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hughes-your-daddy · 3 months ago

Text

secret

pairing: luke hughes x fem reader

summary: your relationship is a secret to everyone, even luke’s brothers. but for how long will it last?

you walk through the corridors of the rink, the cold breeze leaking into the office area. you pull your athletic jacket tighter around yourself, hearing the echoes of pucks being slammed against boards, the laughter of the teammates echoing the arena.

you make quick work of weaving your way through the maze of corridors to the rink, stepping into the players bench to observe the practice. the players whip around the rink, starting to cool down and finish their morning practice as you come to collect your injured players.

they start to skate off the rink each saying a quick hi to you before one stops beside you.

“morning.” luke states, not turning to look at you.

“morning hughes.” you smile, keeping the same stance as him, not looking. you wait for the rest of the players to clear off the ice noticing one missing.

“no jack today?” you ask, turning to head to the physio room.

luke follows behind his skates clicking against the hard surface of the floors.

“oh uh, he told me to tell you that he bashed his shoulder last night so he just stayed home.” luke recounts as you stop mid walk, the taller walking into the back of you.

you turn, quickly becoming fave to face with luke, him looming over you.

“well hello.” he smirks before you push him away.

“1) not here 2) i need to see him if he’s hurt his shoulder. it’s not been that long since his surgery.” you huff before continuing to walk, luke hurrying to catch up with you.

he hurries falling into stride next to you this time before you lead him into the physio room, as he hops up onto the bed.

“right, pass off.” you say, turning to slide some gloves on and grab your stool. you slide over seeing him sat there a pout on his face.

“pads off luke.” you instruct, eyebrow going up as you wait.

“back hurts too much.” he shrugs trying to hide the smirk on his face. you sigh, shaking your head and sliding back over to your computer.

“well if it hurts that much i’ll have to take you out the game.” you tease, hiding your own smile before you hear frantic movement and head hitting the floor.

“you know what, it’s feeling a bit better now.” luke huffs out, as you turn back around to see his torso exposed now.

“thank you.” you smile before moving over to check out his back, “now be honest, how is it?” you ask, knowing how hard a hit he took the other week.

“getting better, just the same as last night.” he mumbles, turning over onto his stomach so you can examine it.

you think back to last night. back at your apartment, roommate out for the night, tangled in each others limbs, scratching his back. absolute bliss.

“hey, your working the game tonight right?” he asks, as you shrug.

“i don’t know, depends if i can get my school work done or not.” you sigh, pressing down on areas around his spine.

“i want you there, to meet quinn.” he sighs, looking up at you from the bed, snaking an arm around your waist.

“luke.” you sigh, knowing you shouldn’t be doing this at work, before you relax letting your fingers take through his wet curls.

“what if we told people? just the ones we want to know, doesn’t have to be a public thing.” he asks, moving onto his back, resting on his elbow to lift himself up, arm still around your waist, now drawing circles on your hip.

“maybe, i just-“ you pause, looking down at like seeing his puppy dog eyes, “maybe privately ok? i don’t want all eyes on me, luke hughes’s girlfriend.” you sigh, cupping his cheek with your palm.

you see a smile break out on his face, as he leans back into the bed. you shake your head at his antics before sliding over to your desk, fishing your apartment keys out your bag.

“here, head over to mine,” you smile, dropping the keys into his hands, seeing him almost shake with excitement. he’s said countless of times how much of a comfier bed you have than him and how great a pre game nap would be in there.

“really?” he asks, smile growing.

“yeh, head over. i’ll probs be about half an hour behind you,” you nod as he starts to get back up, picking up his head off the floor, “oh and luke?” you call out before he leaves.

he turns around a small smirk growing on his face.

“let ollie out for a wee will you when you get there?” you ask, seeing his smile drop. you giggle at his face before finishing with what he anted to hear.

“i love you.” you say quietly, luke being up a hand to blow you a kiss.

“love you more.” he smiles before leaving, you shaking your head to get out of your daze after that meeting with luke.

you finish up some paper work, marking in your calendar to reschedule with jack before packing up your stuff and heading out to the car.

you throw your bag into the backseat, before getting in and driving home, letting the radio play in the silence of your drive.

you head home, using your spare key to unlock the door, peering in seeing luke’s shoes and back by the door. you slip off your own trainers and walk through to the living room seeing luke’s suit laid out over the back of the couch meaning he’s definitely here somewhere and since there’s no noise, he’s most likely asleep.

you pull your hair out of your pony tail, waking though to your bedroom, slowly opening the door seeing a lump tucked under the covers with a small tuft of hair peeking out. you walk in further seeing ollie cuddled up right next to him.

the sound of you moving must wake him, cause he’s up and running over to you, tail wagging.

“hiya sweet boy, is lukey asleep?” you ask in your dog voice, bending down to scratch his ears before standing back up, quickly stripping of your clothes before climbing under, ollie settling at the bottom of the bed, as you move up close next to luke.

your heat, wakes him up, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer as he buries his head in your neck.

“hiya.” you whisper, luke responding by pressing a few soft kisses on your neck, “have you had any food?” you ask, feeling him nod, hair tickling your face.

“i ate on the way back.” he mumbles still very much half asleep. you breathe in in scent letting your own eyes drop, embracing his warmth. he rolls you over, so your on your back, his body covering yours with his head resting between your breasts.

“i love you, but if you want me at the game tonight i gotta do school work.” you sigh, knowing you’d rather be here.

“do you have to?” he whines, tightening his arms around you.

“do you want me there tonight?” you ask, his head popping up eyes wide.

“promise? if you do work you’ll come tonight?” he asks, a pout almost forming.

“promise.” you smile, as he pushes up to kiss you, lips melting together.

“ok, i’ll cuddle with ollie.” he smiles, letting you go as you stand up, sliding on some sweats and one of luke’s hoodies that he left last night.

“i’ll be quick,” you smile leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his curls hearing him hum in delight before heading through to the kitchen where you set up your laptop and work.

as promised you are as quick as possible in doing you work, but when you head back into the bedroom, you hear the shower running from your en-suite with the bed empty.

you smile walking over to ollie, as he rolls over onto his back on the bed, giving him some nellie rubs before getting under the covers yourself feeling the leftover warmth from luke once again breathing in his scent. you just yourself on your phone scrolling through tiktok a few about luke actually popping up.

the bathroom door swings open, causing you to look up, seeing luke standing there, towel around his waist.

“hiya baby.” he smiles, quickly coming over, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“mmh,” you giggle pushing him away, “your all wet.” you smile, causing him to let out a little laugh.

“i hope you don’t mind me showering here, i didn’t really want to head home. all the family will be there and that just freaks me out abit before games.” he sighs, quickly slipping on some underwear before dropping his towel, using it to dry off his curls.

“it’s ok, i’m gonna quickly hop in myself.” you smile, brushing past him but not before he pulls you back by the wrist and pulling you close, arms around your waist.

“i’m excited for you to meet them though, you sure your ok with it?” he asks and you nod, resting your chest against his chest to look up at him.

“i’m excited too, but right now i need to shower.” you smile pressing one last kiss to his lips before unravelling yourself from his arms and heading into the bathroom, quickly showering but not bothering to wash your hair as it will be tied up anyway.

you step out, wrapping a towel around your body and heading through into your bedroom, the warm steam following you through. you slide on some panties and a bra before dropping your towel, turning to your closet where luke is stood staring.

“hiya.” you grin, a small smirk playing on your face as he forgets about the tie hanging around his neck. he walks over to you, grabbing you by the waist crashing his lips onto yours.

“mmh,” he groans pulling away, “god, you’re beautiful.” he smiles a lovestruck look upon his face.

“and you,” you start, moving to knot his tie, “might get lucky if you score tonight.” you smirk, finishing his tie, tightening it slightly.

“imma score a hat trick for you.” he mumbles, pressing kisses all across your face. he keeps going, making you break out into giggles before you push him away, moving to get ready.

you just slide on some workout leggings with your devils team gear and slide on some trainers before walking out to the living room, where luke’s waiting on the couch.

“i thought you’d be gone by now.” your brows furrow as you move to pack some things into your bag.

“yeh uh,” he stands, nervously stuffing his hands into his pockets, “thought i could drive you, tonight. instead of taking two cars?” he asks, hesitantly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink as he looks down at the floor.

“oh, um, yeh that’d be nice.” you smile, zipping up your bag to see him grinning ear to ear.

“yeh, ok, cool well, after you baby.” he says, grabbing his coffees d opening the front door, allowing you to walk through before he locks it with the same key you gave him from before.

“keep that yeh?” you say as he’s mid handing it over to you, his eyes go wide before softening with a soft smile as he slides it into his pocket, before taking your hand in his as yous head down to the parking lot.

you slide into his car, as he gets in to drive, the car ride to the arena not being too long. you let the radio play as you both sit in a comfortable silence, his hand on your thigh whilst yours tangles in his curls as he drives.

he pulls up to the arena, both of you flashing your passes for security before heading down into the parking lot, skipping any waiting fans for privacy.

“ok, give me your keys.” you say, holding a hand out as he looks over confused.

“why?” he asks, turning the car off once parked.

“we can’t walk in together and you need to go in now, i have time. i’ll lock the car.” you state simply as he complies dropping the keys into your hand before leaving over to kiss you.

“i love you, we’ll go out for some food after yeh? with the whole family.” he smiles about to he tout as you stop him.

“luke!” you shout, startling the boy, “i didn’t bring spare clothes.” you whine seeing him relax and laugh.

“baby, you look beautiful in anything ok? it’s nothing fancy. i’ll be in sweats probably ok? don’t worry.” he reassures you pressing one last kiss to your lips before leaving, sending you a quick wink over his shoulder before he enters the building.

you wait a few minutes ducking when any players walk past before getting out and locking the car, slipping his keys into your bag before heading inside, going straight to the office and dropping your stuff there before heading to the locker room to tape up the boys.

you enter, a few sending a quick hello your way before your going from boy to boy, taking up their bodies ready for the match tonight.

“ah y/n! how are you?” nico smiles as you make your way over, already turning to the side so you can tape his shoulder.

“i’m good nico, thanks. exciting game tonight huh?” you say, feeling the excitement radiate off of him.

“i can’t wait to play all the hughes, they’re a good bunch aren’t they?” he asks, as you finish the tale, turning to face you.

“yeh, they’re pretty good.” you smile before heading off, not before luke could send you a smile over his shoulder as he’s getting his pads and skates on.

you head back into the office grabbing your stuff ready for the game as you’re set on the bench tonight, meaning bring ready for any injuries that could appear.

you grab a few gauzes and a cloth, securing them in your small utility belt before heading out and surveying the crowd for tonight at the bench.

before you know it, the teams are heading out for warmups, each player having you a fist bump before hitting the ice. just as luke walks past you, you feel his hand linger on your shoulder a moment longer before stepping out onto the ice to begin his own warmups.

you smile at the gesture, not drawing too much attention to it as you were still in public.

warmup goes on for a hit before they finally come off and you prepare for the game.

they announce the starting lineup in the changing room before they’re back out, ready to play. you see jack up in a box, watching the game giving him a small wave which he returns before the puck drop.

the game starts quick, goals being scored by both the canucks and devils. you stand at the bench, arms cross focused on the game watching each player, making sure none of them were fighting an injury.

then it comes in the second half, luke racing down to his end trying to catch the puck with boeser and joshua on either side of him, sticks already getting tangled. joshua’s skate looses balance slightly, getting tangled with luke’s skate, sending him crashing down into the boards, followed by joshua and boeser.

a collective gasp comes from everyone in the stadium, players on the bench immediately standing up to see what’s happening.

you quickly move over to the door, waiting to see whether luke gets up or not. your heart pounds in your chest, breathing starting to pick up at the fact he could be hurt. you see boeser and joshua get up, while luke’s limp body stays on the ice.

you quickly rush over, game being stopped, kneeling next to luke where quinn already is.

you gently lean over him, seeing his eyes open meaning he’s awake thankfully.

“luke, what did you hit?” you ask, seeing his mouth move to open but nothing coming out.

“luke, you gotta speak.” you say more stern, while trying to move him into a better position.

“my back and neck, can’t feel my legs.” he gets out, teeth clenching in pain as you roll him onto his back. you move around to brace his neck with your hands as you signal to the bench for a stretcher.

“what’s happening?” quinn asks, face full of concern fr his youngest brother.

“he needs to go to the hospital and gets scan, we can’t risk anything with the spine and neck.” you say looking up to see quinn nodding his eyes slightly glossy.

“yeh ok, um,” he fumbles not knowing what to say, “hey luke, you gotta go to the hospital ok? but i’ll make sure everyone’s there ok?” quinn fumbles, gently patting luke’s stomach, taking a knee.

“i know, y/n just said.” luke mumbles, causing quinn to huff out a laugh, your cheeks reddening slightly.

a team rushed over with a stretcher. the team carefully roll him over, your hands still bracing his neck before they replace them with a proper brace.

they lift him onto the stretcher, your hand finding his shoulder as a small smile appears on his face, as you follow the team off the ice, quinn skating behind.

there’s stick taps and claps from around the arena, as the roll him off and into the corridors.

“which hospital is he going to?” quinn asks, following you.

“most likely st mary’s, do you want to ride in the ambumance with him?” you ask, being cut off by luke’s voice.

“no, y/n rides in the ambulance.” he says, hand gripping your wrist.

“yeh, ok, i will.” you say, reassuring him before turning to quinn.

“they’ll be grabbing your parents and jack now, so i’ll keep yous updated with what happens. i have jacks number.” you smile before quinn nods, heading off to which you assume is to find his parents.

they load him into the ambulance, you climbing in after him sitting in one of the seats, before the paramedic clicks him him place.

“hey y/n?” luke calls out, voice wavering.

“yeh like? i’m here.” you reassure him, leaning forward so he can see your face from where his head in braced in place.

“you’ll stay with me right?” he asks, and you see a small tear fall from his cheek, “i’m scared.” he admits, voice breaking slightly at the end.

you immediately reach forward grabbing his hand with yours the other moving to wipe his cheeks.

“i’ll stay with you the whole time i promise.” you send him a soft smile, hand lingering on his cheek as your fingers brushes it comfortingly.

“are my family coming?” he asks, grip tightening on your hand.

“yeh baby, they’ll be right behind us.” you say, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

the ride to the hospital is pretty quiet, the paramedic just moving around to check vitals and make sure luke is comfortable.

yous arrive, as they pull the stretcher into the hospital and you follow, hand on luke’s leg both of you needing that physical contact.

doctors crowd his bed as you lock eyes with one of your own friends.

“y/n? what are you doing here?” eden asks, moving around to check luke.

“he’s ones of the play-,” you start before looking to luke, rethinking your sentence. “he’s my boyfriend.” you smile at eden, as she looks up matching your smile.

“you know i love you y/n but your going to have to wait outside.” she says, a sad smile playing on her lips.

“please, please let her stay.” luke calls out, making eden stop her assessment. she looks between the two of you, before letting out a sigh.

“ok, you can stay. just don’t let anyone know.” she says to you, also warning the nurses.

you stand in the corner out the way as they carefully peel off his gear, allowing them to actually assess what’s going on. they take his vitals, check over his body ultimately deciding he needs some scans.

“ok, we’re gonna send him for an mri and an xray, it’s msg likely that any numbness is temporary as your getting that shoot to g pain up your leg,” she turns to luke as he nods. “we’re gonna keep the brace on for now just cause it will take around 10 minutes before we can get you through to get the scans done.” she smiles before the nurses start to leave the cubicle, leaving you and luke together.

you move over to stand next to him, taking his hand in me of yours the other pushing the curls off his forehead.

“you’re not allowed to look at me like that.” luke mumbles, eyes meeting yours as yo ur brows furrow.

“like what?” you ask, voice soft, fingers scratching his scalp.

“like your scared.” he whispers, moving his hand to wipe your cheek, as you hadn’t noticed a tear had fallen.

“i am scared luke, i feel like i’m totally responsible for this. like i sent you back on the ice too early.” you say, voice breaking slightly at the end.

“hey hey, no, don’t you dare say this is your fault,” his brows furrow as his grip tightens again in your hand.

“it’s was a nasty fall, skates got tangled, that’s all. it could have happened to anyone.” he says, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand, “but hey, at least i’ll see you every day for recovery plans.” he says, a soft smirk falling onto his lips as you drop his hand.

“if you weren’t injured right now, i’d push you.” you say, brows raised before they fall soft again, taking his hand in both of yours, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“i love you.” you whisper, lips brushing his skin.

“i love you too y/n.” he smiles before they take him way to get his scans.

you sit waiting in his cubicle lost in your own thoughts when your phone starts buzzing from your pocket. you quickly pull it out seeing jacks contact, quickly answering, knowing they’ll be waiting somewhere.

you quickly wipe your face and compose yourself a bit more before answering, pressing the phone to your ear.

“hey ja-“ you start, immediately being cut off

“y/n? what’s going on? where luke? is he ok? i saw it from the box he went down.” jack rambles, panic heard in his voice.

“jack, take a breath for me, can’t have two of you in the hospital,” you start hearing him take a shaky breath, “he’s doing fine. they’ve took him in for scans but they’re pretty sure any injury is just temporary so he’ll probably just need some recovery time maybe surgery.” you say hearing his breath doing more under control.

“yeh, ok. um, can we see him or?” he asks, hearing the others in the background.

“em, i’ll ask someone. i think once he’s back from the scans then they’ll put him in a room and then you’ll be able to see him. i’ll meet you guys though, don’t think i wanna be alone right now.” you say hearing him hesitate before speaking.

“yeh, we’re just in the waiting area.” he says before yous hang up, making your way through the corridors and following the signs to the waiting area, seeing his family and a few teammates, assuming the game had just finished by their wet hair.

“y/n!” jack calls out seeing you, coming straight over to give you a hug, one handed as the other is still in his sling, “hes ok right?” he whispers as you nod.

“doing fine.” you say, pulling away, seeing quinn and luke’s parents standing.

“mom, dad, quinn, this is y/n our team physician.” jack introduces you, each of them pulling you in for a hug, quinn lingering.

“your dating him aren’t you?” he whispers, as you pull away in shock, “i could tell by his reaction before about the ambulance.” he says sending a soft smile your way.

“wait, your dating luke?” jack asks, eyes wide as people’s attention starts to focus on you, “everything jake so much sense now.”

“yeh,i guess this isn’t how i wanted to officially meet the parents.” you say, looking down as you feel emotions come back up again.

“oh sweetie.” ellen smiles, pulling you back in for another hug, gently rubbing your back.

“no, i’m fine i promise. just overwhelmed.” you say taking a deep breath before pulling away, quickly wiping your face. she sits you down with the others as you explain everything.

yous wait a while before a nurse comes out, everyone straightening up slightly as she comes over.

“y/n l/n?” she calls out, everyone immediately looking at you, as your own brows furrow.

“oh, these are his parents.” you say gesturing over to ellen and jim.

“his emergency contact is listed as y/n l/n, i can only give information to you.” the nurse says, as you look to ellen and jim with an apologetic look, before ellen gently pats your back only a loving smile on her face.

“go, we’ll be there soon.” she smiles before you get up following the nurse.

“his scans have came back showing a herniated disc, which is good, but he’ll still need surgery to remove it, which is scheduled at 9pm, so you’re welcome to go see him now. he’s in room 304.” she smiles about to leave before your stop her.

“can his family come?” you ask and she nods.

“you can head up, i’ll bring them.” she smiles before you make your way to his room.

you peek inside seeing him now in a hospital gown, eyes fluttering open at the noise, a smile spreading across his face.

“hey baby.” he says, voice soft but a little raspy.

you linger by the door, struggling to take in the sight.

“baby, come here.” luke says, soft but stern, opening his arms. you move across the room, gently taking the hug, trying not to hurt him.

“talk to me.” luke whispers, hand gently stroking the back of your head.

“why am i your emergency contact?” you ask, feeling him tense slightly at the question.

“because i trust you with my life. eveyone else is either in the same profession as me or live in a different state. but mostly because i love you and you love me.” he finishes as you look up, his hand coming to caress your cheek.

“i do love you.” you mumble, a tear falling, as he wipes his kissing your forehead.

“i love you too baby.” he smiles before you pull away, sitting beside his bed and taking his hand in yours.

it’s a matter of minutes before there’s another knock, jack poking his head in as luke moves to pull his hand away, you stopping him.

“they know.” you mouth as he relaxes into the bed a soft smile spreading on his face as they filter in, taking a seat around his bed.

“you licked a good one luke.” jim smiles, gently patting him on the shoulder, as luke’s eyes travel over to yours, smile growing.

“i know dad.” he says, eyes never leaving yours.

teammates filter in and out checking up on him until it’s time for his surgery as he gets whisked away but not before you can give me one last kiss.

the surgery didn’t take too long but considering how late it was, his teammates headed home leaving you and his family in the waiting room, coffee in hand and small talk about how yous met and basically everything leading up to now.

soon enough he’s out and back in his room, where you find him very much still affected by the anaesthetic.

yous walk in, you at the back of the group like lighting up seeing his brothers and parents before sopping dead in his tracks at the sight of you.

“my baby!” he calls out, arms open, dramatically waiting for a hug, causing everyone to laugh.

“hiya luke.” you giggle accepting the hug, hearing him hum against your neck.

“you didn’t leave.” he mumbles and you nod.

“i promise you didn’t i?” you ask, pulling away seeing that goofy grin back in his face.

“yeh you did.”

#hockey x reader #jack hughes #luke hughes #hughes brothers #hockey #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes x reader #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #nhl #luke hughes fic #hospital #injury #hurt/comfort

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crxwn-06 · 17 days ago

Text

ASHES AND ECHOES

“ home has become wherever he sleeps safely ”

Damian runs away: Jon is not his, he is not a Wayne, he is not an Al Ghul. In the hope of finding himself in the destruction of the League, he finds instead the latest experiment, the latest innovation: his and Jon’ son. He flees. With the baby. He dies. (Does he?) While his family mourns him, he learns to live again.

or, Damian haunting the narrative for everyone while being a very much alive single father in his lil beach house

2. NIGHTS OF SUGAR

masterlist ;; « prev || next »

To move unnoticed in Gotham was an art.

To move unnoticed while being Damian Wayne — Robin, heir, target — was a near-impossible feat, especially under the surveillance net Barbara and Tim had woven over the city’s veins. Every corner held a camera, every rooftop a listening ear, and every shadow might as well have whispered we see you.

But Damian had trained for ghosts.

His face — sharp with the symmetry of Talia’s bone structure, heavy-lidded with the weight of Bruce’s tired eyes, and marked by a skin tone just dark enough to draw lingering stares from Gotham’s largely pale palette — was hidden beneath a dark hoodie, a low baseball cap, and a black surgical mask.

He’d caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked bus window — barely a silhouette, but even that made him flinch. The cap was old, familiar. He didn’t want to remember where it came from.

He didn’t want to remember Jon’s laugh the day he’d shoved it on Damian’s head after a training match in Metropolis, calling it a “civilian uniform.”

He tugged it lower. Tighter.

It didn’t matter now.

Damian sat at the very back of the bus, knees drawn in, his bag clutched to his chest like a lifeline. Inside were essentials — old forged IDs, his knife, his trusted sword, ration tabs, some cash, a burner phone with no contacts.

No tracker. No signal. No line home.

The city passed by in blurs of orange streetlight and smeared neon. Everything looked washed out by the rain, bleached of color — as if Gotham knew he was leaving, and had already begun to forget him.

He leaned his head against the cold glass, closing his eyes for a moment.

The road to Nanda Parbat was long, yes — but not unknown.

Most would say it took two days at best, cutting across cities and borders with planned routes and clean passports. But Damian wasn’t most. He couldn’t afford clean. He couldn’t afford trails.

So he moved like a rumor. Vanishing from bus terminals just before arrival. Boarding freight trains in the dark. Walking border crossings at night, past old contacts who owed him favors. Changing his name more often than his clothes.

Every step closer to the League felt like moving backwards in time — shedding years, regressing into a version of himself he thought he’d outgrown.

But the silence that surrounded him now was too loud in Gotham.

And in it, he could still hear Bruce’s voice: You’re acting like a League soldier again.

Damian’s hand tightened around the bag strap.

Good, he thought.

Let him believe that. Let him fear it.

Let him understand what it meant to be shaped in blood and steel — and still choose something else.

Because that was the point, wasn’t it?

He wasn’t going back to join.

He was going back to finish it.

To burn it from the inside, if he had to.

And when he returned—if he returned—his father would see. Would have no choice but to see.

He wasn’t running back to the League.

He was walking in as the son of both Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul.

And for once in his life, he would decide which name to carry.

But first—

First, he had to disappear.

No great parade or feasts were there to greet him.

No open arms. No warm embraces. Only silence, heavy and stretched across the stone corridors like a shroud. The only sound was the soft echo of his boots against the marble — sharp, deliberate, unhurried.

As Damian passed beneath the vaulted gates of the League’s hidden compound, the ancient doors shut behind him with a low groan, like the jaws of some beast snapping closed.

Still, he walked tall.

His head held high, eyes sharp and cold — the color of winter rivers, steel-gray and merciless. There was no flicker of softness left in them now. The warmth that surfaced around his family — that rare, quiet light that bloomed in Jon’s presence — was buried. Replaced by something harder.

There were whispers behind the columns.

Ghosts in black and crimson, slinking between shadows.

The prince had returned.

He wore his pride like armor — but it was the weight of control that cloaked his shoulders.

Up above, on the second-floor balcony, a figure leaned into the shadows. Cloaked in black, face half-covered, he observed with idle interest — eyes following Damian’s every movement like a predator memorizing the rhythm of prey.

His gaze lingered on the precise movements, the way Damian’s fingers twitched near his belt, the subtle drag of exhaustion behind the perfect posture. He was studying. Measuring. Almost smiling.

A quiet voice reached into the gloom behind him.

«The prince has arrived, Master.»

A placid smile curled his lips.

«Indeed a shame, they let him grow teeth. Makes the game more entertaining.»

He leaned on the railing, shadows dancing across his cheekbones like smoke.

He had a new, interesting toy.

At the top of the stone staircase, bathed in low golden lamplight and a cloud of incense, stood Talia al Ghul.

Her smile had always been a thing of beauty. And fear. And now, as she looked down upon her only son — a man in form, still a child in her eyes — it softened. Slightly.

«My beloved Damian,» she greeted, descending with slow, regal grace. «Welcome home.»

Damian didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak.

But his jaw was tight.

He was led to his old quarters, though they had been altered — modernized, refreshed, as if someone had anticipated his return.

Servants came wordlessly. They brought him garments of green silk, finely cut and embroidered with the sigils of the Demon’s Head. Over this, he donned his trusted black and gold armor, newly polished.

He was bathed, dried, perfumed — the rituals of his childhood repeated in chilling silence.

Gone was the scent of smoke, of Gotham rain, of fried food and Jon’s shampoo lingering on his hoodie.

Now he smelled of foreign incense. Of sacred oils.

Of belonging.

He sat before the mirror, shirtless, while a servant bound golden cuffs around his wrists. Another tucked a ceremonial blade into the sash at his waist.

Damian didn’t look at his reflection. He didn’t need to.

He already knew what they were dressing him as.

A prince.

A weapon.

A legacy in the making.

But not a son.

Not really.

The breeze off the mountains was thin and sharp — colder than he remembered, colder than the last time he’d stood here.

Damian stepped out onto the private balcony of his chamber, now stripped of its Gotham clutter and filled with the ceremonial exactness of League culture. Gold and green drapes shifted gently behind him, perfumed incense trailing from within.

The cold air touched his skin, slid over his collarbone and through the thin silk of his underrobe, cooling the warmth of the oil still resting on his neck and chest.

He breathed in — finally alone.

Or so he thought.

Because the moment he stepped to the carved stone railing, his instincts flared.

A gaze.

Trained. Focused.

His eyes flicked left — fast, subtle.

Across the narrow interior courtyard, above the training square, stood another balcony. Perched in its shadows leaned a figure in League black, one foot propped on the railing, arms crossed casually.

Watching.

Damian didn’t move. Neither did the man.

Their eyes locked — and in that moment, something shifted, quiet and precise as the click of a loaded chamber.

The man straightened, stepping fully into the moonlight.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Not older by much, but carrying the kind of stillness that only came from years of quiet killing. His jaw was marked by a fading scar. His hair was cut short, dark, pulled back loosely — and his eyes, oddly, were not cold.

Not fully.

More curious.

Amused.

He inclined his head slowly in greeting, almost like a mockery of nobility.

Hashim stood on the stone balcony above the training yard, wrapped in the shadowed folds of night, one foot resting on the ledge, arms loosely crossed. Below, the fortress slumbered beneath the incense-stained wind. His eyes, however, did not.

They were locked.

Fixed across the square.

The door to the opposite balcony had opened moments ago — silent, but not to him. And there he was.

Damian.

Hashim didn’t breathe for a moment.

The prince of the League. The prodigal son. The boy no one expected to return.

He stepped forward, almost in slow motion, bathed in silver light — the moon catching in the soft silk of his inner robe, casting pale gleam against darker skin and the sharp definition of his collarbone. His hair was damp, pushed back carelessly from his face, still heavy from ceremonial oil.

But it was his face that held Hashim still.

It was sharp. Unforgiving in its geometry. The cut of cheekbone and jaw like something sculpted rather than born — too precise for softness, but not without beauty. The kind that bruised.

His mouth — firm and unsmiling — looked carved for silence. His eyes, heavy-lidded but focused, carried a disarming stillness, like he was always waiting to strike. Or flee.

And yet—

Hashim couldn’t look away.

So this was him.

This was the boy the stories were about.

The one who bled kings and defied his birthright. Who vanished and survived and chose to return.

He had expected arrogance. Sharpness. Maybe even a boy pretending at control.

What he hadn’t expected… was elegance.

Not the fragile kind — no. Damian Wayne was elegance forged from fire and pressure, from a lifetime of being watched and tested and shaped. The elegance of someone who carried his body like a blade sheathed in silk.

Hashim tilted his head, gaze trailing without shame. He studied the line of Damian’s exposed throat, the faint movement of breath, the long lashes that shadowed his cheeks when he blinked.

Beautiful, he thought.

But more than that — unreachable.

A thing locked in glass. Unaware that he was art.

When Damian turned and met his gaze — sharp, alert, already assessing — it was like being hit with a current.

Hashim straightened, letting his body shift into casual stance, but there was heat rising behind his ribs. Amusement curled at the corners of his mouth before he could stop it.

He offered a single nod, mock-genteel.

«Enjoying the mountain air, my prince?»

Damian’s reply came flat, poised. «You’ve been watching me since I arrived.»

Truth. No flinch.

Gods, even his voice was something — low and clear, trained not to betray. But it did, just slightly — a grain of fatigue buried beneath the control. A thread of loneliness Hashim hadn’t expected to hear.

«You tend to draw eyes,» he said honestly. «Not many legends walk through the gate unguarded.»

Damian didn’t blink. «I don’t need guards.»

Hashim’s smirk deepened. «Clearly. But even statues get stolen, sometimes.»

A flicker — subtle — passed through Damian’s expression.

Not offense. Not reaction. Just… restraint.

Hashim liked that.

Liked the way Damian didn’t give him anything.

Because it meant earning his attention might matter.

«Do you always loiter in the dark corners of League property?» Damian asked, tone cool as the night.

«Only when something interesting walks back in.»

That earned him a sharper look — not quite anger. Not quite intrigue either.

When the prince finally turned away with a cool remark — «If you’re expecting me to be flattered, I’m not» — and disappeared behind his silk curtains, Hashim let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He chuckled under it. A whisper of a sound.

So. That was him.

Not a soldier. Not a prince. Not even a weapon.

A storm wrapped in silk and gold, walking on bare feet across a cliff’s edge.

And Hashim, he realized, had just been struck by lightning.

The breeze was gone.

So was the gaze.

Damian let the silk curtains fall back in place as he stepped away from the balcony, locking the door with quiet precision. His room smelled like cedar, myrrh, and something fainter — the oils they had used in his bath. The soft rustle of fabric beneath his armor made him feel like a ghost in someone else’s skin.

He hated this place.

No—he hated how easily it still fit. The rhythm, the customs, the cold respect. His body remembered every step. Every ritual. Every formality.

He hadn’t come here to slip back into old habits. He had come to end them.

He unhooked the necklace they’d made him wear — some ceremonial nonsense — and placed it on the table with too much force. His fingers itched for his Gotham clothes. For something real. Something that smelled like sweat and metal and streetlights, not incense and silk.

“I just want him to see I’m not the League’s weapon anymore.”

The thought returned like a heartbeat. Dull. Relentless.

Bruce hadn’t listened. Hadn’t looked at him and seen the difference. Maybe he never had. Maybe Damian had always just been the extension of a sword to him — sharp, useful, dangerous.

Not a son. Never a son.

His jaw clenched. He began pacing, silent on the tile. His mind ran angles, possible next moves. Speak to Talia again. Push harder. Demand to see what project they were hiding — he knew his mother too well. Something had changed here. Something deep in the bones of the League.

I’ll find it. I’ll destroy it. Then I’ll go home.

But even the word home felt… untethered.

Damian stilled.

A sound.

Faint. Echoing.

He turned.

There it was again.

A cry.

—A baby.

Not loud. But unmistakable. Broken. Short.

He was already moving before logic caught up.

The halls were dark. These inner corridors weren’t used by servants or initiates — they ran beneath the old wing of the temple, where the archives and storage were. He didn’t need light. His feet knew the way.

Every step sharpened his focus.

What would a child be doing here? No child but him had ever been raised in this place — and not even he had cried here, not openly. Not safely.

The sound echoed again. Clearer now. Closer.

A breath hitched — not his.

A coo, then a whimper.

Damian’s steps slowed. He pressed himself to the wall, scanning, ears tuned to every heartbeat in the stone.

And then, ahead — down a half-collapsed corridor shrouded in black velvet and dust — he saw it.

A faint glimmer of movement behind a cracked wooden door.

The sound came again.

Closer. Desperate.

A baby. Real.

Alive.

He reached for the hidden dagger at his hip and stepped forward.

Heart thundering. Mouth dry.

Because whatever lay behind that door… wasn’t part of the plan.

And yet—

Something pulled.

A strange, aching gravity in his chest that made no sense, made everything worse.

A baby in the heart of the League.

We’re finally moving in ehehehhe

Taglist: @sparrows4bats @lobdw20 @sleepynagii @linoalwaysknows @mamamoble @blue22roses @srta-saori @remosdeerica @touchofhemlocktea @ashshadows001 @famouscrusadeluminary @shifttoksucks @safia-bachamissimi

#batfam #jondami #baby #fanfic #supersons #damian wayne #jonathan kent #vet damian wayne #veterinary #dc fanfic

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eldritchscribblings · 1 year ago

Text

Ever At Odds

Thranduil X Reader

Part 2

Reader is an artist who has taken up a temporary residence in Mirkwood, but keeps bumping into an irritatingly handsome elf king. What happens when a late night encounter forces them together?

Word Count: 2876

Warnings:

swearing

part two will have smut

Notes: I'm sorryyyyyy I didn't want there to be a part two but it took me so long to write this part and I wanted to get it out asap for y'all <3 Pt 2 will be out soon, I'm moving across the country, so writing is slow rn.

A cold autumn wind blew through the halls of Mirkwood, biting into the very bones of those who dared set foot in the ancient woodland realm. In the ages past that bitter wind would have only howled, but its teeth had grown sharper in recent times. Not only did the wind sink its teeth into those unprepared for the woods, but it had turned its teeth upon its own people; the elves, as well. The time of elves on Middle Earth was drawing to an end.

You, of course, were well aware of that from your perch in Imladris, watching as elves dwindled and men rose to power. You were a long way off from leaving for the Undying Lands yourself, but you had already begun to feel that tug in your soul to move from your idle nest and wander towards the sea. And so you’d decided to bide your time by traveling middle earth and sketching all that was old and new among the elves; making a record of what you’d leave behind. It had been a comforting work to put your brush and pencils to paper and convey the millennia of love and sorrow that each individual stone and sapling possessed, and it had satiated you to know that once your work was completed you could leave Middle Earth with a contented heart. But as every tree must survive a storm at some point, your storm came in the form of an elven man with thick furrowed brows and a disposition that would make soot taste sweet; King Thranduil Oropherion of the Woodland Realm.

You’d arrived in Mirkwood nearly two years prior after being rescued from a giant spider by the guards and losing your favorite quill (poor Flutterflick) among the leaf strewn ground. After a quick interrogation, you were released into Mirkwood to do your duty, and yet everywhere you went for peace and tranquility you seemed to run into the Elven King. The first time it happened you hadn’t realized who he was until he threatened to have you locked in the dungeon for disagreeing with him on the best elven wine and whether charcoal was best used compressed or as a powder. You’d tried to avoid him after that, and yet this maze of a realm kept twisting you back towards him whenever you tried to get away. Which was how you found yourself sitting in an archway sketching your view of the vaulted ceiling within this particular area of the hall in the middle of the night, using a candlestick as a light.

It was the wee hours of the morning; a time you were certain the tall blond of your nightmares would be having one of his own, far away from where you’d secluded yourself. The only noises were the hush of a breeze blowing through an open window and the soft scratching of your pencil against the parchment you’d clipped to the thin drawing board in your lap. Your eyes darted seamlessly from the page to the section of empty hall you were drawing, your steady hand moving quickly to gesture in the wider picture so that detail could blossom with ease when you pulled out your softer charcoal. With the silent night enveloping you, it had been easy to fall into a trance of placing your pencil to paper and letting the world fall away into lines and values. You should’ve known the peace wouldn’t last.

“It’s a bit late for sketching fine architecture.” Thranduil’s voice echoed from behind you, and you sighed and pressed your lips together in irritation.

“My aim was to be uninterrupted, My King,” you spoke slowly and surely, presenting each word as nothing more than it claimed to be in hopes he would leave you alone. “It’s a bit late for anyone to roam the halls alone, don’t you think?”

“I am not alone, and neither are you now.” Realizing you had no intent to face him, he walked around and knelt in front of you with a disappointedly curious expression. “How fortunate it is that we can keep each other company on such lonesome nights.”

“Oh, please.” You met his steely blue gaze with a challenging one of your own, attempting to prove yourself unafraid and ward him off. “You and I both know that the two of us together always leads to disaster.”

“Only because you bring disaster with you everywhere.” Thranduil laughed softly and licked the pad of his forefinger before pinching out the flame of your candle between his forefinger and thumb. You were grateful for the darkness to hide a traitorous blush growing on your cheeks, undercutting your disturbed expression. “Finish your sketch in the daylight. You’ll make fewer proportional errors.”

“Is poisoning your kindness with insults meant to be amusing or alluring? Because it is neither.” The only reason you were so confident with your words was because the worst Thranduil could do is send you where you already planned to go ahead of schedule. Of course that was only in theory. In truth, a part of you enjoyed the little games you played together; the spiteful spitting of venom brought energy to your day, negative or positive. You couldn’t deny he was a handsome King, but you could deny giving him the satisfaction of knowing you held him in any regard.

“Have I misled myself on the quality of your mettle? Forgive me if I have caused any true harm.” The first sentence was a sharp retort, the same wit you had begun to expect from him. The second was genuine in a way that surprised you.

“Don’t delude yourself. The only way you could bring any harm to me is with a blade. And I doubt you’d want to stain this lovely hallway.” You responded with a similar genuineness that you hid within your humor, although by the look of his expression he seemed relieved enough to surmise he’d picked up your intent.

What the fuck was your intent? Half flirting with a widowed king? He was an elf who could toss you out a window or carry you down to the dungeons as easily as he’d carry a sack of grain. You inhaled and sharply shoved your charcoal pencil back into your pouch, looking away from Thranduil to shove the image of him carrying sacks of wheat like a handsome miller’s son out of your mind. Truth is you’d daydreamed about kissing Thranduil to shut him up as much as you’d daydreamed about killing him for the same outcome. It was strange to think of how a two letter difference changed the entire context of your fantasies.

“I am no mortal man so easily prone to violence. I take offense that you would think I am capable of such a thing.” Thranduil’s voice changed tone, causing you to look at him again. He was dead serious with a furrowed brow as he knelt before you, reaching forward to take your hand in his. “My guards brought you here and promised you safety. I will not make liars of them.”

“A noble, if impersonal, thought.” You responded with an equal amount of seriousness, gathering your supplies in one hand and placing the other in his as he helped you to a standing position. His intent mystified you, making you unsure of if you’d been wrong about him or if this was a lure to finally catch you when you least expected it. Either way, as you began to walk down the hall back to your rooms he walked beside you with the smallest hint of a smile on his otherwise serious face.

“Do you really think of me as cruel and unkind?” Thranduil asked softly after you had traversed a fair amount of the hall.

“Yes and no.” You replied after taking a moment to chew through your words. It was strange of him to ask the question, stranger still for you to answer honestly. You were friends, but it was a friendship that danced a fine line between confidants and the king and his favorite jester. “I think you capable of cruelty. I think your role requires unkindness. Your presentation fits the role you fulfill. I would no more expect a thatched roof on a palace than a wisened king to be tender hearted.”

“I don’t like the word wisened; it makes me feel old.” Thranduil interjected despite you being done speaking. “But I understand. And I appreciate your point of view. You’re insightful. It’s fitting for your role as an observer. I am curious, I always see you drawing and sketching instead of talking to your fellows. I’m curious as to what you draw when you’re not intending on showing it off to people.”

“Truth be told, it’s mostly animals and people. I carry around smaller sketchbooks for those and it’s idle work to do while I watch and listen to those around me.” You felt the words leave your mouth before you could stop them. Not even death would stop you from blabbing about your art when prodded. “Of course, for those sketches I prefer drawing with metals. You can use a stylus made of silver to make marks upon parchment as well as any charcoal. It’s quite beautiful in the light.”

“Then I must see them.” Thranduil stopped abruptly, causing you to have to turn around after several paces and realize he was at the door to your chambers. If you’d known you were close to your rooms you would’ve just stayed quiet. Having the Elven King in your bedroom, looking at your art, was a bad idea.

Art was your escape, your passion, your diary. There were notes about your feelings and poems about your life scrawled among the pages among grocery lists and drawings of cats napping in sunlight. There were also -you realized with sinking dread- one or two drawings of the King that you did not want him to see. You had to get out of this.

“Sire, it’s very late-“

“Nonsense, you’re up later than this quite frequently, as am I.” He stood by your door, waiting for you to open it for him. His excitement faltered for a moment as he seemed to consider the situation, and he then added; “If you truly do not desire it, I will not impose myself.”

“No, I simply hesitate because I am afraid you will not find my art as impressive as you hope.” Your eyes were firmly on the handle of your door as you opened it and allowed yourself and Thranduil into your rooms. He was very close to you as he entered behind you, and you caught a hint of his scent of petrichor and spices in a way that sent your head spinning.

Your rooms were simple. Far from grand with books and papers strewn about haphazardly. As you entered you felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you at the state of your things, but you would not let it show. Your bed was in one corner, luckily you had remembered to make it up before leaving, but the bedside tables were covered in strewn papers and pencils. In the opposing corner there was a desk with your notebooks and sketches, and that was where Thranduil made his way to as soon as he entered.

“You live your life messily.” He stated, looking around the room before passively picking up one of your loose sketches from your desk. It was a picture of a young couple walking the halls together arm in arm, oblivious to any observer. Oblivious to you. “I do not question it. You prefer to be hidden away whenever you leave your chambers, so it must be comforting to have such things to hide yourself behind in your own dwelling.” He chuckled, glancing at you as he perused through your art, leafing through the piles of sketches on your desk. It wasn’t as if you could tell him not to, and although you were surprised at his understanding of you, you’d never admit to yourself or him whether he was right or not.

“Or perhaps you simply collect too much and want it all near you, like a raven building its nest.” Thranduil continued despite your silence, unphased by it. He reached for a drawing closer to you, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest moment that sent a shameful shiver down your spine. It was only when his gaze left you that you realized he had grabbed one of the drawings of him, but before you could protest, he had turned it over to look at it. It was one of the less embarrassing ones; he was sitting with his chin resting on his fist, staring off into some uncaptured distance. His face was peaceful and yet melancholy. It had been at one of the star celebrations that you had forgotten the name of last year; you had been sat at the sidelines happily drawing those partaking in the merriment when you had seen him. His sadness as he sat on his perch above his kin had captured your attention, and you hastened to put his likeness on your paper lest the spell of the moment be broken. He was beautiful to you in that moment, beautiful and wounded. The moment had ended with your eyes meeting and him sending a prideful smirk your way that left your stomach churning, but you would always remember how striking it was to see past his hardened exterior for one brief moment.

As you watched him then, taking in that art piece that had truly cemented your growing fascination with the widowed king, you could not decipher the emotions on his face. His brow furrowed as he traced the lines of his face as they were portrayed on paper, and he hunched over the drawing to better see its details. You almost made a joke, just to break the hideous silence, and yet something stopped you. Your words were stoppered in your throat with tenuous curiosity and something inside you told you to bite your tongue.

“I remember this night,” Thranduil whispered, tracing the roughly sketched embroidery on his portrait. “I was lost in thought, not one of them was pleasant, but my mind was determined to see the end of the chain. I could sense eyes on me, but there is always one person or another watching my every move.” He looked up at you, and the depth of his gaze was hauntingly sirenic, like a calm sea below a dark gray sky. “You were different. I saw your brow furrowed as you looked at me, always fiery and determined to find a flaw where no one else will.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face, no more than a twitch of his eyes, and yet it comforted you.

“A gap in your personified stoicism is more so due to a lack of divinity than any flaw.” The words flowed easily from your lips, and you stepped closer to him so you could look at your art. “Truthfully, when I found you ‘lacking’, I found you more fascinating than I did when I believed you perfect. Like how a fly, when caught in amber, reveals the quality of the jewel.”

“Am I to be the fly in this metaphor?” He teased, lowering the drawing and stepping closer to you.

“You are aware of what I intended, my lord.” The tone of the conversation had turned lighter, but the air remained tense. It was taking all your might to will yourself not to look at his lips, or his chest, or anywhere but his eyes or your feet. You were afraid any slight unexpected movement would be perceived the wrong way and break the wavering thread of connection between you.

“What if I were not? What if we were to spend another year misinterpreting each other? Dragging out your stay here in Mirkwood for no perceivable reason?” He seemed as hesitant to move as you were, waiting for some unknown signal to allow him to act.

“Then I suppose, should I be prevented from completing my work, I would need to stay here longer.” You were beginning to catch on. Perhaps there was more to this banter and teasing than you had originally thought. Perhaps the guilt-ridden attraction that had festered deep within your gut was mirrored in his own tumultuous emotions. You leaned slightly closer, taking your drawing from his hands and setting aside.

“To properly record Mirkwood in such sketches as yours would take decades…” Thranduil drew out the idea, but did not finish it. Instead, he stepped forward and tenderly placed his hand upon your cheek, caressing you gently. “May I kiss you?”

The thought struck you like a blind man meeting a drunken bird, and you inhaled sharply as reality dug its cruel claws into your skin. He was the king. He had asked you to kiss him. But more than the king, he was Thranduil. Your playful nemesis who was the bane of all your existence and yet whose presence you yearned for in the darkest parts of night. Was this change in your relationship worth it? Was this a risk worth taking?

“Yes.”

#thranduil x reader #the hobbit #thranduil #thrandaddy #thrandy dandy #the hobbit x reader #lotr x reader #lotr fic

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untilwefind · 24 days ago

Text

The Nice One

Prompt credits to @shesinbloom:

mack, crying: what does lane hutson have that i don’t

will: a good team

mack:

will: oh i forgot im supposed to be the nice one

The thing about Macklin is that he’s never really not trying. Not at practice, not in games, not when he’s losing, and especially not when he's winning. He’s the kind of guy who watches tape when he’s already leading the team in points, who apologizes for missing empty nets in a game the Sharks win by five.

Which makes losing worse.

Makes the silence in Will’s car stretch long enough that Will shuts the music off, even though he’d left Frank Ocean on for Mack and that’s practically a love language in itself.

They’re halfway back from SAP Center after another 6–2 loss. Will scored the only even-strength goal. Mack got stapled to the boards by a 34-year-old winger with three teeth and something to prove. Nobody passed to him after the first period.

Mack finally speaks when they hit the freeway.

“What does Lane Hutson have that I don’t?”

Will glances over. Mack’s in his hoodie and compression tights, no coat, knees drawn up like he’s still cold. His voice isn’t bitter. It’s just defeated.

Will swallows. “A good team.”

Mack doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

Will realizes as he says it, that he’s broken some invisible rule. He looks back at the road, exhaling. “Shit,” he mutters. “I forgot I’m supposed to be the nice one.”

Mack doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Just lets the silence echo again between them, heavy like fog. Then giggles quietly.

“You don’t have to lie.”

“Seriously though, there's not much,” Will says. “You’re better than him.”

Mack lifts his shoulder against the door like he’s shrinking now, hiding. “No, I’m not.”

“You are.” Will’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “You play both ends of the ice. You draw defense. You’ve had to play through four different line combinations in two weeks. He’s getting first-pair minutes on a team that knows how to move the puck out of the zone. I promise you, Hutson wouldn’t last a week here.”

“It’s not really about Lane. I’m not mad at him. I’m just—” He pulls the hoodie over his head again, too hard. His voice breaks. “I just wanted to be good.”

Will doesn’t speak. Not at first.

He switches lanes. Gets off the freeway early. Takes the long way through Willow Glen. Gives himself time to think.

When he finally parks outside of Jumbo's house, Will turns the car off but leaves the A/C running. “You are good,” he says, softer this time. “You’re incredible. But you’re also eighteen. You’re playing top-six minutes on a team where the defence forgets how to exit the zone for thirty seconds at a time.”

Mack stares out the window. “I can’t tell if you’re defending me or making excuses.”

Will leans back in his seat. “I don’t make excuses. I make plans.”

That gets Mack to crack a bit of a smile. A shaky one. “What kind of plan?”

Will shrugs. “One where we play like shit for one or two more months. Then we pull our plus-minus out of the grave, score a few more mic’d-up goals, go viral on TikTok again, and convince the Sharks front office to let us live out our boyfriends-on-the-same-line dreams.”

Mack blinks. “I didn’t think we were saying that part out loud yet.”

Will pauses. “Well,” he says. “I’m not always the nice one, but I am yours.”

That shuts Mack up. In a good way.

They sit in the quiet for a minute, the A/C humming and the San Jose humidity fogging the windshield. Mack’s breathing has evened out, but Will can still see how puffy his eyes are, how his hands are stuffed in his sleeves like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“Can I come in?” Will asks eventually, voice low.

Mack nods.

Inside, Will grabs two protein shakes and a blanket. Mack stands in his guesthouse kitchen like he’s not sure if he should let him stay or ask Will to leave. Like he might unravel if Will asks the wrong thing.

So Will doesn’t ask.

He sits on the couch and opens his arms. Mack sinks into them without a word. He’s always smaller than people expect. Still strong, but curled up like this, he tucks right into Will’s side like it’s muscle memory.

Will strokes his hand slowly up Mack’s back. It’s not even meant to be comforting, at first. Just a touch to remind Mack he’s not alone in this guesthouse, in this season, in this fucking city that thinks “rebuild” is a lifestyle and not a phase.

Mack speaks into Will’s shoulder.

“I just thought I’d be further along.”

Will exhales. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

“That’s a nice thing to say.”

Will pulls back just enough to look at him. “Yeah,” he says, brushing Mack’s hair off his forehead. “I’m trying.”

“Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Then, gently: “You never gave up on me in college.”

Mack huffs. “I didn’t even like you in college.”

Will grins. “You loved me in college.”

Mack makes a noise like he might argue, but he doesn’t. Just presses his forehead to Will’s collarbone and lets himself be held.

They fall asleep like that eventually, sprawled across the couch under a weighted blanket, Mack’s fingers curled into Will’s hoodie drawstring. When Will wakes up to the sound of Mack softly snoring against his chest, he doesn’t move.

Because Lane Hutson doesn’t have this. Doesn’t have him.

And Will? Will might not always say the right thing, but he’ll always show up.

Especially for this.

Especially for them.

#macklin celebrini #will smith hockey #willmack #wacklin #mackwill

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quartz-kilsviken · 5 months ago

Text

Written in the Runes

Chapter 2

➸ Synopsis: Ekko, your mischievous yet endearing local troublemaker, trails a wealthy academy student from the topside. When you end up with the student’s satchel, you find a notebook filled with intriguing magical research. Unable to resist, you embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of this mysterious scholar.

➸ Pairing: Jayvik x reader

➸ Chapter Word count: 2,591

➸ Tags: slow burn, yearning, eventual smut, non canon compliant

➸ Notes: What a bunch of nerds committing crimes. First meeting, and omg, Jayce touched your shoulder—how scandalous! Hope y’all enjoy! Please leave comments or message me, I’m lonely.

➸ Next Chapter Link- pt. 3

➸ Previous Chapter Link- pt. 1

You flip mid-air to soften your landing, hitting the floor of the destroyed room with a quiet thump. You freeze, ears straining for any sound that might betray the presence of the two men. The silence is oppressive, stark difference from the lively streets in the Undercity. It's hard to make out much in the dim room, but it seems mostly empty—save for scattered furniture and the odd pieces of stationery half-buried beneath rubble. If you had to guess, the crystals were responsible for the gaping hole in the building. The notes mentioned they emit a soft blue glow—an irresistible prize for a group of kids looking for something valuable, blissfully unaware of how unstable they are.

You step closer to the chalkboard. The messy scrawl you recognize from your late-night reading, but the neat, precise script catches your attention. Whatever they’re doing here, it’s clear they’ve only just begun. Most of the information echoes the well-established theories, but the neat writing introduces something new—new ideas, new angles. A few equations have been revised, a diagram of a stabilization machine has been subtly altered, its erased lines barely visible beneath the new ones. But the runes… the runes remain untouched. The focus here isn’t on how to wield the energy; it’s on how to harness it.

A loud crack—broken ceramic—jerks your attention away from the board. Panic floods through you as you whirl around. The men are back.

“Who the hell are you?” The larger man’s voice shakes with the same panic you feel, his chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. You recognize him from the photo, though he’s taller than you expected. Your gaze flickers to the man beside him. His lean frame has stiffened, his hand tight around what looks like a coffee pot.

“I’m, uh, a fan of your work?” You wince internally at your own words. The response feels clumsy, awkward, and you can see it in their faces—your answer doesn’t help. It only seems to confuse them more.

As your eyes adjust, the man with the cane comes into clearer focus. There’s something magnetic about him. His gaze is sharp, intent—not cold, but calculating. It’s the kind of look you get when someone is sizing you up, not just as a person, but as a puzzle to be solved. You can’t help but wonder what he's seeing in you, how he's piecing together this strange encounter. His features are striking—high cheekbones, a jawline that suggests quiet strength—but it’s his amber eyes that truly draw you in. They shimmer in the dim light, molten gold, flickering with an intensity that makes you feel like he’s peeling you apart piece by piece, analyzing you, trying to figure out what makes you tick.

Then your gaze shifts to the man beside him—Jayce, you assume. You notice the tension in his posture, his eyes wide with uncertainty. He’s clearly unsettled by your presence, a stranger in his space. You can feel it in the way he holds himself—on edge, defensive—but there’s something more beneath it. A warmth, a flicker of sincerity that contrasts with the nervous energy surrounding him. His features are still, but his eyes betray something else—curiosity. He’s studying you, trying to read you, but it’s clear he’s unsure how to interpret what he sees.

“Are you here to rob me?” Jayce’s voice cuts through the silence again, strained as though he's forcing himself to address you.

You take your time scanning the room, then meet his gaze again. “Well, if I am, I suppose I’m a bit late to the party.”

A soft chuckle escapes the man beside him, quickly muffled by a sharp cough. Less rattled than his companion, he finally speaks up. “Then what are you doing here? Surely, you're aware this building is part of an active investigation?”

His accent catches you off guard—his words crisp, each consonant distinct and deliberate. You’ve heard it in certain areas of the Undercity, you realize. Rather than responding verbally, you decide it’s simpler to show them. As you reach for the satchel at your side, you notice both men stiffen. You exhale quietly and pull out the notebook. “Relax, it’s a book, not a weapon.”

Jayce’s eyes flicker with recognition as he takes in the notebook, his brows knitting together as you hold it out to him. He snatches it from your hand, stepping back to assume his previous position a few paces away. “Where did you get this?” His tone is sharp, likely because he already knows the answer.

“Would you believe me if I said I just found it?” You sidestep the question, avoiding Ekko’s involvement. Jayce narrows his eyes, clearly unconvinced. The other man takes the notebook from Jayce and begins leafing through it.

“I’d believe you, if you’d admit you found it on my doorstep.” His gaze shifts to the bulge under your cloak. “Is that my bag?” His whisper is tight with anger.

“Jayce.” The other man’s voice is a quiet intervention, holding the notebook up for Jayce to examine. As Jayce takes the book from his hands, he begins reading, his eyes scanning the pages with near frantic intensity. Amber eyes meet yours, his brows furrowed in frustration. “I’ll ask you one more time: Why are you here?”

You pause for a moment before placing the satchel down carefully and turn to face the chalkboard. “This research… it’s revolutionary. I thought it would be a crime not to return it.” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “I also had a few thoughts about it.”

Jayce steps closer, his eyes still on the notebook. “A few thoughts? You’ve practically rewritten my entire research with your notes.”

You glance at the other man, who’s now leaning in to examine the notebook too. “You seem to know a lot about this.”

You shift slightly, voice a little rushed. “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve always been interested in this sort of thing, but I’m no expert.”

Their close proximity is starting to make you uneasy, so you step back to the satchel. Digging through it, you pull out the grimoire, a pencil, and a crumpled grocery list. Sitting on the floor, you smooth out the paper, flip it to the blank side, and begin to draw. You can feel their eyes on you, but you focus on the task at hand.

“This book is useful,” you say, gesturing to the grimoire, “but it’s not exactly a manual. Runes might look like a language, but they’re closer to a song.” A small smile tugs at your lips as you repeat your mother’s words. “Each rune is like a note. Combining them creates a melody—different tunes each time.”

You hand the rough diagram to the two men who now loom over you.

Jayce speaks first. “This one—it’s the rune for transportation.”

You get to your feet and point at the diagram. “Yes, but look here—” Their focus sharpens, giving you more confidence. “You’re using just one combination, but magic doesn’t work like that. It’s unpredictable. It shifts based on its surroundings.”

You see the moment realization dawns on both of them. The smaller man turns and walks back to the chalkboard, the soft tap of his cane echoing in the quiet room. Jayce watches as he revises the work.

“We need to adjust it,” he murmurs, “to make it adaptable.”

You take advantage of their distraction to survey the room. The objects Ekko sold him are gone—perhaps in another room, but something about the pieces scattered across the space makes it feel like they belong here. The work on the board looks frantic, almost as if time is slipping away from them. Then it hits you: magic has been banned in Piltover for centuries. There’s no way the explosion didn’t reveal his research… they shouldn’t be here.

“They won’t let you continue, will they?” you murmur, before you can stop yourself.

This catches their attention. You spot a flicker of something—grief? Regret?—in Jayce’s eyes. The other man notices it too, and breaks the silence.

“This work is, as you said, revolutionary. The council thinks it’s too dangerous. But just as you risked showing up here tonight, we’re willing to risk showing them they’re wrong.” The room hums now, almost like it’s alive. Something is drawing you in, pulling you toward whatever comes next. Jayce steps forward, the chalk in his hand almost glowing under the dim light.

“So, what do you say?” His voice drops, almost a dare. “Want to take one more risk tonight?” You accept the chalk, fingers brushing his, anxiety crawling up your spine.

“I stole from you,” you state, matter-of-factly, watching them both closely.

“I know,” he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And we’re breaking and entering to keep illegal research going. We’re practically a criminal enterprise at this point.”

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing. “How do I know you’re not dangerous?”

The man behind Jayce laughs, low and dark. “Ah, that’s the fun of it, isn’t it? You won’t. You find that out as you go.” His smile is sly, tilting up at one corner.

You give him a wry smile back, the air between you thick with uncertainty.

“Mind telling me your names at least?” you ask, a teasing glint in your eye.

A few hours slip by unnoticed as the three of you work together, the intensity of the task drawing you closer in unexpected ways. What started as tentative collaboration has evolved into something more—a shared sense of purpose and excitement. The room, once cold and quiet, is now alive with the energy of discovery.

The three of you are practically vibrating from all the coffee you’ve consumed. Jayce is sitting in a chair while you’re on the ground beside him, trying to keep your energy from spilling over. “This whole time, I thought I needed to dampen the oscillations.”

Your gaze follows Viktor as he drags chalk across the board, carefully revising the final piece of the stabilizer before speaking. Your understanding of engineering and mathematics barely scratches the surface compared to theirs, but they’ve quickly realized that and patiently explain as they work through the last details.

“The crystals will only stabilize at high frequencies. You have to—”

“Crank it!” Jayce blurts out, his sudden interruption startling both you and Viktor. Viktor’s face lights up, his expression shifting as the idea clicks.

“Yes!” he exclaims, the excitement rushing in. “Yes, you have to... crank it!”

“It works!” you shout before you can stop yourself, your heart lifting as you look up to see Jayce’s grin, a mirror of your own exhilaration.

But the high doesn’t last long. As you both turn back to Viktor, his face is clouded with doubt. “On paper...” he murmurs.

The energy in the room shifts, and the weight of uncertainty settles over you like a cold fog. You rise, giving Jayce a quick pat on the shoulder before stepping closer to the board, the familiar sense of dread creeping in.

“We could test it, if we had access to my equipment,” Jayce suggests, his voice tinged with weariness as he rubs his face in frustration, clearly drained by more than just the lack of sleep.

You and Viktor stand together, your eyes scanning the research. It all seems so close, so achievable—yet still so far out of reach. Viktor mumbles, “Which is being destroyed tomorrow…”

Jayce leaps from his seat, his eyes wide with horror, mirroring your own disbelief. How could they destroy not just this research, but centuries of history? You know the treasures Benzo kept in that display—things too precious to lose—and you can only imagine what Jayce has gathered over the years. The thought churns in your stomach. The fear of magic, of knowledge being erased for safety’s sake.

Viktor interrupts your spiraling thoughts, turning to Jayce with an apologetic look, his voice soft and hesitant. “Oh, uh... y-yeah, I meant to tell you.”

“That research is everything! My��my whole life!” Jayce’s voice cracks, the weight of those words sinking deep into your chest. He looks ready to crumble. It’s strange, standing next to someone who’s lived a life so different from yours, yet you both share this one, burning connection to magic.

“Maybe if we show them the equations...” Jayce’s eyes are frantic, seeking a way out, a solution. Suddenly, the lock onto you. “You could speak to them about the runes. Show them what we’ve discovered.”

A cold chill runs through you at the suggestion. Speak to the council? The council. The very idea makes your stomach turn. You’d rather swim through the polluted river all the way back home than face them.

Before you can voice your refusal, Viktor speaks, his tone harder than before. “We need more than promises. We need proof.”

Jayce sinks back into his chair, his shoulders slumping in defeat. But your eyes don’t leave Viktor. He won’t meet your gaze, but you can see the familiar gleam in his eyes—the same gleam you’ve seen many times before in a certain white-haired troublemaker back home. That look always ended with you hiding him from the Enforcers.

Jayce runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Not without the crystals. The Enforcers took them all. They’re gone.”

“Locked away in Heimerdinger’s lab.” Viktor pulls a set of keys from his pocket. You can feel the weight of them even from here, the sense of what he’s suggesting. You glance to the hole in the wall, wondering if you should just jump down escaping this madness. You’re not cut out for this.

“No. No. No. You heard the council. If we’re wrong—” Jayce’s voice trembles as he pleads, his fear palpable. His desperation is enough to make your chest tighten, but you can’t back out now.

Forcing yourself to speak, you cut in, your words coming out more resolute than you feel. “But what if you’re right?” The finality in your voice is sharp, and suddenly, there’s no room for debate.

Jayce glances between the two of you, his frantic expression softening, though the fear remains. “Why? Why would you risk this?”

Viktor’s voice drops low, filled with quiet determination. “Do you think it was my life’s ambition to be an assistant? Scientists live for discovery—for the chance to change the world. This Hextech dream of yours... it has the power to do that.” His words settle between you and Jayce like a spark, igniting something inside both of you. His conviction is contagious.

You flinch, feeling a warm hand on your shoulder, and realize Jayce is now standing between you and Viktor. His presence is comforting, grounding. You glance up, and for a fleeting moment, your heart skips a beat at the sight of his eyes—they shimmer with something you can’t quite place, even in the dim light of the room. You hope the shadows conceal the flush spreading across your face.

“Our Hextech dream.” The words echo in your mind, and suddenly, you know there’s no turning back. The three of you—strangers in so many ways—are bound together by something bigger than yourselves. Fear lingers, but excitement quickly replaces it.

You want to pull out your sketchbook, not just to capture the moment, but to preserve its beauty—its significance. It’s as if you can feel history unfolding around you, a moment that will change everything. This isn’t just a turning point for you; it’s something that will echo through time, shaping the world. And you’re here, right in the middle of it.

#jayvik x reader #viktor x reader #jayce x reader #arcane jayce #viktor arcane #jayce x viktor #jayvik #viktor x jayce

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rainesjupiter · 7 months ago

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Drawing Messmer and clothing (I promise this ramble has a point...but not really)

I was looking through references and I wanted to figure out how the snakes actually worked. I always thought both came out the front, through his chest, but only one of them does that:

the other snake, the one on His left I think starts in his upper back, then goes through his shoulder altogether (yeouch).

Which is great news because (1) my love of morbid curses lore, and (2) I legitimately wondered if this guy could wear pants or if some snake came out his leg or whatever. Rejoice! He can wear Pants!!

But this is still bad if I want to figure out how to Dress This Godling in my work! So I tried planning it out:

Loose clothing ideas, Initially I pictured a chiton (think ancient Greece) which is a somewhat simple garb, and is good for highlighting a slender figure. And I think it'd fit for his somewhat gladiator armor look.

In this sketch I drew young Godwyn wearing an exomis of sorts:

Which is luckily an open shoulder pecs galore and flamboyant fashion statement. The thing is I'm pretty sure during formal events younger Messy would rather perish than consider wearing that (much to his siblings' disappointment). Maybe just in the comfort of home.

Back to the board:

And I call myself a part of the Fashion Souls community - the gall.

I find Messmer's design chilling as it is alluring. He's not soft, he's got a warrior's edge to him. The might of a conqueror and a tactician's cunning. But also small echoes of a shrouded son, longing for a prince of the past. Some lost god cast away.

I know nothing about fashion and will continue to investigate how to come up with outfits, but don't let this scare you from coming up with something yourself!

TLDR: best thing messmer can wear is a cocktail dress

mighty indeed.

#elden ring #elden ring messmer #messmer elden ring #messmer the impaler #shadow of the erdtree #my art #does it count if its like in a doodle #why not #elden ring godwyn #elden ring melina

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sturnboos · 1 month ago

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CHAPTER 2 - ready to make money?

you woke up the next morning with a sore neck, tangled in sheets you don't even remember when you fell asleep and a single persistent thought in your brain Was last night real?

The headset still sat on your nightstand, quietly pulsing blue. Like it was waiting for you. You didn't even hesitate this time. You slipped it on like a second skin.

A rush of wind and light, and suddenly you were back in your lakeside cabin. The windows shimmered with morning sunlight your place was still empty as you hadn't made any in game money yet you only had basic stuff like a bed and the outfit you where currently wearing, their was also an empty shelf in the corner of your room. suddenly a notification popped up in the corner of your vision.

You accept smiling.

"Morning, newbie!" Chris grinned as his avatar flickered into your living room via a glowing portal. "Ready to make some money?"

You blinked. "i think?"

Nick and Matt popped in through the portal right after, both already mid conversation like this was just a normal Tuesday. "She's gotta do some of the challenges" Matt said, adjusting his camo hat and scrolling through his interface. "You can't live in a cabin with default furniture, that's criminal."

"Agreed," nick added, smirking. "We're staging a digital intervention. Step one get you some game creds."

You followed them through a portal into the Quest Hub, a massive floating island shaped like a coliseum mixed with an arcade. Screens flashed with challenge boards, offering missions for various amounts of payouts. Some were solo, others team based. A few had tiny disclaimers like "May result in spontaneous pixel combustion" which Chris immediately pointed at with interest. you assume that just meant those levels where glitchy, or deadly to your characters.

"Let's start easy" Nick said, dragging you toward one of the many glowing boards. "Memory march? we’re pretty familiar with that and at the moment it seems that’s the easiest one that’s available" nick says clicking on each of their usernames on the board before hitting play.

the four of us loaded into the challenge zone. At first glance, it looked empty just an endless void beneath us and a narrow starting platform suspended in the air.

“This doesn’t look so bad,” I said, squinting at the nothingness ahead. “Kind of peaceful.”

Chris snorted. “You’re about to change your mind.”

“Welcome to Memory March!” the game’s voice echoed around us. “This challenge requires precision, teamwork, and an excellent short-term memory. In a moment, the path will be revealed for twenty seconds. After that the path will go Invisible. If you win you’ll each gain 2,000 credits”

I glanced down again. There was nothing but darkness below. The void looked…deep. Too deep.

“but anyone who falls off will lose 2,000 credits from their account… if you don’t have any credits yet you will be 2,000 in debt” the voice added cheerfully. “Good luck!”

My eyes went wide. “TWO THOUSAND?!”

Matt stepped closer and leaned toward me slightly. “Don’t worry, we won’t let you fall.”

Nick gave a confident nod. “We’ve done this before. Just follow our voices. We’ll walk you through it.”

“Path reveal in 3… 2… 1…”

A glowing golden trail sparked into existence in front of us twisting, narrow, hovering over gaps and sudden turns. My stomach dropped. It wasn’t a straight line. It looked like someone had let a toddler draw it.

“Oh this is rude” I muttered, trying to memorize the sharp zig-zags.

“I’ll call lefts and rights,” Nick said quickly. “Matt will walk ahead of you for pace. Chris is behind in case you panic.”

“I’m not gonna panic,” I said.

“Good. Because the path disappears in 3… 2… 1…”

A white Flash lit up the room then gone. Darkness. The glowing trail had vanished, and we were left standing on an empty platform with a terrifying amount of nothing all around. “Step forward now,” Matt said calmly. “Two steps.” I moved. “Now angle left just a little. Like two degrees left.”

“Dude, what does two degrees mean to a normal person?!” Chris snapped. “like shuffle your foot but don’t fall!” Matt snapped back. I let out a breath and took the tiniest step left. “Good,” Nick said. “Now forward again.. count four steps. Slow.”

“One… two… three—” My foot wobbled. The air around me flickered like the system glitched.

“FREEZE” Chris shouted. “Don’t move!” I froze mid-step, arms flailing for balance. “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna fall. This is where I die in the metaverse.”

“You’re fine” Matt said quickly, stepping back toward me and gently reaching for my virtual arm. “You're still on track. Just shift your weight forward a bit. Like this.” I did as he said. The path under me shimmered faintly probably a glitch of the rendering. But I didn’t fall.

“you won’t actually die anyway you just respawn in the lobby”

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay, I’m okay.”

We kept moving, Matt’s voice soft and steady in front of me, Nick narrating every bend like a GPS system with an attitude, Chris behind me humming theme music like it would help. Finally, we reached the last stretch. “Three more steps” Matt said. “Straight. You got this.” I stepped forward once twice and then with a burst of light, the path reappeared under my feet. We were on the other side.

"Congratulations MattTheMunch, PixelPrincess, ChrispyCream, IconNick. $2,000 has added to your credits"

I let out a whoop of relief. “WE DID IT.”

“See, easy” Matt said, clearly pleased.

Nick gave me a grin. “Not bad for your first challenge. You didn’t even scream.”

“I almost screamed,” Chris offered. “I thought we were gonna have to watch her plummet.”

“You’d catch me, right?” I teased.

He looked horrified. “I’m not losing 2k for your dramatic fall arc.” I laughed, heart still racing. Even though it was over, I could still feel the ghost of each invisible step. As the arena faded around us, I looked over at Matt. He was watching me again with that calm, unreadable gaze. “Thanks for the assist,” I said.

He winked. “Told you. I wouldn’t let you fall.”

“Let’s do another one! Just one more today cause 2k is definitely not enough in this game”

Matt's avatar smirked beside me, arms crossed casually. as we loaded into the next game

"Welcome to Truth or Trap!" the games robotic voice boomed from the sky above. "Each of you stands on a trap door. I will ask a question. You must answer truthfully. If you lie you fall and lose credits."

Nick gave a nervous laugh. "Cool. No pressure or anything."

"If all four players are honest across all questions, you win today's prize: 4,000 in game credits," the voice added.

Chris immediately spoke "I want to buy a pet reindeer. Let's be real."

"Dude you couldn't even control one of those baby dragons how-"

"First question" the voice interrupted, and the room dimmed to a tense violet hue. IconNick are you a triplet in real life?" I turned to him, brows furrowing.

"Yeah" he shrugged. voice calm. A gentle ding! confirmed his answer.

Wait, what? "Your a triplet irl?" I blurted. "Your not just saying that cause of your virtual character?"

He gave a little shrug, lips curled in a way I couldn't read. "Maybe."

"Next question," the voice said smoothly. "PixelPrincess, is it true you often talk to yourself in a mirror? you laughed nervously, eyes darting to each of their avatars. "Well.. I needed advice from someone I trust." ding!

Chris raised a brow and chuckled. Matt shrugs.

"Next question," the voice went on. "MattTheMunch have you ever pretended to lag because you didn’t want to participate in a challenge?”

"Oh my god," Chris cackled. "Say yes. We all know you do it." Matt groaned. "Fine. Yes. Whatever." ding!

"ChrispyCream do you think you're the funniest in your group?" the voice droned. He puffed up proudly. "Absolutely." A pause. Then BANG!! Chris's trap door dropped beneath him with a mechanical scream, and he vanished into the darkness below. "LIAR" the voice declared. "WHAT?!" his voice echoed from the void. "I am the funniest! This game is rigged!"

Matt and Nick were cracking up. "You litterally called me the funniest person in the world yesterday" I was too shocked to laugh.

"Final round" the voice continued. "Back to IconNick" Nick swallowed nervously.

Chris respawned but he looked transparent and was floating around like a ghost. He was in spector mode since he failed the first round.

"IconNick. What's the last thing you looked up on your phone?"Nick hesitated looking at his phone screen. "Answer. Truthfully." you said, smirking. he blushed embrassed "I looked up if you can legally marry a fictional character."

Chris snorted. "Dude. Who were you trying to marry?"

Nick shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

"MattheMunch. Would you ever online date in the realm?" Matt opened his mouth to protest, but then paused. His eyes flicked upward, thinking. You watched closely. "I think? Yeah." The floor stayed in place. ding!

"seriously?" nick asked suprised

He smiled slowly. "These avatars are still people. People are hot sometimes."

You shrugged "I- okay. That's fair."

“PixelPrincess is it true you had a dream about someone in this room that was so embrassing you wouldn’t want to share” i hesitated. “their avatars?” My heart skipped a beat. I could practically feel Matt's gaze through the pixels. “Yeah”

"Congratulations. Your honesty has been rewarded. 3,000 credits added."

Nick whooped and fist-pumped. "Wait I thought it was 4,000 credits?" Matt paused staring at me.

1,000 credits was taken from the prize money as player 'ChrispyCream' fell through his trap door

Chris yelled "TOLD YOU THIS IS RIGGED!" But I was barely listening. I was staring at Matt and he was staring at me.

tags: @blushsturns @riasturns @iloveduckssm @chrissbxby @sturnobessed @kayskreativeideas @tits4matt @cherryswifeyy @mattsfavho @sturniolobananas1 @courta13 @alexisa78 @chrisissos3xy @sturnobessed @mattschelseaa @sturniolos67 @norahsturns @dolliraez @jibitzlesscrocs @oopsiedaisydeer @gemzyy @sturniolofruitloop @mattschelseaa @hesvoid34 @phone4pills @spaghettislut1 @sturnslux3 @phone4pills @owenstar

#sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo

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thatgiraffefromtlou · 8 months ago

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The Aurora Project

(part 2)

(tumblr won’t let me tag part one for some odd reason but it’s in my pinned post! make sure you read that first 🫶🏻)

summary: as a result of a malfunction, you and ellie awaken from cryosleep aboard a spaceship with no memory. will you find evidence that you're more than just shipmates? something to give reason to your nagging familiarity to the stranger you wake up next to?

warnings: eventual explicit language, potential for smut in later chapters (depending), uh cringy teasing idk- Imk if there's more this is also pretty tame-

A/N: so erm this definitely isn’t the best work of mine i won’t lie to you guy. it’s only slightly proof read 🧍🏼 like i said the results of this election has my mind kind elsewhere, but writing is still very therapeutic for me and i really wanted to get something put out for you guys! plus im excited to post this and continue this story and i don’t want that to be taken from me. anyways enough about that i hope you guys enjoy!!

work count: 2.6K (ik sorry they will eventually be longer)

– Chapter two -

"Maybe your eye would work?" you break the silence, your voice echoing softly in the open space. You and Ellie sit on either side of the exit, your backs pressed against the cool, metallic walls. It took you two what felt like forever, but you finally found a door. The hope that cascaded through your bodies upon first seeing the door was palpable, a surge of excitement that quickly dissipated the moment you realized it was locked. The lock mechanism, a complex array of technological marvels you’ve never encountered, had multiple parts, but only needed one of the three ways to get through: an eye scanner, a password, or a thumbprint.

The eye scanner looked like a floating camera, or at least that's the best way you could describe it. It hovered eerily, set maybe a foot above a see-through keyboard that seemed to defy gravity. Glowing boxes surrounded glowing letters, numbers, and symbols, creating an otherworldly interface. It was strange, almost disconcerting, the way those two things seemed to float beside the door, as if held in place by some invisible force. In stark contrast, the fingerprint scan was firmly affixed to the actual door itself, a more tangible and familiar security measure. Either way, two of these things you thought Ellie might be able to manipulate, given her potential credentials.

"Huh?" Ellie turns her head to you, her brows furrowed in confusion and her upper lip slightly risen on one side, creating an expression of both intrigue and skepticism. "It's a shot in the dark but..." you begin, your mind racing to connect the dots, "Our name plates—only you had 'Dr.' in front of your name." You shrug your shoulders and lick your lips, your theory on the tip of your tongue. Turning your body to face more in her direction, your legs tucking slightly under your thighs in an attempt to get comfortable on the hard floor, you continue, "Maybe you have some form of authority here? I mean, hell, maybe you're even an astronaut? It's not too far-fetched considering our surroundings."

She looked at you with an expression that was a perfect blend of disbelief and flattery, as if you had just said the most absurd yet complimentary thing imaginable. Her eyes widened slightly, eyebrows raised, creating a very confused expression that spoke volumes. "Or," she countered, her voice tinged with a hint of skepticism, "I'm just a doctor who practices medicine and they need doctors in this place we're headed towards? It seems more likely, doesn't it?" Your shoulders literally slump at that, the weight of disappointment settling on you. "Yeah, you're probably right…" you concede, your voice trailing off.

You sit with your back against the wall again, the cool surface a stark reminder of your predicament. Your mind starts racing, deciding to go back to the drawing board. Maybe there's another door on the other side? Air vents? As these thoughts swirl in your head, Ellie suddenly stands up, her movement catching you off guard. She leans over slightly, putting her eye at level with the scanner, a look of determination etched on her face. You look up at her curiously, and suddenly there's a beep—a sharp, electronic sound that cuts through the silence—and the doors slide open with a smooth, hydraulic hiss.

You get on your feet immediately, adrenaline surging through your body, and she turns back to you, her face a mask of genuine shock mirroring your own. "No way..." you say in awe, your voice barely above a whisper as you look through the now open door. The view beyond is bleak, not really what you were hoping for. Just another long walkway stretches before you, more walkways branching off like a labyrinth of sterile corridors. "Guess I am an astronaut..." Ellie says quietly, a smile playing on her lips, tinged with a mixture of pride and bewilderment.

You look back to her, her smile a welcome contrast to the boring white hallway that seems to stretch endlessly before you. You can't help but smile back, a sense of camaraderie growing between you. "Of course you are," you say, your voice filled with a newfound confidence, "I'm never wrong." Ellie huffs air out of her nose in a small laugh, her smile widening as she shakes her head, a gesture that seems both exasperated and fond. She takes a deep breath, straightening her back again, and steps into the hallway with cautious steps. You follow close behind, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. The doors close with a whooshing sound behind you both, sealing off the room you just left.

"Why'd you give it a try?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you as you fall into step beside her. Ellie shrugs, her eyes scanning the corridor ahead. "Better than sitting there with no solution," she replies, her tone matter-of-fact. She glances at you, a hint of amusement in her eyes, "and something told me you're never wrong or whatever." You smile as the warm sense of familiarity fills you again, this time less scary but just as confusing as before. It's a feeling you can't quite place, like a half-remembered dream or a song you can't quite recall. "Fair enough," you joke a little, your voice light.

Silence settles over the two of you for a moment before you speak again, "So, Dr. Ellie," you say, emphasizing her title with a playful tone, a little pep in your step, your body angled more towards her than forward. "What's our next move? Any pearls of astronaut wisdom to share with us mere mortals?" The question is wrapped in a layer of jest, but underneath, it's clear you're both grappling with the same pressing concern: what on earth—or rather, what in space—are you supposed to do now?

Ellie responds with a soft chuckle, her eyes never ceasing their scan of the corridors stretching out before you. "Well," she begins, her voice tinged with a hint of self-deprecation, "If I had to guess, I think our best bet would be to find some kind of control room or like a central hub. I mean.. there's bound to be a nerve center somewhere." As she speaks, her hands move in small, unconscious gestures, as if trying to shape her thoughts in the air.

She gives a little shrug, the movement almost diminishing the weight of her ideas. It's a strange contradiction—the self-assurance in her logic juxtaposed against a hint of awkwardness in her delivery. The dichotomy is intriguing; she clearly knows she's smart, but there's a flutter of something—maybe modesty, maybe uncertainty—when that intelligence is on display.

You nod, genuinely impressed by her logical approach despite her hesitation. "Makes sense," you agree, your voice trailing off a little as you mull over her suggestion. After a moment you ask, "Any ideas on how we might go about finding this hypothetical control room?"

Ellie's eyebrows lift a fraction, and when she speaks again, her words seem to require a touch more effort than before, as if she's carefully weighing each one. "Well, we could start by looking for signs, I suppose?" Her gaze flicks to you briefly before returning to the path ahead, a mix of consideration and caution in her eyes. "Or, failing that, we could follow the main corridor?" She gestures ahead with a sweep of her hand. "In my experience-“ she cuts herself off in a fluster. “Or what I think might be my experience, given our current memory situation—important areas are usually centrally located and well-marked."

You hum thoughtfully and nod, acknowledging the soundness of her strategy. "So, essentially, we keep walking straight until we stumble upon another door or some kind of signage?" A note of playful sarcasm creeps into your voice as you add, "Sounds absolutely thrilling..."

Ellie responds with an eye roll, but there's a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, softening the gesture. "Well, unless you've got a better idea tucked away in that sarcasm-filled brain of yours, Captain Quip, I think that's our best bet for now." She pauses for a beat, then adds with a touch of dry humor coloring her words, "Who knows? Maybe if we're really lucky, we'll stumble upon a space casino or an alien petting zoo along the way."

"A petting zoo?" you echo, latching onto the absurd image with enthusiasm. "Maybe they've got some kind of high-tech Noah's Ark situation going on up here." The mental picture draws a laugh from both of you, the sound a welcome break in the tension. As your chuckles subside, you're struck by a sudden realization. "You know what? I could really go for a drink right now. God, I'm thirsty. Are you thirsty too?" The question hangs in the air for a moment before you notice something's off. You turn, expecting to see Ellie beside you, but she's nowhere in sight. Confusion floods your system. Wasn't she just—

You’re quickly interrupted by the sound of your name being called. It's Ellie's voice, but it's coming from at least 20 feet behind you. You spin around, your eyes searching, and finally spot her. She's standing in front of a doorway, her arm extended, finger pointing at something beyond. "Look," she calls again, her voice a mix of excitement and wariness.

You quickly jog back to where Ellie is standing. As you draw closer, you see what has captured her attention: before you a mini hall, maybe 3 feet long ending with a small door.

Your gaze follows Ellie's pointing finger to the side of the door, where a placard identical to those at the foot of your pods catches your attention. The name 'Dr. Williams' is etched onto its surface, below her name is a simple +1, causing a small jolt of recognition to course through you. "Oh..." you breathe, the single syllable barely audible as it escapes your lips. Your eyes dart between Ellie and the plain white door, a feeling of apprehension swirling in your gut.

"Well, let's open it," you suggest, your voice a blend of impatience and nervousness. Ellie responds with a nod, her face showing her own set of conflicting emotions. She reaches out, her hand settling on the doorknob - a long, flat apparatus that stands out against the sterile white of the door. Your eyes are drawn to a peculiar smooth shiny black rectangle spot near where the handle attaches to the door, its purpose unclear but somehow significant.

Ellie's fingers wrap around the handle, and she attempts to turn it. The door remains closed, the handle refusing to even budge an inch. A look of frustration flashes across her face as she tries again, her knuckles almost whitening with the force of her grip. Still, the door doesn't budge.

You watch intently as Ellie's brow furrows in concentration, her fingers now tracing the outline of the mysterious black spot. Suddenly, Ellie's eyes widen with realization, and she presses her thumb firmly against the black square. The silence that follows seems to stretch for an eternity, both of you holding your breath in anticipation. Then, a soft beep fills the air, shattering the tension.

Ellie turns the handle again and the door responds with a soft click as she pushes the door open. You and Ellie exchange a quick glance, a wordless communication passing between you. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you both step forward in unison. The room is small, almost like a one room apartment. The white sterile walls not following you into this space. You both set forward, Ellie in the lead as you both wordlessly scan the room. The walls may be white, but the room itself is vibrant with personality and life.

Every available surface is adorned with an array of memorabilia - framed photographs capturing moments frozen in time, colorful posters that speak of diverse interests, and shelves lined with an assortment of knick-knacks, each telling its own story. These decorations form a protective cocoon around the full-sized bed nestled at the far end of the room, creating a cozy sanctuary within the larger space. The front area of the room seamlessly blends the functionality of a kitchen with the comfort of a living room, defying the sterile environment beyond its walls.

As you step further into the room, your senses are overwhelmed by a collection of different scents, each fighting for dominance in the recycled air of the ship. The rich, invigorating aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the smoky, complex notes of aged whiskey. A faint, earthy scent of stale marijuana lingers in the background. Underpinning it all is a warm, masculine fragrance - reminiscent of a what you’d smell when you hug a Southern dad, all sun-warmed cotton and subtle cologne.

Despite the main overhead light being off, the room is bathed in a gentle, welcoming glow. A strategically placed array of lamps and twinkling string lights cast a soft, amber radiance throughout the space. This warm illumination not only brightens the room but also seems to ignite a spark of recognition deep within you. As your eyes adjust and roam over the personal touches scattered throughout, you can't shake the feeling that this space is somehow intimately familiar, as if you've spent countless hours within these very walls, or at least around these things.

Ellie quietly calls your name, her voice tinged with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. You slowly turn around to see her sitting on what you presume to be her bed, a framed photograph clutched in her hands. You make your way over to her, each step feeling both familiar and foreign on the ship's floor. As you settle beside her on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your combined weight, she carefully turns the photo to face you both.

The image captured within the frame immediately draws your attention. It's a snapshot of what appears to be a Halloween party, the background a blur of festive decorations and revelers. But it's the subjects of the photo that truly catch your eye - you and Ellie, looking carefree and happy, your costumes as whimsical as they are clever.

You find yourself staring at your own image, barely recognizing the person looking back at you. You're dressed in an elaborate moth costume, complete with intricately designed wings and antennae. Your costume-clad self is caught mid-motion, planting an exaggerated kiss on Ellie's cheek. Ellie, for her part, is sporting what can only be described as a lampshade on her head, her face alight with laughter and warmth.

The juxtaposition of the costumes isn't lost on you - a moth drawn to a lamp, a visual pun that speaks of inside jokes and shared humor. It's a moment of connection, of joy, frozen in time and preserved behind glass.

"Oh..." you breathe, the word barely more than an exhale. The photo feels like a key, unlocking a flood of emotions you can't quite place. Familiarity wars with the unsettling feeling of looking at strangers wearing your faces.

"Oh..." Ellie echoes, her voice a mirror of your own confusion and wonder. Her eyes flick between the photo and your face, searching for something - recognition, perhaps, or confirmation that you're feeling the same tumult of emotions that she is.

The silence stretches between you, filled with unspoken questions and the weight of implications neither of you are quite ready to voice.

A/N: hehehe lmk if you wanna be added to the tag listttttt

tag list: @autisticintr0vert (if you’re not tagged and asked to be, please check to make sure you’re ability to be tagged is on because your username did not show up!)

#ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams × reader #ellie smut

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sayafics · 10 months ago

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Just For A Moment - Part 7

Sorry for the long, long wait my loves, but I hope this was worth it!

There are probably going to be around 2/3 more chapters as I start drawing this series to an end👀

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Masterlist

No one spoke for a long while, eyes darting over the wilting pair as Aurora avoided their gazes, and Jay ached for her own to meet his pleading one.

It was Aurora who broke first, voice hoarse as she forced a cough past her lip and broke out of her stupor.

"I'm going to grab the last of my stuff, and then we can head out." She looked at Voight as she spoke, not even waiting for him to answer before she turned away and returned the same way she came. It did not go unnoticed how Kim mirrored her every step, as though she was unwilling to let the girl get too far.

Jay's bloodshot eyes met Voight's, unable to even try and translate his frustration in the form of narrowed eyes, furrowed brows and a clenched jaw.

He was an open book of raw emotion, stumbling like a toddler learning to take their first steps as he grew unsure of how to navigate the circumstances held before him.

Was this not what he had wanted? Was this not what he had been asking for- pleading and praying for since the day she had left?

And yet, it felt as though he was drifting through a dream - like she was an echo or a ghost of the girl who once roamed this very office, who now haunted his home and his dreams. And now she haunted this office.

Voight looked solemn as he met Jay's gaze, "I would've told you, Jay. But I didn't know when you'd be back."

"Why is she here?"

It was all he could say. And it was all he could do to hope that perhaps she had come on her own volition, that she had come because she had missed him. That she had heard his voicemails, every single one.

That she saw his regret, that she felt his misery and his sorrow, that she understood his guilt and forgave him.

That she came back for him.

But he knew from the look in Voight's eyes that he was way in over his head, that his wishes were simply unkempt desires and she hadn't come back for him at all.

Her flinch and stoic expression were evidence enough.

Aurora hated him, he was sure of it.

But he was also sure no one could hate him as much as he hated himself in that moment. So undeserving and unworthy of her love.

"I needed someone to go undercover in the Volkov case - she's the best."

She is, of course she is.

But to know she came back for a case, and not for him, hurt.

To know she saw Voight's call and answered him, when she had ignored his every call, hurt.

Jay knew she saw every call, it was why he never stopped. He prayed she listened to his voicemails and saw his regret, recognised his remorse and heard his devotion and his love.

But she came to help Voight, not him.

And that was a sign of its own that perhaps he was too late, that perhaps Aurora no longer wanted him - that she no longer needed him.

That she never needed him, not the way he needed her.

Not the way he wanted her- not anymore.

Jay shook his head free from such thoughts, grounding himself in the present as he chanted in his mind - she's here. She's here, and he has a chance. He has to have one. He has one until she looks him in the eyes and tells him he lost every single one, and lost her too.

His mind had finally processed Voight's words - finally, he thought.

Finally, an emotion so foreign but familiar seeped through his blood. No longer was he full of misery and grief, regret and shame. His muscles stiffened with the familiar sensation of disbelief, something so small yet euphoric as it tumbled through him as though it was unsure of how to navigate in the confines of his tortured body.

"You want her to go undercover for him? To get close to him?"

Jay couldn't believe what he was hearing - they knew how dangerous Volkov was. His only casualties were not those who touched his tainted drugs, but men, women and children who dared to defy him.

A glance at the board near Voight's office proved his fears, the surface littered in a mass of photographs with the victims of his anger and his crimes.

This was the man they wanted to send her into the arms of, this was the man they wanted her to trap.

They brought her here, so close to him, only to send her to her death.

"She's a good cop Jay, an even better undercover operative," Adam spoke now, a supportive hand placed upon Jay's shoulder as he spoke consolingly, "if anyone can take this guy down, it's her."

Jay shook his hand off as anger bubbled through him, a comforting feeling that settled at the base of his throat as he struggled to fight off his nausea.

"Are you kidding me? We know how dangerous this guy is, how can you even think about sending someone undercover to get close to him? Especially her."

Adam put his hands up in surrender, "you're letting your emotions talk for you Jay - you know just as well as we do, with her track history she is the best person for this job."

Jay shook his head vehemently, "no, you're wrong. I know what I'm talking about, and this is too dangerous. She's going go get hurt."

"You can't stop her," Voight took a step closer, brows furrowed in disappointment knowing had Jay been here from the start they would've been able to ease him into the idea better and prevented such an outburst, "she knows the risks, and she's agreed to the terms. She wants to do this."

"She doesn't know what she wants!"

Jay's heart stuttered to a stop for a second, so sure that she would've heard his raised voice.

For a moment, he hoped it was enough to make her come find him.

His fleeting eyes were enough to confirm that it wasn't.

A scoff sounded before him, his shoulders stiffening as a familiar voice rang from behind him. He knew that voice, knew it so well from the hours she would spend outside his door or on the phone pleading for his attention, for his love and his heart.

But his heart wasn't his to gift anymore, it was Aurora's. It had always been Aurora's.

And if he had been in possession of the ill-fated thing, he was sure he would protect it fiercely from Hailey.

"Are you sure you're not just saying that because she decided she doesn't want you?" Her words were harsh, they were vile and brutal but true. They stung deeply because they echoed his greatest fears and resounded through the room.

He turned towards the blonde woman, green eyes flickering between her set of blue as he was taken aback again by just how closely they mirrored one another. How her thoughts reflected his own. How his fears were picked and pulled apart by her with ease.

And he wondered to himself why he had let her get close enough to him to allow such a thing to happen in the first place.

Yet, looking into her eyes and seeing a pool of misery and anger that matched his own, he knew he would never have been able to stop such a thing.

Jay Halstead was not in love with Hailey Upton.

He was never fascinated by her.

He didn't want to be her friend because he was a good man.

He wanted to learn her entire being thoroughly because had he been born a woman, he was sure it would be her face he saw in the mirror every morning.

They had lived the same life at different paces, faced the same horrors and the same setbacks, they navigated the same shortcomings and were plagued by the same nightmares. They had loved the same and lost the same and were so intimately designed like one another, it was difficult not to find distorted version of himself staring back every time he glanced at her.

And yet, she was so different to him.

Where he was filled with anger and fury, rules and stipulations, she was happy and joyous and free, she was optimistic and kind in a way he ached to be.

In the way Aurora deserved to have him.

Jay knew why he became her friend, he knew why he confided in her, he knew why he let her kiss him and touch him, and he knew why he did the same.

Jay wanted to be healed like Hailey. He wanted to be the man Aurora deserved. But such a reality was not possible, and Aurora did not deserve the twisted and broken man that he was.

But Hailey was a reflection of his own horrors, standing untwisted and preserved.

Jay didn't deserve Aurora, he wasn't enough for her. He never was.

At least he didn't think he was.

Not until after that night with Hailey, when he saw Aurora pull away and distance from him. Not until that night where she confessed she had always known and feared she was the reason he had done such a thing - that she was not enough.

It was then Jay realised that it didn't matter how alike him and Hailey were, because no one could understand him the way Aurora did.

No one could comfort him and hold him and love him like she did.

Jay didn't need to be fixed like Hailey was. He didn't need to overcome his past like she had. Because he wasn't like Hailey, no matter how many similarities they shared in their lives.

He didn't need Hailey to show him how to become a better version of himself, because he had realised much too late that Aurora had been the one that was mending his cluttered mind and brittle soul one fragment at a time.

He didn't know how to answer Hailey, he could only stare at her as he wondered how he had let their friendship twist upon itself to sour the bond they shared.

It was also then when he realised he would have picked Aurora every time. That he should have picked Aurora every time.

He blinked himself out of his daze, blinking furiously as he turned away from Hailey the same way he should have months ago now.

He met Voight's gaze, his own filling with determination as he spoke, "just let me speak to her-"

"Jay," Kevin sighed from behind him, a pitying look colouring his face, "we've been putting a plan together for days now. This is the only way we got to get this guy."

"Then let me go with her - let me go too, so she's not alone. So that he can't hurt her."

Voight clenched his jaw as he wondered how to navigate his way through Jay's volatile emotions, "you're not in the right state of mind, Jay. I can't have you risk this entire case beca-"

"Because what? Because I can't see the woman I love die? Because I don't want to think of her being hurt by the very man we're hunting down? I don't want her to end up as another picture on that board, Voight. Not when I've spent this long looking for her. Not when I've just found her."

Jay's eyes burned with fresh tears, his skin heating a deep red as he let his emotions bubble free, as he confessed and let his yearning out into the open.

She was so close. So close, only to feel like she was a lifetime away.

"You didn't find her," Voight's voice deepened, his tone stern as he crossed his arms over his chest, "I did. And she only agreed to come back for this case."

"Then let me go with her," Jay drew closer to Voight, eyes darting down the same hall Aurora disappeared. "Let me go, let me keep her safe. Let me be close to her again, just this one time. Just one more time before she leaves again."

Voight knew why he brought Aurora back, he had wanted this too. He had wanted to bring back Jay and Aurora together and see if they could heal each other.

But not like this.

He had hoped that after the case was done, Aurora might decide to come back and stay. That if she did, then she and Jay could once again navigate the parameters of their relationship.

He simply hadn't expected this.

He hadn't expected to see their raw wounds and conflicted minds, their silent longing and stubborn hearts.

But maybe this was exactly what they needed.

Maybe this was what Jay needed.

This could be the start of a new chapter for the pair, or it could be the closure they had denied themselves.

"Fine. Kevin's going to debrief you - you make sure you're ready for this Jay. You have an hour. If you're not, then it won't be Volkov you have to worry about, because you'll be the one that gets you and Gallo killed."

Jay nodded solemnly, a crushing weight lifted off his shoulders. He might have hurt Aurora, but he was repenting and would seek forgiveness until the end of time. Until then, he would not allow another to lay a hand upon the woman he loves.

Voight watched as Kevin steered Jay towards his office, turning to Adam to instruct him on getting an alias and outfit prepared for Jay. They didn't have long to prepare him, but they would do all they could to ensure the operation ran smoothly.

For now, Voight would have to break the news to Aurora and hope she didn't rescind her offer to help altogether.

Throughout it all, it did not go unnoticed how Hailey found her home in the paperwork before her once more, her harsh words once ignored and her burning gaze ceremoniously ignored.

#jay halstead x you #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead angst #jay halstead #jay halstead x hailey upton #jay halstead x y/n #chicago pd x reader #chicago one #chicago #chicago pd #chicago pd x oc #chicago pd angst

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laceyluvver · 2 years ago

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Invaluable

THIS IS UNIMPORTANT PART 2!!!!!!!

summary: your boss finally realises what you mean, and how he feels. warnings: smoking, drinking, sexual situations (not smut!) a/n: this is based on that time aaron SNATCHES that cigarette out of the unsubs mouth and it’s hot. If you want a smut part please comment or leave a thing in my inbox. love ya <3

wordcount: 4687

The next few weeks nothing had changed between you and your boss since his confession of you being important to the team. But at the same time, everything had. He had become less dismissive once you handed him the usual bitter black coffee he gets. Instead of the usual “Thank You,” just thrown your way without a sparing glance.

Now, you were still thanked. However, he turned his head towards you, making eye contact for a slightly lingering moment before continuing on with the case and turning back to the drawing board. It was pity, you assumed. Pity for the fact that you had almost been shot and killed in a police precinct bathroom.

Another small change was the way he asked for things. He had went from harshly barking orders at you to have papers ready, collect that box of files, prep the interrogation room. To coming up to you directly, asking you quietly and politely.

On the other hand, something completely different, never happened before, your boss, Aaron Hotchner had brought you a coffee on the jet. Albeit, the rest of the team were passed out in a deep sleep. Em had her head rested on JJ’s shoulder as they slept together. Spencer had a book over his face and Morgan had his music playing in his ears.

“You’re not sleeping?” He asked as he bent down to place the coffee on the small table in-front of you. Lifting it up you take a scalding sip from the mug. Boiling hot, burning your tongue but exactly how you liked it.

“How do you know which way I like my coffee?” You ask, the shock evident in your tone and get given pointed look because the answer to that was obvious. “I can’t sleep when something is moving, car, train, private jet.” Your mouth quirks up at the last one. You see him nod in understanding and he makes his way back to his seat and to bury his nose back into the files. “Thank you.” You whisper out loud enough for him to hear but not enough to wake the team.

The rest of the flight back to Quantico was peaceful. Silence after a long and hard case was always welcome, the calm after the storm.

Silky sheets caress your legs as the loud blaring of your alarm rings in your ears. The orange beginnings of daylight peek through a small gap through the curtains. Rolling over, the blue light from your phone glares in your eyes. New email. Meeting at 8:30. Urgent.

One thing you hated about your boss was his inability to elaborate when things were important. Rushing to get ready and throwing your work clothes on as fast as possible, your mind races. Skimming over every mistake you had made in the past few months that could lead to you getting fired. Or anything the rest of the team could have done to prompt an urgent meeting.

Arriving at the office the rest of the team stand in the bullpen, equally confused.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Emily asks you as you join the huddle at her desk.

“No idea.” You reply with a shrug and the six of you turn to look up into Hotch’s office. He has the landline up to his ear and seems to be talking intensely to the person on the other end. “What do you think that’s about?”

“No idea.” Spencer echoes your words from earlier. “He doesn’t look happy though.”

Then without a word Hotch opens his office door and with no more than a nod, orders you to the conference room. It wasn’t unusual for him to look that way. Stoic, serious and unmoving.

“We’re all fired.” Pen squeaked out with a determined nod. She then marched up to the conference room, the rest of you following in her stead.

The conference room was not a stranger to long intense silence. It usually happened when one of the team had made a mistake that Strauss wouldn’t let go. Usually a mistake that your unit chief’s job was put on the line for. Hotch is sitting when you enter.

“Have we got a case?” Derek asks with a nod to the remote in Hotch’s hand. The screen behind him lit up and he stood up.

“Not exactly.” A look of disgust was commonly shared around the circular table at hearing about the heinous crimes that the team solved regularly. However, a look of panic, was rare and was prominent at what Hotch said next. “We have been invited to the FBI christmas gala.” Groans and eye rolls were shared around the table.

“We are on orders from Strauss to not take any new cases until after the event,” He continued, “As we are most likely going to revive an award.”

“When is it?” JJ asks, her chin in her hands and her hair falls over her face.

“Next Friday. We all get a plus one.” Hotch finishes and gets up, striding out of the conference room and back to his office to stare at more files until late in the evening.

“You know what this means ladies.” Penelope starts, her body pretty much vibrating with excitement. “Dress shopping!” The huge smile on her face made everything more bearable. At least one of you was excited.

A few days later the girls and you were standing in some high-end boutique, browsing the multiple colours of dresses. Racks upon racks of different cuts, shapes and lengths are everywhere. Penelope was rushing through them at a speed you'd never seen, picking out what she thought would look best on the three of you.

"Em, you just have to wear red!" She gushes and hands Emily a stack of different shades of red. "Go try them on." Pen gives her a shove toward the fitting rooms. "Same for you." She says to JJ, her pile filled with a variety of blues, pinks and purples.

They both come out one at a time, showing you and Pen all of the dresses she had specifically picked out. Naturally, Pen loved every single one they came out in, smiling every time. Until they both came out at the same time and she let out a dramatic gasp.

Emily was wearing a deep red velvet dress that came down to her ankles and was tight-fitted down her body. JJ's was light pink with light lace flowers all over in lace. It flared out from her hips and draped over her legs. "Those. Are. Perfect." She squealed at the pair as they both did a spin. They both blushed at your and Pen's extensive compliments about how well the dresses fit them.

"You guys look amazing!" You say from your seat and Emily's look turns from appreciative to mischievous.

"Now it's your turn," Emily smirks and she and JJ take their place on the plush bench that you and Pen were just perched on. JJ hands you the pile of perfectly curated dresses Penelope had picked out for you, in many different colours. You pick out all of the colourful ones and leave them on the bench. You catch the girls confused looks.

"While a gala is a break for you, I'm still on the clock." You explain and shake the black dresses in your hands. "I have a dress code, black only." You watch Penelope's face drop.

"But, that green one would look so good." She says, obviously disappointed you wouldn't get to wear the one she had envisioned you in. "Try it on for me?" She asks and gives you a look you couldn't resist.

"After, I find my one for the night." You put emphasis on after as your friend was not one for patience.

A few dresses later, varying reactions from the girls as you came out. Some 'oohs' and 'ehhs' gave you a clear opinion of what they thought. Penelope had found her dress almost instantly, it was a silky champagne with black lace over the bust. Finally, you had thought you had found the one. It was black, of course, and didn't come down too low at the bust, stopping just before inappropriate. The fabric stopped at the floor and didn't restrict your walking movement.

"Oh, that's lovely," JJ says as you pull the curtain back to reveal yourself to them.

"That is the one!" Penelope jumps up and gives you a hug.

"I think I'm all dressed out." Emily slumps against the wall as you make your way to get changed back into your normal clothes and bag up your dress of choice.

Making your way to the till, you all pay for your dresses and head your separate ways home.

The fateful day had finally come. Hours upon hours of explaining that you are not a profiler to a part of the BAU team but their PA. Then having to listen for hours upon hours on why the BAU was favoured by the director as they had a private jet and a PA. Looking good was crucial if you were a benefit, you had better be a good-looking one.

If the dress had to be black and plain with a simple shape and a boring unappealing neckline. You'd dress it up with dainty jewellery and amazingly high heels in a matching black. You had turned a simple dress that was gathering dust in the back of the racks into a sublime sleek look. The ding from your phone catch’s your attention as you grab your clutch.

It read ‘We’re outside’ and quickly you smooth down your hair one last time and make your way out of the apartment building, seeing the girls waiting in one of the SUV’s for you. Emily at the wheel with Jj in the passenger seat and Penelope in the back.

“You look stunning!” Penelope shouts from the window as you walk towards the car and you can’t help but produce a huge smile on your face.

“So do all of you.” You say as you shut the car door behind you. The drive to the venue wasn’t long, small talk being the main focus of the conversation.

“Are any of you looking for a man tonight?” Jj asks, a smirk on her face. She had brought Will as her plus one and he was currently residing in the men’s car who were trailing not too far behind them. “Or woman.” She adds, casting a small glance at Em.

“If something happens, it happens.” Emily says with a shrug, knowing that she would be approached many a time during the night.

“I’m fine with my chocolate thunder.” Pen says, her face lighting up. “But you never know.” A few hums of agreement echo around the car. “And what about you, beautiful creature of the night?” Penelope asks.

“I’m working.” It was a short answer but you didn’t miss the simultaneous eye rolls of the three others. “What was that?” You ask with a scoff, looking between the three of them.

“Oh yes. ‘Working’” Pen says, “Until you go out for a smoke.” She smirks as she says this.

“You’re just jealous it works.” You snark back, as you pull up the the grand hotel that the gala was being held in. “I am now officially on the clock.” You say, getting out of the car and opening the doors for all of the girls. At the same moment the men’s car pulls up behind you. You do the same for each of them. Each of them thank you as you open their car doors.

“I hate treating you like this, you’re our friend not our employee.” Spencer complains as you walk in on his arm. “It feels strange.”

“It’s one night. And technically I am, your employee.” You smile up at him. “Your assistant.” The room you were in was huge, the carpet was a deep red plush, the cushions on the chairs matching. The ceilings held up by marble stone pillars that towered over everyone.

You and the BAU find their way to their large circular table in the middle of the room. Not a single corner of solitude where they could not be observed by the rest of the FBI. They place their, clutches and Jackets on the table and you turn to them.

“Drinks?” You ask looking around the table.

“You don’t have to.” Derek starts but you cut him off with a hand wave.

“I am being paid.” You say sternly, “Drinks?” You ask with a stubborn tone. “The usual?” You continue and receive nods from around the table. Making your way to the bar you rattle off the teams orders. “A whisky on the rocks, a neat whisky, two glasses of house red, a glass of house white, two jack and cokes and a lemonade. Please.” You receive a nod and wait for the poor bartender the make all of those drinks. “Oh and a tray please!”

You weren’t a stranger to the looks of envy from other departments as you carried the tray of drinks to the table. Or from the patrons stood at the bar fetching their own drinks.

“I come bearing gifts.” You say and hand out their drinks accordingly around the table. Whiskey on the rocks for Rossi. Near whiskey for Hotch. House red for Jj and Emily. House white for Pen. Jack and coke for Derek and Will and a lemonade for Spencer. “Now go socialise, you important people.” You say and they disperse around the room in pairs to go and talk to the other agents. That was your queue was to go and stand in the corner of the room as all of the people who thought better of themselves, boasted about their achievements in the field and out of it.

It took thirty minutes until it was announced it was time for dinner and all of the patrons made their way to the assigned seats. Wait staff flew out of every door, brining everyone the meal they had chosen a week prior. And that was your cue to go for a smoke.

It was dark outside when you push the door open. The pebbled ground crunches under your heels as you make your way to the back of the building and there is your solace. A bench. It was wooden and was sat in the middle of a small green patch of grass.

These FBI things had been few and far between with your with the BAU. The team rather spending their time on cases and saving people’s lives rather than spending time being paraded around by the director. However, that had meant that in the couple times you had been at these things, you had a tradition.

Men loved being saviours. So when they see a poor woman, sat in the cold, waiting for her cigarette to be lit. But in reality, you had a lighter placed in your bra. Dinner had just started so you pull out said lighter and light your first cigarette and take a drag. The smoke flaying out in-front of you in the light as you sit on the table of the bench, your feet on the seat.

The team sat around their round table, slowly eating and sipping on their drinks, longing out the process to avoid the socialising that was to come again next.

“It’s just not fair how she doesn’t even get a seat at our table,” Spencer huffs as he puts another forkful into his mouth. “The team would barely work without her. She’s a part of the team.” Everyone around the table nods in agreement.

“If it was up to me, she would.” Hotch says, also continuing to eat his food and sip his drink.

“Well you could push harder for it.” Spencer says, his mood sour and he fiddles his fork around his plate as he mumbles.

“Don’t worry Spence.” Emily said from next to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “She’s just fine.” She says smirking at Jj and Penelope from across the table.

“Pump your brakes, what does that mean?” Derek says with raised eyebrows looking between the three of them. “Is she with someone here?” His eyes flit between them and waits impatiently for one of them to answer.

“Not yet.” Jj barley whispers into her wine.

“And what does that mean?” Derek pushes again and looks towards Penelope. “Babygirl, what do you know?” He asks leaning towards her and she hides behind her hands. “Penelope.” Everyone around the table was interested in what the ladies of the BAU knew about your love life.

One thing about the team was they were nosy. Specially about the love lives of the other members of the team. Behavioural analysis made it easy for them to tell when a night was spent out of bed.

“I’m not supposed to tell.” Pen squeaks, her voice an octave higher than usual, feeling the pressure of all of the curious eyes on her. But her reddening face and the pitch in her voice getting higher and higher indicates that she was going to spill and soon. Even Hotch was engaged and listening. And spill she did. “Hot rich men carry lighters.”

“And what does that have to do with sleeping with other agents?” Rossi chimes in, his hand resting around his glass and his finger tapping against the side.

“When time comes to dinner and she doesn’t get a seat at the table, she makes her way outside with two cigarettes,” Emily starts to explain. “She lights and smokes the first one while dinner is happening.”

“Then after dinner, she waits for someone to come and offer to light her second cigarette.” Jj picks up from Emily. “It’s actually quite smart.” She smiles as she finishes.

“Then they get to talking then she’s got somewhere to sleep for the night.” Penelope finishes. “The FBI is so cheap, they don’t even book her a room.” She rolls her eyes and takes another sip, clearly getting tipsy. “She never tells us who she’s been with, i’m dying to know.”

“Who would have thought she had it in her huh?” Derek says with an impressed smile.

“Literally all of us.” Emily laughs at him and wait staff begin to collect in empty plates and people begin to stand and shuffle and talk about boring corporate nonsense.

They watch Hotch get up abruptly from his chair and stride toward the bar, he doesn’t order anything he just stands there and waits for the team to disperse around the room.

“He’s not as subtle as he thinks.” Will laughs out towards Rossi who gives a small shrug before turning around and shaking the hands of agents from all over the US.

The shine of your shoes caught your attention, the patent dark material reflecting in the light. Circular rings dance across them and reflect in your eyes. Your first cigarette had long been smoked and shoved into the stones beneath your feet. You’d began to wonder if you just hadn’t gotten lucky this time round. Maybe you hadn’t grabbed the attention enough for anyone to follow you outside. Your eyes hadn’t left the ground yet, and were now tracing the irregular pattern of the stones. Just about to give in to the temptation and time, reaching into your bra to pull out your lighter.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Your head shoots up and your hand goes heck to its original position by your side. It was him, your boss. Aaron Hotchner,one of the richest and hottest men you knew. You hadn’t heard the stones rustle on the way over, he always walked quietly. His voice didn’t travel far in the large empty space.

“I thought you were meant to be a profiler, sir.” You say smiling up at him and scooting over, making room for him next to you. “Get tired of all the questions?” He sits down, mirroring the way you were perched.

“I’ve already told you.” He says, the lights that were wrapped around the leaf filled arch lit up his face in such a perfect way, you couldn’t describe it. “It’s Aaron.” He repeats from weeks ago and you see him turn towards you out of the corner of your eye. Now, it was time to test if your theory was correct.

“Ok. Aaron.” You put specific emphasis on his name with a laugh and you look over to him. “Do you have a lighter?” His eyes meet yours.

“You shouldn’t smoke, they’re bad for your health.” He says avoiding the question, maybe you were wrong. “But I do. There.” He pulls it out of the inside pocket. It was fancy, silver with an engraved pattern with his name next to it.

“This is a fancy lighter.” You comment as the orange flame shines on your face. Pulling the cigarette to your mouth you take a drag. “Lots of things are bad for your health.” Your hand passes the imaginary line between you and you hold the cigarette in front of him and you raise your eyebrow in question.

“Thanks.” He takes it from your hand and pulls it up to his face but pauses. He stares at the deep red circle around the paper. “It was a gift from Rossi, he just likes to spend his money.”

“That he does,” You smile at him and notice his hesitation. “It’s just lipstick.” Resting your elbows on your legs you tilt your head to the side, hair falling over your shoulders. “It’s safer than shaking hands or whatever Spencer says when he meets someone new.” You joke. He laughs deeply at that and finally takes a puff of the cigarette.

His face contorts in slight disgust. “Those don’t taste like I remember.” But he keeps it in his hand.

“That’s because they were incredibly cheap.” Giggling, you realise you are still holding his lighter in your hands and it shining in the light.

“So you won’t mind then?” He asks and you look towards him confused.

“Mind what?” You reply, the line between your eyebrows prominent.

“This.” He smirks and throws the cigarette on the ground and stamps it out. You make a noise of protest as you watch the small orange glow disappear.

“I’m in a right mind to keep this lighter now.” Looking down into your lap shyly where your hands lay. Fiddling and flipping open the lighter. He made you nervous, usually you were able to take charge of these men and lure them to bed without a word. However, this man, your boss, was terrifying to you as he sat there breathing steadily, while your heart raced erratically.

“You’re welcome to.” He says with a shrug and brings his hand up to adjust his tie.

“It’s beautiful out here, it looks like a wedding venue.” You were deflecting and refuse to even look in the man’s direction.

“It is.” His answers were getting shorter and shorter and your heart was getting faster and faster.

Adrenaline ran through your veins as the next words flew out of your mouth before you could spare a second to think about it. “Do you know the FBI don’t even pay for my room at these things?”

“Really? I’ll look into it.” He says and taps the side of his head and keeping it in there for later.

“Thank you.” The two of you sit in silence for a while, breathing in the fresh air and looking around the grand garden and taking note of the potted plants dotted around the place. The night was clear and the stars were out, looking close to the small fairy lights that surrounded the pair of you.

“You’re part of the team, just as much as me or anyone. They should get you a room.” He says, his pinky finger inching across to yours, laying millimetres away.

“You’re the Unit chief and they’re agents.” You laugh. “I’m just an assistant.” You continue. “I’m not-.” You realise you go to say important and your mind flies back to your conversation in the parking lot.

“Important?” He sighs and you turn towards him and he says your name in the same airy voice. His tone suddenly changes back to his normal firm one. “You know what?” He asks and you raise your eyebrows at him. “You’re not important.” He states.

Your face morphs into confusion. “What?” You scoff at him and you lean back, also pulling your hand away from the closeness of before. You stand up abruptly and start to quickly walk away from the bench, grabbing the bottom of your dress up and keeping it away from your heels.

He says your name again but this time it’s a shout. “Wait!” He shouts again and you spin around and shake your head at him.

“What! Sir!” You shout at him harshly and take a step towards him in anger.

“You’re not important because.” He starts and you roll your eyes and he takes a step towards you and the gap gets smaller and smaller. Your breath getting shorter and shorter.

“Because what?!” You shout again and wave your arms around in emphasis.

“Because.” He says your name softer this time. “You’re invaluable.” Your mouth hangs open and all of your air leaves your lungs and you stand there for a moment. Your boss had rendered you speechless once again. Staring at him with his perfectly tailored suit and that sexy fucking red tie and just his sexy fucking face. “You’re invaluable to me.”

Dropping your clutch on the floor you quickly walk at him, trying not to trip in your heels on the uneven ground. “You stupid, stupid man.” You say and the two of you hover close to one another. “Aaron Hotchner, you massive idiot!” You gasp at him and grab his tie and pull him down to you and kiss him.

It was quick and rough and you pull away after a few seconds. “Shit, you’re my boss! Fuck!” You exclaim and look up panicked, running your hands through your hair and take a large step back. Your chest heaves, as you look him in the eyes. “I’m invaluable to you.” You say dumbly and blink quickly in more confusion than before.

“Yes, you are.” He says and takes a large step forwards, putting you toe to toe. His hands run up the tops of your thighs and over your hips and land in the small of your waist. “Say my name again.” His nose runs up your neck towards your ear.

The realisation hits you then. “I’m invaluable to you, Aaron.” You say smugly and he leans into kiss you this time and he hums in agreement inside your mouth. You’re pressed up against him as his large hands on your waist have you pulled against him.

You’re own hands start to wander as his tongue enters your mouth, they slide their way up the back of this suit and into the nape of this neck and the top of his hair. “I’ve waited so long to do that.” He sighs as the two of you separated for breath.

“Me too.” You smile as the two of you hold each other. “Your room?” You ask and intertwine your hand with his.

“Definitely.” He says and you begin to walk to the back door of the hotel, you leading the way.

“I’m your invaluable assistant.” You smirk at him as you open the back fire exit door. You felt smug being invaluable to the man. The man you’d had a crush on since you’d joined the BAU.

“Yes, you are.” He repeats and reaches down to give your arse a squeeze, in your tight dress.

“Oi!” You reach down and smack his hand away with a laugh. “Just for that, you’re going up the stairs first.” You say and push him towards the staircase.

“I’ll have you know my eyes are always front.” He says and starts to walk up the steps to his room, key card already in hand.

“Mine aren’t.” Your eyes and centred directly on his arse as he walks up the stairs to his room.

#criminal minds #fanfic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #ficlet #fluff #oneshot #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner is dumb about feelings #i’m so sorry this took so long to post i really hope you enjoy love you sillies

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fandomzwriterk · 5 months ago

Text

Haven’t watched Arcane YET… but I think this takes place slightly before/during season 2 (also will be a full series after I finish the show. This is just an impression I get from an outside viewer.)

Viktor x [*******]!Reader

Inspired by Out There by Nathan Sharp/Natewantstobattle/Neito Han)

Warnings: none, just swearing (at least just in this part of the series)

Reader || Jayce || Viktor || Heimerdinger || Mel

“Love is the one thing we're capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space”

Jayce’s voice echoed around the room as he spoke with Heimerdinger about what to do next with what they learned about Hextech. Viktor, lost in thought, scribbled on the drawing board as Jayce rambled on and on.

“You work too much Viktor. You need rest. When was the last time you slept in an actual bed?”

Viktor’s mind wandered, staring at the chalkboard thinking about the equation in front of him. He didn’t even hear nor notice his mentor and peer talking to him.

“Viktor!”

“Hm? Oh sorry Jayce I was just thinking.”

“You think too much.”

“As do you boy.”

“I… okay. I can’t disagree.”

Viktor went back to the board, his eyes scanning over a small writing with an arrow pointing to a mechanic on something he was designing. Jayce nodded to Heimerdinger, who had his mind set and left both men to think and reflect on themselves. He shook his head as he left. Oh boy was he grateful and also not grateful for both of these inventors.

“Gonna tell me what you’re working on?”

“I honestly don’t know what it is myself. It came to me in a dream.”

“What was it about?”

Jayce sat at the edge of the table, one leg folded over the other as he crossed his arms and settled to listen to whatever Viktor had to say. His amber eyes focused on his colleague and best friend, someone he considered close to him.

“I barely remember the details. It was brief, just a mere few seconds and haven’t had the vision since then.”

“That was three weeks ago. Not even a single moment you remember?”

Viktor shook his head, brows furrowed as he thought over and over about this thing was in front of him on the board.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something and-“

The Hextech core whirled with power, purple and gold energy swirling around the core as it shook violently, about to break off of its stand and fly into the wall.

“Viktor…”

The core shot off its stand, flying out the window and sailing up, prompting Jayce to chase after it, slamming into the door and falling into the hallway as the light of the core could be seen from every window in Piltover.

“Don’t let it get away!” Jayce shouted as he picked himself up from the floor, standing up after a few slips and bolting for the stairs

Viktor wasn’t far behind him, crutch right next to him and the door, slamming the door behind both of them as Viktor started falling behind his partner.

“Jayce wait!”

His pleas went unanswered, Jayce speeding up the stairs like his life depended on it. Viktor struggled, but he wasn’t that far behind his friend. The core continued to fly up and up towards the sky of Piltover, prompting both men to start running faster as best they could.

“Jayce? What are you-“

Jayce finally reached the final floor, feet almost sliding across the floor as he came to a halt in the entrance to the council room. Viktor made it a few seconds behind him, Heimerdinger following both men as well.

“What is it doing?”

The core pulsed with energy, hovering over the center of the room as purple, white, and gold light filled the room. It started to expand, parts drifting away from each other as it began to shake violently once more.

“Get down!”

Jayce and Viktor went flying across the room as the core blew apart and lit the room up with blinding light, both men lying prone on the ground as the building shook and the walls began to crack. The core shattered as it hit the floor, just a few feet away from Viktor as Jayce lay stunned on the ground. Viktor struggled to his feet, barely able to register what just happened to the core. As the light began to dim, Viktor rubbed his eyes, just barely able to see now as the room went back to its original self.

“What in the world?”

It took about 30 seconds for Viktor to realize what he was staring at. There, in the center of the room surrounded by pieces of the core, lay a young woman with long hair and bruised skin. Cuts and scars lined her body, her white and gold dress torn to almost shreds as she lay there half unconscious.

“Viktor! Help Jayce while I help her.”

Viktor slowly made his way to Jayce, who could barely sit up as he clutched the side of his head, seeming to try and ground himself back into the real world.

“Come on. Up you go.”

Viktor pulled Jayce up to stand by the back of his coat, Jayce seeming to finally awaken fully as Viktor helped him stand straight.

“Who in the name of Zaun is that?”

“Why are you asking me?”

The woman lay on the floor, body half battered as if she fled from war within the core itself. Golden metallic patterns of what looked liked stars on her skin went from her hands to her neck, thin lines connecting each dot between each other.

“What just happened up-“

Mel froze, her body did not dare step into the council room. Something told her this was very wrong.

“Jayce, you and Viktor get her to the medical ward. She doesn’t seem to have any major injuries. Heimerdinger and I will let the council know.”

Jayce picked up the woman, carrying her bridal style, and made his way towards the medical wing as Viktor kept his eyes on the girl as they both walked.

“How did that even happen?”

“I guess there’s more to Hextech that we don’t know about.”

“Well yes but a person appearing out of thin air? That doesn’t seem plausible nor a part of the hypothetical equation we made.”

“This is something for us to study Viktor. We must know more about who she is and how she got here. There has to be an answer.”

“You’re putting your study above the woman who’s injured in your arms? That seems out of character even for you. You’re the man who always wants to save Piltover and its people, no matter the cost. You just want to study her like a project. She’s human too Jayce.”

“You’re telling me you’re not intrigued?”

“Well I don’t want to treat her like a project.”

“I’m not saying I’m going to do that I-“

“You mean you want to pretend that she’s some equation that you want to figure out and see if it betters the people.”

“You make me sound arrogant.”

“Well you’re worried more about the research than her health.”

To be continued!!! (After I finish the show… whenever that’ll be)

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deliciousangelfestival · 1 year ago

Text

The Lady - 3

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Eddie Horniman x Female Reader

Summary: After fifteen years away, a step-daughter returns for her Duke step-father's funeral, only to inherit a staggering 8 million pound debt and strike a risky deal with a criminal underworld figure.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3 , Chap 4 , Chap 5, Chap 6 , Chap 7.

Your ongoing support means the world to me! Reblogs are a fantastic way to help spread the word about my work. I'll do my best to reply to all your comments.

Thank you for your continued encouragement! ❤️❤️❤️

You slammed your hands onto the mahogany table, fixing Bucky with a disbelieving glare. "You want me to what?"

Bucky leaned back in his chair, a sly smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he looked you up and down. "I want you to put a small bomb into a cake."

You shook your head in disbelief. "This is the most insane thing I've ever heard."

Earlier, 30 minutes ago:

You hadn't anticipated any of this when you decided to pay Bucky a visit. Stepping into the nightclub he owned, you were met with a wave of pulsating music and flashing lights, a stark contrast to the quiet elegance of the estate.

"Your Grace, welcome!" Bucky's voice boomed over the crowd, drawing attention from every corner of the room. Rolling your eyes at his exuberance, you made your way up to the second floor, feeling eyes following your every move.

Bucky left the table where girls surrounded him, their eyes shooting daggers at you as if you were stealing him away.

Your thoughts echoed, 'I don't even want to be in the same room with him.'

As he approached you, Bucky flashed you a charming smile. "What do you think about this place?"

You shrugged nonchalantly. "It's nice, I guess."

He chuckled, leaning in closer. "The Duke's been turning a pretty penny with this joint."

"Really?" you replied, genuinely surprised.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you. "Let's talk privately. I know you hate being here."

You followed Bucky to a quieter corner, the thumping bass of the music fading into the background as you settled into a booth. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and cigarette smoke.

You arrived at Bucky's office, the room exuding an air of power and authority. As he gestured towards a board adorned with photos and plans, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settle in.

Pointing your finger towards the board, you narrowed your eyes. "Five photos, five explosions."

Bucky snapped his fingers in agreement, a smirk playing on his lips. "That's right."

You studied the images closely, your mind racing with the implications of what Bucky was asking of you.

"What exactly do you do?" you inquired, your voice betraying a hint of apprehension.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady as he met your eyes. "When the police, lawyers, and bribes don't work, that's where I come in."

Your stomach churned at his words, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "Private executioner," you muttered, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

Bucky chuckled, his laughter ringing out in the dimly lit room. "You make it sound scary. But you're right."

Bucky's words sent a shiver down your spine, his tone oozing with confidence and determination.

"But rest assured, Your Grace," he continued his voice smooth yet laced with an undeniable edge. "I won't let you do the dirty work."

As Bucky explained the situation, his hands moved with purpose, punctuating each word. His eyes glinted with determination, a silent challenge in his gaze.

"You see, this Duke owns a nightclub in the same area as me," Bucky began, his voice low but intense. "He feels threatened by my club's success, so he's been causing unnecessary problems for me."

You furrowed your brow, trying to process the gravity of his request. "So it's about business competition," you mused aloud, your arms crossed defensively over your chest.

Bucky caught your hesitation, his jaw clenching slightly as he sensed your reluctance. "Look, I know it's a big ask," he conceded, his tone softening just a fraction. "But this Duke needs to learn that he can't push me around."

As Bucky dropped the bombshell revelation, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, his eyes darting around the room to ensure privacy.

"And there's another thing," he began, his tone grave. "This person we're dealing with... he's a predator."

Your stomach churned at the revelation, a surge of anger and revulsion coursing through you. Yet, amidst the darkness of the situation, a glimmer of relief washed over you – knowing that your actions would be directed against someone so vile lessened the weight of your conscience.

"What kind of explosion are we talking about?" you asked, your voice edged with determination, ready to take on the task.

He clapped his hand "Finally, we're speaking at the same language."

Bucky's reply came without hesitation, his gaze unwavering. "A cake that could explode."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his seemingly flippant response. "Stop joking, please," you retorted, your words laced with a mixture of disbelief and incredulity.

Bucky chuckled at your skepticism. "I'm not kidding," he insisted, his expression serious despite the playful tone in his voice.

He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he outlined his vision. "I want it to be dramatic. When the cake explodes, I want him to be thrown back, like in those superhero movies where the hero sends the villain flying into a wall."

With a theatrical flourish, he mimicked the sound effect. "Whoosh..."

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his theatrics. "Whoosh, huh?" you repeated, mimicking a baseball swing with your hand.

Bucky grinned in response, playing along with your jest. "Yeah, whoosh," he affirmed, nodding in agreement.

As you watched Bucky's playful antics, a fleeting thought crossed your mind – if only you could open his head and see what was truly happening inside.

As the countdown approached its final moments, you and Bucky assumed your roles as waitstaff, blending seamlessly into the crowd gathered for the Duke of Langley's party.

Behind the bar, Bucky expertly mixed drinks while you diligently wiped down glasses, your eyes fixed on the unsuspecting target near the elaborate cake.

As the Duke began his speech, the guests gravitated towards him, leaving the bar momentarily deserted. Bucky stood closer to you, his presence looming over you as he leaned in slightly. "I still wonder why you wandered off alone to the U.S."

Bucky asked, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity, "Was the rumor true that your stepdad kicked you out?"

You shot him a sharp glance, mentioning your past hitting a nerve. Bucky quickly raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Sensitive topic, I see. Just trying to make conversation," he offered with a shrug, his attention already shifting to his watch.

With a swift tug, he pulled you down to the ground just as the countdown reached its climax. His smirk was unmistakable as he whispered, "5... 4... 3... 2... 1."

And then, the explosion.

A deafening 'BANG' reverberated through the room, followed by startled cries and screams.

The force of the explosion sent a rush of wind through the room, causing glass to shatter and chaos to erupt. In the midst of the commotion, Bucky instinctively shielded you, his protective stance contrasting sharply with the panic unfolding around you.

As screams filled the air and guests scrambled for safety, Bucky couldn't help but chuckle lowly at the scene before him. Through the haze of smoke and confusion, he spotted the Duke of Langley sprawled on the ground, unconscious.

"Hahahaha," Bucky laughed, his amusement evident as he surveyed the aftermath.

But while he found humor in the chaos, you couldn't quite grasp what was so amusing about the situation.

For the next couple of days, you couldn't shake the memory of the Duke's unfortunate fate. Even as Hugo excitedly dragged you to a tennis tournament – a sport you cared little for, except when it came to Hugo's enthusiasm – you found it hard to muster any interest.

Seated in the VIP area, you watched the players enter the field without much enthusiasm.

"Something bothering you?" A deep voice interrupted your thoughts, and you turned to see Eddie beside you. Dressed sharply in a suit with a polo shirt underneath and sporting sunglasses, he smiled at you, his presence offering a welcome distraction.

You sighed, feeling the weight of recent events. "Yeah, just... recent events, you know?"

Eddie's smile faltered slightly as he picked up on your somber mood. "I heard about the nightclub incident. Quite the news."

Eddie's mention of the "sweet bomb" at Duke Langley's party caught you off guard, and you looked at him with a questioning expression.

He chuckled at your reaction. "That bomb reminded me of the time when you wanted to run away from the dormitory and decided to make a big scene."

You couldn't help but laugh. "You remember that?"

Eddie leaned in closer, his expression curious. "Is this related to Barnes?"

You nodded. "Yup. Seems like I've gotten myself into quite the mess."

Eddie's tone was somber as he addressed you. "Y/N, I didn't expect you to make a bomb for Barnes."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. "8 million pounds, Eddie. Even if I sold my kidney and heart, it still wouldn't cover it."

He chuckled softly. "If you want, I could make him go away."

But you shook your head, remembering Bucky's enjoyment amidst the chaos at Duke Langley's party. "It's better if you don't get near him. For your own good, for your mental health."

"Duke of Langley had it coming," you added, your voice tinged with resignation and defiance.

Eddie's lips curled into a wry smile, a glint of amusement flashing in his eyes. "That's one way to put it. But you've certainly made a splash."

You arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued by his cryptic remark. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Eddie's expression turned serious as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You've caught the attention of some dangerous individuals. Now everyone from petty thugs to organized crime bosses sees you as a valuable asset."

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crxwn-06 · 25 days ago

Text

NOSTALGIA

Yandere!Platonic!batfam x f!Hawkeye!reader: your life is all good, in the end. You have a loving father, awesome siblings, excellent grades, a good group of friends and a talent for archery, enough to almost convince your father to let you start being a vigilante. But when your mother tries to get back into said life you start to realise that, maybe, you were just living in a pretty cage.

# chapter 2: drivin’ (me) crazy

prologue, chapter 1, chapter 2, …

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Tw: yandere tendencies, mention of blood, violence

Morning comes slow and golden, seeping through the tall windows of Wayne Manor like honey. The sunlight creeps across polished floors and old wood, brushing against picture frames and casting long, gentle shadows along the halls. Outside your window, birdsong hums through the still air, layered over the rustle of leaves stirred by the lightest morning breeze.

Inside, the manor breathes with a rare kind of quiet—a suspended stillness, like even the ghosts have decided to sleep in. No alarms. No hurried footsteps. No comms buzzing from the Cave.

For just this morning, the world feels soft.

You wander into the kitchen still half-asleep, hair slightly tousled from sleep, collar askew, tie slung around your neck like an afterthought. The uniform is on—barely. You’ve buttoned what’s essential, but it’s clear your body got ahead of your mind.

«Morning» you murmur through a stifled yawn, the word thick with sleep. Alfred, already waiting by the stove, turns with perfect timing and hands you a warm mug without a word. You accept it gratefully. It’s tea, not coffee—coffee makes your hands shake, makes your thoughts race. Tea calms. Alfred always remembers.

You lean against the kitchen counter, cradling the mug between your palms, breathing in the faint steam and sighing. The warmth bleeds into your fingers and pushes some of the sleep away—but not enough.

«Duke! Damian!» you suddenly call toward the hall, your voice louder than necessary, echoing slightly off the tile and high ceiling. «If you don’t hurry, I’m leaving you behind!»

Nothing but the sound of two sets of distinct footsteps stomping somewhere above you.

You sigh again, this time into your mug. It’s far too early for wrangling teenagers who act like they’re elite spies but can’t be bothered to find clean socks.

A quiet chuckle draws your attention, and you glance up.

«Tim» you say, blinking in surprise.

He’s standing in the doorway, already dressed in his school uniform—properly dressed, tie done, blazer neat, hair combed. He looks too polished for 7:00 a.m., which is suspicious in and of itself.

«When was the last time you came to school?» you ask, eyes narrowing in mock scrutiny as you sip your tea.

Tim shrugs, amused. «I haven’t graduated yet, technically. Apparently I have to exist on campus every now and then.»

You raise an eyebrow. «You coming with us today?»

«Just for the show» he replies, stepping forward and casually tugging the undone tie at your neck. «Too many absences. B got a call from the board. Had to prove I’m still alive.»

«Thank you» you say, as he finishes knotting it—fast, but perfectly.

«Anytime, Princess» he says with a small smirk, using the nickname he knows irritates you just enough to count as affection.

You nudge his arm gently with your elbow, a wordless don’t start that he accepts with a grin.

Outside the kitchen door, heavy footsteps—Damian’s, most likely—thunder down the stairs, Duke calling something behind him. The house begins to stir again, the spell of morning broken by the rush of the day ahead.

But for a moment, just before the rush swallows everything, there’s a quiet stillness between you and Tim. The kind that says you’re siblings—no matter how different you all are, no matter how strange this life gets, this kitchen, this morning, this absurd normalcy… is yours.

«I’ll drive» you declare confidently the moment Damian and Duke finally stumble into the kitchen, mid-argument and barely dressed for school.

Both boys freeze.

A beat of silence.

Then, a collective groan erupts like clockwork.

«Oh, come on» Duke mutters, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s just aged five years in ten seconds. «Bruce letting you have a license has to be one of his top five worst decisions. Right up there with letting Damian have internet access unsupervised.»

«It was perfectly earned» you reply, lifting your chin with mock pride as you grab your bag from the counter. «I passed all the tests. Legally. And I didn’t even bribe anyone.»

«You almost ran over a squirrel on the practice run» Damian points out sharply, tugging on his blazer, his mouth set in a flat line. «It was a reckless and irrational maneuver.»

«The squirrel survived» you say, sipping your tea again with faux calm. «Probably became stronger because of it. You’re welcome, nature.»

Tim chuckles behind his mug, clearly enjoying himself. «Well, at least we’ll get to school fast.»

«Or we die in a blaze of glory» Duke adds, slinging his backpack over one shoulder and giving you a pointed look. «Either way, it’ll be memorable.»

«That’s the spirit» you reply cheerfully, already halfway out the kitchen, your keys jingling like a war cry. «Come on, gentlemen. Shotgun goes to whoever insults my driving the least.»

Tim just grins behind you and follows, while Damian sighs dramatically and mutters something in Arabic that sounds suspiciously like a prayer for protection.

As you all head out into the morning light, the manor stands behind you, tall and timeless, watching the chaos it raised with something like quiet amusement.

«It’s Gotham!» you protest more as the four of you head down toward the garage, Duke suggesting that Dick or Alfred could drive you to school, your voice echoing just slightly against the stone walls and polished floors. The early light slants through the manor windows, catching in your hair, casting golden shapes across your uniform as you casually spin your keys around one finger. «People expect a little chaos. Respecting every traffic law is what gets you pulled over around here.»

Tim walks beside you, quiet as always—but not distant. Never distant. He doesn’t laugh like Duke, doesn’t scoff like Damian. He just watches you, tracking every movement with a kind of focus he doesn’t extend to most people. Like he’s storing each second for later, in a corner of his mind only you occupy.

«Yeah» Duke groans, tugging on his bag. «And people also expect not to die on the way to school.»

«You say that like I’ve ever crashed.»

«You say that like that makes us feel better» Damian mutters, arms crossed, jaw tight as he keeps pace beside you. «Your turns defy physics.»

You shrug with a grin. «Physics is just a suggestion. I aced that last test with my own logic.»

You spin your keys around your fingers like a dare, the casual flick of your wrist just dramatic enough to make Duke groan out loud.

«That logic is exactly why none of us trust you behind the wheel» he mutters, already bracing himself for what’s to come.

«Speak for yourself» you shoot back. «I’m the only one who actually knows how to make a left turn in the Crime Alley without getting mugged or hit by a stolen car.»

«You drive like a criminal fleeing a scene» Damian comments coolly, folding his arms. «It’s deeply undisciplined.»

«I drive like someone from here» you say, flashing a grin over your shoulder. «You know, someone who understands that stop signs are suggestions, not commandments.»

Tim, walking a step behind you, doesn’t laugh. But he’s watching you—closely. He always is.

His gaze flicks over your shoulder, tracking the sway of your bag, the cadence of your footsteps, the barely restrained energy in your stride. He’s quiet, but not disinterested. Never disinterested.

He knows exactly how often you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re thinking. How you tap your thumb against your leg in rhythm with your thoughts. How you drive like you fight—instinct first, reason second.

And he knows every route you’ve ever taken. Not because he’s keeping tabs. Not officially. But because every time you leave the Manor, some part of him tenses until he knows you’ve come back.

«Where are you right now, Drake?» you ask, slowing just a step to catch his eye.

He blinks once, a little too slow. Then clears his throat. «Just thinking about how many civilians you’ve traumatized behind the wheel.»

«Only the ones who deserved it» you reply, tossing him the keys like it’s a test he’ll pass without trying. «But go ahead—take the car if you’re that scared.»

He catches the keys in one hand, doesn’t even look at them. Your aim is that good.

Then calmly tosses them back. You get them with two fingers, not taking your eyes away from his.

«No thanks. I’ll take the emotional damage.»

You laugh, already slipping into the driver’s seat. The engine hums to life like a warning, the low growl of barely-contained chaos.

Tim slides into the passenger seat—of course he does—and doesn’t say another word. But his fingers hover near the emergency brake for a second too long before he folds them in his lap.

He tells himself it’s just a precaution.

But deep down, he knows the truth: He doesn’t want to stop you. He just wants to be there when you go.

By the time Duke and Damian catch up, still bickering over the front seat, you’re already sliding behind the wheel, Tim next to you. Duke groans again.

«Why are we letting her drive?» he asks the universe. «I feel like this is one of those moments that gets mentioned in therapy.»

You rev the engine, just enough to make Duke flinch. «Buckle up, gentlemen» you say, smirking as you throw the car into reverse with far too much flair.

Tim watches you in the mirror the whole way out of the garage, a faint smile tugging at his lips—like he’s watching something precious and dangerous all at once.

While laughter echoes faintly from the garage—your voice mingling with Duke’s exasperated sarcasm, Tim’s good-natured teasing, and Damian’s cutting insistence that he always gets the front seat—another, quieter storm is brewing below, in the vast steel heart of the Batcave.

Dick stands across from Bruce, arms folded, the cowl off, hair damp from training. His tone is calm, but there’s an edge beneath it. One Bruce recognizes. The Grayson edge. It always shows up when emotion breaks through logic. When the heart refuses to stay quiet.

«Let her come with us on patrol.»

Bruce doesn’t look up from the screen in front of him. «Dick.»

«She’s ready.»

Bruce exhales slowly, not with impatience, but with weight. «She’s not.»

«She’s restless» Dick presses, stepping forward. «You see it too. The way she watches us come and go like a shadow at the door. If we keep shutting her out, Bruce, she’ll find her own way in.»

«I’m preventing that» Bruce says, voice low but firm.

«No» Dick corrects, «I am. By giving her structure. Supervision. Boundaries she’ll actually respect—because we gave her a place instead of pretending she doesn’t belong in the field.»

«She doesn’t belong in the field» Bruce snaps, the edge finally cutting through. «Not yet.»

Dick doesn’t flinch. He just looks at him—calm, steady, unrelenting. «You saw her shot last week. You know her aim better than I do. It’s clean. Reliable. And she’s not like you. She doesn’t lose control. She calculates. She listens.»

Bruce’s eyes narrow. «She’s my daughter, Dick.»

«And that’s exactly why you’re blind to this» Dick fires back, stepping closer now. «You’re afraid. You see her out there and think of everything that could go wrong. Everything you’ve already lost. I get that. But you can’t put her in a glass case and call it protection. She’s not fragile. She’s a Wayne.»

Silence stretches between them—heavy, unresolved.

«She’s stubborn, Bruce» Dick adds, quieter this «You know she is. Just like you. Just like Damian. And if you try to keep her from doing what’s in her blood, you won’t be keeping her safe. You’ll be pushing her away.»

Bruce’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing.

«Don’t pretend I don’t know what that’s like» Dick continues, voice low now, almost bitter. «I feel it too. Every time she gets on that bike. Every time she tests a new arrow or says she wants to train harder, I feel like my lungs stop working. I know what it would do to me if something happened to her.»

He pauses. His eyes go distant, haunted. «Because she’s not just your daughter, Bruce. She’s mine, too. Not by blood. Not by law. But I helped raise her. I was there before she could even walk. I know her tells. Her tics. I’ve studied the way she breathes. She was mine before she even knew who Robin was.»

Bruce finally speaks. «You think I haven’t studied her too? Watched her train when she didn’t know I was there? Counted every bruise she’s hidden, every fake smile she gives when she wants to convince us she’s fine?»

«She’s not fine» Dick says, sharper now. «She’s restless. Like you were. Like I was. The kind of restless that gets dangerous if it isn’t given purpose.»

«She’s not ready for what’s out there» Bruce says, but there’s a tremor in it now—not uncertainty, but something more vulnerable. «You don’t know what it’s like to lose a child, Dick.»

And just like that, the Bat slips for a moment. The father is left behind.

Dick’s breath hitches. «Don’t talk to me like I haven’t lost people. Like I haven’t had nightmares about her bleeding out in an alley before I could reach her.»

The silence that follows is thick—choking.

«This isn’t about Gotham» Dick says eventually. «Not really. It’s about control. About keeping her where you can see her. Just like you did with me, and with the others. But it’s worse with her, Bruce. You’ve wrapped her in so many layers of protection, she’s going to break just trying to breathe.»

Bruce finally looks up. And for a moment, the weight of being both a father and a general flickers across his face. Conflict. Regret. Fear.

Then, after a long pause:

«…Paired only. No direct combat. Observation and support only.»

Dick exhales—not victory, not relief. Just permission. A small door opening. Just enough to let her in without losing her entirely.

«Good call» he says. «She won’t let you down.»

Bruce doesn’t respond.

But deep down, he knows that wasn’t the question.

«(Name)!»

The call rings out the moment you pull into the school parking lot, the engine barely off before the familiar chorus of your friends’ voices floats across the pavement. You glance through the windshield, and sure enough—there they are. A small group of girls by the school steps, already waving excitedly, backpacks slung carelessly over shoulders, faces lit up at the sight of you.

You smile. Warm, easy, reflexive.

The car doors open. Tim is already reaching into the back to grab your bag, holding it out to you with that usual effortless motion, like it’s second nature to anticipate your needs. His fingers brush yours briefly as you take it, but he says nothing—just watches.

«Bye boys, see you later» you chirp as you step out, your voice light.

You ruffle Damian’s hair on your way past, your hand fond and quick before he can dodge it. «Don’t» he grumbles, glaring up at you as he bats your hand away—but there’s no real anger in it. Just his usual indignation, poorly masking how closely he watches you go.

Tim and Damian stand beside the car, watching as you skip across the lot. Duke, still inside, leans forward between the seats to peer after you, while Tim narrows his eyes, tracking the sway of your ponytail and the bounce in your step.

You’re already halfway to your group, falling into their conversation like you never left—your laughter blending easily with theirs, your face bright in a way that none of them see when you’re home. That freedom, that joy, the way the world seems to open for you here.

Damian scowls, arms folded. «They’re too loud.»

«She fits in with them» Duke offers from inside.

Tim doesn’t respond. He keeps his gaze trained on you, jaw tense, eyes unreadable behind the faint reflection in his lenses.

Damian glances up at him.

«She shouldn’t have to» the younger mutters eventually, almost too quietly to hear.

But Tim does. And he doesn’t disagree.

The first half of the day rolls by with quiet ease. Classes pass in a comfortable rhythm, teachers drone, notes are taken, and the scent of cheap paper and school-issued hand sanitizer hangs in the air.

By the time lunch arrives, the courtyard is already humming with energy. You find yourself sitting at a round table crowded with even more friends than usual, laughter coming in waves as trays are shuffled around and conversations overlap.

You glance across the yard, spotting Duke surrounded by a small group of classmates. He’s already in a heated discussion about something—likely physics, judging by the wild hand gestures—and you wave when he catches your eye. He tips his chin up in acknowledgment, grinning briefly before diving back into the debate.

Your phone buzzes. You check the screen. Just a brief message from Alfred, confirming that Damian’s lunch was delivered to the middle school wing. You text him a quick “Eat your fruit. Yes, all of it.” before slipping the phone back into your bag.

«C’mon» Zana’s voice whines suddenly from across the table, dragging your attention back to the present.

You groan the second you hear the tone. Not this again.

«You’d be amazing as a cheerleader» she says, tossing a grape into her mouth and leaning forward with intent. «You’re a dancer and a great gymnast. Like, why are you not already on the squad?»

«She’s too cool for pom-poms» another girl teases.

«She’s not too cool for Brian from chemistry» Maggie snickers, leaning into your shoulder. You give her a deadpan look and slap your hand gently over her face, pushing her back. The entire table erupts in laughter, Maggie swatting at your wrist half-heartedly.

«I do not care about Brian from chemistry» you say, muffled by your own amusement. «You guys really need new material.»

«Just accept it» Zana sings. «You’d be our secret weapon.»

It’s then that another voice joins the conversation—smooth, low, and unmistakably dry.

«Oh hi, Drake» Zana perks up, suddenly shifting in her seat as Tim approaches the table, his hands in his pockets and his expression as unreadable as ever. Some of the girls go quiet—not because he’s intimidating, but because Tim Drake walking across the quad is rare, and his presence has a weight to it.

«Didn’t know you were tagging along today» one of the girls adds with a grin.

Tim nods politely, eyes only flicking toward them for a second before landing squarely on you. «She said she needed her chem notes at lunch» he says mildly, holding out your notebook.

«Oh my god, I forgot—thank you.» You take it with a grateful smile, but Tim doesn’t move away.

Instead, Zana leans toward him with a teasing grin. «So, any chance you can convince your sister to become a cheerleader?»

Tim’s gaze slides to you first. Not to Zana. Not to the others. Just you.

You’re still laughing a little, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you elbow him gently. «Don’t listen to her.»

But he doesn’t smile back. Instead, he lifts one brow slowly.

«You, cheering for a soccer team?» he says, voice laced with faint, pointed amusement. «That’s a horrifying mental image.»

You blink, mildly offended. «Wow. Rude.»

Zana tilts her head. «So that’s a no?»

«That’s a hell no» he says, eyes still on you.

«Mmhm» Maggie hums, amused. «Right. Sure.»

Zana leans closer to him. «You know, you’re actually kinda cute when you show up at school»

Tim’s eyes don’t leave yours.

«I’m always cute» he replies coolly. «People just don’t pay attention.»

You snort, trying not to choke on your water. «Modest too.»

Tim’s smirk widens, but even as the girls around you start to joke and tease again, you feel it—the way his presence lingers too long, his focus too fixed. Not on them.

Only on you.

«…Is that normal? He always that protective?»

You take a sip of your tea and shrug with a half-smile.

«No» you murmur. «He’s usually worse.»

As Tim finally stands—after a few more pointed comments and one overly long glance at Brian across the quad—he murmurs a quiet, «Don’t forget your bag» and gives your shoulder the briefest tap before walking off, his hands tucked in his pockets again, his posture still a little too stiff to be casual.

You watch him go for half a second too long, then turn back to your table, where Zana raises an eyebrow with a grin.

«What was that about?» she teases.

You exhale through a laugh, shaking your head and picking at your sandwich. «That’s the life with four brothers» you say with a half-smile.

«Five, technically» Maggie reminds, nudging you with her elbow. «Isn’t Duke one too?»

«Yeah. But Duke’s actually chill» you reply, snorting. «The rest of them? Like a walking, talking security team with abandonment issues.»

That earns a round of laughter from the table, but your gaze lingers across the courtyard—where Tim has already met up with Damian, who immediately starts talking animatedly, probably criticizing your social choices from a safe distance.

You turn back to your friends, putting the thought away.

«Duke has extra classes, and Damian’s staying behind in the art room» you say as you step out onto the school steps, spotting Tim perched on the stone railing, phone in hand.

He doesn’t look up immediately, but you see the way his thumb stills on the screen for half a second—like he’d been waiting for your voice. He finally glances up, blinking as the daylight hits his lenses.

You move to sit beside him, your shoulder brushing his as you settle in.

«Just the two of us, then» you add, glancing at the parking lot. «They’ll go back with Alfred later.»

Tim pockets his phone, and for a moment, the silence stretches between you—not uncomfortable, just familiar. You kick your heels lightly against the stone, backpack still slung over one shoulder.

«Want to grab a smoothie?» you offer, turning slightly toward him. «There’s that new place on Sixth. You’ve been over-caffeinated for like three weeks. Maybe fruit could save you.»

Tim huffs a breath—something between a scoff and a laugh—but nods. «Yeah. Sure. Smoothies sound good.»

You smile, pulling him by the sleeve as you hop down onto the pavement. The sun’s still out, casting long shadows and a soft warmth across the sidewalks. Tim walks quietly beside you, hands in his pockets, and every now and then his gaze flickers toward you—but he always looks away before you can meet it.

At the smoothie place, you order something bright and citrusy. He gets something green, predictably. You tease him for it. He tells you it’s for “longevity.” You reply that it’s for “eternal bitterness.” You both laugh.

It’s easy, for a moment. Simple.

When the two of you walk back to the car, drinks in hand, there’s a small stretch of quiet where the only sound is Gotham’s usual low hum: passing cars, distant horns, the occasional shout. But here, on the edges of downtown, it feels softer.

«You really want this?» Tim asks suddenly, not looking at you. «The patrols. The danger.»

You take a sip of your drink. «Yeah» you answer, no hesitation. «I do.»

He nods once, slowly, like he’s known the answer all along—but still needed to hear it from you.

And maybe, he thinks, maybe that’s what scares him most. That you mean it.

The sun starts dipping behind Gotham’s skyline by the time you reach the car. The city doesn’t sleep, not really—not in this family. The shadows always wait, and the night always calls.

But for now, there’s warmth on your skin, a smoothie in your hand, and a boy beside you who can’t quite put into words the way he’s terrified of losing you… but walks beside you anyway.

You glance toward Tim. He’s staring ahead, quiet.

You don’t say anything either.

But somehow, it feels like something has changed. Or maybe just settled into place.

(It hasn’t.)

Literally the last tranquil moment of MC, now we just go downhil- /jk jk, there’s still some happiness

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camarocarfight · 2 months ago

Text

Blissful Ignorance, Ch. 2

Also available on Ao3 here!

72 Hours Earlier

The radio host's booming pronouncements filled the lounge, each word a dismissive wave of the hand regarding the disappearances plaguing the city. "In my opinion, everyone, this idea of a serial killer is absurd! If the police truly cared, they would be more effective in pursuing this troublemaker. The Bayou Butcher - HA! These killings and disappearances are simply the result of gang violence and bootlegging operations! Labeling someone a serial killer serves as an excellent distraction when you’re trying to keep the public at bay while allowing the alcohol to flow freely.”

"Turn it off," you stated, your voice low.

Vox lifted his gaze from the papers strewn across his mahogany desk – scripts, news clippings, the detritus of his broadcast ambitions. He found you in your armchair, a book open but forgotten on your lap. Your eyes, however, were fixed on the Philco lowboy in the corner, your eyebrows arched with a silent demand. Your simmering annoyance was a tangible thing, and with an exaggerated sigh, Vox abandoned his work.

"What was the purpose of buying you a radio if you never listen to it?" he questioned, his footsteps echoing in the sudden quiet. But the satisfying click of the off switch never came. Instead, the volume merely dipped, a deliberate act that tightened the knot of your frustration. The host's voice, even muffled, was an unwelcome intrusion, a constant reminder of Vox's peculiar fascination – a fascination rooted in his rivalry with Alastor. For years, Vox had chafed under Alastor's shadow, envying the effortless connection the other man forged with his listeners. Even off-air, Alastor possessed an uncanny ability to draw people in, a natural southern charm that consistently eluded the admittedly handsome Vox.

That very charm irritated you. You did enjoy the radio, and Vox's gift had initially sparked genuine joy. But his insistence on tuning into the station where he and Alastor worked had quickly soured the pleasure. The prospect of Alastor's honeyed drawl filling your evenings had transformed your treasured radio into a source of dread, haunted by the most grating voice in New Orleans.

"If he keeps gossiping like that, he'll be the Bayou Butcher's next victim," you murmured, your fingers tracing the familiar lines of your book, a futile attempt to reclaim your focus. You nudged your chair with your foot, a rhythmic rocking against the hardwood, a small act of rebellion against the intrusive broadcast.

"Doll," Vox cautioned, his tone losing its playful edge. He placed a hand on the arm of your chair, stilling its motion, silencing your small protest. "Let's limit any hostility towards my partner," he added, a quick kiss pressed to the top of your head, a gesture that felt more possessive than affectionate.

You considered the term 'partner' a flimsy pretense. Alastor, in your estimation, merely tolerated Vox, using him as a sounding board, a gauge for his own soaring ambitions. Vox, meanwhile, remained blissfully unaware, his gaze fixed on surpassing Alastor in the narrow confines of their shared profession.

Just as Vox turned back to his desk, the insistent shrill of the kitchen phone sliced through the strained quiet. His shoulders slumped with a sigh of irritation, another unwelcome interruption to his carefully planned evening. It was only 7:30 p.m.; the hour he had envisioned with a glass of illicit whiskey in his cigar room. Prohibition might reign, but their private reserves offered a sanctuary of indulgence.

You saw the tightening in Vox's jaw, the unspoken desire to return to his work. "I'll take care of it," you offered, closing your book and rising. But Vox held up a hand, a silent command to stay.

"No, I got it," he grumbled, reaching for a cigarette from the pack on his desk, the flare of the match momentarily illuminating the sharp angles of his face. "Turn the radio back on," he called over his shoulder, his footsteps quickening towards the relentless ringing.

Confusion flickered within you. You glanced at the radio, now blessedly silent, the annoying voice finally absent. You hadn't even registered its silence until Vox spoke. Only a faint static hummed from the speaker, the yellow light on the dial a deceptive indicator of its operation. A faulty tube, perhaps? But that usually brought with it a noisy sputtering, the acrid scent of burning components. You approached the radio, twisting the volume knob, a reflex to check if Vox had inadvertently silenced it earlier. As you cranked the dial to its maximum, the static intensified, a thin, unsettling hiss, but the host's voice remained stubbornly absent. A furrow creased your brow. "Hello?" you murmured softly to the inanimate object, an absurd expectation of a response hanging in the air.

"We apologize for the interruption—"

"Applesauce!" you exclaimed, your hand flying to the volume dial, the unexpected voice jolting you.

It wasn't Alastor's familiar drawl that filled the room, but a voice unknown, unsettlingly close.

"Our scheduled program will resume in 30 minutes. In the meantime, enjoy some of our favorite hits. Coming up next is Mr. Vaughn Vox."

Oh, really? Your hand rested on the cool wood of the radio, your fingers tapping a silent rhythm of disapproval. Your gaze remained fixed on the unsuspecting device, not even glancing at Vox as he re-entered the room.

Vox lingered in the doorway, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, a cigarette dangling from his lips, a predatory stillness about him. "I have to—"

"I know," your hand dropped from the radio to your thigh, the unspoken tension thick in the air. Your evening with your husband, a stolen moment in the shadow of Alastor's looming presence, was now irrevocably altered. "This isn't like Alastor to abandon a show midway," you stated flatly, your eyes meeting Vox's over your shoulder, searching for something you couldn't quite name.

"His mother passed away," Vox said, the words surprisingly devoid of emotion.

But you weren't taken aback. Only death, you knew, could pull Alastor from his beloved microphone, and his mother, his singular vulnerability, had been ailing for some time. You remembered her fondly, a sweet woman who frequented your favorite cafe, her voice brimming with pride as she recounted her only child's achievements. You had listened with a polite smile, secretly bristling at her blindness to Alastor's arrogance. Eudora had lauded her son, but Alastor had never offered you a single genuine kindness. There had been a time when you admired his talent, a fleeting admiration that had vanished the moment you met the man behind the voice. Indeed, losing a parent was a profound loss, especially an only parent, yet in that moment, you felt no flicker of sympathy for the man who had always treated you with cool indifference.

Turning to Vox, you offered your most practiced pout. "There goes my evening."

Vox rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips as he pulled you close, his hands settling on your waist. "Just until midnight, and besides, this could be my chance," he murmured, a flash of something calculating in his eyes.

"Of course," you said, snatching the cigarette from his lips and inhaling deeply, your gaze deliberately lingering on his. A flicker of raw desire ignited in his eyes as he watched you. "Take advantage of him when he's vulnerable and steal his job."

Vox took the cigarette back, extinguishing it with unnecessary force in the ashtray on his desk. His hands slid down your back, his grip tightening as he captured your mouth in a sudden, possessive kiss.

The kiss was charged, urgent, but Vox, ever mindful of the clock, pulled away with a reluctant groan. With barely half an hour before he needed to be at the station, you watched him hurry out the door, a subtle, uncomfortable bulge shifting in his trousers. You settled back into your chair, a fragile sense of relief washing over you. For the next few hours, at least, the airwaves would be filled with your husband's voice, a welcome reprieve from the unsettling presence of Alastor Hartfelt.

As the night deepened, you lost yourself in the pages of your book, a small smile gracing your lips as Vox's voice, smooth and familiar, filled the room. He read Alastor's script with a practiced ease, and as the minutes ticked by, the sound of his voice, usually a comfort, began to lull you towards sleep.

If it weren't for that infernal phone ringing again in the kitchen.

With a sigh, you closed your book, your gaze drifting to the mantle clock as you rose. An hour had passed since Vox had left. Who could be calling now? It couldn't be him; his voice still echoed from the radio.

"Alright, alright," you muttered, striding into the kitchen and snatching the receiver, silencing the persistent shrill. "Hello, Vox residence."

"Ah, you must be his charming little esposa," a smooth voice interjected, laced with a subtle, unfamiliar Hispanic accent.

Your eyebrows shot up. You pulled the receiver away from your ear, scrutinizing the Bakelite as if it held the answer. Either the phone line was crackling with interference, distorting the voice, or a complete stranger was calling at this late hour.

"I beg your pardon," you replied, a sharp edge of frustration in your tone. "Could I ask who is on the line?"

"Valentino," the man whispered his name, drawing out the syllables with a tenderness that sent a shiver of unease down your spine. "I need to talk to Voxy."

Valentino? The only Valentino you could place was the notorious pimp, a figure frequently whispered about by the police, his name synonymous with exploitation. If it was indeed the same man, what possible business could he have with your husband? And why the intimate nickname, 'Voxy'?

"Vaughn isn't available," you retorted, your voice hardening. "Also, I'd prefer if you didn't call him Voxy."

At the other end, Valentino exhaled loudly, a sound heavy with something you couldn't quite decipher. "Tell him I called," he muttered, the line going dead with a sudden click.

The rest of the evening was a blur of unsettling thoughts. Valentino's call replayed in your mind, a discordant note in the familiar melody of your life with Vox. He had gone to work at the station, as always, to fill in for Alastor. How would this Valentino even know him? Vox always told you if he had plans outside of work. A cold tendril of suspicion began to snake its way around your heart.

After Valentino's abrupt departure, you retreated to the lounge, switching off the radio, Vox's voice now a source of discomfort rather than solace. You began your nightly routine, the familiar motions offering little comfort against the growing unease. Slipping into your silk nightgown, you climbed into your shared bed, instinctively moving closer to Vox's side, seeking the familiar comfort of his scent. But an ache had taken root in your chest, a hollow yearning for the reassuring touch of your husband. Perhaps you were being irrational. Surely, Vox would have a logical explanation, a way to dispel this creeping dread. For now, you tried to banish the intrusive thoughts, surrendering to a restless, uneasy sleep.

#alastor x reader #vox x reader #valentino x vox #reader insert #I already tagged the first chapter and I can't remember what I put #I quit my job to stay home and write smut #not really #violence and gore #yes #human characters

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thegnomelord · 2 years ago

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OMG CONGRATS ON 500 FOLLOWERS!!!!!! how about prompt 30 with trans!ghost? there'd be such a nice mix of battle scars & surgery scars too <3

Thanks! and Anon you have no idea on what kind of a Hyper-fixation fender you put me on with this prompt, like it's 2 in the morning and I've never written something this fast before lol. Play the game HERE.

Prompt: Kissing scars

CW: NSFW, Trans Ghost, Male reader but can be read as GN, afab language, kinda non sexual nudity, body worship, scar kissing, fluff, fluffy fluffy fluff, I'm a dirty tease.

You never know what you'll get when Ghost returns after a mission— Sometimes he'll return so hoped up on adrenaline he'll push you down on the nearest flat surface and ride you until he's satisfied, using you as a living dildo with a firm hand on your throat to keep you hard and quiet; Other times — even the barest brush of skin on skin will have him flinching away with a glare able to put you 6 feet deep.

So when you find him in your room, still fitted out in combat gear and staring off seemingly into space, you approach him slow and loud, making your footsteps echo as you draw close. You doubt he can even feel you brush your pinkies together through his thick gloves, but he jolts as if you're electric. . .but doesn't jerk away.

Creeping slowly until you're face to face with him you hold his hand loosely in your own, giving a gentle squeeze. It takes a few more squeezes before his eyes focus on you, the raging storm inside him turning them from honey brown to dark like blood soaked soil. You can tell his face is tense even with the mask on, the thin fabric helping to keep him together as his resolve slowly depletes like a fraying rope.

Something makes you move and before your mind properly registers it you're slowly taking off his glove, brushing the back of his hand with your thumb before you bring it closer to your face. His sharp eyes follow every movement of your lips as you kiss an old cigarette burn on the pad of his thumb and trail soft pecks across the silvery lines dotting his finger down to the meat of his palm, then back up to the pad of his pointer finger, kissing each knuckle as you go from finger to finger.

This doesn't stop or lessen the maelstrom in his mind, but each new kiss is like a new board to patch up the leaking holes in his boat. His other hand finds your shoulder by the time you're kissing the stab scar on the back of his hand.

His voice is so rough your name is hardly understandable, but gains your attention all the same. "Going soft on me now?" He growls, amused or irritated, you can't say.

Tempting luck you reach out to grab the zipper of his jacket, "Do you want me to stop?" You murmur against his skin.

His eyes narrow until you're staring into a dark void, a small and gruff sound leaving his throat. It's not a 'yes', but it's definitely not a 'no'. So like a miner without a canary, you slowly undress him, dropping to your knees to take off his boots and unclipping all his gear, stopping only when he's down to boxers and a long sleeve shirt when you feel him tense.

"Forgetting somethin' Sargent?" He asks, voice rough like he's ready to bark orders across the battlefield.

You look at him like a worshiper looks at a god, "Please, can I take these off Ghost?" You beg, sticking out your bottom lip for extra measure.

"Only because you look pathetic when you beg." There's no heat in his words, but you feel and see his muscles tense as you take away the last remaining articles of clothing. Only his mask remains, and you don't dare touch that.

He's dry as a bone and you can't blame him, this situation so far from normal for both of you. He lets you maneuver him until he's sitting on the bed, his knees spread just enough for you to comfortably kneel between them.

"That's bettah," He hums as you take his other hand and start kissing the rough patches of skin there, though you're a little surprised when he catches your tongue in his fingers. "You're like a damn dog." But he only brushes the his thumb against the flat of your tongue before letting go.

"Just for you, right?" You hum and start trailing bulletwounds and stab scars across his forearm.

"If yea know what's good for yea." He growls, though you can see him starting to relax, the cold edges melting slowly like the first thaw after a 1000 year old winter.

"Where do you ache, love?" You ask, reaching over to kiss a prominent scar on his bicep while you look at his abdomen. His front looks like a roadmap; full of long jagged scars from knives, dotted with small crates from old bullets, mottled with burns, and other unknown scars caused by god knows what. The only 'clean' scars he has are the two silvery lines beneath the curve of his pecs — the ones he never lets you touch.

"Will you kiss it better?" He mocks, like he doesn't believe you and looks at you like you're insane, but decides to humor you and briefly taps the fresh pink line on his abdomen. He watches you like a hawk as you lean down to lay soft kisses along the entire length of the jagged scar, a groan leaving his lips as your tongue tickles the frazzled beneath healing scar tissue, something like pleasure-not-pleasure sizzling wonderfully up his spine.

"Where else?" You ask, letting him place a heavy hand on your head and guide you where he wants you. His body aches in some way every waking moment, but for this night he can let you chase away the gnawing pain with your lips. He doesn't notice when he ends up splayed out on the bed and tugging you on top of him— another usually hard no with him —his mind growing strangely quiet as every lick and kiss on his damaged skin leaves behind shreds of warmth that build in his chest until he's boneless. It's almost like he melts into the bed, into your lips, his muscles more relaxed than they've ever been.

Then your lips brush against his top scars and a bucket of water gets splashed on his head. He barks out your name, raising his head as he scruffs you by the back of the neck before you can even react.

You don't resist his hold, "Yes, my handsome man?" You ask with a teasing lilt to your voice, your lips brushing against his top scars when he visibly shivers at your words.

"The fuck are you doin'?" He asks the question that's been plaguing both of your minds, but he doesn't sound angry and doesn't try to throw you off him, so you continue to gently worship his top scars.

"What's it look like?" You ask and feel his hold on your neck loosen as you trail from one scar to it's twin on the other side. His hand remains where it is, but his blunt nails lightly scratch your skin as reward for adoring scars like you're doing right now.

"Like you're doing something stupid." He huffs and you can finally see the dark clouds in his eyes parting, his chest rising and falling as he lets out a breath that's been weighing on his shoulders for a while. "But-" He takes your hand and moves it down between his legs, both of you groaning when you find his folds wet and pliant to your fingers, clit hard and pulsing against your hand. "-I can think of a few more places where I 'ache'." He gives a smug smirk that's obvious through his balaclava, his other hand lightly tugging on your hair, "Kiss it better for me, yeah?"

How can you refuse?

#Gnome's prompt game #cod mw2 #x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #male reader #top male reader #trinkets from the hoard #gnome correspondence #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #x male reader #fluff #also i'm a tease 😈

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