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crazedbluette · 3 days ago

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Skeletons (and Guns) in the Closet

A John Wick x Ex-Assassin Male Reader

Summary: You and John have built a quiet life together—peaceful, normal… but neither of you is what you pretend to be. When John accidentally uncovers your past, you both learn something surprising: you’re not alone in the shadows you left behind. And maybe, finally, you can stop running from who you are.

Trigger warnings: PTSD, violence, trauma references, identity concealment, emotional suppression, past abuse, brief mentions of blood, dissociation, mild language, implied mental health struggles, slight smut near the end

A/N at the end! Not beta read, we die like John Wick. Y/N not used, Readers downstairs area isn't mentioned.

The apartment smelled like fresh espresso and rain. Jazz murmured softly from the record player. You could hear the gentle click of John’s mug being placed on the windowsill, followed by the slow rustle of his sleeve as he leaned into the light.

It was raining again.

Of course it was. Your favorite mornings were always rainy ones. The world outside slowed down, wrapped in soft grey fog. Everything in here felt warm by comparison—lit by amber light and the kind of quiet only found between people who understood silence wasn’t absence.

John moved like he was born in it. The kind of quiet that came from knowing violence intimately, and choosing—again and again—not to live in it anymore.

At least, that’s what you believed. What you hoped.

You weren’t sure when you’d fallen in love with him. Maybe it was the way he kissed you good morning without a word, or how he always made enough coffee for two even before you’d moved in.

You weren’t supposed to fall for anyone. You’d built your life out of lies—fake names, burner phones, dead drops and distance. You had killed for nations and corporations alike, walked away from it all, and told yourself you could start fresh.

You told yourself that this life with him was real.

But neither of you were what you appeared to be.

You came home late. Wet from the rain, grocery bag slung over your shoulder, fingers aching with the cold.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

You noticed the change before you even stepped fully inside. Something in the air—off-kilter. Still.

And then you saw it.

The bookshelf.

Slightly ajar. Just wide enough for someone to see what was behind it.

Your heart stopped.

You dropped the bag without thinking. Apples spilled across the hardwood as you stepped forward, already knowing what you’d find.

There he stood.

John.

Back turned to you, eyes fixed on the wall-mounted arsenal that had been hidden behind a lifetime’s worth of literature. Weapons. Files. A few currencies, a few names. Everything that made you who you once were—laid bare.

He didn’t speak right away. He reached for a knife, turned it in his hands. The handle was black and polished, inlaid with a symbol only three men in the world would recognize.

He turned it over slowly. “You know,” he said, voice calm, “you really should’ve changed your dead drop codes. 4-1-6-9-Theta is old-school.”

You swallowed, hard. "You know what that is?" You asked, unsure if you even want to know the answer to your question.

He turned then. His expression wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even surprised. It was… knowing. Tired.

“I used to use that cipher myself. A long time ago.”

You stared at him. “You’re not… who I thought you were.”

He let out a breath through his nose. “Neither are you.”

You sat across from him on the couch, your secrets heavy between you. The weapons closet was closed again, but the damage had been done. The truth wasn’t going back behind a lock.

John had poured you both whiskey. His hand didn’t shake. Yours did.

“I used to be known as the Ghost,” you said quietly, not meeting his eyes. “Some parts of Europe… Casablanca, Istanbul—they still talk about me like I’m a myth.”

He said nothing, just watched you.

“I got out five years ago. Faked a body, disappeared. Told myself I’d never go back.” You looked at him. “Told myself I could be normal.”

John sipped his drink. “And I’m the Baba Yaga. Or what’s left of him.”

Your blood ran cold.

“I heard stories about you,” you said. “I didn’t believe most of them.”

“They’re probably all true,” he murmured. “But I’m not that man anymore.”

A long pause.

You turned your glass in your hands. “How did we not see it? In each other?”

“I think we did,” John said, finally. “We just didn’t want to.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It was relief.

You’d spent months learning John’s routines. The way he folded his shirts with military precision. The way his voice dropped when he asked if you’d eaten. The way he always positioned himself between you and the door in public spaces.

He noticed your tells, too. The way you scanned exits. How you never sat with your back to a room. The tremble in your fingers when you slept too light, dreamed too deep.

You had both known. Somewhere, in your bones, you had known.

But knowing didn’t make what you had any less real.

John leaned toward you, setting his glass down. “I never lied to you. I just… didn’t want to go back to that world.”

“Neither did I.”

He reached for your hand.

You let him take it.

“I’m tired,” he whispered. “Aren’t you?”

Your throat tightened. “All the time.”

His fingers brushed your knuckles. “Then let’s stop running. Together.”

You exhaled slowly. “I don’t even know what that looks like.”

John offered a rare, soft smile. “Let’s find out.”

That night, you didn’t make love like men who were trying to forget something.

You made love like men who had found something.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frenzied. It was slow, reverent—hands mapping scars like old stories. Lips tracing collarbones, fingertips ghosting over hipbones. You moaned into his mouth, breathless, as he held you like you were something rare and fragile.

You whispered each other’s names like prayers.

And when you were both lying there—skin to skin, hearts pounding—you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Peace.

John kissed your shoulder. “You’re safe.”

You rolled to face him. “With you… yeah.”

In the morning, sunlight slipped in through the blinds in soft ribbons.

You padded into the kitchen, shirtless and groggy, and found him reorganizing your weapons closet—again.

“You alphabetized my sidearms,” you said flatly.

He didn’t turn. “Your trigger springs were stored next to your .22 ammo. That’s chaos.”

You sipped your coffee. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.”

He turned to look at you, eyes crinkled at the corners. “I know.”

You walked up, wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, rested your chin on his shoulder.

“No more secrets?”

He covered your hand with his own. “Never again.”

You stood there in silence, two killers with your arms around each other, surrounded by hidden weapons and half-eaten pancakes and sunlight.

For the first time in years, the world didn’t feel like a battlefield.

It felt like home.

A/N: "Pierre this isn't Whisking Hearts Chapter 1" GUYS, I KNOW. It's already finished, I'm just having it proofread by a friend before publishing! This isn’t my best work but I was rewatching the John Wick franchise and I was reminded how 🔥 Keanu Reeves is. I was literally writing this while watching lmao. But have this while waiting for WH Chap 1! Graphic and Divider are below!

Graphic

Divider

Please reblog and comment if you liked it! It helps keep me motivated!

#✮⋆˙ 𝕵𝖎𝖓𝖝 𝖂𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖘 #john wick x male reader #john wick x reader #x male reader #male reader #ftm reader #x ftm reader #john wick #keanu reeves

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crazedbluette · 5 days ago

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I have nothing appropriate to say

😭 omg your smut work is so good, especially bottom reader hehe.. can u do another part with malleus, azul, idia, lilia and jade? 😇 feel free to ignore if ure uncomfy. have a nice day/night!!!

╰─▸ ❝ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

🔞 NSFW Warning – 18+ ONLY Content includes: • Male reader • Bottom!Reader • Nipple piercings (reader) • Oral fixation • Explicit sexual scenes (detailed penetration). •❗Reader discretion is advised ❗

(part 1)

featuring — Ruggie : Azul : Jade : Idia : Lilia : Malleus.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie wasn’t expecting your sudden flick of the tongue to reveal a glint of silver, but the way his eyes widened said it all. You had just finished teasing him over lunch, leaning closer to whisper something when the metal ball of your tongue ring became visible. “Oi… since when did ya get that?” he grinned, half-impressed, half-teasing, his ears twitching in interest. Ruggie leaned in curiously, as he smirked. “Damn, that’s kinda hot, actually. Bet that makes some things real fun, huh?”

The gears in his head were already turning. He playfully tugged you closer, lips brushing near your ear as he whispered, “You been hiding that from me, huh? Sneaky.” He’d make little jokes about it all day, offhand comments, smirking every time your tongue so much as moved. He’d definitely want to “test” it later, but for now, he just stole a kiss and muttered, “Can’t wait to see what else you’ve been keeping under wraps.”

(nsfw)

Things had gotten heated in the quiet privacy of your dorm, Ruggie looming over you with flushed cheeks and a cocky grin, as he shoved your shirt up in a rush. He was already trailing kisses down your chest when he froze mid-motion, eyes locking onto the small barbell piercing your nipples. “Wha—no way!” he barked a laugh, his voice rasping with delight as his eyes gleamed with lust and mischief. “You’ve been hiding that too?” He didn’t wait for an answer, his mouth was already on you, hot and slick as his tongue flicked the metal with playful precision. The cold steel against the warmth of his mouth made you gasp, and he groaned low at your reaction, teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin before he sucked, slow and firm. You squirmed beneath him, the sensation a mix of pain and pleasure, your chest rising into his mouth while your cock twitched in anticipation.

His hips ground against yours in deep, lazy rolls, rutting against your body like he was trying to brand you with his heat. “with a tongue ring and a pierced nip? You’re full of surprises, huh?” he rasped, his hand trailed down your stomach, slipping into your waistband with no patience. Ruggie made it his mission to overstimulate you, his thumb brushing your tip while he tormented the barbell with his tongue again, until your voice cracked in a needy moan. When he finally pushed inside you, he was relentless, burying himself to the hilt in one hard thrust that stole the air from your lungs. His hands pinned your hips as he fucked into you, deep and fast, panting against your throat. He growled between thrusts, the bed creaking beneath you both. “Just for me.” He licked at your nipple again while pounding into you, making you sob his name as heat curled tight in your belly, every stroke sending you closer to the edge, completely undone under him.

Azul Ashengrotto

You had been sipping your drink at the Lounge when Azul noticed the flash of metal between your lips. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses, stunned but intrigued. “Is that… a tongue ring?” he asked, tone curious yet restrained, though you caught the slight tremble in his voice. Azul leaned in, flustered and fascinated, gaze flicking between your mouth and your eyes. “How long have you had that?” He adjusted his tie but didn’t look away.

Despite his prim-and-proper exterior, Azul’s mind had already wandered into dangerous waters. “That’s a very… provocative choice,” he murmured, lips twitching into a shy but pleased smile. “I imagine it could have… quite the effect.” Later that night, you’d catch him staring again, visibly distracted whenever you spoke or licked your lips. It stirred something curious and undeniably needy inside him.

(nsfw)

The lights in your dorm were dim, Azul’s hands moved slowly as he took his time undressing you, fingers trembling slightly with anticipation, breath growing warmer as he leaned in close. When his eyes caught the glint of silver on your nipples, he halted, completely stunned. “You have a… piercing there, too?” he whispered, voice cracking with arousal and disbelief in his tone. His cheeks flushed dark as he reached out, brushing his fingers over the metal, thumb barely grazing the sensitive skin. “You’re… even bolder than I thought.” His gaze was hungry now, all composure gone as he leaned in and let his tongue flick slowly over the barbell, tasting your skin and the cool metal in the same breath. He sucked, deep and deliberate, watching with fascination as your back arched and a moan escaped you.

That single sound shattered him. Azul surged forward, grinding his hips down against you as he reached to hook your legs around his waist. “You tempt me far too much,” he groaned, voice wrecked, barely holding back as he slicked his cock with practiced hands before pushing in with one smooth, hungry thrust. The stretch made you cry out, and he shuddered, leaning down to capture your mouth in a bruising kiss. He fucked you slow at first, savoring every squeeze of your walls, but the way you moaned his name desperate and high, drove him mad. His pace grew rough, fucking you deep and hard, the sound of skin against skin loud in the quiet room. He couldn’t stop touching the piercing, flicking it with his tongue, tweaking it between thrusts, using it to pull more broken sounds from your throat. “So beautiful… so obscene…” he panted, his glasses slipping down his nose as he lost himself in you completely, hips snapping forward like he was trying to brand you from the inside.

Jade Leech

Jade noticed instantly, of course. The glint of silver against your tongue didn’t escape him when you licked your lips during dinner. His expression didn’t change much, but the faint, amused smile that curled his lips was unmistakable. “Oh? You’ve acquired a tongue piercing,” he noted softly, voice calm, yet with an edge of curiosity. “Interesting. That’s quite… adventurous of you, my love.”

He leaned closer, tilting your chin up with one gloved hand. “I wonder what it feels like,” he murmured. You didn’t miss how his eyes darkened just a bit as his thumb brushed your lower lip. “I do hope you’ll allow me to explore that curiosity later.” Jade didn’t say anything more, but the glint in his gaze told you he was already imagining the possibilities.

(nsfw)

When your shirt slid off mid-makeout session and Jade caught sight of the small, glinting barbell piercing your nipples, his fingers halted, resting lightly against your chest as his gaze sharpened with curiosity and lust. “My, my… another hidden surprise,” he purred, voice dipping low. His fingertips ghosted over the metal, deliberately light, drawing a shiver from you before he chuckled softly. “You’re just full of secrets, aren’t you?” Jade dipped his head and let his tongue swirl around the piercing in slow, deliberate circles, his saliva warm and slick as he played with it. The contrast between his sharp teeth grazing the cool steel and the heat of his mouth made your breath stutter, and Jade clearly enjoyed that, relishing every twitch and soft whimper as he sucked deeply on your nipple, making it ache with pleasure.

Jade was merciless in his precision, teasing you with that eerie calm that made everything feel intentional and intimate. His lips trailed down your chest, only to return to the piercing again, flicking and pulling it with his tongue while his hips rolled against yours with maddening control. The friction of his clothed cock grinding into your bare one had you moaning, but he didn’t stop, he leaned his body into yours, pressing your pierced chest flush against his, the barbell dragging deliciously between your sweat-slick torsos. “So reactive,” he murmured, breath hot in your ear as he finally pushed inside you, slow and deep, stretching you open with careful, deliberate thrusts. “I must say,” he whispered, hips snapping forward with just enough force to knock the breath from your lungs, “this little decoration suits you… quite perfectly.” He never stopped touching it, fingertips brushing, tongue flicking, even as he fucked you into the mattress with unshakable control, pulling apart your composure one sinful thrust at a time.

Idia Shroud

Idia was speechless when you flashed your tongue during your usual gaming session, the metal gleaming under the screen’s bright light. His whole body jolted like he’d been hit with a shock spell. “W-Wait, is that real?! You—you have a tongue ring?!” His voice jumped an octave, hair flaring brighter as he flailed a little in embarrassment. “W-Who even does that?! That’s like… +100 to seduction stats!!”

He kept sneaking glances at your mouth every time you talked after that, completely unable to focus on the game. “You’re seriously going to kill me,” he groaned, covering his face with a pillow. “This is like, forbidden knowledge. I’ll never look at you the same way again…” The rest of the night was filled with flustered mutterings and red-faced stares every time you licked your lips or leaned too close.

(nsfw)

Idia had just worked up the nerve to slide your shirt off when his eyes landed on the glinting barbell piercing your nipple and he froze, “NO WAY,” he squeaked, nearly choking on his own spit, eyes wide “Y-You—you have a nipple piercing too?! What the hell, are you trying to overload my CPU?!” His fingers hovered midair, trembling as he stared like you were some ultra-rare gacha drop he never expected to get. He blinked rapidly, color rushing to his cheeks, caught somewhere between short-circuiting and falling to his knees. But then, almost robotically, his hand moved to touch, his thumb brushing the metal so softly it sent tingles through your chest. He let out a shaky breath. “This is like… forbidden content,” he muttered, eyes glassy with awe.

Once the initial glitch passed, it was game over for you. Idia leaned in and tentatively kissed around the piercing, his lips soft and warm, until your breath hitched and that sound broke something in him. He latched on greedily, licking and sucking with growing confidence, his hands grabbing at your thighs as he rutted against you with increasing urgency. “Haaah… you’re such a cheat code,” he panted, breath stuttering as he pushed into you, gasping when your body clenched around him. He slammed in deeper, needier, almost desperate now. “You… you’re gonna break me, you know that?!” he whined, voice cracking as he bent over you, hips jerking erratically with each thrust. His mouth returned to your nipple, tongue flicking the barbell between sharp moans, like he was trying to imprint the sensation in his memory. Sweat slicked to his forehead, his entire body trembling as he fucked you like he was losing his mind, completely wrecked by how dangerously perfect you were.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia noticed instantly, and his reaction was nothing short of delighted. “Oho~! A tongue ring? How naughty!” he cooed, grinning from ear to ear. “You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?” He leaned in far too close, eyes gleaming. “No wonder your kisses have felt extra sinful lately…” He reached out to tap your tongue with his gloved finger, utterly unbothered and extremely entertained.

He’d tease you mercilessly for it, making flirty jokes and suggestive comments all day. “Mmm, now I must experience the full effect~” he’d say, practically bouncing in excitement. With Lilia, the mystery only made things more exciting, and he was already planning how to properly “test” your piercing’s capabilities.

(nsfw)

The moment his fangs grazed your clothed chest and felt the cold press of metal beneath, Lilia lit up like the lights on a Christmas tree. He rushed to strip off your shirt. “Ara~ What’s this? Another secret present just for me?” he purred, eyes gleaming with mischief, hunger and desire. He flicked his tongue over the piercing in a slow, deliberate swirl before sucking it between his lips, the cold steel quickly warming in his mouth. “How decadent of you…” he murmured, letting his breath ghost over the wet trail he left behind. “You know how much I adore shiny toys.” His hands roamed your body with ease, thumbs brushing over sensitive spots while his lips teased the barbell in lazy, infuriating circles. When he bit down, not hard, just enough to draw a gasp, he chuckled low in his throat, delighted by how quickly you melted beneath him.

The teasing only grew more merciless. Lilia alternated between playful nips and slow licks, his voice vibrating against your chest as he whispered filth directly into your ear. “You like being decorated like this, don’t you? All dolled up and begging to be touched…” he crooned, his voice a soft melody. His hips rolled into yours with maddening precision, the friction of his cock against you making your breath catch each time. He didn’t just thrust, he played with you, expertly tearing you apart, fucking you deep and then shallow, sharp then slow, keeping you suspended on the edge. His fingers twisted the piercing in time with each movement, adding a new wave of overstimulation. “Tongue, chest… I wonder where else I’ll find treasure?” he teased, dragging his tongue lower as he thrust harder, relentless in his rhythm. With Lilia, the night didn’t just burn, it devoured, wild, and intoxicating, until you were trembling beneath him, drenched in sweat, unsure where pain ended and pleasure began.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus blinked in surprise when he caught the glint of silver on your tongue. You had only yawned, but that was enough. “You… pierced your tongue?” he asked, tilting his head in quiet fascination. His expression remained calm, but the curiosity in his eyes burned bright. “Isn’t that painful? Or… is it meant to enhance pleasure?” he asked innocently, already intrigued by the idea.

He reached out to gently touch your chin, urging you to show it to him again. “How curious,” he murmured. “It’s quite becoming on you.” While Malleus didn’t fully understand the implications at first, the idea stuck with him, especially the thought of such a bold, intimate choice. He’d later ask for a demonstration… with kisses, of course.

(nsfw)

As Malleus undressed you with slow hands, his breath hitched when his eyes caught the glint of silver on your chest. “Another one…” he whispered, awe thick in his voice, laced with simmering arousal. He reached out with careful fingers, brushing over the barbell like it was sacred, an offering meant only for him. “You… adorn yourself so beautifully,” he murmured, voice deep and almost trembling. The heat in his gaze was unmistakable, hungry and claiming. He leaned down, tongue extending to swirl slowly around the piercing, warm breath fanning over your skin as he tasted you. He kissed around it first, savoring your soft gasps, then wrapped his lips around the barbell and sucked, slow, firm, worshipful. Each sound he pulled from you fed the hunger in his eyes. “So divine… every part of you,” he breathed, letting his hand trail down your stomach, caressing like he was tracing the lines of a treasured scripture.

When he entered you, it was with unhurried, possessive force, as though sealing a vow. His hips moved in slow, grinding thrusts, filling you deeply, each roll of his body brushing all the right places. His chest pressed to yours, the cool metal of the piercing rubbing between your bodies, a constant point of stimulation as his cock dragged through your walls. “Every part of you… is a wonder,” he whispered again, voice heavy with praise and claim, his lips brushing yours, then trailing down your jaw to your throat. His hand returned to your chest, thumb brushing the barbell with every thrust, deliberately pushing you closer to the edge. “You belong to me. Body, soul… and all these beautiful piercings,” he growled softly, his pace picking up, voice breaking as he lost himself in the tight heat of you. He fucked you like you were his chosen mate-no, his treasure, each thrust deep and consuming, your name falling from his lips like a spell chant.

thank you anon and enjoy ⍤

#✮⋆˙ 𝕵𝖎𝖓𝖝 𝕽𝖊𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖘 #i want to say something but im scared ill get banned

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crazedbluette · 5 days ago

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#✮⋆˙ 𝕵𝖎𝖓𝖝 𝕽𝖊𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖘

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crazedbluette · 5 days ago

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BRO IM CRYING I WAS FILLOWING YOUR REBLOG ACC AND NOT YOUR ACTUAL WRITING ACCOUNT😭😭💔💔

THATS FINE POOKIE, I literally made this account like just last month😓

#✮⋆˙ 𝕵𝖎𝖓𝖝'𝖘 𝕬𝖘𝖐𝖘 #✮⋆˙ 𝕬𝖞𝖑𝖆/𝕾𝖔𝖗𝖆 #i didn't have the motivation to write for like.... almost a year

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crazedbluette · 5 days ago

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Hey chat! I'm actually cooking up a 2nd series: batfam x neglected gn reader, coraline inspired!! This series will be inspired by 2 authors, I'll make sure to credit them once I finish story boarding. But for now, I'll finished Whisked Hearts and this series will probably come 2-3 weeks after ive finished..... or maybe even after posting chapter 1

#✮⋆˙ 𝕵𝖎𝖓𝖝'𝖘 𝕵𝖎𝖓𝖝𝖊𝖘 #neglected reader #gn reader #batfam x male reader #batfamily x male reader #batfam x gn reader #batfamily x gn reader

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crazedbluette · 6 days ago

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Sneak peak into Chapter 1, I'm feeling inspired so Chapter 1 might come sooner than expected....

#✮⋆˙ 𝕵𝖎𝖓𝖝'𝖘 𝕵𝖎𝖓𝖝𝖊𝖘 #✮⋆˙ 𝕵𝖎𝖓𝖝 𝖂𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖘 #Whisking Hearts: JayVik #arcane x male reader #jayce talis #jayce x viktor #jayvik #jayvik x male reader #viktor arcane #arcane jayce

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crazedbluette · 6 days ago

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Whisking Hearts: Prologue

A JayVik x Baker!Male Reader

1.8k Words.

TW: emotional distress, academic pressure, imposter syndrome, homophobia, classism, ableism, verbal abuse from authority figures, identity suppression, and moments of depressive ideation.

Author Notes at the end!

Not proof read.

Masterlist

Your Dreams Were Supposed to Rise Like Bread

Piltover University was supposed to be where your dreams took shape. It was where you thought you’d finally soar. Where you could make your parents proud.

The brochures had shown students with eyes full of fire and passion, creating groundbreaking, unique inventions with their blood, sweat, and tears. The buildings themselves were grand and luxurious with marble halls with walls that seemed to hum with the promise of creating outstanding members of society. Students climbed those steps with the weight of ambition on their shoulders, and you’d been one of them: nervous, hopeful, tightly clutching your satchel with a single item inside of it: a worn, leather-bound notebook.

But what they never tell you is that some dreams demand more than you’re able—or willing—to give.

Your first few weeks were a blur of pressure, panic, sweat, and stress. Lectures were relentless. Complex theories thrown at you like daggers trying to destroy you and find weakness within you. Endless equations written in chalk on towering, intimidating blackboards. Professors spoke fancy and excruciatingly long words, their minds and words three steps ahead of your comprehension. And the students, oh god, you couldn't even begin to explain how inferior you felt to them. They moved like they were born for this, this life of sweat and stress, like each cog and circuit was a familiar friend.

You tried. You tried so hard.

You stayed up late, eyes burning from studying and eyelids heavy from sleepless nights. You nodded along in lab groups, forcing yourself to understand the words people around you were saying, your tired brain couldn't keep up. You copied down everything, read beyond the syllabus, skipped meals, and skipped sleep. You asked questions at first, worried that if you didn't you would fall behind. But soon, your voice grew quieter, you didn't want to seem like a dumb himbo to the other great minds in your university. You learned quickly that passion without precision was a liability here.

And you had passion, but not for arcane equations or chemical bonds.

Your notebooks, while filled with blueprints like the others, also hid something else:

Drawings of éclairs and tart shells. Notes on dough ratios. Rough sketches of braided bread and sweet glazes. Ideas for new pastries, some flavored with the fruits your mother used to sneak home from the edge of the market in Zaun. The margins were dusted in the memories of a childhood defined by scarcity, made sweeter only by what your mother could make rise with her hands and heart.

You remembered the way she sung Zaunite songs while kneading dough. The way she always said that food—real food—could be magic if it came from the right place in your heart.

You’d brought those memories with you. You’d come to Piltover with the idea that maybe you could merge two worlds: the innovation of Piltover with the warmth of Zaun. Baking as science. Baking as invention. A different kind of magic from the kind of magic everyone around you had known.

But every time you tried to bring that part of yourself into the light, it felt like you were dragging something fragile into a storm.

One student from your innovation class had scoffed when he caught sight of your sketches of baked goods. A professor dismissed your baking analogies as “wasting your potential on a domestic hobby.” And once—just once—you overheard someone call you the little queer baker boy when they thought you weren’t around.

After that, you stopped sharing.

You closed your notebook.

You shrank.

You blended into the background.

That night, the professor said your focus was “disappointing,” that you “lacked the vision” that Piltover demanded. That maybe this wasn’t the place for you, that maybe you should go back to the "filthy place" you had come from. You despised him, you despised the words he had called the place where you had grown up, the place you called home. He had just insulted your family, your friends, and your home.

But you didn’t say anything.

You just nodded, gathered your notes, and walked away.

Your calm walking had erupted into erratic running, your eyes red from the tears that are trickling down your face.

The sky was already dark by the time you reached the rooftop—high above the university's grand halls and glowing lamps. The city below was stunning, its glittering skyline promising so much yet provided so little. Piltover looked like opportunity incarnate. But you… you felt like a ghost drifting through it.

The wind was sharp. You sat with your back against the cold stone wall, pulling your knees close to your chest. And then—almost without thinking— you wiped your eyes and you reached into your satchel and pulled out a small glass jar.

Vanilla bean paste.

A gift from your mother the day you were accepted. "For the first dessert you bake in your own kitchen," she’d said, her voice filled with emotion and her choked cries muffled by the handkerchief she had broughtup to the lower half of her face. You’d tucked it away, meaning to use it for a special day. But this wasn’t special. It was something else. Something breaking.

You opened it anyway.

The moment the scent hit your nose, your eyes burned again.

It smelled like home.

Like warmth and joy and safety.

Like everything you hadn’t felt in months.

And in that moment, something inside you snapped—not like a bone, but like a chain.

You didn’t belong here—not because you weren’t smart, but because you’d been trying to be someone you weren’t. You had been folding yourself into shapes that didn’t fit, hoping one day you’d feel whole again.

You didn’t want to make weapons, or machines that outpaced the heart.

You wanted to make something that healed.

Something that comforted.

Something that fed people—in every way that mattered.

The next morning, you rose before dawn.

You didn’t leave a dramatic letter. You didn’t try to explain it to anyone (not like you knew anyone that would have cared anyways). You simply packed your belongings, closed your notebook, and walked out of Piltover University without looking back.

You left behind the blueprints you had convinced yourself didnt matter. You left the biting comments, the sleepless nights, and most importantly; the silence. You left the version of yourself who had tried so hard to be accepted.

Ahead of you, the bakery waited.

You could almost see it when you closed your eyes: you imagined the countertop dusted in flour, the brass oven handles glowing in the morning light, the little bell above the door that always rang sharply whenever someone entered. You remembered the exact curve of the mixing bowls, the chipped corner of the old recipe book on the shelf.

And you remembered something else—something more important than any invention you'd ever sketched.

You remembered how it felt to pull a loaf of bread from the oven and watch someone’s face light up. How food could make love visible. How a tart, a bun, or a soft, cinnamon-swirled roll could do what machines and politics never could: bring people back to themselves.

You didn’t need a degree to do that.

You didn’t need Piltover’s approval.

You just needed your hands, your ingredients, your fire.

The bakery welcomed you like it was an old friend.

The first loaf you baked looked.... clumsy and interesting to say the least. The oven ran too hot, and the crust was tougher than it should’ve been. But when you bit into it—tears stinging your eyes—you knew that this was right. This was you.

You rose each morning with the sun, sometimes in the afternoon if you had spent all night baking and creating new recipes. You shaped dough with your gloved hands. You reclaimed your joy, one croissant, one cake, one steaming cup of Zaun styled tea at a time.

And one day—soon, but not yet—two men will walk through your door.

One brilliant and bold, with strong shoulders and a tired heart. One sharp and soft-spoken, with eyes that have seen too much and still search for wonder.

They’ll smell the bread. They’ll taste something that makes them pause. And you’ll meet eyes across the counter, unsure what this feeling is.

But it will rise—just like your dough.

Not all at once.

Not as perfect as you may want.

But slowly, warmly.

A/N: I hope you guys liked it! This is my first ever series and I'm so excited to write it! If this flops im jumping off. JKJK!!! I'll have chapter 1 ready in 2 and a half weeks! The jayvik graphics and coffee bean dividers can be found on the masterlist of this series. If there are ajy missing trigger warnings or any spelling/grammatical errors please tell me! English isn't my first language so im sorry about that.. Please comment and reblog, it helps keep me motivated!

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