themselves, as if expecting something to break.

He blinked, letting the words settle, rolling them over in his mind. Then, carefully, he reached out, covering Y/N’s restless hands with his own. “Alright,” he said again, softer this time.

Y/N looked up at him, eyes searching. “You… you understand?”

Vander offered a small smile, his thumb brushing over their knuckles. “I won’t pretend I know everything about it. But I don’t need to understand every detail to know what matters.” He squeezed their hand. “You love me. And I love you. That’s enough.”

A breath of relief escaped Y/N, their shoulders easing. “It’s just… I know for some people, that’s a deal-breaker.”

Vander chuckled, shaking his head. “Love, I’m not ‘some people.’” His expression softened. “Being with you, having you beside me—that’s what I care about. Doesn’t matter what shape that takes.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment before a small, genuine smile broke across their face. Vander swore the weight in the room lifted, the tension dissolving like mist under sunlight.

He reached for his ale again, taking a sip before smirking. “Though I gotta admit, I was worried for a second there. Thought you were about to tell me you were leaving me for someone else.”

Y/N laughed, shaking their head. “No chance.”

“Good,” Vander murmured, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to their forehead. “Because you’re stuck with me now.”

And just like that, the night felt a little warmer, the quiet a little kinder. Vander didn’t need to understand everything to know what was important—Y/N was his, and he was theirs. Nothing else mattered.

SILCO

The dim glow of The Last Drop’s lanterns cast flickering shadows across the room, the usual hum of the bar distant in the background. Silco sat across from Y/N in his office, his sharp gaze softened, though his fingers still toyed with a cigar he had yet to light. The revelation had settled between them like a delicate thread—fragile, but not broken.

He had always prided himself on being a man who understood people, who could read between the lines and predict their motives. But this? This was uncharted waters.

“Asexual,” he repeated, more to himself than to her. The word sat foreign on his tongue, not in a distasteful way, but in a way that demanded understanding. Y/N sat calmly, her expression unreadable, though he knew her well enough to notice the slight tension in her shoulders. Not from fear—but anticipation. Waiting for his reaction.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “And this means…?”

She let out a breath, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the wooden surface between them. “It means I don’t experience sexual attraction. Or at least, not in the way most people do.” Her voice was steady, but he saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “I love you, Silco. That hasn’t changed. But… that part of relationships? It’s never been something I’ve needed.”

Silco watched her, expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he reached across the desk and took her hand in his. A rare gesture of intimacy from him. His thumb ran slow, deliberate circles over her knuckles, grounding, thoughtful.

“I see,” he murmured. He wasn’t angry. Not disappointed. No, if anything, he felt—what was the word? Protective? No, that didn’t quite fit. Devoted? That was closer. He had given up everything for power, had built himself into something to be feared, respected. And yet, here she was, someone who had demanded nothing of him but to simply be. And she was looking at him now, searching for something—acceptance, reassurance.

A smirk ghosted the corner of his lips. “You think I’d love you any less?”

Y/N blinked. “I don’t know.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re a fool, then.”

Her lips twitched into a reluctant smile, and he squeezed her hand. “Tell me,” he continued, voice softer now, careful, “what can I do to make things… comfortable for you?”

Y/N swallowed, surprised by the question. She had prepared for resistance, maybe frustration. But this? This quiet, considerate patience? It nearly undid her.

“You already are,” she admitted, squeezing his hand back. “Just knowing you don’t see me differently—that’s enough.”

Silco studied her, then stood, rounding the desk with slow, deliberate steps. He cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs brushing just beneath her eyes, tracing the warmth of her skin. His touch was always precise, never wasted, and now it spoke volumes where words might fail.

“You are mine, my dear,” he murmured, his forehead resting against hers. “That hasn’t changed. Nor will it.”

A weight she hadn’t realised she was carrying lifted from her chest. Y/N exhaled softly, closing her eyes, leaning into the certainty of his touch. And in that moment, with the low hum of Zaun beneath them, she knew that love—real love—had never been defined by the expectations of others.

And neither were they.

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I Know You? Part 11

Synopsis: Jason continues to stick around and take care of you.

Notes: I am so happy you guys liked the last chapter. She was my baby while I was sick. Moving forward, we are going to keep going with the comfort because it's just nice. Jason is very touchy in this chapter. I mentioned somewhere about Jason’s love languages and this chapter is covered in them. He is out here taking care of Reader the way he would want to be cared for (even if he won't admit it out loud). Enjoy!!

Masterlist

You spent the night tossing and turning, drifting between the realm of asleep and awake. Aside from a warm hand luring you back into the dream world, you don't remember much. When you do wake finally, it’s raining. You can hear it pattering against the window of your room, the cold of it seeping in where it can. Your hand reaches for the warmth you had felt through the night to find it gone. You open your eyes to find yourself alone. An achy loneliness claws at your throat for a moment until you hear a clattering followed by a muffled curse. There’s silence for a moment before movement continues.

You turn to look at your alarm, quickly reminded of the pains from the night before. 11:48. You don’t know what time you made it home or what time you actually fell asleep. You still feel exhausted, but you don’t know if you could drift off. You take your time sitting up in bed, staring at the covers as you push down a wave of nausea. You slide out of bed, movements slowed by short waves of dizziness. You’re cold the moment your feet touch the ground. You grab a zip-up sweater and some fuzzy socks. You slide the sweater over your shoulders gingerly and take your time to pull your socks as you listen to shuffling from the kitchen.

You move quietly out of the bedroom and toe your way down the hall, peaking around the corner to see the kitchen. Jason stands in front of your stove. The smell of bacon invades your senses, and your earlier nausea tries to show itself. You watch him as you quietly pull a stool from under the island and sit down. He moves easily through your kitchen and before you fully settle in your seat, he has a glass of water and a couple of pain pills in front of you. You glance at the items and then up at him. He cracks a fond smile at you and a tender gnawing feeling starts in your chest.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks. His voice just slightly gravellier than normal. You had only heard his voice like that once before when he took you to watch the sunrise on the bay. The memory warms you.

“I’m okay,” you say quietly tugging at the sleeves of your sweater where your arms rest on the counter. He catches your movement and leans across the island, grabbing your hands and pulling them slightly forward. He pushes your sleeves down. Twisting your hands this way and that, he examines the bruising with a disapproving frown.

“It’s okay if you’re not; you went through something traumatic,” He gives your hand a rub with is thumb before he sets your hands back on the counter and turns back to the stove, “I was worried, you were seriously out of it last night.”

Your mind flashes through everything from the moment you made it to your apartment. You feel warmth creep up your neck and you bury your face in your hands. God, he had practically seen you naked. Talk about skipping a few steps in a relationship. Over your embarrassment, you feel a flood of gratitude because, despite the vulnerable position you had been in, Jason never took advantage of you. You hear a clink as something is set down in front of you. You peek through your fingers to see a plate loaded with bacon, scrambled eggs, and fried potatoes. Your nausea flares again.

“I’m not hungry.” You say, swallowing around nothing.

“You feel sick?” he asks. You nod and he’s quick to respond.

“It’s because you’re starving. I know you didn’t eat lunch or dinner yesterday because you were working all day and you definitely haven’t had anything today.” He states. You drop your hands to squint at him suspiciously.

“How do you know I was working all day yesterday?”

“I called Jackie’s,” you open your mouth to complain but he keeps talking, “There was no way you were going to go to work today. You have a concussion. You need rest no heavy lifting and plenty of good food.” He nudges the plate closer to you.

“Oh, yes, bacon. The most healing food out there.” You pick up a piece and bite into it. Despite the nausea, it tastes amazing. You finish the piece and your nausea ebbs away. You glare at Jason for being right. He just smiles and turns to make himself a plate. One slice of bacon in your stomach and you take the pain meds he had gotten for you. As you’re gnawing on a potato, you notice that the TV is on, volume so low you hadn’t noticed it at first. It’s the news, something about a car chase earlier that morning. You take your plate and cup of water and settle on the couch, crisscross. You had thought Jason was going to join you, but you hear the sound of the kitchen faucet running.

“You don’t have to wash my dishes. I can do it.” You call out. You hear a scoff before he responds.

“I made the mess; I’ll clean it up.” He says. You sigh because you know that there were more dirty dishes in the sink than the ones that he used but you don’t have the energy to argue. You continue eating, zoning out on the TV. Jason sits next to you, your knee pressing to his thigh, when the news changes. The anchor woman’s sharp voice evoked urgency.

“Breaking News. This just in. The Penguin has been arrested on accounts of multiple homicides and involvement in a human trafficking ring run through his club The Iceberg Lounge. Late last night at a known body dumping sight just north of Aparo Park, The Red Hood was seen pulling a young woman from a warehouse just minutes after Penguin had left the scene. The GCPD knew about the dumping site but had no evidence connecting it to him until now. At the warehouse, Police found the body of Ted Jackson. Jackson has been wanted by police for months on accounts of sexual assault and homicide. His body was brutally mutilated and the woman’s official statement states that Red Hood was responsible. For those not aware, Red Hood has been playing by Batman’s rules of no killing for the last four years. Is this sudden change in ethics a bad sign for Gotham? Or has The Batman lost his hold on this vigilante? We’ll see what our commentators think after the break.”

You set your plate on the coffee table, appetite gone. You tip your head back against the couch and slouch with a sigh, eyes closing. You rub your hands against your face in frustration. You wish you could just forget last night but you can feel it, just hovering at the edge of your mind, ready to pounce if you were to relax even a little bit.

“You okay?” Jason asks again. You peek one eye at him from the cracks in your fingers.

“You going to keep asking me that?”

“Only until you give me an honest answer.” He gives you a knowing look and you drop your hands.

“I’m not but it won’t change anything. I’ll get over it.” He snorts at your comment, and you glare at him.

“We can make you a Gothamite yet.” He grins at you.

“Shut up,” You try to smack at his arm, but he catches your hand. He holds your hand softly and gently rubs over the scraps on your knuckles and fingers. They tingle but don’t hurt. Your mind slips for a moment to how you got them, knife in hand, dragged by the ankle.

No. You snap yourself out of it and pull your hand from his. You meanly press your hands together in your lap. You keep your chin tucked watching the way your fingers squish together. You can feel Jason staring a hole into your cheek but you ignore it. A strange awkward silence creeps into the space. You hadn’t known awkward silence with Jason, ever.

“So, Red Hood? Good thing he showed when he did, huh?” He finally says. There’s a weird forced nonchalant to the question and you wonder if maybe he’s a fan.

“No, that asshole,” you mumble under your breath. You feel a sudden unbridled anger towards that man that had been coming in through your window. It was his fault you got kidnapped and then he showed up just to ditch you outside. He didn’t even do anything!

Jason must have heard your words and tone as he lets out a shocked, “What?”

You shake your head because you had to explain how you’re feeling to Jason, you would have to explain a bunch of other stuff too. Mostly you didn’t want to tell Jason that it was you who had killed Ted Jackson, not Red Hood. You didn’t want Jason to look at you any differently than he usually does.

“It’s nothing. He’s a great guy, did his job and all that.” You say with a less than enthused tone. You can see in Jason’s eyes that he wants to question you on the matter but instead, you get a different question.

“Wanna watch a movie? Keep your mind off of everything?” you eye him like he might jump you with a different question. His brows raise, still waiting for an answer.

You finally answer, nodding, “Yeah, okay.” You drag your blanket from the other side of the couch and pull it into your lap. “Nothing action-y or gore please.”

Once you have the blanket settled, you glance at him to find him gleaming at you.

“What? What do you watch?”

“Pride and Prejudice?”

Your face crinkles and you respond, “Do you have no other personality? Just Jason, Pride and Prejudice fan.” He chuckles at your comment.

“Unless there’s something else you want to watch.”  You don’t have anything else in mind, so you concede with a head shake. He offers you the remote. You stare at it.

“Just look it up,” you tell him, still shuffling your blanket. He stares you down like he’s about to tell you something devasting.

“I’m going to be honest,” his tone serious, “I had a really hard time just finding the news this morning.” You laugh quietly into your hand.

“Don’t worry. I honestly didn’t even know I had the news.” You steal the remote from his hand and do a quick search through your streaming services. As the movie starts you snuggle back into your blanket, propping your feet on the coffee table. You lean over just slightly your shoulder pressing to his. He tenses for a moment and then relaxes again.

“I think it’s really funny that you suck with technology.” You whisper.

“I don’t suck at it. It just doesn’t make sense sometimes.” He whispers back to you like you’re in an actual movie theatre. You giggle into your blanket but quiet up, focusing on the movie. You don’t pull away from your touching shoulders and neither does he.

Jason does the opposite. He copies your slouch against the couch and props his feet on the table next to yours. The slouching pushes his shoulder tighter to yours and you just settle your head against his shoulder. Body relaxed against the heat of him again, you fade in and out of sleep. Moments of dancing, arguments in a drizzle of rain, and a warm body keep the cold dark corners of your mind at bay.

When you wake, you find yourself on your side, lying across the rest of the couch. Your legs had somehow ended up in Jason’s lap. You turn your head slightly just to watch him. His eyes focus on the TV as his hand moves up and down your calf, absentmindedly massaging the muscle before squeezing at your ankles, feet, and toes through your socks before repeating the process over. You take the time to just stare at him.

His black hair curls at the tips and you wonder if he styles it. You quickly brush the notion off because you can’t picture him doing that. He must have curly hair then. You follow the line of his face and smile at the intense stare he has on the TV. You pause at the scar on his cheek. Your old mental jar does rattle, although it’s not as loud as it usually is. Red Hood left you, Jason hadn’t. you still focus on the scar and your mind drifts to your conversation with the penguin.

“Do you have a job?” you ask suddenly. Jason glances at you out of the corner of his eye. The corner of his lip twitches up.

“Tired of me already?” he says as he gives your calf another squeeze before rubbing up and down.

“That’s not-” you pause for a second and close your eyes trying to collect your thoughts, “We’ve just never talked about it. Obviously, you know where I work. I don’t know where you work.” You don’t want to admit that Penguin, of all people, was making you question whether or not he was a criminal.

“I work in security.” He says easily.

“That’s beautifully vague.”

He chuckles at your comment, “A security subcontractor. I can make my schedule and only take on jobs I want.”

“Oh, like a mercenary,” you feel him tense at the word, “but you protect people instead of killing them.”

He shifts uncomfortably where he sits and you wonder if it’s you, so you try to pull your feet from his lap. His hand tightens around your ankle, keeping you there. You don’t think he realizes it.

“Yea, something like that.” He nods finally. “You should get a new door lock.” You want to roll your eyes.

“I can’t. This apartment is a rental.”

“You already changed your window locks and installed a shitty alarm system.” You snort.

“I didn’t-” you stop yourself, once again not wanting to tell Jason about Red Hood. “If you want to change my locks you can take it up with my landlord.” You offer instead of arguing.

He seems content with the offer, returning his gaze back to the TV with an “I will.”

Once the movie ends you stand to stretch, a slight twinge still in your back. You use the restroom and when you come back there’s a glass of water where your plate was, and Jason is wiping down the island with a rag.

“Will you stop cleaning my apartment?” you ask. He does a final wipe-down and shakes the rag over the trash.

“I’m stopping.” He rounds the island to stand in front of you. His hands find your arms, moving up a down slowly. “How you feeling?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m not answering that.” Hands move down your arms to hold your hands and pull them up to his eyes. The sleeves of your sweater slide down enough for him to look at the bruises on your wrist again. You want to pull your hands away and brush off his staring, but you like the way his hands feel holding yours. Rough and warm. You’d let him hold you for hours if that’s what he wanted.

“We should get you some bruise cream. They still hurt?” he says finally.

“Only a little. What do you mean bruise cream? I thought you just waited out bruises.” He stops staring at your wrists to look at you. Your hands hang loosely between you two, but he doesn’t let go.

“You could but my grandfather used to use this stuff on me when I was younger, the bruise wouldn’t disappear, but it did make it hurt less. One of those natural remedies sort of thing.” It was rare that Jason talked about his family and rarer with a tone of fondness. He has the same happy look that he did when he told you about the best cookies in the world. You wonder if the same man is responsible for those.

“Okay, do you make it?” You don’t think you have any ingredients for magic bruise cream, but he shakes his head.

“We can buy it; I think you need some groceries too.” He squeezes your hands and lets go, “I made a list.” You blink at him.

“You made a list?” you ask incredulously.

“Yea, you want to come with me, or do you want to stay?” The easy way he’s managing your apartment and getting ready to go grocery shopping for you throws you for a loop but you're even more caught off guard by his question. You don’t really want to leave your apartment just yet. The thought of what could be lurking in the shadows outside is enough to make you sick. You don’t want Jason to leave either. You know he would come back but you don’t think you’re ready to be alone yet. He must see your worried mental debate.

“No rush on the decision. We can watch another movie while you think on it.” You shake your head at his offer.

“Why don’t we just have it delivered?” you feel selfish asking. You’re sure he wants to go out but if he’ll let you keep him longer, you want him to stay. He gives you a confused look.

“It's not pizza. It's groceries.” You laugh at the surety of the statement. Your unknown scrunched shoulders relax. You’re once again reminded of how out of the loop with technology Jason seems to be.

“Everything can be delivered now, especially in the city. I just need my…” you trail off. Your phone. You don’t remember the last time you saw it. Definitely not today. Last night before you taken? You pat at your bum like it’ll be in the back pockets that don’t exist on your PJs.

“Phone?” You finally finish your sentence. A look of recognition crosses Jason’s face. He walks over to your dining room table where there’s a pile of papers you hadn’t noticed before along with your phone on top of it.

“The commissioner stopped by to drop it off this morning. They found it in the warehouse last night. He also dropped off some extra information if you need it, help lines stuff like that.” You were shocked that the commissioner would offer resources for help but you guess Gotham has enough crazies as is. Your shock changes to confusion.

“My phone was in a different place than my purse?” Jason's brows furrow.

“What?”

“Last night, you had my keys. You said that they had found them in the warehouse and gave them to you. But if they found my phone in the warehouse it would’ve been somewhere else since they didn’t give you my phone last night.” Jason presses his lips together and nods along as you speak.

“Sound thought process to me.” He hands you your phone. You get the strange feeling that Jason is hiding something from you but there’s nothing in the conversation to hide so push down the thought. You settle on the couch and show him how to order groceries online. An hour later and halfway through The Notebook, your groceries are delivered. You try to help Jason bring them in but he shoos you off. Then you try to help put them and he shuffles you to one of the stools at the island. You watch him put away the groceries easily. You get the feeling he had a lot of time this morning while you were sleeping, enough to make a grocery list and know where everything in the kitchen went. You don’t feel uncomfortable with the idea like you thought you would. Jason wasn’t a strange man rummaging through your apartment. He was your friend (or something more? You seriously needed to talk about that) and he was looking into your world and taking care of it and you.

Groceries put away he comes to stand next to you. He easily pulls your stool out more and turns your seat. Your heart jumps at the display of strength but you ignore it. He has a small jar in hand and you can only assume it’s the bruise cream he was talking about. He opens it, sets it on the counter, and pulls one of your hands from your lap. His ever-gentle touches are back, pushing your sleeve up to your elbow. He dips his finger into the cream and swipes it onto the bruise. You gnaw at your inner cheek, periodically glancing between his face and his hands. His eyes focused like he was worried he could hurt you by accident at any given moment. You focus on his hands as his fingers rub the cream until the white becomes clear. He takes your other hand and repeats the process, Warm, sturdy, and tender hands caress your skin and your heart aches just a little with that gnawing emotion you don’t think too hard about.

His thumb rubs at your knuckles for a moment and his other hand dips back into the jar. Cold cream is dabbed into the bridge of your nose, startling you enough to tip backward, nearly falling off of the stool. Jason moves quicker than you anticipated. His hand wraps around your waist pulling you forward. Your legs spread, accommodating him as he accidentally pulls into your space. Your hand curls into his shirt at his stomach, where you had grabbed in momentary falling panic. You stare up at him with wide eyes.

“Careful,” he murmurs, “your nose is bruised.” He adds in explanation. His hold on your waist loosens but doesn’t remove his hand entirely as he goes back to rubbing at your nose. You stare into his blue-green eyes as he rubs, relaxing in his hold. A surge of gratitude overtakes you again. It had been a long time since someone had taken care of you and you’re not sure if it was with a tenderness like this.

“Jason?” you say his name quietly. He hums in response, fingers no longer rubbing along your nose but moving to hold your face. You want to say how thankful you are for him and happy that he’s in your life. The words choke in your throat. He’s watching you again, the way he always does. You think you know what it means now but you’re not emotionally ready for that conversation.

“Will you stay the night again?” you finally get out, “Please.”

He nods, “Course.” His hand slides from your face to hold at the back of your neck. Your hands slide from his front to around his waist in a hug as you press your face to his chest, hoping it conveys what you’re feeling. You’ll have to have a conversation, eventually, but not today. Today, you’re content with Jason holding you.

Additional Note: This is Jason domesticating himself. I picture Jason as a watch-and-learn type of person and he’s been watching her as Red Hood how she keeps her apartment clean to her standards for a while. He’s going to use that knowledge. This chapter and the next chapter are definitely filler type chapters but its okay, we’ll get somewhere eventually. Drop a comment if you want, I like everybody's thoughts. Thank you for reading

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369,  @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @tetsuroubaby, @herodedicatedblog

[00valentina-writes00]

hiii! i don’t know if you do requests like this but could you do something with reader and abby going on one of those supply runs in the wlf and reader getting SUPER injured and it’s so angsty (but reader lives ofc). thank u your reading is so yummy 😋

✞⛧ Stay ✞⛧

Warnings: blood mentions, gunshot wound, angst, near death experience, fluff towards the end

The blood on your hands isn’t yours. Not at first.

The run was supposed to be simple. In and out. No unnecessary risks, no unnecessary fights. That’s what they always said before they sent people out beyond the walls. As if infected or desperate survivors cared about plans.

As if death cared about plans.

It happens fast.

The sound of a gunshot cracks through the empty street, and at first, you don’t even realize it hit you. It’s only when your legs give out that it makes sense. The pain doesn’t come right away. There’s just pressure—like something punched through your stomach, twisted, then left a hole.

You hit the ground, the world tilting as you collapse onto the pavement.

“NO!”

Abby’s voice is raw, panicked. You’ve never heard her panic.

The moment you hit the ground, she’s there, kneeling beside you, hands pressing down hard over the wound. A strangled noise leaves your throat as white-hot agony erupts in your stomach.

“Shit, no, no, no—stay with me.”

Her voice is shaking. She’s shaking.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to breathe through it, but the pain is unbearable. It spreads through you in waves, a deep, gnawing agony that turns every breath into a battle.

There’s more shouting in the distance. WLF soldiers returning fire, pushing back the ambushers. You don’t care. All you care about is the blood pooling beneath you, the warmth of it soaking into your clothes.

“You’re losing too much,” Abby mutters, more to herself than you. Her hands are covered in your blood, fingers pressing into the wound, desperate to keep you together.

You try to focus on her face instead of the pain.

She’s terrified.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen her like this—jaw clenched, eyes wild, lips pressed so tightly together they’re white.

“Abby,” you whisper, voice barely there.

“Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t fucking talk like—like this is it.”

Her voice breaks on the last word.

You blink up at her. “Hurts.”

“I know, I know,” she says quickly, her free hand coming up to brush your face. Her fingers are warm, calloused, smearing blood along your cheek. “But you have to stay with me. You hear me? You don’t get to quit.”

She’s begging. Abby Anderson does not beg.

A sharp cough racks your body, making the pain spike tenfold. You gasp, vision blurring with the effort. The world around you fades in and out, dark corners creeping into your sight.

You know what this means.

So does Abby.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she whispers. Her forehead presses against yours, her breath uneven. “You hear me?”

Your fingers twitch weakly against hers. “I’m so tired.”

A choked sound escapes her throat. “I know,” she breathes. “But you don’t get to leave me. Not like this.”

You want to promise her you won’t. But you don’t know if you can.

The world tilts again. The last thing you feel before the darkness takes you is the warmth of Abby’s lips against your forehead and the way her voice shatters when she pleads, “Not you.”

Pain is the first thing you recognize when you wake.

The second is warmth.

Something solid, something safe is wrapped around your hand, squeezing, grounding you. You force your eyes open. The light is dim, flickering, casting deep shadows along the walls.

You’re in the stadium. The infirmary.

You’re alive.

Your throat is dry, tongue heavy in your mouth. You try to move, but pain rips through your body like fire, seizing every muscle. A sharp gasp escapes you.

There’s movement beside you. Then, a voice—hoarse, exhausted, desperate.

“Hey—hey, I’m here.”

Abby.

You blink, vision focusing on her face. She looks like hell. Her hair is a mess, pulled back but tangled, stray strands sticking to her face. There are dark circles beneath her eyes, deeper than you’ve ever seen.

“You’re awake,” she breathes, like she doesn’t quite believe it.

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. She notices immediately, reaching for a nearby cup of water.

“Here,” she murmurs, slipping an arm behind your shoulders to help you sit up just enough to drink.

Even the slight movement sends sharp stabs of pain through your torso, but Abby is there, holding you steady, making sure you don’t fall apart.

You take a sip, coughing weakly. Abby’s hand lingers on your back before she eases you down again.

You watch her, taking in every detail. The tension in her shoulders. The way her hands tremble.

“You—” Your voice is nothing but a rasp. You swallow hard. “—look like shit.”

She exhales sharply through her nose, almost laughing. Almost.

“Yeah, well,” she mutters. “You don’t exactly look great yourself.”

There’s something in her eyes—something raw, unguarded.

Something that looks a hell of a lot like relief.

“How bad?” you ask.

Abby’s jaw tightens. “Bad.”

You nod slowly. You already knew that.

Silence stretches between you. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. There are things she isn’t saying, things you don’t know how to ask.

Finally, you manage, “You stayed.”

Abby’s lips press together. Her gaze drops to where her hand still grips yours, like she’s only just realizing it’s there. But she doesn’t pull away.

“Of course, I stayed,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

Something twists in your chest, and it has nothing to do with the injury.

“Thought I was gonna die,” you admit quietly.

Her grip tightens.

“You almost did,” she says, and for the first time since you woke up, she looks at you—really looks at you.

Like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she blinks.

Your stomach sinks. You thought you’d seen every side of Abby—the hardened soldier, the ruthless fighter, the unwavering leader.

But this? This is different.

This is fear.

She was afraid.

For you.

You squeeze her hand. It’s weak, barely there, but she feels it. Her breath catches, just for a second.

Then she sighs, running a hand down her face. “God, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” you say, and somehow, it’s the most sincere thing you’ve ever said.

Abby shakes her head, exhaling sharply. “Don’t be.”

She hesitates. Then, carefully, she shifts closer, pressing her forehead to yours.

For a long moment, neither of you speak.

There are no words for this.

For the way her breath hitches when you lean into her touch. For the way her fingers curl around yours like she’s still trying to hold you together.

For the way she stayed.

You close your eyes.

“Not you,” she whispers.

She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t need to.

[buzzinrusso]

meeting the family

Based off this request !! Thank you and keep sending in more :)) And thank you for 500!!! That's just insane tbh

You had never been this nervous in your life.

It had started the moment you woke up, a deep, gnawing anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach, slowly creeping up through your chest. Every thought was a swirl of nerves, making your limbs feel heavy, and your mind running in endless circles. The day had arrived: the first official dinner at Emily’s parents’ house. You had met her family before, but this dinner was different. This wasn’t just a casual get-together—it was the first time you’d be meeting them as her girlfriend. Her serious girlfriend. And despite all of Emily’s reassurances, you couldn’t stop worrying about the possibility of saying or doing something awkward.

You couldn’t help but rehearse every potential disaster in your mind: What if they didn’t like you? What if you said the wrong thing? What if you tripped and spilled something on her mum’s lap? What if they thought you were too weird, too quiet, or too different?

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and the feeling was overwhelming as you tried to distract yourself by adjusting your shirt once again in the mirror. Your stomach churned, and your reflection felt foreign to you. Why was this dinner so important? Why did it feel like this moment was somehow a measure of how everything between you and Emily would turn out? You couldn’t even begin to explain it, but the nerves wouldn’t let go.

“Em,” you called out to her, pacing around her room. “What if I mess it all up? What if they don’t like me? What if—”

Emily’s voice interrupted you softly, filled with that calm confidence she always seemed to exude. “Babe, you’re overthinking this.”

You spun around dramatically to face her. “Of course I’m overthinking! I’ve never been this nervous in my life. This is huge for me!”

Emily sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with that patient smile that always had a way of calming you. She was standing now, crossing the room toward you with a relaxed energy, completely unphased by your anxious rambling.

“You’re acting like you’re about to meet royalty, not my family,” she teased, and you couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, even though your nerves were still swirling. “They’re just normal people, love. They’re gonna love you, I promise.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, still not entirely convinced. “What if they don’t? What if—”

Emily placed her hands gently on your shoulders, grounding you instantly. Her touch was warm, reassuring, and when she looked at you, her gaze was soft but full of certainty.

“Stop worrying,” she whispered, her voice tender. “They already love you.”

The words were simple, but there was so much trust behind them, so much faith that you could feel yourself starting to believe it, just a little. “You really think so?” you asked quietly, meeting her eyes.

Emily’s smile deepened. “I know so. You’re amazing, babe. You have nothing to worry about.”

You let out a slow breath and, for the first time that day, felt a sense of calm wash over you. “Okay… okay. I’ll try.” You paused before looking at yourself in the mirror once again, still unsure about your outfit. “But what if I look ridiculous?”

Emily laughed softly, walking up to you and glancing you up and down. “You look perfect. Don’t overthink it. My family isn’t expecting you to wear a ball gown or anything.” She raised an eyebrow playfully. “Trust me, just be yourself. That’s all they’re gonna want to see.”

You sighed and nodded slowly. “Alright, I’ll just be me.”

Emily leaned in to press a quick kiss to your temple, her lips soft and warm against your skin. “That’s my girl.”

---

As you pulled into Emily’s parents’ driveway, the nerves returned with a vengeance.

Your palms were sweaty, and your heart was racing again. Every step felt heavy, every breath shallow as you tried to calm your mind. You could feel the weight of the evening ahead pressing down on you. Emily reached over, gently taking your hand in hers. Her touch was grounding, steadying, and as she rubbed her thumb over your knuckles, you felt a slight calming effect.

“Breathe, love,” she murmured softly, glancing at you with a reassuring smile. “It’s just dinner. It’s not like you’re about to meet the Queen of England.”

You turned to her, eyes wide and filled with anxiety. “It’s not just dinner, Em. It’s my first impression. What if I mess it up? What if I say something awkward or—”

She laughed, the sound light and soothing. “You’re adorable when you panic, you know that?”

You groaned, leaning back in your seat and staring at the ceiling. “I’m doomed, Em.”

“Drama queen,” she teased, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Come on. Let’s get this over with. They’re gonna love you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh along with her. Her playful attitude helped ease your nerves, even if just a little.

---

When Emily knocked on the door, it swung open immediately.

“Oh, finally!”

Before you could even react, a woman who was unmistakably Emily’s mum pulled you into a tight, affectionate hug. You barely had time to register her warm embrace before she pulled away slightly, holding you at arm’s length.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s so lovely to finally meet you! Emily’s been talking about you nonstop!”

Your cheeks flushed a deep red. “Oh—uh, really?” you stammered, still caught off guard by her immediate warmth.

Emily groaned, rolling her eyes. “Mum—”

“All good things, don’t worry,” her mum assured with a wink. “I promise she only says the best things about you.” She looped her arm through yours, pulling you inside as if you had been coming here for years. The feeling of comfort was immediate, and you could already feel the nervousness begin to fade.

The house was exactly how you imagined it: cozy, inviting, filled with framed photos and little trinkets. You couldn’t help but admire the picture of a younger Emily—probably eight or nine—grinning with pride on a football field, holding a trophy in her hands. It was a simple picture, but it made your heart swell a little. You could almost hear her telling the story of that moment if you listened hard enough.

Before you could even speak, a deep voice came from across the room.

“You must be the famous girlfriend.”

You turned to find Emily’s dad standing near the fireplace. His smile was warm and welcoming, a genuine look of happiness on his face. He stepped forward, hand outstretched, and you hesitated for just a moment before shaking it.

“No need to be nervous,” he chuckled, his voice rich with kindness. “We’re just happy our Emily’s found someone who makes her happy.”

“She definitely makes me happy,” Emily added, squeezing your waist affectionately.

Her younger siblings arrived shortly after, and you found yourself instantly caught up in their energy. They immediately bombarded you with questions, everything from “How did you and Emily meet?” to “Who asked who out first?” and, of course, “Do you know she snores?”

Emily protested with a flustered laugh, denying the accusation. “I do not snore!”

You giggled beside her, enjoying the teasing atmosphere. It was light, playful, and completely different from what you had expected.

Her family was so warm, so welcoming, and you felt yourself slowly starting to relax as the evening unfolded. This wasn’t some formal, uncomfortable dinner. Instead, it was like you’d stepped into a family gathering where you already belonged.

---

Dinner was filled with laughter, teasing, and stories of Emily’s childhood.

At one point, her mum started telling a story about Emily getting stuck in a tree at age eight, and you nearly choked on your drink from laughing too hard.

“She refused to come down because she was convinced she could make it higher,” her dad recalled, shaking his head with fond amusement. “Took us a full hour to convince her to jump down into my arms.”

You turned to Emily with wide eyes, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “You never told me you were a little daredevil.”

Emily huffed. “I was a very ambitious child.”

Her younger sibling, a 15-year-old girl, laughed loudly. “You were a menace.”

You laughed so hard you nearly cried. Emily shot you a playful glare before leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek.

“If I had known my own girlfriend would betray me like this, I might have reconsidered bringing you here,” she whispered dramatically, making you chuckle even more.

You grinned at her, nudging her gently. “Liar. You love that I’m here.”

She huffed but squeezed your thigh under the table. The touch was subtle, but it spoke volumes, and you felt your heart flutter at the tenderness.

---

After dinner, Emily led you upstairs to her childhood bedroom.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit in awe as you looked around. The room was a testament to her younger years—old posters still stuck to the walls, fairy lights strung across the ceiling, and the bed that was definitely too small for two people to sleep in comfortably.

“This is where you grew up?” you asked, your voice soft as you took in every detail.

Emily grinned, plopping down onto her bed and patting the spot next to her. "Yup. This is where all the magic happened."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Magic? I don't know about that. But it’s cute."

Emily’s room was like a time capsule of her childhood—a mixture of her past interests, little mementos, and the cozy ambiance that made it clear this place had been her sanctuary. You glanced around at the tattered plushies on the shelf, the notes pinned to the corkboard, and the fairy lights still strung around the room in lazy loops. You could almost see the 12-year-old version of her lying on the bed, scribbling in her notebook, or maybe laughing with her friends on the phone.

You stood still for a moment, taking it all in. It was surreal, seeing this side of her—the version of Emily that had been a child, growing up in this very room. You turned in a slow circle, wondering what it had been like for her during those early years. It made her feel even more real, somehow, like she’d had a whole life before you came into it, and you were lucky enough to be part of it now.

When you finally met her gaze, she was grinning, her eyes dancing with mischief. "What do you think?" she asked, obviously enjoying the effect her childhood bedroom had on you.

"I think..." you paused, pretending to deliberate, "...that I’m in danger of getting buried in all these stuffed animals if I sit down. There’s not even enough room for me in here."

Emily rolled her eyes but patted the bed beside her again, an invitation you didn’t hesitate to accept. "Fine. Get comfy. And for the record, I totally offer my childhood room for cuddling. It's a privilege."

You laughed and plopped down next to her, where she immediately threw her arm around you, pulling you into her side. You relaxed into her warmth, and for a moment, the nervousness of earlier seemed like a distant memory. The evening had been so much easier than you had imagined. Her family was everything Emily had promised—welcoming, kind, and full of humor. They had made you feel like you’d been a part of their world for years.

As you settled in beside Emily on the bed, you noticed her room’s soft ambiance. The glow of the fairy lights bathed everything in a soft, comforting warmth, and you felt a strange sense of contentment. Your nerves were completely gone now, replaced with a feeling of home. A feeling you hadn’t expected to have, but there it was.

"You know," you murmured, shifting so your head rested against her shoulder, "I think your family really does like me."

Emily let out a soft laugh, brushing her fingers through your hair. "I told you so." Her voice was gentle, teasing, but there was something else behind it—a pride, maybe, or a deep, quiet affection.

"I know, I just—" You paused, your voice growing softer as you realized how much this moment meant to you. "I’m glad. I was worried at first, but they made me feel like I belong."

Emily's fingers paused in your hair as she looked down at you, her expression softening. She kissed the top of your head, her lips lingering there for a moment before she pulled away, but not without leaving the warmth of her affection behind. "You do belong, love. They like you because you make me happy. And that’s all that matters."

Your heart fluttered at her words, and you snuggled closer to her, feeling the weight of the day slowly ease off your shoulders. You hadn’t expected to feel so... content, so at ease. Her family had made you feel accepted, loved, like you were already a part of their lives without even having to try.

"I’m still kind of in awe of everything," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper now. "It’s just... perfect. You’re perfect. Your family’s perfect."

Emily chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you could feel the warmth of her smile against your skin. "I’m glad you’re feeling that way," she whispered. "It means a lot that you like them. And that you’re comfortable with me and my world."

You grinned up at her, feeling your chest swell with affection for her. "Well, it’s easy to like your family when they’re as awesome as you are."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she teased, but there was a sweetness to her voice that made your heart skip.

You snuggled into her more, letting the quiet of the room wrap around you both. Outside, the evening settled into a peaceful calm, and the sounds of distant conversation from downstairs faded as the house grew still. But in this room, in this moment, everything felt so right. You could almost imagine the years stretching out ahead of you—visits to Emily’s childhood home, holidays spent with her family, quiet nights like this one where everything was simple and warm.

And then Emily broke the silence with a soft laugh, her breath tickling your ear. "You know, I can’t believe I let you get away with embarrassing me in front of everyone with that tree story."

You lifted your head from her shoulder to look at her with a teasing smile. "Oh, come on. You were a daredevil! It’s an important part of who you are!"

Emily groaned, but you could tell she was enjoying the teasing as much as you were. She leaned forward to press a quick kiss to your lips, her hand resting on the back of your neck as she pulled you into the kiss. "You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"

You laughed against her lips, the sound muffled but light. "Nope. I’ll bring it up every chance I get."

When you finally pulled away, Emily smiled at you—one of those soft, full smiles that made your heart flutter. "I don’t mind. I like that you’re here. That you’re part of my life now."

The words felt like they meant so much more than just a simple statement. You could feel the weight of them, the affection, the depth of emotion in the way she spoke them. And for the first time that day, you truly believed it. You belonged here. You belonged with Emily.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable haze, filled with soft laughter, shared glances, and moments of quiet contentment. Emily’s family eventually came to say their goodnights, but the feeling of being welcomed, accepted, and cared for lingered. You were no longer the nervous, unsure person who had walked in through the front door. You were part of something now—a family that embraced you without hesitation, and a love that made everything feel possible.

As you lay there, nestled against Emily, you couldn’t help but smile softly. Everything had gone better than you could’ve imagined, and the future suddenly felt bright. For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to dream of all the memories you’d create together. You belonged, and this felt like just the beginning.

---

Emily pulled you closer as the night stretched on. The soft flicker of the fairy lights created a peaceful glow in the room, and the occasional sound of distant laughter from the downstairs mingled with the silence of the bedroom. It was surreal being in this space with her, the two of you sharing such a simple, yet deeply intimate moment. You rested your head on her chest, your hand resting lightly on her stomach. It felt like time had slowed down in the best way possible.

“I can’t believe how much your family already loves me,” you murmured, breaking the silence, your voice soft and reflective. “It feels like... I’ve known them forever.”

Emily’s hand brushed gently through your hair, and she chuckled. “You’re making it sound like a fairy tale,” she teased. “But seriously, I think they just see how happy you make me. That’s all it takes, really.”

You smiled against her chest, your fingers tracing little patterns on her skin. “Still, I didn’t expect it to feel so natural. Like I just fit into your world without any of that awkwardness I thought would happen.”

“I told you,” she whispered, kissing the top of your head. “You fit perfectly. And they see that too.”

You both grew quiet again, the contented hum of the house lulling you into a comfortable peace. The warmth of Emily’s body next to yours and the rhythmic sound of her breathing soothed you, filling you with a deep sense of belonging. Her family had embraced you with open arms, and it wasn’t just their warmth that made you feel like part of the fold—it was the way Emily looked at you, the way she made everything feel effortless, like nothing could go wrong as long as you were together.

“Hey,” Emily murmured after a moment of peaceful silence, her voice low and playful. “You know what’s something I didn’t mention earlier?”

You looked up, intrigued. “What’s that?”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “I told you about my family, but you haven’t heard any of my embarrassing stories yet. There’s a whole list of those.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, now I’m intrigued.”

She laughed softly. “Well, let me just say—there was the time I tried to bake cookies for the first time and nearly set the kitchen on fire.”

You gasped in mock horror, pressing a hand to your chest. “No way! Tell me more!”

Emily sat up slightly, an impish smile on her lips as she began to recount the story. “I was about 10, and I had this ‘brilliant’ idea that I would surprise my mum by baking cookies. But... I didn’t read the recipe correctly. The oven was on too high, and the cookies were black before I even realized it. I remember standing in the kitchen, staring at the smoke, thinking, ‘Well, at least the house is still standing.’”

You burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you did that! Did your mum freak out?”

Emily giggled, lying back down beside you. “She was more concerned about the smoke alarm than the cookies, honestly. She came into the kitchen and just stared at me, and I remember her saying, ‘Emily, you’re never baking again.’”

You snorted, unable to contain your laughter. “I can totally see that. Your mum seems like she’d be very direct about things.”

“She’s definitely not shy,” Emily agreed with a grin. “But she’s also got a big heart. She was laughing just as hard as I was once we aired out the kitchen.”

You smiled, your heart feeling fuller as you listened to Emily’s playful retelling. It was these small glimpses into her childhood, these intimate stories, that made her even more endearing to you. She had grown up just like anyone else—messing up, laughing at herself, and learning along the way. It made you feel closer to her, like you were discovering pieces of the puzzle that was Emily, and you loved every second of it.

"You're so lucky," you said softly, your fingers brushing against her hand. "Your family sounds amazing. I wish I had that when I was growing up."

Emily turned to face you, her expression softening. “You know you’ve got that now, right? With me, and with my family. They already see you as part of the crew.”

You sighed contentedly, letting her words sink in. There was something about the way she said it—like it was just a fact, a given—that made you feel truly accepted, more than you had in a long time. You didn't have to prove anything. You didn’t have to try to fit in. You just did.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice quiet but full of gratitude. “That really means a lot to me.”

Emily smiled, leaning in to kiss your forehead softly. "You're more than welcome, love."

You both lay there for a while, just enjoying the quiet of the room, the weight of the day finally lifting off your shoulders. Eventually, though, Emily broke the peace with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“So,” she said, her voice suddenly playful, “since you’re all cuddled up in my bed and I’m feeling generous, I think it’s time for one more embarrassing story. This one’s a real gem.”

You groaned dramatically, but your curiosity won out. “Oh, here we go. Hit me with it.”

Emily chuckled, her fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. “Alright, so when I was 14, I had this huge crush on this girl in my class. Like, I had it bad. I had the whole ‘love letters, blushing every time she spoke to me’ kind of crush, you know? Anyway, I decided to write her a note, because obviously, I was the best at expressing myself in writing at that age.”

You snickered, already loving where this was going. “Please tell me you didn’t make it too dramatic.”

She rolled her eyes with a grin. “You have no idea. So, I handwrite this note, and I even put a heart doodle on it to make it super obvious. Then, during lunch, I finally work up the courage to slip it into her locker. But... well, turns out, I was so nervous that I grabbed the wrong locker.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh no. Did you leave the love note in the wrong locker?”

Emily nodded, stifling her laughter. “Yeah. And not just any locker. The jock’s locker. The guy who, by the way, was the worst at keeping things to himself. He found the note, read it out loud in the middle of the hall, and—well, let’s just say that story made its way around school faster than wildfire.”

You gasped, holding your stomach from laughing so hard. “Oh my god, that’s priceless. What did you do?!”

“I spent the rest of the week hiding in the library,” Emily admitted with a sheepish grin. “But the worst part? The girl I had a crush on? She was actually really sweet about it. She came up to me the next day, apologized for the misunderstanding, and then said—‘If you ever want to try again, just make sure it’s the right locker next time.’”

You wiped a tear from your eye as you giggled uncontrollably. “That’s amazing. Honestly, you’re lucky she didn’t totally roast you.”

Emily shrugged, her smile genuine. “I learned a lot from it. Mostly about being more careful with where I put my notes and not trying to be so dramatic.”

You settled back against the pillow, still chuckling to yourself. “I love hearing these stories,” you said softly. “It’s like I get to know you in a whole new way.”

Emily smiled, her hand finding yours again, intertwining your fingers. “I’m glad you like them. I think there are a lot more to tell, if you’re up for it.”

You squeezed her hand gently, feeling the bond between you both deepen with every shared laugh and story. "I'm definitely up for it," you whispered, smiling as you closed your eyes. "As long as you promise to always be this honest with me."

Emily’s voice was soft as she whispered back, "I promise."

And in that moment, with the warmth of her presence beside you and the quiet peace of her room wrapping you both in its comfort, you knew—this was just the beginning of something

[myonexox]

UNPLANNED SESSIONS

pairing : boyfriend!jay x female!reader

synopsis : you're just trying to go to the gym after missing your morning session but your plans quickly change when your boyfriend, jay, comes home unexpectedly. he's exhausted and frustrated from work and instead of letting you leave, he begs you to stay with him. no matter how hard you try to resist, you can never say no to him. and just like that, another gym session is missed.

warnings : lots of kisses

word count : 1.7k

a/n : requested by @jaaayyneee (hope this turned out the way you imagined. sorry if it’s not exactly what you had in mind but i really tried my best. hope you enjoy the story!)

you pulled your hair up into a ponytail, securing it tightly before smoothing down a few stray strands. you looked at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting the elastic band one last time as you inspected your pastel pink gym set, a snug sports bra paired with matching shorts. satisfied, you grabbed your gym bag from the chair and slung it over your shoulder.

stepping out of the bedroom, you walked to the kitchen and headed next to the sink to fill up your water bottle. the soft hum of the water filling your bottle was the only sound breaking the quiet stillness of your apartment.

no, you didn’t live alone. your boyfriend usually filled the space with his presence. but at the moment, he wasn’t here. he was currently at work.

the apartment felt different when you were alone. it felt too quiet. you had lived here with him for almost a year now and you were so used to his presence that without him, the space felt far too big.

you stood next to the sink, adjusting your grip on the bottle as cool water cascaded into it.

you sighed. you’d missed your morning session and the guilt of skipping was gnawing at you. but it wasn’t just guilt, it was also the familiar itch, that restless energy in your limbs that needed an outlet. your body craved movement. you had always been dedicated to your fitness routine and missing a session left you feeling incomplete.

you glanced at the clock on the kitchen counter. 5:07 pm. the gym was still open for a few more hours and after missing your morning session, you were determined not to skip it altogether.

as your water bottle was almost full, your phone vibrated in your bag. pulling it out, you saw a message from your friend, hana.

hana: “hey! just finished my workout. where are you?”

you typed back quickly. “heading there now. missed my morning session”

hana: “ahhh okay! be safe. it’s kinda late”

suddenly, you heard the door open and close. you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. it was your boyfriend, jay. he had come home.

but there was no greeting, no familiar call of your name. just the quiet rustling of his jacket being slipped off and the soft thud of his bag hitting the floor.

you slipped your phone back into your bag and turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of him. his shoulders were slumped, his usually warm eyes clouded with fatigue.

he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling softly as he walked towards you. his silence spoke volumes. maybe something had happened at work? something that drained the energy from him completely. because you could see that, clearly. he wasn't usually like this. even when he was tired after coming home from work, he would still greet you with his usual sweet smile. but not today.

as you stood by the sink, focused on filling up your water bottle completely, you felt him slowly approach from behind.

before you could turn around, you felt his lips graze against your bare shoulder. soft at first, barely more than a whisper of a touch. then firmer. the heat of his breath sent a shiver through you as he trailed slow kisses up the curve of your neck, his movements unhurried, savoring the contact. his lips were slightly parted, pressing against your skin with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. his scent, mixed with the faintest trace of cologne was intoxicating.

your fingers tightened around the bottle, trying to focus, trying to keep your thoughts clear but he wasn’t making it easy. his lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his breath hot as he exhaled slowly against your skin. "what are you doing?" you murmured, your voice coming out softer than you intended, betraying the effect he had on you.

"hey, is everything okay?" you asked again, placing the water bottle, now full, on the counter.

he didn't answer immediately. instead, his hands found your waist, fingers splaying against the fabric of your shorts before pressing you back against him. his warmth enveloped you, his grip firm yet tender. he rested his chin lightly against your shoulder, exhaling slowly as if trying to let go of whatever tension had settled in his body throughout the day.

"i had a bad day... a really bad day" he finally murmured against your skin, his voice low, husky. "just need you so bad right now baby"

his lips resumed their path, lingering at the juncture where your shoulder met your neck, his teeth grazing lightly before he soothed the spot with another kiss. he moved slowly, his lips pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, traveling further with each touch. his hands moved, slow and teasing, sliding under the hem of your top just enough for his fingers to brush against your skin. his touch was light as if testing the waters before dipping further.

you swallowed, trying to stay grounded but the way he touched you, so gentle, so wanting, made your heart race. "jay…" you started but the moment his fingers traced small circles on your waist, your words faltered. he was distracting, his presence intoxicating and you could feel the tension in his body, the need for comfort, the silent plea for something more.

"shhh" he whispered, nipping at your earlobe before pressing another kiss just below it. "just let me…" his hands tightened slightly, holding you firmly against him as he pressed closer.

you wiped your slightly damp hands against your shorts and quickly turned around. you tried to fight whatever you were feeling, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. you had to. if you gave in now, you wouldn’t be able to go to the gym and you had already missed your morning session.

“i have to go to the gym” you told him, voice firm despite the heat still lingering in your body from his touch.

he didn’t say anything at first. instead, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. then, in the softest, most irresistible voice, he murmured “baby, can’t you skip just this once? for me?” his gaze softened, his eyes wide and pleading, his lips barely parted as if he was pouting without meaning to.

it was unfair how easily he could weaken your resolve. that look, that voice, so sweet, so needy. he knew exactly how to use them against you. and for a moment, you hesitated. but then you shook your head, forcing yourself to look away.

“no, i can’t” you said, stepping back slightly. “i already skipped too many times. so this time, i really have to go”

a muscle in his jaw tensed. his expression darkened just a fraction and before you could react, he moved forward, closing the distance in an instant causing your bag to drop to the ground with a loud thud. his hands gripped your hips firmly, his body pressing against yours as he backed you into the kitchen counter. the hard edge dug into your lower back but it was nothing compared to the heat of him surrounding you.

“i’m asking nicely” he murmured, his voice lower, rougher. his lips hovered just inches from yours as his hands slowly trailed up your sides. “please… can you skip the gym?”

your heart pounded. his body caged you in, his warmth sinking into your skin and the way he looked at you, half pleading, half demanding made it impossible to think straight. he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your lips.

“jay...” you started, voice barely above a whisper.

“please” he repeated, his voice raw with exhaustion and something deeper. “just stay. just for tonight”

you bit your lip, torn between reason and the undeniable pull he had on you. “but i promised myself i’d go” you whispered though your voice wavered under his touch.

he exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. his grip on your waist tightened. “you’re really going to make me beg, hm?” he muttered, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, his voice dripping with both frustration and desire.

you shivered involuntarily and all you could manage was a quiet “jay…”

“i hate when you leave when i need you” he admitted, his fingers digging into your hips just enough to make you gasp. his nose brushed against your cheek before he tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “i had a bad day, baby. you know that. and now you’re just going to walk away and leave me? alone?”

“i- i’m not walking away, i just—”

he didn’t let you finish. his lips crashed against yours, claiming them in a kiss that left no room for doubt about what he wanted. it wasn’t just about keeping you here, it was about needing you, about finding solace in you. his hands slid to the small of your back, pulling you even closer, pressing every inch of his body against yours.

your fingers instinctively reached up, threading through his hair, tugging slightly as he deepened the kiss.

when he finally pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his forehead resting against yours. “just this once” he whispered, his voice rough. “please, i beg you”

you hesitated, heart racing, mind screaming at you to hold your ground. but with the way he was looking at you, the way his hands refused to let you go, you knew this battle was already lost.

you sighed, your resolve crumbling under the weight of his touch and the intensity in his gaze. you could never resist him. never.

“fine” you murmured, the word barely escaping your lips. and just like that, another session at the gym was gone, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

a victorious smirk tugged at his lips before he closed the distance between you again. he pulled you into another kiss but this time, it was hotter, deeper, more desperate. his hands roamed over your waist, skimming along the curve of your back before pressing you even closer. you gasped softly against his lips, your hands gripping his arms to steady yourself as warmth spread through you.

his fingers traced over your gym suit, grazing over every dip and contour of your body as if memorizing the way you felt beneath his touch. he exhaled shakily against your lips. “you have no idea how hard it is to resist you when you look like this”

your breath hitched as his lips trailed along your jaw down to the curve of your neck. you shivered when he nipped at your skin lightly. he pulled away slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

“we should do something fun instead” he murmured, his fingers skimming along your arms before settling on your waist again.

you tilted your head, feigning innocence even though you already knew exactly what he meant. “what do you mean?”

his smirk deepened. “you know what i mean”

[wolfypup65676]

Had to come back to this because I just couldn't stop thinking about this idea... -- Peter shivered, pulling his ratty hoodie tighter around him. He took a quick glimpse at his phone's map and looked up at the awfully tall gate.

Gotham Cemetary

He shoved his phone in his pocket and rubbed his hands together, trying to heat them up a bit. He was starting to regret coming out here, it was dark and cold, and Peter was dead broke and couldn't thermoregulate properly--

But he had to see him. Peter had to see Uncle Ben for himself, had to see his grave. Even if he wasn't Benjamin Parker anymore, even if he was a whole lot younger than Peter had ever known him, even if Jason Todd wasn't really his uncle, Peter had never been able to deny himself of his biggest regret, had never been able to wash his hands clean of the man who raised him for a whopping 10 years.

Peter had to see it, had to see him, because he had nothing else.

He grabs onto the gate, shuddering at the coldness of the iron bars, and he climbs. Carefully, he climbed down the other side.

The cemetery was full of graves and spindly trees, leaves gone in preparation of the upcoming harsh winter. Peter's teeth chattered, winter, right, he forgot about that.

Why did he have to come here during winter? Why could've he have dropped in during, oh, he doesn't know, spring?!

Focus, Peter. He takes a deep breath. We're here to see Uncle Ben, and nothing else. Worry about how to survive later.

The graves and trees surrounding him were imposing, staring at him, as if knowing he wasn't meant to be here. Peter hunched in on himself more, guilt gnawing at his heart.

You don't belong here, they seemed to say, why are you here?

His walk came to a stop as he finally spotted what, or rather, who, he was looking for.

Here lies Jason Todd

Peter crouched in front of the grave, hand hovering over the words. His face crumbled and he could feel the weight of everything crashing into him like a bullet train.

"Hey, Uncle Ben." He said, voice cracking. "How have you been?"

He could almost imagine it, could see Benjamin Parker staring at him with worry in his eyes, mouth forming soundless words.

"Peter?" He would say, hovering over Peter like if he moved too suddenly, he would break. "Why are you at my grave, kid? What's wrong?"

"I know you don't know me, but I'm your nephew."

Uncle Ben would take him into his arms and offer to talk, or to read one of the classics sitting on the bookshelf if he didn't feel like talking.

Peter wondered if Jason Todd would hug him the same way. Would he look at Peter with the same, overwhelming love in his eyes?

"I'm Peter Parker, it's nice to meet you, this you." Peter settles in the dirt. "I guess I should call you Uncle Jason, shouldn't I?"

Or maybe, this Jason would look at him like he's a monster. Eyes wrack full of disappointment to the person that Peter's become.

"I really hope you like me, but it's okay if you don't." Peter stares at his hands, "I just... I didn't know where else to go."

The grave remains silent. But if Peter focuses hard enough, he could pretend Uncle Ben was there, tugging him into his side, reassuring him that he could come visit him whenever he wanted.

"I'm homeless, dead broke, I have no idea where I am or anything about this place, and did I mention I'm like, five?" Peter laughs at his own misery "You'd think life would give me a break! Stupid Parker Luck."

Peter got up and brushed the dirt off his jeans, but he couldn't bring himself to leave, because leaving meant leaving Uncle Ben and the little bubble of comfort he always provided. Leaving meant going back into Gotham, cold, alone, and starving.

He knows he should leave. He knows it's a horrible idea to stay here, where anyone could find him out in the open. He'd be exposing himself to the elements and he should really be finding a place to stay. But he couldn't help but feel like a little kid again, crawling into Uncle Ben and Aunt May's bed as he sobbed about his parent's death, afraid to be left alone.

"Hey... Uncle Jason?" He murmurs, "Do you think I could stay with you? Just for tonight? It doesn't have to be long! I'll leave before the sun rises, I promise."

It's a horrible idea, he keeps telling himself. Yet he can't stop himself from curling up next to Uncle Ben's, Uncle Jason's grave.

"Just... let me sleep for a little while." He says, vision starting to blur and darken.

"Go to sleep, Peter." He could imagine Uncle Ben saying, "I'll keep you safe from the monsters, promise."

And Peter goes to sleep.

DC/Marvel Peter Parker in Gotham AU where Dick Grayson is Peter's bio dad, and Jason is Uncle Ben.

Peter finds himself in another world where Ben exists only for him to be dead here too. Peter is lost, alone in a world he knows nothing about and has no one to talk to. Even if he starts making friends he can't tell them the truth about being from another universe. And yeah his bio parents exist here, but what is he supposed to tell them? He would just sound crazy, better to avoid them.

But he needs to talk to someone, so Jason's grave becomes a place where he can vent and reminisce.

[girl-lostconnection]

Helldivers are just little freaks to me, freaky half feral dog creatures that are tossed to the meat grinder of war. Starving war dogs that do not understand what they are starving for exactly but nonetheless still chasing after what was demanded of them, hoping that maybe, MAYBE, if they go further-If they complete even more missions, they’d no longer feel that gnawing hunger even if it chips away at their very souls.

ANYWHO😌 this is reader to me

“Remember that you can’t save everyone. Remember that you have to try” YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME JESTER OH MY GODDDDDDD THE WAY MY HEART SANK. But yeah, you are spitting facts out here, I’m ready to sign under every word you are saying here.

@jesterinc, my G, this one’s for you

Helldiver!Reader who lives this long mostly because of the kindness and patient teaching from older divers. The shared knowledge, the shared manuals, shared camaraderie.

Reader who doesn’t know why Helldivers who are so much more skilful and who could (and by any standard should have) left them behind decided not to.

Question that keeps them up at night sometimes, question that ping pongs off the walls of their head, echoing louder when it’s too quiet.

Why-why-why-why-why?

Reader who doesn’t understand why these behemoths of war tried to help time after time after time.

They don’t get it until they got their first cadet joining in for a mission.

Jumpy tense thing, losing more bullets than actually hitting the enemy, not used to a recoil yet, not sure how to adjust the satellite tower, not very knowledgeable about the mechanics of battle that are their new home now.

(Everyone knows that Helldivers don’t die sleeping. Everyone knows that death is better than shame)

Reader who suddenly gets it why these older Helldivers helped them, why they carried a new pup on the battlefield, why wasn’t they just kicked to the side.

It is often said that Helldivers as a branch are one big pack of feral dogs.

Starved for scraps of approval, dying too young and snarling at every outsider. Feral creatures. Weapons of war.

Judgement rained from the sky on unsuspecting enemies.

It is often overlooked that the most prominent rule Helldivers live by is “we do not mock young in the field. We do not make them crawl and beg. We help. We were there once. We know how it feels to be a feral dog in eyes both enemies and allies. We know how it feels to be left behind. We do not leave ours behind”.

You that lives long enough to get a little bit closer in experience and skills to mammoths that helped you years ago to survive.

You who patiently covers for young cadet as they fumble with terminals.

What’s a little time wasted if this one might live long enough to crawl higher in rank.

What’s a little effort spared if you as divers already have to prove to everyone that you deserve to be here.

That you are not just dogs. That you deserve the same respect command shows to other branches.

You aren’t going to make cadet “prove themselves” when they have already passed the selection.

They are already here, aren’t they? Means they are worthy. Means they are yours.

Once Helldiver — always Helldiver.

It’s a constant journey and an uphill battle, you seeing first hand how fucking cruel life is to their branch.

How unfair command is. How hard missions are.

So what’s a little kindness shown if cadet behind them might live long enough to see the new generation of cadets.

If one day they too might become what you were to them today. What older Helldivers were to you when you started out.

Your branch is full of feral dogs and behemoths of battle, your branch is a dangerous thing (a grenade without a pin, a rifle without safety, a big bad wolf) hanging on by a thread of believing that your suffering can make the world a little better.

A little safer. A place where young cadets like this one will have more support, more training, more respect.

Simon watches you intently, eyes heavy with understanding, fingers twitching to reach out.

“Remember that you can’t save everyone, Captain”, he hums out, meeting your eyes in the reflection as you watch cadet buying new stratagems with excitement, their rank plate moving up.

Slowly, torturously slowly but steadily. Up-up-up.

They live thought the mission. They live through next three you walk them through. You won’t let them die. Not if you can help it.

“I know”, you muse back and there is phantom feel of hands on your shoulders, hands showing how to properly hold the rifle, hands dragging you out of hell because yeah, no one is gonna save Helldivers.

Other than Helldivers themselves.

You watch the young diver jog to the “Stratagem Hero” arcade, practically vibrating with excitement, eyes darting to you, asking for permission.

Their grin so wide when you nod to go ahead and try it, that you feel like their helmet might be illuminated from inside out.

They are painfully young and achingly fragile, not yet honed by years of work out in the field, their hands not yet calloused and burned one too many times.

Yeah, you remember that you can’t save everyone.

You also remember that you have to try.

[daryltwdixon]

heyy!! i was wondering if you could write something silly with daryl and reader who are in a relationship, but then someone get to make his girl laugh and he gets a bit jealous about it because he wants her pretty smile all to himself😭💕 i imagine this happening in the earlier seasons btw

Daryl Dixon x Reader Request

thank you for the sweet request! Fluffy jealous Daryl for you 🩷 I miss quarry Daryl so much

Daryl was hunched over his catch from the morning, a couple of squirrels he’d snared on the outskirts of camp. He worked his knife with steady, practiced movements, the repetitive slice-and-pull giving his hands something to do while the camp hummed around him.

He wasn’t paying much attention to the others—until he heard you.

That laugh.

It hit his ears before he even knew where it was coming from. Bright and unrestrained. That kind of laugh you only let out when something really caught you off guard. It wasn’t one of those small chuckles or the huffs of amusement you usually gave since the world ended, when people would try to force humor. This was real.

Daryl’s hand stilled on the squirrel’s fur, his head tilting just slightly as he searched for the source.

His stomach dropped when he found it.

You were on the RV with Glenn, the two of you sitting on some folding chairs keeping watch. He was gesturing wildly, some stupid grin stretched across his face, and whatever the hell he’d just said had you throwing your head back, laughing so hard you damn near fell off your seat.

Daryl’s grip tightened on his knife.

The hell was so funny?

He wasn’t even sure why it was getting to him the way it was, but something in his chest burned at the sight. You looked so damn happy, completely caught up in whatever bullshit Glenn was saying.

Daryl’s jaw ticked.

It wasn’t like he was the funny one in camp. He knew that. He wasn’t out here crackin’ jokes or messin’ around like some dumbass trying to impress you. He wasn’t Glenn.

But you were his girl.

And something about the way you were leaning in close, the way Glenn’s eyes lit up when he made you laugh, made something hot coil low in Daryl’s gut. He knew Glenn wasn’t trying anything—hell, the kid was harmless—but that didn’t matter. The feeling was still there, gnawing at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

But hell if it didn’t piss him off to hear someone else pulling that kind of joy out of you.

Daryl forced his eyes back to the squirrel, gripping the knife like it had done something personally offensive.

⛺️.:°•٭ 🐿️ .:°•٭ ⛺️.:°•٭ 🐿️ .:°•٭ ⛺️.:°•٭ 🐿️ .:°•٭

The fire outside had burned down low, the rest of the camp settling in for the night. Daryl sat in the tent, boots kicked off, crossbow leaned against the fabric wall. His fingers worked idly over the handle of his knife, his thoughts still twisted up in knots from earlier.

The sound of the zipper made him glance up as you ducked inside, shivering slightly at the cool night air. You flopped down beside him, stretching your legs out before shifting to get comfortable.

Silence.

You turned your head, studying him.

“Alright, spill it,” you said, nudging his arm with your knee.

Daryl didn’t look up. “What d'ya mean?"

You huffed a laugh. “Come on. You’ve been brooding ever since dinner.”

He grunted, rolling his knife between his fingers. “Ain’t broodin’.”

You turned fully toward him now, leaning in slightly. “Did something happen?” A beat. Then, teasingly, “Did I do something?”

His grip on the knife twitched.

Your eyes narrowed, catching the movement. “Ohhh. I did do something, didn't I? Tell me."

Daryl sighed heavily, wiping the back of his hand on his nose, still refusing to look at you. If he looked at you, it would be game over. “Ain’t a big deal.”

“But it's somethin',” you countered, your voice laced with amusement. “You gonna tell me or do I have to guess?”

He muttered something under his breath.

You leaned closer. “What was that?”

His jaw tensed. “Nothin’.”

You leaned into him a little, nudging his shoulder with yours, “Daryl...”

He let out another heavy sigh, shoulders rising and falling. “Jus’…” He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe he was even about to say it. “What the hell was so funny earlier?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Glenn,” he muttered, like the name alone annoyed him. “You were laughin’ so damn hard, figured he musta been tellin’ the greatest joke on earth.”

A slow grin spread across your face. “Aw, baby...Are you jealous?”

Daryl scoffed. “Hell no.”

“Daryl.” You grabbed his arm, shaking it slightly. “Oh my god, you are.”

His face heated instantly. “Ain’t jealous. Just—damn, I didn’t know he was that funny, is all.”

You bit your lip, clearly enjoying this way too much. “So… you’re mad ‘cause Glenn made me laugh?”

His fingers flexed on the handle of his knife. “S'like I said, ain't mad.”

“Fine, not mad. Annoyed,” you teased, grinning. “You wanna be the only one who makes me laugh, don’t you?”

Daryl’s ears burned red, and he shifted, looking anywhere but at you. “Shut up.”

You giggled, scooting closer until your knee knocked against his. “Daryl Dixon. Possessive and adorable.”

He shot you a glare. “Stop. Don’t call me adorable.”

You smiled, nudging your head against his shoulder. “You are, though. And for the record…” You tilted your head to meet his eyes. “You make me laugh the hardest. Even when you don’t mean to.”

Daryl exhaled slowly, some of that tension unraveling in his chest. He didn’t say anything, just let you lean against him, his knife resting loosely in his lap now.

After a beat, he muttered, “Still think Morales is funnier.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you curled up beside him. “You’re impossible.”

Daryl turned his head slightly finally looking at you and his eyes flickered down to your lips before dragging back up to your eyes. You were still smiling at him, all soft and his, like you had been from the moment you'd met. He should've known you'd never let him stew in his own jealousy without pulling him out of it.

And hell, if that wasn’t enough to make him grin back.

Slowly, his hand found your waist as he pulled you closer, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was more claiming than gentle. You made a small, pleased sound, your fingers curling into his hair, holding onto him like you had no plans of letting go anytime soon.

Good.

Daryl kissed you deeper, his hand sliding up your back, keeping you close until the air between you grew warm and heady. When he finally pulled back, he lingered, lips barely brushing yours as you both caught your breath.

You smirked, eyes still half-lidded. “Jealousy looks good on you,”

He scoffed, but his grip on you didn’t loosen. “Ain’t jealous.”

You laughed against his mouth, your breath fanning over his lips. “Sure.”

Daryl huffed, but before you could say anything else, he shut you up the best way he knew how—by kissing you again, longer this time, ‘til your teasing melted into something softer, something only for him.

[baekchelor]

Off Script

pairings: Drew Starkey x reader genre: romantic comedy rating: pg13 synopsis: on the set of his new film, Drew Starkey, discovers an undeniable truth: that the line between fiction and reality is thinner than he ever imagined.

Foreword

Ain't you a lucky bastard?" Chase smirks, mischief flickering in his eyes as he takes a sip of his beer. "An extremely lucky bastard." 

Franklin Avenue hides their favorite spot, a cozy bar tucked away from the usual hustle, frequented by regulars who know its charm. Tonight is no exception; the place is quiet, with just a few patrons scattered in its polished corners. Chase’s words hang in the air, but it takes a beat before they reach Drew, who’s absorbed in his phone. 

"What?" Drew asks, his blue eyes still glued to the screen. He’s texting Maddie—if you could even call it texting. It’s just logistics, really. She’s asking if they’re still on for later. Drew knows Maddie is falling for him, but he doesn’t feel the same. He doesn’t want to hurt her—he cares about her, genuinely—but not in the way she hopes. He knows where this is headed, and it’s only a matter of time before someone gets hurt.

He hits send, feeling a weight settle in his chest. It’s just routine now. Casual, no strings, at least that’s what they agreed on. But he’s seen the look in her eyes lately, how things are shifting. It’s not mutual, though, and that troubles him more than he lets on. He really doesn’t want to hurt her. 

Just then, Chase interrupts again. "Dude, look!" Chase insists, holding out his phone, grinning like he’s about to break some monumental news. 

Drew sighs but grabs the phone anyway. He takes one look and immediately feels the weight of the headline hit him. 

Y/N Y/L/N AND DREW STARKEY TO PLAY STARCROSSED LOVERS, the headline reads. THEIR FORBIDDEN LOVE STORY IN GRETA GERWIG'S NEW PERIOD DRAMA: DHARMA, COULD BE THE NEXT GREAT ON-SCREEN ROMANCE. 

Drew stares at the article photo and lets out a low chuckle. The headline feels surreal.

Chase leans in, practically buzzing. "Dude, you realize what this means, right? You and Y/N? The next big on-screen couple. People are going to lose their minds over this."

Drew rubs the back of his neck, the reality of it slowly settling in. "Yeah, I know. I’m still processing it." 

"You haven’t met her yet, have you?" Chase’s grin widens, seeing an opportunity to prod. "No, not yet. We’ll meet at the table read next week," Drew says, his voice a little too casual, but Chase picks up on it. 

"And?" Chase raises an eyebrow, egging him on. "Come on, man. She’s stunning." 

Drew tries to shake it off, but even he can’t deny Y/N’s allure. He’s seen her work, and there’s no denying the excitement building up. The thought of working with her—spending months playing lovers in such an intense role—is thrilling. There’s a quiet anticipation gnawing at him, even if he won’t admit it out loud. 

But then, there’s also Joe Burrow. Drew remembers seeing a photo of them, —Joe kissing Y/N after his Super Bowl win two years ago. 

"It’s not like that," Drew mutters. "It’s the role, the project itself that’s exciting. It’s Greta Gerwig, man. Huge opportunity. Incredible cast." 

"Yeah, sure." Chase doesn’t buy it for a second, his smirk growing. "But I’m telling you, this could be it. You and her? The next big thing." 

Drew chuckles, shaking his head. "You’re getting ahead of yourself." 

"Am I though? You’ve seen how these things play out. On-screen chemistry... it’s magic, man. People are gonna be all over you two. " 

Drew leans back, the reality of the situation sinking in. He’d be lying if he said the idea didn’t cross his mind, especially after the buzz the film’s announcement has already generated. His phone’s been blowing up ever since the casting news dropped. Everyone’s talking about it—the hype, the excitement. And maybe Chase is right... the public’s going to eat this up. 

But there’s more to it than just that. He’s curious about her. About working with someone who’s got that kind of talent, that kind of energy on screen. And maybe—just maybe—about what’s going to happen when the cameras aren’t rolling. 

Chase raises his beer in a mock toast. "To the next big on-screen couple." 

Drew smirks, grabbing his beer, but as he clinks the glass, his mind is elsewhere. In just a few days, he’ll be sitting across from Y/N at the table read. He’s never met her before, but something tells him this is only the beginning. 

"We’ll see," Drew murmurs, but deep down, there's a flicker of something more. Excitement. Curiosity. Anticipation. 

And as the night drifts on, one thing becomes clear: this isn’t just another role. Something about this project—about her—is going to change everything.

ɴᴇxᴛ ►

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 20: Don't Ever Look Back

It seems that once again, Y/N is in urgent need of her knight in shining leather. Lucky for her, he's always there for her. And more.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, slight fight/violence.

A/N: hello!!! guyyyyssss i want to cry...one chapter left....this is it...what you've (we've) been waiting for!!!! or is it???? nahh I'm kidding...unless??? anyway without mentioning anything from this chapter, I just wanted to say that after the last chapter I want to do an epilogue! so if you have any idea please feel free to share!!!! enjoy this chapter🩷

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part

The walk home felt heavier with each passing day.

Y/N clutched her bag strap a little tighter, her eyes on the pavement as she made her way back to the apartment. The streets were bathed in the dim orange glow of streetlights, the air cool but not cold. It wasn’t the kind of evening that should feel lonely, but it did.

She could feel his absence in every room, every routine they used to share. Breakfast felt incomplete without his gruff morning greetings. Dinner was quiet without his occasional grunts of approval at Wade’s questionable cooking experiments. Even passing conversations had changed into strained, clipped exchanges, if they even happened at all.

She thought she’d imagined it at first—that maybe she was overanalyzing things. But as the days stretched on, it became undeniable: Logan was avoiding her. He left before she woke up, came home after she’d retreated to her room, and spent his time at school holed up in his classroom. Their walks to work had stopped altogether, leaving her to trek to and from the school alone, the absence of his steady, silent presence gnawing at her more than she cared to admit.

Wade had noticed, of course. He’d even apologized for his part in it, guilt written all over his face as he tried to cheer her up with jokes and a promise to “fix things.” But there was no fixing this. How could there be? Logan had clearly made his choice. 

She couldn’t even call it friendship anymore—not when the lines were so blurred. Logan was more than her roommate, more than her colleague. He was... everything. And now he was gone.

Today was no different. The streets were quiet as Y/N walked home from work, the chill of the evening air nipping at her skin. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, her thoughts drifting to the empty apartment she’d return to. It wasn’t just Logan’s absence that weighed on her—it was the way it made her feel, like she’d lost something she’d only just started to realize she couldn’t live without. 

The school day had been no better. Colleagues had started asking questions—jokes at first, about why Logan wasn’t walking her to work anymore, why he hadn’t joined them for lunch. But then the concerned looks came, and she found herself fumbling for excuses. “Oh, he’s just busy,” she’d said with a forced smile. Or, “He’s probably working on something.” Lies she barely believed herself.

Her apartment building was just a few blocks away now, the thought of its familiar walls both comforting and suffocating. Home didn’t feel like home when the person who made it feel that way wasn’t there.

As she turned onto a quieter street, the faint sound of footsteps behind her pulled her from her thoughts.

She glanced over her shoulder, but the street was empty except for the shadow of a flickering lamp post. The faint echo of her own boots hitting the pavement mingled with the persistent rhythm behind her.

Y/N quickened her pace, her heartbeat beginning to match the steps in her ears. She told herself it was nothing—a coincidence, maybe someone walking their dog or heading home from work. But she couldn’t shake the prickling unease crawling up her spine.

When she reached the mouth of an alley, the hand on her shoulder came out of nowhere.

She let out a startled cry, but it was muffled almost instantly by another hand pressing firmly over her mouth. Panic shot through her veins as she twisted in the grip, her wide eyes darting upward to see who had grabbed her.

“Mark.”

Her heart plummeted at the sight of his familiar face. His dark eyes glinted under the dim light, his expression a mix of frustration and something darker. He gripped her tightly, ignoring her attempts to push him away.

“Finally,” he said, his voice low but sharp, as if he were trying to contain something simmering beneath the surface. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but you left me no choice.”

She jerked against his hold, her muffled protests spilling out uselessly. When he finally moved his hand from her mouth, she gasped in a shaky breath. “Let go of me!” she demanded, trying to wrench herself free, but his grip only tightened.

“Relax,” he hissed, pulling her farther into the alley, away from the streetlights. “I just want to talk. That’s all. You owe me that much.”

“I don’t owe you anything, Mark!” she snapped, her voice trembling but defiant. Her eyes darted around, searching desperately for someone—anyone—who might see her and step in. But the street was empty, and the distant hum of cars seemed to mock her helplessness.

“You don’t mean that,” Mark said, his jaw clenching. “You’re upset, I get it. But this isn’t fair, Y/N. I’ve been working on myself. For you. I’ve done everything I could to show you I’ve changed, and this is how you treat me?”

“You didn’t change,” she shot back, her voice breaking slightly. “You’re proving it right now. Let me go.”

His face darkened, and a bitter smile crept onto his lips. “You’re being dramatic. I’m just trying to fix things. You think I’m the bad guy because I won’t let you throw us away? That’s rich, sweetheart.”

She felt her stomach churn as his hand brushed against the pendant hanging around her neck. His fingers closed around the emerald necklace, lifting it slightly to examine it.

“This?” he sneered, holding it up as the faint light reflected off the gem. “Is this what you want? A fancy little trinket? I could give you a hundred of these if that’s all it takes to make you happy. Just say the word.”

“Mark—” she started, but the words caught in her throat as he stepped closer, the bitterness in his eyes morphing into something more dangerous.

“You’re not even listening to me,” he growled. “You never did. You act like you’re so much better than me now, but I know the truth, Y/N. You think this new life you’ve built makes you untouchable? It doesn’t. You’re still you, and I know you better than anyone else ever will.”

She tried to shove him away, but his grip only tightened as he loomed over her. “Stop fighting me,” he snapped. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Her breath hitched as he leaned closer, his other hand brushing against her arm as she twisted in his hold. Fear and frustration boiled over, tears welling in her eyes as she pushed back harder. “Mark, please!”

But he didn’t stop. His face was too close now, his lips parting as if he meant to—

The force that tore Mark away from her was so sudden and violent that she stumbled back against the wall, gasping for breath.

When her vision steadied, she saw him on the ground, clutching his side, a shadowy figure standing over him.

Logan.

She blinked, momentarily stunned by the sight of him, his broad frame tense and his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes burned with a fury she’d never seen before, and for a moment, she almost felt sorry for Mark. 

Almost.

Logan grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him up with a single, effortless motion. Mark’s feet barely touched the ground as Logan slammed him against the brick wall, his face mere inches from his.

“You’ve got exactly three seconds to explain why you thought it was a good idea to touch her,” Logan growled, his voice low and lethal.

Mark froze for a beat, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before his jaw tightened. He twisted in Logan’s grip, one hand coming up to shove at Logan’s arm. “Back off, man! This is none of your business—”

Logan didn’t let him finish. His hand tightened in Mark’s shirt, and with a surge of strength, he yanked him forward and slammed him back against the brick wall. The sharp crack of impact made Mark let out a strangled gasp, his bravado faltering.

“It became my business the second you laid a hand on her,” Logan hissed. His voice was a low rumble, the kind that sent chills racing down Y/N’s spine even as she watched from a few feet away, still frozen in place.

Mark’s hands pushed uselessly against Logan’s chest, his struggles growing weaker as he realized just how outmatched he was. “You can’t—she’s—” he stammered, but Logan didn’t give him the chance to finish.

“She’s not yours,” Logan cut in, his voice razor-sharp. “Not anymore. Not ever again. You come near her, you talk to her, you look at her the wrong way—” His grip tightened, and Mark winced, his fear now unmistakable. Logan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You’ll wish I’d ended you here. Do you understand me?”

Mark didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking nervously between Logan’s blazing eyes and Y/N’s tear-streaked face.

“I said, do you understand me?” Logan snarled, punctuating the demand by slamming him against the wall again.

“I—yes, I understand!” Mark finally choked out, panic flooding his expression. “I understand, okay?!”

Logan didn’t move for a moment, his eyes boring into Mark’s with a cold, unrelenting fury. Then, as if deciding the man wasn’t worth any more of his time, he released him with a hard shove. Mark stumbled and fell to the ground, scrambling backward on his hands and knees.

“Go,” Logan commanded, his tone sharp and final.

Mark didn’t need to be told twice. He stumbled to his feet, his steps uneven as he bolted from the alley, looking back over his shoulder in terror until he disappeared into the shadows.

Logan stood still for a moment, his chest heaving, the fury still evident in his stiff posture. Slowly, he turned to Y/N, his expression softening the second he saw her trembling form.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he stepped toward her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded weakly, but her tear-streaked face and the way she clutched her arms around herself told a different story.

“I’m fine,” she managed to say, though her voice was shaky and unconvincing.

Logan wasn’t having it. His hands hovered near her shoulders, hesitant but desperate to make sure she was okay. “Did he—” His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard before continuing. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she said quickly, the word almost instinctive, but her voice faltered again.

He exhaled deeply, his brow furrowing as he scanned her from head to toe, as though he didn’t trust her answer. His hands finally settled gently on her arms, steadying her. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice softer, the edge of anger replaced by overwhelming concern.

That was when her composure shattered. A sob escaped her lips, and her knees nearly buckled as she covered her face with trembling hands.

“Hey, hey,” Logan said immediately, stepping closer and pulling her into his arms. His hold was firm but careful, as if he was afraid of breaking her. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

She clung to him, burying her face in his chest as sobs wracked her body. His hand rested on the back of her head, the other rubbing soothing circles on her back as he whispered words of comfort.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out between sobs, though she wasn’t even sure why she was apologizing.

“Don’t,” Logan said firmly, pulling back just enough to tilt her chin up so he could look into her eyes. His gaze was intense, filled with guilt and something else she couldn’t quite place. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t your fault.”

She nodded weakly, unable to form words, and he wrapped his arms around her again, holding her close like he was afraid to let go.

After a few moments, he leaned down slightly, his voice gentle but resolute. “Let’s go home.”

She nodded again, her head resting against his chest. He kept an arm securely around her as they left the alley, his presence a solid, unwavering anchor in the chaos of her thoughts.

———

The apartment was silent when they arrived. Y/N stepped inside first, her legs dragging beneath her as if the weight of the evening had sunk into her very bones. Logan followed close behind, the door clicking shut with an air of finality that felt louder than it should have in the stillness.

Y/N let her bag slide from her shoulder, dropping it quietly by the couch. She turned to Logan, who lingered near the front door. His posture was rigid, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. His eyes scanned the room briefly before landing on her, though he didn’t hold her gaze for long.

“Wade’s out,” she said softly, her voice sounding far away to her own ears.

Logan nodded, his jaw clenching. “Yeah.”

The air between them was thick, almost suffocating. Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, unsure of what to say or how to fill the silence. Logan was the first to break it.

“Sit down,” he said gruffly, his voice low but firm.

She blinked at him, surprised by the sudden command, but she obeyed without question. Lowering herself onto the couch, she perched on the edge, her hands resting awkwardly in her lap. Logan remained standing, pacing a few steps before running a hand down his face.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked, glancing at her. His tone was sharper than she expected, though it was clear the sharpness wasn’t aimed at her but at himself.

“I’m okay,” she replied with a faint smile, hoping it would reassure him.

It didn’t. His frown deepened as he turned away, his shoulders visibly tense.

“I should’ve…” He trailed off, shaking his head as though the thought itself was unbearable.

Y/N tilted her head, studying him carefully. “Should’ve what?”

“I should’ve been there,” he said, his voice tight. He turned to face her fully, his eyes burning with frustration. “I should’ve been with you, Y/N. And I wasn’t.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he kept going, the words spilling out as though he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

“I’ve been avoiding you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I know you’ve noticed. I’ve been avoiding you because I’m an idiot. And if I hadn’t—if I hadn’t been so—” He stopped, raking a hand through his hair. “Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

Y/N stood slowly, her heart aching at the sight of him, so torn up and angry with himself. “Logan, this isn’t your fault,” she said firmly. “He would’ve found a way no matter what. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

His eyes met hers, filled with guilt and something else she couldn’t quite place. He shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, almost to himself.

She stepped closer, her voice soft but insistent. “Then make me understand.”

Logan exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering to the floor. “I don’t know if I can,” he admitted.

Silence settled over them, the kind that felt louder than words. Y/N watched him carefully, waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t. He just stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, as though he were fighting some invisible battle.

Her heart ached, not just for him but for the distance that had grown between them in the past few days. She wanted to reach out, to close the gap, but something held her back.

Finally, she broke the silence. “I should… I should get some rest,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nodded, though the tension in his body didn’t ease. “Yeah. You should.”

She turned away, her movements slow and deliberate. Each step toward her room felt heavier than the last, the silence behind her pressing down on her like a weight.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob as her thoughts swirled. She could feel his eyes on her, even from across the room. She didn’t have to look to know he was still standing there, watching her retreat.

For a moment, everything stilled. The air felt charged, like the world was holding its breath.

Then, without thinking, she turned around.

Her steps were tentative at first, as though she wasn’t entirely sure of what she was doing, but with each step closer to him, her resolve seemed to strengthen. Logan didn’t move, his body frozen as she came to a stop in front of him.

Her eyes searched his, and before he could say or do anything, she leaned in. Her lips pressed against his, soft and hesitant at first, but filled with a depth of emotion that made Logan’s mind go blank.

For a moment, he didn’t react, too stunned to process what was happening. But then instinct took over, and his hands came up to cup her face, pulling her closer as he kissed her back. The kiss deepened, raw and electrifying, like fireworks exploding behind his closed eyes.

Her hands found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as though grounding herself. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly, afraid she might disappear.

Everything else faded away—the apartment, the guilt, the fear. All that existed was the two of them, and the overwhelming realization that this moment had been building for far too long.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other’s. Logan’s hands remained on her waist, his touch firm yet tender.

For a moment, neither of them moved, caught in the stillness of what had just happened. The silence between them was heavy, yet not uncomfortable. It was filled with unspoken words, emotions neither of them was ready to name just yet.

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, slightly bashful smile as she pulled back, her hands slowly releasing their grip on his shirt. “We got school tomorrow,” she said softly, the corner of her mouth twitching with amusement.

Logan blinked at her, the weight of everything lifting just a fraction. Then, unexpectedly, a low chuckle escaped him, followed by a soft, almost boyish laugh. “Yeah… we do,” he replied, his voice laced with warmth and something close to disbelief.

For a moment, they both laughed together, the sound filling the quiet apartment. And for the first time in days, it felt easy—like they weren’t two people carrying the weight of unspoken feelings and complicated histories, but just two people who had found something good in each other.

It was almost ridiculous, the way her words made them feel like teenagers sneaking around after curfew. But maybe that was the magic of it—the way they could find something simple and sweet in the middle of the chaos.

As the laughter faded, Y/N’s gaze softened. “Goodnight, Logan,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His lips tugged into a small, lopsided smile. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

She lingered for a second longer, as though considering saying more, but instead, she stepped back, her hand brushing lightly against his arm before she turned and walked toward her room.

Logan stood there, watching her until her door clicked shut. He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair as a mix of emotions swirled within him—hope, fear, and something he wasn’t ready to name.

In her room, Y/N leaned against the door, her heart still racing. She pressed her fingers to her lips, a faint smile tugging at the corners.

They both knew this wasn’t the end of the conversation. There were things that needed to be said, feelings that couldn’t be left unspoken forever.

But for tonight, it was enough.

And for the first time in days, it felt like maybe—just maybe—everything was going to be okay.

XXX

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 27

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 1000

Masterlist

———————————————————————

My brain was an open construction site, impossible to organize. I had completely lost control of the situation, Lucy’s words replaying endlessly in my mind.  

I tried to avoid Alessia as much as possible at the start of the week, guilt gnawing at me from the inside. I had pretended to be at a construction site far from the city.  

And then came the climactic point: Thursday, the day we were to sign the papers to buy the house, marking the beginning of a new chapter together.  

Lucy had sent me a message on Monday:  

 "How are you today?"   

I should have replied with the truth:  "I have a knot in my stomach, I can’t stop thinking about what you said, I feel awful."   

Instead, I typed:  

 "I’m fine, thanks. And you?"   

A pitiful response.  

 "I see you’re not in the mood to talk. I’ll wait until you’re ready. And I meant what I said yesterday."   

I didn’t reply.  

I didn’t know what to say, how to respond, or even what to do. As usual, I fled from the problem, refusing to face it head-on.  

The days passed, consumed by painful questioning and endless self-doubt.  

By Thursday morning, I was utterly exhausted. I hadn’t slept a wink, spending the entire night thinking.  

I convinced myself that I needed to grow up, that my relationship with Alessia was solid, and that I couldn’t throw it all away for a fleeting passion. Lucy had confessed that it was more than just sex between us. Fine, but where would that lead? Nowhere.  

I also decided not to tell Alexia about my lapse. She would never forgive me.  

 "You look awful! Still not over your food poisoning?"  Alexia teased as she arrived.  

I had lied about food poisoning to explain my absence from the presentation in Lyon on Sunday morning. She gave me a playful wink and added:  

 "So, today’s the big day! You’re officially becoming a responsible adult with this house purchase!"   

If only she knew. I had wanted to tell her everything so many times, to confide in her. But I couldn’t. Lucy had asked me not to speak of our affair. And deep down, I was afraid of disappointing my friend.  

So, I stayed silent, bottling it all up.  

 "Yep, first purchase for a new life!"   

I delivered the sentence in a flat, monotone voice.  

 "Cheer up, Ona! At this rate, the notary might refuse to let you sign those papers!"  she laughed.  "I’m so happy you two are together. You’re perfect for each other!"   

Her words warmed my heart. She was right.  

That afternoon, I was supposed to have lunch with Alessia at the main square before heading to the notary’s office. It was the first time I’d seen her since the weekend, and I felt a deep apprehension. Could I lie to her, hide all this?  

She arrived with a radiant smile—the smile I loved so much, the one that always eased my doubts and instantly loosened the knot in my throat.  

 "Hi, my love! I missed you this week! Tell me everything, I don’t even know how it went in Lyon! Judging by your face, it must have been exhausting,"  she laughed.  

I was so ashamed.  

Still, I recounted the weekend briefly, changing the subject quickly. I was lying to her, something I had never done before. Our relationship had always been built on unwavering trust in one another. But I couldn’t tell her about this—it would destroy her. Destroy us.  

The lunch passed quickly. Alessia talked about her latest surgery, an open-heart operation on a newborn. She always impressed me—such a talented surgeon, yet so humble.  

As we sipped our coffee, my thoughts were interrupted by a laugh behind me, a laugh I recognized all too well. I turned.  

It was Lucy, seated at the counter, drinking coffee with two other men.  

My throat tightened. What were the odds of her being in this café?  

Actually, quite high, I realized. We were in the main square, opposite the town hall, in the most popular café-restaurant. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?  

Lucy caught my eye. She looked surprised.  

She stopped talking, excused herself from her companions, and walked toward us.  

No. Not this. What are you doing, Lucy?  

 "Hello!"   

She stood in front of us, a wide smile on her lips.  

 "Hello, Madame Bronze! Nice to see you again!"  Alessia replied warmly.  

 "Likewise! How are you?"   

Alessia answered, politely returning the question. I didn’t say a word—I couldn’t speak.  

 "What brings you here?"  Lucy asked.  

She was constantly seeking my gaze, while I desperately avoided hers.  

 "We’re going to the notary’s office! You’re looking at the future homeowners of your town!"  Alessia beamed. Proud. Beautiful.  

Lucy’s face darkened slightly.  

 "Congratulations. I wish you both much happiness. Goodbye."   

She turned on her heel, throwing me one last fleeting glance before walking out the door. A glance that electrified me to my core.  

 "You could have at least said something. I know you don’t like her, but still!"  Alessia scolded me.  

I suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable—clammy hands, a heart pounding uncontrollably. I felt hot and dizzy. The knot in my stomach that had plagued me all week was now unbearable.  

 "I’ll go pay, and then we can head out!"   

She got up to leave.  

I grabbed her hand abruptly, suddenly.  

I looked at her now.  

 "I can’t, Alessia."   

[tanhands]

everyone you wanna be

for the klaine valentine's challenge. no content notes yet.

one: my fancy patter

"Hey there, Lone Ranger." 

Kurt looks up from where he's sitting on the floor, knees up and ankles crossed, as Blaine drops down next to him with a commercially pleasant smile -- though that's not indicative of much, since that seems to be Blaine's default expression like Santana's resting bitchface or Finn's perplexed forehead pucker. "Hi," he says shortly, because he'd come to sit in one of the unmonitored halls for a reason and doesn't feel the need to be welcoming. Blaine makes a small, nonspecific sound of commiseration.

"I know something that'll cheer you up," Blaine says, and follows it immediately with, "--this morning's numbers were rough, and I think we're both in the same boat with being down in the polls, but the best thing is to forge ahead instead of letting it weigh us down." 

With an arched brow, Kurt regards the other boy for a long moment, perversely until he sees Blaine's temples start to get a touch damp, the smile start to strain.The momentary spike of mean satisfaction is just that, fleeting, and he sighs inwardly before he says, "What's so fun that it'll take my -- our -- minds off dipping in the viewer polls and potentially getting voted out of the show and sent home covered in embarrassment and failure, the butt of memes and talk shows for weeks if not months if not years?"

Blaine blinks and breathes out a whoooo, barely audible, but recalibrates fast, something Kurt notes with interest. "Finn and Puck figured out how to work the deep fat fryers in the cafeteria," Blaine says. "They're frying everything they can find. Frozen cauliflower, those little round frozen peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, potato chips--"

"They're making fresh potato chips?"

"No, they're double-frying normal potato chips." Blaine pauses, considers. "They're not bad, actually. If you get past the singed taste." 

Kurt huffs derisively, letting his wrists dangle against his knees and thunking his head back against the wall. "A glowing review. I'll pass."

"We could maybe use the pancake batter to coat some candy bars and deep fry those. Better than potato shards?" Blaine starts reaching for Kurt's wrist to coax him up, but stops when Sam and Quinn come down the hallway, hands latched together between them. "Sup," Sam says with a lift of his chin towards them, which Blaine answers while Kurt tucks his own chin a touch lower and watches them go by. Quinn doesn't even look their way, her chilly, brittle smile reserved for Sam only, her posture the envy of dressage horses and hat racks. Their blond hair seems to provide its own source of light as they continue to sail down the hallway and out of sight, a yacht passing by two bobbing sailboats.

Kurt's startled out of his reverie by Blaine moving in closer, turning towards him instead of keeping his back flush against the wall. "They don't even really give a crap about each other," Blaine says, voice dipping lower as it sinks into more secretive levels, and Kurt feels a swirl of unease in his stomach. 

"They've been inseparable since Sam found the only shower room that's still got hot water. They probably bonded over sharing a bottle of highlight-preserving shampoo."

"No," Blaine says more insistently. He has extraordinarily thick, weird eyebrows, Kurt notices for the first time, like circumflex accents over the o's of his eyes. "It's been since they got their numbers and were dipping way below Finn and Rachel. That's when they got together." 

Kurt's teeth clack together in his mouth at Blaine speaking aloud what he's started to get a gnawing feeling about lately. The purpose of what they signed up for, this live reality programme about the making of a show choir through the unusual but attention-grabbing method of a survivalist situation in an unused high school, it wasn't about dating or romance or any of that. The pitch had been for performers, people with talent and moxie and charisma and screen presence, not people who intended to get by with looking pretty and sucking face 

When Rachel and Finn had declared they were together, and they'd immediately soared in the polls, Kurt had talked himself out of it; they were both talented and Rachel's looks were entertainment good, not magazine good. But Quinn and Sam were like Dresden dolls more than any sort of real competition in the talent department, with their adequate singing and dancing that happened to come out of appallingly photogenic faces and figures. Possibly a secret hairstylist they'd secured to give them an advantage.

"This is exactly what I didn't want," Kurt says sharply, drawing his knees in tight now, feet pulled in together. "I told myself that this would be a different sort of show, one based on ability and merit and not just whatever look is hot on social media right now. But no! It's the same old thing, isn't it? The so-called prettiest people get everything without having to try." 

"Hey, now," Blaine says, tilting his head. "You and me are pretty too." He bumps the back of one hand against the crook of Kurt's knee. "You a smidge more, but I think that'll work for us." 

Kurt raises his head slowly from where his chin had sunk down against his chest. "Oh, no," he says, and scoots to the side, watching in gathering concern as Blaine correspondingly scoots closer. His smile is just as commercial as before, but now there's something else to it, something more focused and determined, and that's much worse because damned if Kurt doesn't like being the spotlight of somebody's full focused attention. 

"Blaine -- it's Blaine, right?" Of course he knows the other boy's name, but if they're going to play a game then Kurt's not going in with the weaker hand. Blaine seems unfazed and just inclines his head, smile inching towards amused. "Look, Blaine, while I enjoy romcom tropes maybe more than your average person, to the point where I watch people go about their daily lives and immediately visualize their minor mishaps happening as meet-cutes, this isn't the route I want to take to be part of the New Directions. I want to win my spot through my gift and my hard work and, yes, being pretty, but that's not the main thing people should admire about me. And sure as hell not because I hook up with the flashy prep." 

"Whoa there," Blaine says, smiling full-on now, "hook up? I'm not that easy." He laughs and it's breezy, confident, which is annoying but also takes the awkwardness out of the whole thing, so Kurt un-tenses, just a bit, as Blaine continues with a shake of his head, "It's an advantage. We've obviously got the raw material needed to make it, but this isn't an even playing field, unfortunately, or we'd know the outcome already. It's a show, it's dramatics, it's will-they-won't-they." He sings the last bit, a plummy MGM flourish: "--that's en-ter-tain-ment!" 

"Trying to win me over with show tunes is … well, all right, it's effective. But this still isn't the avenue I want to stroll." Kurt thins his eyes at Blaine, considering, and the other boy takes it as an opening to make his pitch.

"Look, Kurt -- it's just for the cameras, and I'll do all the work. It doesn't have to look as though…" Blaine reconsiders whatever he'd been about to say and reroutes, "I'll woo you as if we're lovers in some silent black-and-white film! Big gestures, romance coming out our ears, I'll be so smitten that the audience is gonna fall in love with you through me, they'll be dying to see where it all goes and if I manage to win your affections. Or at least a duet." Blaine has his hands clasped now, pressed over his heart, and he tips his head in the direction that Sam and Quinn had gone. "One a damn sight better than 'Lucky'."

"Low-hanging fruit," Kurt says, but his heartbeat has tripped into double-speed, and he licks his lips, shifting to cross-legged so he can face Blaine. "I have conditions," he says, and Blaine turns even more towards him to say, "Naturally. We should both come to an understanding so there's no misha--"

"You need to find a KitKat and get it deep-fried for me."

Blaine halts in mid-reasoning, then he hops nimbly to his feet and sweeps a flourishing bow. At the crown of his dipped head there's a wave to his hair, little promises of curls, and Kurt files that away, too, in the moment before Blaine straightens. "Whatever your heart desires," he says in a silky murmur, and then more normally, "--next time we'll do this stuff for the cameras, okay? No point wasting it where nobody can see."

"Okay," Kurt says, and if his answering smile is a touch flat, it's just because he doesn't need to care.