𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦.

I really love the vampire that got me laughing. Also, can there be a part 2 where Reader started to explain her story to Vi and Caitlyn. Vi feels heartbroken and started to hug her girlfriend and Caitlyn did the same thing. In the next morning, Vi and Reader was hanging out and going to a date in Zaun since Zaun and Piltover have been coexisting. Reader was excited and went to get something for Vi but then Vi was encountered by 3 men and started to walks Vi and she was ready to fight. But the 3 men was about to attack her but they heard a gust wind from behind them and saw a women who was smiling menacing and then her eyes started to change into red and her hair went to white and she started fight like crazy by breaking their bones with her arms and legs. The last man was about to attack her from behind but she disappeared and she did a spinning kick in his face and he flew to wall with a huge impact that will crack. Vi was stunned once again and she grabbed Reader and started kissing her. She said, “ I freaking love you.” Still in her vampire form she smiled.

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔈𝔫𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔠𝔢𝔯’𝔰 𝔙𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔢

A/N: I love your ideas! Sorry it took me so long to write this, I’ve been busy with other requests, but I never could forget yours! <3

Word Count: 0.7k

TW: Murder and Fighting.

Reader is a female!

Remember to stay hydrated and eat plenty of food, you are loved!

You took a deep breath, your glowing red eyes dimming slightly as you began your explanation. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” you said, your voice shaky but earnest. “I swear, Vi, I would never hurt anyone… anyone innocent, at least. I only feed when I absolutely have to, and I always make sure it’s—”

“A rat?” Vi cut in, her tone a mix of disbelief and lingering panic. Caitlyn raised an eyebrow but remained silent, her rifle still lowered.

You nodded quickly. “Yes. I don’t hurt people unless I’m forced to defend myself. Please, Vi, you have to believe me.”

Vi’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she processed your words. She wanted to believe you—desperately so—but the sight of your fangs and the memory of the blood dripping from your lips were still fresh in her mind. Yet, as she stared into your trembling eyes, the same eyes she had fallen for, her resolve softened.

Cautiously, she stepped closer, her fists clenched at her sides. “You should’ve told me,” she said, her voice breaking. “I don’t care what you are… but lying to me, hiding this from me…”

“I was scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you’d run if you knew. That you’d—”

Without warning, Vi pulled you into a tight hug, cutting you off mid-sentence. The sudden warmth of her embrace made you freeze for a moment before you relaxed into her arms, relief washing over you.

“I’m mad,” Vi muttered against your hair. “But I still love you. Damn it, I still love you.”

Caitlyn, who had been silently observing, sighed and joined the hug, albeit a little awkwardly. “I’m… glad we’re not dealing with a murderous vampire,” she said dryly. “But we’re going to have a long conversation about this later.”

The three of you stayed like that for a moment, the tension in the air slowly dissipating.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The next morning, Vi and you decided to spend some time together in Zaun, where the two cities of Piltover and Zaun had finally begun to coexist. The air was thick with the smell of oil and metal, but you didn’t mind. It reminded you of home.

You had planned a surprise for Vi and had run off to grab something, leaving her to explore the bustling streets on her own. She leaned against a wall, watching the eclectic mix of Zaunites go about their day, when she noticed three men approaching her.

“Hey,” one of them said with a sneer, “you look like you don’t belong here, Enforcer.”

Vi straightened, her fists instinctively clenching. “You really want to do this right now?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

The men chuckled, circling her like wolves around prey. “What’s an Enforcer doing down here all alone?” another jeered.

Vi was ready for a fight, her gauntleted fists sparking with anticipation. But before anyone could make a move, a gust of wind rushed past, and a familiar figure appeared behind the men.

It was you.

Your eyes gleamed crimson, and your hair turned stark white as a menacing grin spread across your face. “You’re messing with the wrong person,” you said, your voice dripping with predatory amusement.

Before the men could react, you launched into action. You moved like a whirlwind, your arms and legs a blur as you disarmed and incapacitated the first two men in a matter of seconds. The sickening sound of bones breaking echoed through the alley as you tossed them aside like ragdolls.

The third man, desperate and terrified, tried to attack you from behind. But you disappeared in a flash, reappearing above him mid-spin. Your kick connected with his face, sending him flying into the wall with enough force to crack the stone.

Vi stood frozen, her mouth slightly agape. She had seen you fight before, but never like this. You turned to her, still in your vampiric form, and wiped a speck of blood from your lip.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your voice calm and concerned despite the chaos you had just unleashed.

Vi didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she grabbed you by the collar and kissed you, hard and passionate. When she finally pulled away, she grinned breathlessly. “I freaking love you,” she said, her eyes shining with admiration.

You blinked in surprise before breaking into a wide, fanged smile. “Even like this?” you teased, gesturing to your glowing eyes and white hair.

“Especially like this,” Vi replied, pulling you close again.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢! 🧛🏻‍♀️

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 @𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑙𝑦-𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑠

Johnny who became ridiculously jealous of the giant seal plushie that took most of his space on the bed as you cuddled with it to sleep.

So he bought a seal onesie for himself, because of course the most logical solution to compete with the plushie, is to be the plushie

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐂𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬

Summary: In the command center, you navigate chaos as the task force tackles a high-stakes mission to stop Makarov’s sinister plan. With tension thick and comms crackling with urgency, everything spirals when a trap is sprung. As you desperately try to piece together what’s happening, silence falls—fractured by a single, devastating revelation. Now, the weight of loss presses in, and a heartfelt letter reveals truths you never dared to hope for. In the aftermath of heroism and heartbreak, you’re left to grapple with a question: how do you move forward when your heart is still on the battlefield?

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Female Reader

The hum of the command center buzzed in your ears as you hunched over your console, fingers flying across the keyboard. The task force was out in the field, and as always, you stayed behind, monitoring feeds, guiding them through the chaos. You weren’t a soldier, not like them. Your battlefield was the screens in front of you, and your weapon was information.

But your heart was out there, with him.

You’d been in love with Johnny MacTavish—Soap—since the day you first met him. His humor, his energy, the way he could light up even the darkest situations. Over the years, you’d become close. You weren’t sure if he knew how you felt, but you carried it quietly, content to be near him, to hear his voice over comms, to know he was safe.

Until now.

The team had been deployed after intercepting intel about Makarov’s latest scheme: a plot to take the London Underground hostage and destroy the tunnels with explosives. The weight of the mission pressed on you as you worked tirelessly to support them from afar.

The comms were chaotic. “We’ve got eyes on the first device,” Price barked, his voice steady despite the urgency.

“Copy that,” you replied, checking the schematics. “Disarm sequence is live. Watch for a second fail-safe—Makarov doesn’t make it easy.”

Through the comms, you could hear Soap’s familiar voice, calm but focused. “Aye, lass, we’ll handle it. Keep the coffee warm for me, yeah?”

Your lips twitched into a small smile despite the tension. “Just don’t blow yourself up, MacTavish.”

Minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an hour as you listened to their progress. Then came the first sign something was wrong.

“Bloody hell, it’s a trap!” Gaz’s voice was sharp, panic lacing his words.

“What’s going on?” you asked, leaning closer to the console. Static crackled in response, and your stomach twisted.

“We’ve got company,” Price growled. “Makarov’s here. He—”

The line cut out momentarily, and when it returned, chaos erupted. Gunfire, shouting, and the unmistakable sound of a struggle filled your headset.

“Soap, disarm the bomb!” Price ordered, his voice strained.

“I’m trying, Captain, but—” Soap’s words were interrupted by a sharp crack, followed by a muffled cry.

“Soap!” you shouted, but there was no response.

More shouting. Then a single gunshot rang out, deafening in the silence that followed.

“MacTavish!” Price’s voice was raw with anguish.

Your heart stopped. The comms descended into fragmented phrases, ringing with panic. You clutched the edge of your desk, trying to piece together what was happening, but no one was answering your calls.

Minutes dragged by like an eternity before Price’s voice came through again, quieter, broken. “We’re en route back to base.”

“Is everyone...?” You couldn’t finish the question.

No response.

You bolted from the command center, racing to the front of the base. The rain was relentless, soaking through your clothes as you stood on the tarmac, watching the aircraft approach. Anxiety clawed at your chest as the ramp lowered and the team emerged.

Price. Gaz. Ghost.

Your eyes searched desperately for Soap, but he wasn’t there. Confused, you stepped forward. “Where’s Johnny?”

The silence that followed was louder than any answer. Price’s face was pale, his eyes hollow. Ghost looked away, his hands clenched into fists.

“Where is he?” you repeated, your voice trembling.

Price stopped in front of you, his expression crumbling. “He’s gone, (Y/N).”

“No,” you said, stepping back, your head shaking violently. “No, he’s not. He wouldn’t—he promised me!”

“He died protecting us,” Price said, his voice thick. “Makarov shot him. Threw me to the ground. Soap—he got back up. Fought to stop him. He saved my life.”

Your knees buckled, and you sank to the ground, the cold rain mixing with the tears streaming down your face. “No,” you whispered. “Not Johnny. He can’t be—”

“He was a hero,” Ghost said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

A hero. That word echoed in your mind, but it did nothing to dull the pain. Johnny was more than a hero. He was your light, your reason to smile even when the world seemed bleak.

In the hours that followed, you learned the details: how Makarov had ambushed them, how Johnny had been disarming the bomb when Makarov appeared. How he’d been shot protecting Price and fought to his last breath to stop the madman.

The weight of his sacrifice crushed you, and yet, through your grief, you couldn’t help but feel proud. He had always been brave, always selfless.

Later, sitting in the barracks, you clutched his dog tags in your hand, the cold metal biting into your palm. A letter rested on your lap, one Price had handed you with trembling hands. It was written in Johnny’s messy scrawl.

“ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ’ꜱ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ. ɪ’ᴍ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ, ʟᴀꜱꜱ. ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ. ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ… ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ. ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ.

ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ? ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ. ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, (ʏ/ɴ). ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʜᴀᴠᴇ. ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ. ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ. ʙᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ, ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ.”

The tears came hard and fast as you read his words, clutching the letter to your chest. Your hands shook as you held the letter close, his words cutting deeper than any wound. He’d been everything to you, and now he was gone, leaving only memories and a hollow ache in his place.

As you sat in the quiet, the rain still tapping against the window, you whispered, “You never know a good thing until it’s gone.”

You hadn’t just lost a good thing. You’d lost the best. And now, all you could do was carry his legacy and make sure the world never forgot the man who had been your everything.

The rain continued to fall as you sat there, clutching the letter. You didn’t know how to move forward, but you knew you had to try. For him. For Johnny.

A/N: crying because I love Johnny so much, I will never forgive Activision for killing him off. I hope this feeds you guys, I’ve been sick and haven’t been writing as much.. Remember to stay hydrated and eat plenty of food, you are loved. ❤️

Dividers by the lovely @𝑒𝑛𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠-𝑎

Can I make a platonic request of Charlie with a human reader that was sent to hell without dying motivating and encouraging her to keep following her dreams no matter what anyone says or what happens when she is down?

ℌ𝔢𝔩𝔩’𝔰 ℌ𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔫

A/N: You absolutely can!! I love my girl Charlie—she reminds me of Emma from TPN! Anyways, I hope you don’t mind me putting in a dream that the reader has, I wasn’t sure what to do since you hadn’t specified (but it’s trouble, don’t worry!)

Word Count: 1.1k

TW: None really, unless you count being in Hell?

Reader is gender neutral!

The world around you was a kaleidoscope of crimson and shadow, an eerie dance of flame and darkness. You never imagined you’d end up here—Hell—without so much as dying. There was no dramatic accident, no tragic ending to your life. One moment, you were walking home, and the next, the ground beneath you gave way to this bizarre, otherworldly landscape. Confusion quickly gave way to fear, and fear to despair. You felt lost, utterly and completely. Until she showed up.

♡⋅˚₊‧ ୨☀️୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅♡

Charlie Morningstar was unlike anyone you had ever met, in any realm of existence. Her cheerful demeanor stood in stark contrast to the grim surroundings, as if she refused to let Hell itself dim her light. Her golden hair practically glowed, and her warm smile carried a sense of hope that felt out of place—yet so welcome—in this desolate place. She found you huddled near a crumbling wall, knees pulled to your chest, staring into the void. Instead of walking past like so many others, she sat beside you, her presence both comforting and curious.

“Hi there,” she said, her voice as soothing as a lullaby. “Rough day?”

You laughed bitterly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “You could say that. I’m not even supposed to be here.”

Charlie tilted her head, a flicker of concern crossing her features. “Not supposed to be in Hell? That’s... unusual.”

“Tell me about it,” you muttered. “One second, I’m walking home from work. The next, I’m here. I don’t even know why.”

“Well,” she said, her smile returning, “we’ll figure it out. But for now, how about we get you somewhere safe?”

You hesitated. You didn’t know her, didn’t know if you could trust her. But something about her felt genuine, like she truly cared. Reluctantly, you nodded, and she helped you to your feet. From that moment on, your life—or whatever this existence was—began to change.

Charlie brought you to the Hazbin Hotel, her grand but somewhat shabby project to rehabilitate sinners and give them a chance at redemption. You weren’t a sinner, but you still felt out of place. The hotel was a strange haven in this chaotic realm, filled with all manner of colorful and bizarre characters. At first, you kept to yourself, unsure of your place in this odd community. But Charlie wouldn’t let you retreat into your shell.

She had a way of drawing you out, her enthusiasm infectious. She’d invite you to join her in decorating the lobby, brainstorming ideas for the hotel, or simply talking over cups of tea. She wanted to know everything about you—your dreams, your passions, your fears. It was disarming, how much she cared.

♡⋅˚₊‧ ୨☀️୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅♡

One evening, as the two of you sat on the hotel’s rooftop, looking out over the sprawling chaos of Hell, you finally opened up. “I used to have dreams,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Big ones. I wanted to be an artist, to create something that would inspire people. But... it felt like the world was against me. No one believed in me, and eventually, I stopped believing in myself.”

Charlie’s expression softened, her crimson eyes filled with understanding. “That sounds really hard. But you know what? Dreams don’t die just because others can’t see them. They’re still inside you, waiting for you to pick them back up.”

You looked at her, skeptical. “Easy for you to say. You’re a princess. You’ve probably never had people tell you you’re not good enough.”

She laughed, a soft, self-deprecating sound. “Oh, you’d be surprised. My whole life, people have doubted me. They think my dream of rehabilitating sinners is ridiculous, that it’ll never work. But I keep going because I believe it’s worth it. And I believe you’re worth it too.”

Her words struck a chord deep within you. For so long, you’d let the voices of doubt drown out your own. But here was Charlie, in the literal depths of Hell, refusing to give up on her vision. If she could keep fighting for her dreams, maybe you could too.

From that night on, Charlie became your biggest cheerleader. She encouraged you to pick up a pencil again, to let your creativity flow. At first, it was just doodles, small sketches on scraps of paper. But as the days turned into weeks, you began to find your rhythm again. The hotel’s walls soon became adorned with your art, transforming the space into a gallery of hope and beauty. The other residents took notice, and for the first time in a long time, you felt seen.

Whenever doubt crept back in, Charlie was there to chase it away. “Your art is incredible,” she’d say, her enthusiasm unwavering. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And don’t stop just because it’s hard. The best things in life usually are.”

Her belief in you became a lifeline, pulling you out of the darkness you’d been drowning in. Slowly but surely, you began to believe in yourself again. And in turn, you found ways to support Charlie in her mission. You designed posters and banners for the hotel, turning it into a place that truly felt welcoming. Together, you created something that stood as a beacon of hope in a realm defined by despair.

♡⋅˚₊‧ ୨☀️୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅♡

One day, as you worked on a mural in the lobby, Charlie approached you, her usual cheerful energy tempered by something more serious. “You know,” she began, “you’re not just helping me with the hotel. You’re inspiring everyone here. Your art, your determination—it’s contagious. You’re making a difference.”

Her words brought tears to your eyes. For so long, you’d felt like your dreams didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter. But here, in the unlikeliest of places, you’d found purpose and belonging. And it was all thanks to Charlie.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice trembling. “For everything. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

She smiled, her eyes shining with warmth. “You’d be right where you are now. Because the strength you needed was always inside you. I just helped you see it.”

In that moment, you realized just how much Charlie had given you. Not just a place to stay, but a reason to keep going. A reminder that even in the darkest of places, there’s still light to be found. And as you looked at her, you made a silent vow to never let that light go out—not in her, and not in yourself.

Hell might have been the last place you expected to find yourself, but it turned out to be the first place where you truly found yourself. And with Charlie by your side, you knew you could face anything. Together, you were unstoppable—two dreamers refusing to let the world, or Hell itself, stand in their way.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢! 🍎

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 @𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑙𝑦-𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑠

𝐴 𝐿𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑐𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝐿𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡

A/N: Here she is, the final part to the ‘I Love You, I’m Sorry’ series. As sad as I am to let this series go (since it helped me grow so much on here) I’m excited to write many more stories for all my lovelies to enjoy. So without further ado I present to you: A Legacy of Light.

Word Count: 4.6k

TW: Nothing major, reader does get sad remembering Vi but that’s about it!

Reader is a female!

Remember to hydrate and eat plenty of food. You are loved! ❤️

The decision to leave Piltover and Zaun had been brewing for months, but it was only on the coldest, quietest night of the year that you finally acted on it. The city of Piltover was never truly silent, yet in those final moments, as you packed the last of your belongings into a weathered suitcase, the world felt muffled—as if the city itself understood the gravity of your departure.

You didn’t look back as you walked through the cobbled streets, the towering spires and glimmering lights fading behind you. Vi’s voice, Caitlyn’s sharp gaze, the smoky air of Zaun’s undercity—they all blurred together into a single chapter of your life that you were now determined to close. You needed a fresh start, a place untainted by memories of what could have been.

Demacia became that beacon of possibility. You’d heard tales of its golden fields, unyielding laws, and steadfast people. It was a city that promised order, safety, and clarity—everything your life had lacked since you had met her.

                                                 ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

The journey to Demacia was long and grueling. The air grew crisper with each passing mile, the lush forests and rolling hills standing in stark contrast to the industrial sprawl you’d left behind. As your carriage creaked along the winding road, you stared out the window, trying to imagine what awaited you. Would it be a new life? A second chance? Or just another city with its own brand of heartbreak?

The driver—a grizzled man who had introduced himself as Loryn—occasionally glanced back at you, his weathered face marked by curiosity. “First time heading to Demacia?” he asked, his tone warm but cautious.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. Loryn took your silence in stride, continuing his story without prompting. “It’s a good place, you know. Not perfect, but no place is. They’ve got rules for everything, though. Some folks don’t like that, but me? I think rules keep us honest.”

Rules. Honesty. Those words hung heavy in your mind. Piltover had its own rules, but they had been written to favor those at the top. Zaun, on the other hand, thrived in chaos. Could Demacia truly be different?

                                                  ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

By the time you arrived at the city gates, the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the white stone walls that towered above you. Guards clad in silver armor stood at attention, their faces stern but not unkind. The emblem of a soaring eagle—the symbol of Demacia—was etched into their chest plates, a reminder of the city’s values: justice, loyalty, and strength.

“State your business,” one of the guards said as Loryn brought the carriage to a halt.

You hesitated, your words catching in your throat. What was your business here? To start over? To forget? To find something—or someone—that made sense of the mess you’d left behind?

“I… I’m looking for a new home,” you finally said, your voice steady despite the tumult inside.

The guard studied you for a moment, then nodded. “Welcome to Demacia. Obey the laws, and you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

With that, the gates creaked open, revealing the city beyond. Your breath caught as you took in the sight: wide streets paved with pristine stone, towering buildings of marble and glass, and people moving with purpose and poise. Children laughed as they chased one another through the plazas, and merchants called out cheerfully to passersby. For a moment, it felt as though you’d stepped into a dream.

                                               ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

Your first days in Demacia were a blur of new sights and sensations. You rented a modest room above a bakery, the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through your window each morning. The city was both familiar and alien, its structure orderly yet alive with an undercurrent of quiet determination. People here spoke with a kind of confidence you hadn’t heard in Piltover or Zaun—not the sharp-edged ambition of the former or the desperate defiance of the latter, but something steady, grounded.

It didn’t take long for you to notice how different you felt here. In Piltover, you’d always been one step behind, trying to navigate its shifting alliances and hidden agendas. In Zaun, you’d been swallowed by its chaos, struggling to hold onto any semblance of stability. But in Demacia, there was a clarity that had eluded you for so long. Here, people followed rules not out of fear, but out of respect for the order those rules provided.

Still, the adjustment wasn’t easy. You found yourself haunted by memories of Vi, her laughter echoing in your mind when the nights grew too quiet. You’d catch glimpses of pink hair in a crowded market or hear a voice that sounded just like hers, and for a fleeting moment, hope would flare in your chest before reality doused it once more.

“Let her go,” you whispered to yourself one night as you sat by the window, watching the city lights twinkle like stars. But the words felt hollow, a mantra you repeated without truly believing.

                                             ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

It was a chance encounter that began to shift things for you. One afternoon, as you wandered through a bustling market square, a young woman with golden hair and piercing blue eyes nearly collided with you, her arms full of books.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, quickly kneeling to gather the scattered volumes.

“It’s fine,” you said, bending down to help her. As you handed her a particularly heavy tome, your eyes met, and something about her gaze struck you. It was warm, but there was a spark of curiosity there, as if she saw something in you that you didn’t yet see in yourself.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked, her tone more intrigued than accusatory.

You shook your head. “Just arrived a few days ago. Still finding my way.”

She smiled, and it was like sunlight breaking through the clouds. “Welcome, then. I’m Luxanna Crownguard.”

                                              ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

Luxanna became your first true friend in Demacia. As a member of the prominent Crownguard family, she carried herself with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. Yet beneath her polished exterior was a kindness and curiosity that put you at ease. She listened without judgment as you recounted pieces of your past, and she shared stories of her own—a mix of duty and rebellion, of light and shadow.

“I know what it’s like to feel out of place,” she admitted one evening as the two of you sat by a fountain in the city square. “Demacia can be… rigid. But it can also be beautiful, if you know where to look.”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure you’d found that beauty just yet.

                                               ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

As the weeks turned into months, Luxanna became your guide, both to the city and to yourself. She introduced you to the subtle intricacies of Demacian life—the unspoken rules that governed its people, the moments of joy hidden between its rigid laws. With her help, you began to navigate this new world, not as an outsider but as someone who belonged.

Lux had a way of finding light even in the darkest corners. One day, she took you to a meadow just outside the city, where wildflowers swayed in the breeze and the golden sunlight bathed everything in warmth.

“This is my favorite place,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “When the world feels too heavy, I come here. It reminds me that no matter how much we try to control everything, life has a way of growing wild and free.”

You looked at her then, truly looked at her, and saw the duality she carried. On the surface, she was every inch the perfect Demacian noble—poised, disciplined, a paragon of light. But beneath that, there was a spark of defiance, a yearning for something more.

“Thank you,” you said, the words heavy with meaning. For the first time, you felt as though you’d found a kindred spirit—someone who understood the weight of expectations and the courage it took to defy them.

Lux smiled, her golden hair catching the sunlight. “For what?”

“For being you.”

                                              ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

Your life in Demacia began to take shape. By day, you continued your work as a scribe in the city’s archives, your hands stained with ink as you meticulously cataloged the history of a land you were just beginning to understand. By night, you found yourself drawn into Lux’s orbit, whether it was quiet conversations by the fountain or spirited debates about the world beyond Demacia’s walls.

Lux’s curiosity was infectious. She asked questions that forced you to think, to confront the pieces of yourself you’d tried to leave behind. And slowly, you began to share more—not just about Piltover and Zaun, but about Vi and the life you’d built together. The pain was still there, but it no longer consumed you. Instead, it became a part of the story you were telling, a thread woven into the tapestry of who you were.

“I think Vi would’ve liked you,” you said one evening as the two of you walked along the city’s outer wall, the stars shimmering overhead. “She had this… fire about her. She made you believe anything was possible.”

Lux tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “She sounds incredible. But you know, you don’t have to let go of her to move forward. The people we’ve loved—they shape us. They stay with us in ways we don’t always realize.”

Her words stayed with you long after you parted ways that night. For the first time, you began to see your past not as a burden but as a foundation—something to build upon rather than escape from.

                                          ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

One day, while sorting through the archives, you stumbled upon a collection of old journals belonging to a Demacian explorer who had ventured beyond the city’s borders centuries ago. The journals were filled with sketches of far-off lands, detailed maps, and reflections on the world outside Demacia’s walls. 

You found yourself captivated by the explorer’s words, their yearning for discovery mirroring your own. Inspired, you began to sketch out your own map—not of geography, but of your journey. You drew Piltover’s towering spires, Zaun’s labyrinthine undercity, and Demacia’s golden fields. Each place was a chapter, a marker of where you’d been and where you were headed.

When Lux saw the map, her eyes lit up. “This is incredible,” she said, tracing her fingers over the lines. “You’re telling a story—not just with words, but with places.”

“It’s not finished yet,” you said, suddenly self-conscious.

“Neither are you,” she replied with a smile. “And that’s the beauty of it.”

                                              ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

As the seasons changed, so did your bond with Lux. What had started as friendship deepened into something more—an unspoken connection that defied words. There were moments when her hand would brush yours, or her laughter would fill the air, and you’d feel a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun.

But there was also a hesitance, a fear of what it might mean to let someone in again. You’d been burned before, and the scars were still fresh. Lux seemed to sense this, never pushing, always giving you the space to heal at your own pace.

One evening, as you sat together on the steps of the palace courtyard, she turned to you, her blue eyes searching. “Do you ever think about what’s next? Where your journey will take you?”

You hesitated, the question both simple and profound. “I don’t know. For so long, I was running—from Piltover, from Zaun, from myself. But now… I think I’m ready to stop running.”

Lux smiled, her expression equal parts relief and joy. “Then maybe it’s time to start building.”

Building wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. You began to take more risks, to push yourself beyond the safety of routine. You joined Lux in her efforts to bridge the gaps within Demacia, helping her bring stories and music to the people. Together, you found ways to celebrate the diversity of the city, to show its people that unity didn’t have to mean uniformity.

There were challenges, of course. Demacia’s laws were strict, and not everyone appreciated Lux’s unconventional approach. But she faced each obstacle with a quiet strength that inspired you. And when doubts crept in, you reminded her of her own words: “You’re not finished yet.”

Neither were you.

                                            ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

The first time you kissed Lux, it was beneath the same stars you’d gazed at so many nights before. The city lay quiet around you, the air crisp with the promise of winter. It wasn’t planned or dramatic—just a simple moment of connection, a spark that had been waiting to ignite.

As your lips parted, she rested her forehead against yours, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was starting to wonder if you’d ever stop running.”

You smiled, the weight of the past finally lifting. “I think I’ve found what I was looking for.”

In the end, your journey wasn’t about leaving Piltover or finding Demacia. It was about finding yourself—about realizing that the person you’d been searching for had been there all along. With Lux by your side, you began to dream again, to imagine a future full of possibility and light.

And for the first time in a long while, you weren’t afraid of what came next.

                                         ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

The kiss lingered in your mind, replaying in fragments that felt like they were etched into the very fabric of your soul. Lux had a way of making the simplest moments monumental. Her golden hair shimmered in the starlight that night, and the warmth of her hand in yours was more grounding than any words could be. That single moment marked a turning point in your life, a quiet affirmation that you were no longer just surviving but finally living.

But life, even in the golden city of Demacia, was never without its complications.

                                          ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

Lux’s life was a web of obligations, expectations, and secrets, and being close to her meant brushing up against them. As a Crownguard, she was a prominent figure in Demacia, the face of a family that embodied its ideals of strength and loyalty. Yet behind closed doors, she wrestled with her own conflicts. She was not just Luxanna Crownguard, Demacia’s light—she was a young woman with dreams, doubts, and a secret that could shatter the foundation of her carefully crafted image: her magic.

Demacia’s strict laws against magic were no secret. The very idea of wielding it was an affront to everything the city stood for. And yet, Lux’s magic wasn’t something she chose—it was part of her, as intrinsic as her light-filled smile or her unyielding spirit. She confided in you one night, her voice trembling as she spoke of the fear that shadowed her every step.

“I’ve spent so much of my life hiding,” she said, her hands clasped tightly together. “Hiding from my family, from the city, from myself. Sometimes I wonder if they would still see me as Luxanna Crownguard if they knew the truth.”

You reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “You are so much more than their expectations, Lux. Your magic doesn’t define you—it’s just one part of the incredible person you are.”

She looked at you then, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m scared,” she admitted. “Scared of what happens if I stop hiding.”

“Then let me stand with you,” you said, your voice steady. “Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.”

                                           ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

Those words weren’t just a promise—they were a vow. Together, you and Lux began to navigate the uncharted territory of honesty, trust, and defiance. You helped her find moments of quiet solace where she could practice her magic without fear, away from the watchful eyes of the city. In those hidden spaces, she seemed freer, more herself. Light would dance at her fingertips, weaving patterns in the air that took your breath away.

“I’ve never shown anyone this before,” she said one evening as a delicate aurora shimmered between her hands. “Not even my brother.”

“Why now?” you asked, mesmerized by the display.

She hesitated for a moment before answering. “Because with you, I feel safe.”

                                              ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

As Lux grew more comfortable embracing her true self, you found your own courage growing in tandem. You began to step out of the shadows of your past, sharing your story not just with her but with others in the city. Your work in the archives became more than a job—it became a mission. You unearthed stories of those who had faced challenges like yours, people who had dared to challenge the status quo, who had forged new paths despite the odds.

You shared these stories with Lux, and together, you began to weave them into something bigger: a vision of a Demacia that could embrace its complexities rather than fearing them. It was a vision that sparked conversations in quiet corners and gatherings, a ripple that began to spread through the city.

But change was never easy, and resistance was inevitable.

                                            ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

There were those in Demacia who clung fiercely to its traditions, who saw any deviation from the norm as a threat to the city’s stability. Whispers began to circulate—about Lux’s growing influence, about the questions she was encouraging people to ask. Some even began to suspect the truth about her magic, though no one dared voice it openly.

One day, as you walked through the market, you overheard a group of merchants discussing her.

“She’s too idealistic,” one man said, his tone dismissive. “Demacia doesn’t need change—it needs strength.”

“Strength without compassion is just tyranny,” you found yourself saying, the words escaping before you could think better of it.

The man turned to you, his expression incredulous. “And who are you to speak of strength? You’re not even one of us.”

The words stung, but you held your ground. “Maybe not,” you admitted. “But I’ve seen what happens when a city refuses to grow, when it clings so tightly to its rules that it forgets the people those rules are meant to serve. Demacia can be better than that. It *is* better than that.”

                                        ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

Lux was waiting for you when you returned home that evening, her expression a mix of concern and admiration.

“You’re brave, you know that?” she said, her voice soft.

“Or foolish,” you replied with a small smile. “But I couldn’t just stand there and say nothing.”

She stepped closer, her hands brushing yours. “It’s not foolish to stand up for what you believe in. It’s what makes you… you.”

Her words stayed with you, a reminder that courage wasn’t the absence of fear but the choice to act despite it. Together, you and Lux continued to push forward, even as the obstacles grew. You began to dream of a future where Demacia could be a place not just of order and strength, but of understanding and unity.

                                           ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

That future felt closer than ever one evening as you stood with Lux in the meadow she loved so much. The stars stretched endlessly above you, their light mirrored in her eyes. She took your hands in hers, her expression filled with both determination and vulnerability.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I do know this: I want you by my side. No matter what comes, I want us to face it together.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and resolve. “Always.”

                                            ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

As the days turned into weeks, the challenges ahead remained daunting, but you faced them with a newfound sense of purpose. Lux’s magic, your past, Demacia’s future—they were all threads in a tapestry that was still being woven. And while the path ahead was uncertain, one thing was clear: you were no longer running.

In Lux’s light, you had found your own. And together, you were ready to illuminate a world that was far from perfect but brimming with possibility.

                                              ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

The years passed in a blur of joy, challenges, and triumphs. The Demacia you and Lux had envisioned together slowly began to take shape. It wasn’t easy—progress never was—but step by step, the city began to grow into a place where differences could coexist, where strength was balanced with compassion, and where secrets were no longer met with fear but with understanding.

Your journey with Lux wasn’t without its struggles. There were moments when the weight of expectations and the enormity of your shared dream felt overwhelming. But through it all, Lux remained your anchor, her light guiding you forward even in the darkest of times. And you, in turn, became her safe haven, the person who reminded her that she was loved for who she was, not for what she represented.

                                               ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

The day you and Lux married was one of the brightest in Demacia’s history—not just because of the occasion, but because it felt like a celebration of everything you’d both fought for. The ceremony was held in a sunlit meadow outside the city, surrounded by friends, family, and the golden fields that Lux loved so much. 

She looked radiant as she walked toward you, her golden hair catching the sunlight and her blue eyes filled with a mixture of joy and determination. Her dress was simple yet elegant, adorned with subtle designs reminiscent of stars and light. She carried a bouquet of wildflowers, their vibrant colors a reflection of her spirit.

As you exchanged vows, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you. Lux’s voice trembled with emotion as she spoke. 

“You’ve shown me what it means to be truly free—to live without fear, to love without hesitation. With you, I’ve found not just a partner but a home. Today, I promise to stand by your side, no matter what comes, and to love you with all that I am.”

When it was your turn, you struggled to hold back tears. “Lux, you’ve brought light to every corner of my life. With you, I’ve found a purpose, a future, and a love I never thought possible. I promise to honor your light, to walk with you in every shadow, and to build a life with you that shines brighter than the stars.”

As you sealed your vows with a kiss, the crowd erupted into cheers, and Lux’s radiant smile was all you could see. For the first time in years, the future felt not just possible but beautiful.

                                               ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

The years that followed were filled with moments both big and small—moments that shaped your family, your future, and the world you called home. Lux’s leadership and your steady presence helped guide Demacia through times of change. Together, you built a life filled with laughter, love, and the kind of warmth that made even the hardest days bearable. Your children became the living embodiment of your shared dreams.

The eldest, a girl with Lux’s golden hair and your quiet determination, possessed a mind as sharp as her heart was kind. Her curiosity was boundless, and she often joined you in the archives, lost in books as you had once been. The youngest, a boy with eyes as blue as the summer sky, inherited Lux’s playful spirit and her remarkable ability to bring people together. His laughter echoed through the halls of your home, a sound as bright and comforting as the light you both worked so hard to protect.

As the years passed, your children began to ask questions about their parents’ past. Lux would smile as she shared stories of how you’d met, of how you had helped her find the courage to embrace who she truly was. You added your own tales—of Piltover and Zaun, of hardship and hope, resilience and growth. Together, you taught your children the value of standing up for what they believed in, of forging their own paths, just as you both had.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink, you stood with Lux on the balcony of your home. The laughter of your children floated up from the garden below, filling the air with a deep sense of contentment. Lux leaned against you, her hand resting on yours. “Do you ever think about how far we’ve come?” she asked softly.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Every day. And I wouldn’t change a single moment of it.”

Her gaze met yours, her eyes shining with the same light that had captivated you all those years ago. “I never thought I’d have this,” she admitted. “A family. A life where I could be myself. It’s more than I ever dreamed of.”

You kissed her gently, your heart full. “You deserve all of it, Lux. And so much more.”

Time softened the edges of your memories, reshaping them into something distant and bittersweet. The weight of your past—Piltover, Zaun, and Vi—faded like smoke on the wind, no longer a shadow over your present. There was no regret in forgetting, only gratitude for the journey that had brought you here. Vi had once been part of your life, her fierce determination a beacon when you felt lost. But as the years unfolded with Lux, those echoes grew quieter, replaced by the vibrant symphony of your new life. 

One afternoon, while sorting through old belongings in the attic, your hand brushed against a small trinket from Piltover—a token Vi had given you long ago. For a moment, you sat with it, turning it over in your hands. The memory it brought felt distant, like a dream from another lifetime. Instead of longing or regret, you felt only a quiet sense of closure. Vi had been a chapter in your story, but she wasn’t its ending.

Lux appeared at the top of the stairs, sunlight catching in her golden hair. “What’s that?” she asked softly.

“Just something from a long time ago,” you replied, setting it back into the box. “It doesn’t mean much anymore.”

She knelt beside you, her hand resting on yours. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head with a smile. “No. I’ve already left it behind.”

She kissed your cheek, her voice warm. “Come downstairs when you’re ready. The kids are making cookies, and they need your ‘expert’ guidance.”

You laughed as she descended the stairs, her light footsteps echoing in the quiet space. Rising to follow her, you left the remnants of your past where they belonged.

Years later, as you sat by the hearth with your children, you told them stories of adventure, of lessons learned and challenges overcome. Piltover and Zaun became part of those tales—not as wounds, but as distant chapters that had shaped you. Vi’s name never came up—not out of avoidance, but because it no longer needed to. 

Your children only knew the life you had built with Lux—a life filled with love, laughter, and light. They saw strength in their mother’s resolve, kindness in your words, and unity in the bond you shared. 

On a starry evening, standing hand-in-hand with Lux as your children played in the garden below, you looked at the life you had created. The memories of your past had become whispers, distant sketches in the margins of a story far richer and fuller than you’d ever dreamed. Forgetting hadn’t been an act of loss, but one of growth—a quiet acceptance of the person you had become.

Lux squeezed your hand, her presence steady and familiar. In her light, in the joy of your children’s laughter, you found everything you had ever been searching for. And as the stars above twinkled like tiny beacons of hope, you knew this was only the beginning of a legacy that would shine for generations to come.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢! ☀️

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 @𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑧𝑒𝑟𝑜

𝐴 𝐷𝑖𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤

A/N: This thought popped into my head after my boyfriend and I looked at engagement rings today, which has been stuck in my head for hours. I couldn’t help but write about the Poly!Task Force 141 with reader! I hope you guys enjoy.

Word Count: 2.0k

The glow of twinkling holiday lights reflected off the fresh blanket of snow that adorned the base of the towering evergreens, casting a magical ambiance over the secluded safehouse. Each individual light shimmered like a tiny star, illuminating the crisp winter night in soft, ethereal hues. The snow itself was pristine, untouched except for the faintest traces of footprints leading to the door—evidence of a quiet arrival long past. The air carried a profound stillness, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind through the branches, rustling the needles and adding a gentle symphony to the night. Somewhere in the distance, a lone owl hooted, its call echoing through the frosted forest.

The safehouse stood as a haven amid the wilderness, its rustic exterior adorned with garlands of fresh pine interwoven with crimson ribbons. Candles glimmered in the windows, their flickering light hinting at the warmth and life within. The faint scent of burning wood mingled with the crisp winter air, creating an intoxicating blend that spoke of comfort and serenity. Icicles clung to the edges of the roof, catching the light and refracting it into shimmering rainbows that danced with every movement of the breeze. It was a scene that could have been lifted from the pages of a holiday storybook, yet it carried an unspoken depth that transcended its picturesque beauty.

Inside, the transformation was even more profound. The safehouse had always been a place of refuge, a temporary escape from the chaos of missions and battles. But tonight, it had taken on a life of its own. Strings of lights were draped along the walls, their soft glow accentuating the wooden beams and casting a golden hue over the room. The fireplace roared with life, its flames crackling and sending warmth radiating outward. Stockings hung from the mantle, their cheerful designs a stark contrast to the tactical gear piled neatly in the corner. The scent of freshly baked cookies mingled with the aroma of mulled cider simmering on the stove, creating a sensory tapestry that was both comforting and nostalgic.

The living room was the heart of the transformation. A towering evergreen stood proudly in one corner, its branches laden with ornaments that glimmered in the firelight. Each decoration told a story—a tiny snow globe with a miniature reindeer inside, a silver bell with a faintly tarnished surface, a handmade star crafted from bits of foil. Some were new additions, while others bore the marks of years gone by, their significance known only to those who had placed them there. At the very top of the tree, a delicate angel gazed down with an expression of serene joy, her gown of spun glass catching the light and casting it into tiny prisms that danced across the walls.

Seated on the couch, Price leaned back with a rare look of contentment softening his features. A glass of whisky rested in his hand, and his usual air of command was replaced by a quiet ease. Nearby, Soap and Gaz were engaged in a lighthearted argument over a board game, their laughter filling the space and blending seamlessly with the holiday music playing softly in the background. Ghost sat in the armchair closest to the fire, his posture relaxed in a way that spoke of trust and comfort, though his sharp eyes never strayed far from the room's occupants. It was a moment of peace, fleeting but cherished—a sanctuary carved out of the tumult of their lives.

In the kitchen, you stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up and hair loosely tied back, focused intently on icing a batch of sugar cookies. The cookies were shaped like snowflakes, their intricate patterns reflecting the meticulous care you had put into each one. Flour dusted your hands and cheeks, a testament to the hours you had spent baking and decorating. The task was both a labor of love and a welcome distraction, a way to channel your energy into something tangible and uplifting. The soft strains of holiday music played from a small speaker, the familiar melodies weaving through the air and adding to the sense of warmth and tranquility.

As you set the icing bag down to stretch your arms, a sudden thought struck you: the boys had been unusually quiet for some time. Normally, the living room was alive with their banter—Soap’s boisterous laughter, Gaz’s sharp wit, Ghost’s dry humor, and Price’s steady interjections to maintain some semblance of order. Yet now, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the faint hum of the music.

“They’re up to something,” you murmured with a wry smile, wiping your hands on a dish towel. 

Curiosity piqued, you left the cookies behind and made your way toward the living room. The warmth of the fire grew stronger with each step, and the soft glow of the holiday lights beckoned you forward. As you approached, the faint sound of muffled movement gave you pause. “Alright, what are you lot scheming this time?” you called out playfully, your voice tinged with amusement.

No response.

Frowning, you stepped into the doorway—and froze.

The living room, bathed in the soft glow of the fire and twinkling holiday lights, held a scene you could never have anticipated. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost stood shoulder to shoulder near the tree, each holding a bouquet of vibrant red roses. Their expressions were a mix of anticipation and warmth, with just a hint of nervousness. At the center of it all was Price, standing tall and steady. In his hands was a small velvet box, its lid open to reveal a breathtaking ring.

The diamond was unlike anything you’d ever seen. It was an oval cut, its elongated shape elegantly reflecting the firelight in brilliant, kaleidoscopic flashes. The facets seemed to dance, catching every flicker of the room's glow and transforming it into a dazzling display of light. The band was crafted from platinum, its silvery sheen perfectly complementing the icy brilliance of the stone. Intricate filigree detailing traced along the band, forming delicate, swirling patterns reminiscent of frost on a windowpane. Small, round-cut diamonds were embedded into the filigree, creating a subtle shimmer that added depth and elegance without overpowering the centerpiece stone.

Your breath caught as your gaze fixed on the ring, its beauty almost surreal. It looked like it had been plucked straight from the winter landscape outside, its design as timeless and magical as the snow-covered world beyond the windows.  

Soap broke the silence, stepping forward with a grin that was unusually tender. “We were tryin’ to be subtle, lass,” he teased, his Scottish brogue soft. “Guess we’re not as sneaky as we thought.”  

Gaz chuckled, stepping up next to him. “We figured if we’re going to do this, we had to make it perfect. You deserve nothing less.”  

Ghost shifted slightly, his gloved hands gripping the bouquet tightly. “You’ve been through hell with us,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. “You stayed. That means everything.”  

Finally, Price’s deep, steady voice filled the space. “You’ve given us something we never thought we’d have,” he said, his blue eyes holding yours with a quiet intensity. “A home. A family. Let us show you how much that means—for the rest of our lives.”  

Your heart thundered in your chest, tears welling in your eyes as the weight of their words sank in. This wasn’t just a proposal—it was a declaration of love, unity, and the unbreakable bond you shared.  

“Marry us, bonnie,” Soap said, his grin widening but his voice soft, almost hesitant.  

Tears welled in your eyes as you took in the sight of them—these men who had faced countless dangers and carried the weight of the world on their shoulders—now offering their hearts to you. Your hands trembled, and a sob escaped your lips as the overwhelming emotion spilled over.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice thick with tears. Then louder, with uncontainable joy, “Yes! Yes, of course, I’ll marry you!”

The tension broke as the room erupted with cheers. Soap was the first to reach you, scooping you up into a giddy embrace that made you laugh through your tears. Gaz followed, his hug warm and grounding, while Ghost’s was firm but careful, his whispered “Thank you” carrying a weight that made your chest ache with affection. Price took your hand last, sliding the ring onto your finger with reverent care before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.  

As you looked at the ring now adorning your finger, you marveled at how perfectly it captured the moment—brilliant, timeless, and irreplaceably yours. It wasn’t just a symbol of love; it was a promise, forged from the resilience, loyalty, and devotion that bound you all together.  

⋆⁺₊❅.

That night, the safehouse was filled with more than holiday cheer—it was filled with love. The bond you shared with these men was unshakable, a light brighter than any star on the tree. And as you curled up on the couch with them later, watching the fire crackle and feeling the weight of the ring on your finger, you realized this wasn’t just a safehouse. It was home. 

The celebration carried on well into the evening, the living room transformed into a space filled with laughter, warmth, and joy. Soap’s mischievous streak resurfaced as he popped open a bottle of champagne, the cork flying across the room with a loud “pop” that made Gaz duck and Ghost roll his eyes. “Watch it, MacTavish,” Ghost muttered, though there was no mistaking the faint smirk beneath his balaclava.

“Just addin’ some excitement to the night!” Soap retorted with a wink, pouring champagne into mismatched glasses that had been hastily gathered from the kitchen. Price handed you a glass first, his hand brushing yours in a gesture that felt both grounding and electric.

“To family,” he said, raising his glass. His voice was steady, but the emotion behind his words was unmistakable. The others joined in, their glasses clinking together in a toast that felt as binding as any vow.

The night unfolded in a tapestry of moments that would linger in your memory forever. Gaz took over the music, switching the playlist to a mix of holiday classics and upbeat tracks that had everyone—even Ghost—tapping their feet. At one point, Soap coaxed you into an impromptu dance, spinning you around the room until you were both breathless with laughter. Ghost, ever the observer, eventually joined in, his stiff movements earning playful jeers from Soap and Gaz but making you smile all the same.

Price, true to his nature, stayed close, watching over the group with a quiet contentment that seemed to soften his usual commanding presence. When the dancing subsided, he pulled you aside, wrapping a warm blanket around your shoulders and guiding you to the couch by the fire. The others followed, settling in around you like pieces of a puzzle falling perfectly into place.

Stories flowed freely, each tale punctuated by laughter and the occasional teasing remark. They spoke of missions gone awry, moments of triumph, and the camaraderie that had carried them through the darkest times. When it was your turn, you shared memories of quieter moments—the times you’d patched them up after missions, the late-night conversations over cups of tea, the small gestures that had solidified your bond.

As the night stretched on, the safehouse seemed to embrace you all in its warmth. The fire crackled softly, casting a golden glow over the room, and the snow continued to fall outside, muffling the world beyond. You leaned against Price, your head resting on his shoulder, while Soap and Gaz argued over the last cookie, their voices a playful counterpoint to the serenity of the moment. Ghost sat nearby, his posture relaxed, though his sharp eyes never strayed far from the group.

The ring on your finger caught the firelight, its brilliance a constant reminder of the promise you had made. It was more than a symbol; it was a testament to the love, trust, and unwavering loyalty that bound you to these men. Together, you had faced the unthinkable and emerged stronger, your bond forged in the crucible of shared trials and triumphs.

That night, as you drifted to sleep surrounded by the people who meant the world to you, a profound sense of belonging settled over you. This was more than a safehouse, more than a temporary refuge. It was your home, your family, and your future—a future as bright and enduring as the diamond on your finger.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢! ❄️

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 @𝑜𝑚𝑖-𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑠

Hi, can u do Vi x Reader. Where Vi and Reader are hanging out with Caitlyn till they stop by a candy store. Reader was squealing happily and ran to the store and got Bean Boozled Candy. Vi and Caitlyn were nervous because they are good and bad ones. They went to Caitlyn’s place in the kitchen and got started. Vi was sweating a little bit and Reader was excited. The first round was blueberry and toothpaste. Vi and Reader got the good one while Caitlyn got the toothpaste. On the second round, it was Carmel corn or moldy cheese. Reader and Caitlyn got the one while Vi got the bad one and she spit immediately and making disgusting faces. On the final round, it was licorice or skunk spray. Reader got the good one but Vi and Caitlyn got the bad one and they went to kitchen to get water to rinse it out. Vi was feeling funny and she went to the sink and throw up. 

𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚜

A/N: I woke up to this request and might I say it made me laugh so hard. Definitely brings me back to when I was younger doing this challenge with my siblings. Also you’re my first request on this blog, congrats!! <3

Word Count: 0.6k

TW: Vomit

Reader is gender-neutral

It had been a casual afternoon spent with Caitlyn, and Vi didn’t think it could get any better—or worse—until the three of you stumbled upon a small candy store. The bright display of sweets immediately caught your attention, and before Vi could say anything, you let out a squeal of excitement. “Oh my gosh! They have Bean Boozled! We have to play!” you exclaimed, practically bouncing on your heels.

Vi and Caitlyn exchanged wary glances. They both knew about the infamous candy game—jelly beans that looked identical but could taste like anything from blueberries to skunk spray. Vi scratched the back of her neck while Caitlyn adjusted her gloves, clearly apprehensive. “You sure about this, babe?” Vi asked, side-eyeing the brightly colored package you were clutching to your chest. “Positive!” you chirped, already heading toward the checkout counter.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Back at Caitlyn’s pristine kitchen, you were practically vibrating with excitement while Vi leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and Caitlyn meticulously read the instructions as if she were preparing for an interrogation. “Alright,” Caitlyn announced, setting the box down. “First round—blueberry or toothpaste.” You spun the little wheel and handed out the blue jelly beans, grinning from ear to ear.

“Here goes nothing,” Vi muttered, popping the jelly bean into her mouth. Her face lit up almost immediately. “Oh! Blueberry! Not bad.” You grinned as you chewed yours. “Same! So good!” Caitlyn, however, chewed slowly before grimacing. “Toothpaste,” she admitted with a slight frown. “It’s minty, but honestly, not the worst thing in the world.”

The second round—caramel corn or moldy cheese—had Vi already starting to sweat. You spun the wheel again and handed out the jelly beans, and the three of you bit down simultaneously. Vi’s reaction was immediate. “Gah!” she yelped, spitting the jelly bean into a napkin as her face twisted in utter disgust. “Oh, no! That’s definitely moldy cheese!” You and Caitlyn burst into laughter as Vi grabbed a glass of water to rinse her mouth. “Caramel corn!” you cheered, savoring the sweet flavor. Caitlyn nodded, holding her candy like a prize. “Same here,” she said with a smug grin. “Guess you got the short end of the stick this time, Vi.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vi grumbled, still grimacing. “Let’s just get this over with.” The final round was the ultimate test—licorice or skunk spray. You handed out the black jelly beans, and the tension in the room was palpable.

“Ready?” you asked, your eyes gleaming with mischief. “Not even a little,” Vi replied, narrowing her eyes at the jelly bean. “Three… two… one!”

You bit into yours and immediately grinned. “Licorice! Yes!”

Meanwhile, Vi and Caitlyn froze as the taste hit them. Caitlyn’s face turned green as she bolted to the sink, groaning, “Oh, no! Skunk spray!” Vi’s eyes went wide, and a horrified expression spread across her face. “This is disgusting!” she sputtered, rushing to the sink right after Caitlyn. She grabbed a glass of water and frantically rinsed her mouth, but it wasn’t enough. Moments later, Vi bent over the sink and retched, the taste lingering far longer than she’d like.

“Vi, are you okay?” you asked, half-concerned, half-laughing. “Never again,” Vi groaned, glaring at the box of candies as if it had personally offended her.

“You’re way too good at this, babe.” Shrugging with a cheeky grin, you popped another jelly bean into your mouth. “What can I say? It’s a gift.” Caitlyn, still sipping water to wash the taste from her mouth, shook her head with a small smile. “Next time, we’re picking something a little less… hazardous.”

Vi shot her a look. “Next time? Yeah, no thanks. I’m retiring from jelly beans for life.” The three of you laughed about it for the rest of the evening—though Vi made sure to steer you far away from any candy stores on the walk home.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢! 🩷

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦: @𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑠-𝑛-𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒

Ghost: Luv, hurry up, we're gonna be late Y/N, coming out of the dressing room: How do I look? Ghost: Ghost, unbuttoning his shirt: Oh we're definitely going to be late

𝐵𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑛

A/N: I’m so full of Angst ideas and I’m not sure why. I promise to write more fluffier, cheesy stuff later on down the road, but for now, take this anguish my lovelies. (I might make a part two of this, only because I liked it so much.)

Word Count: 2.2k

TW: Cussing, Arguments, Brian and Tim are toxic, grief.

Reader is a female!

The apartment door slammed shut with a resounding crack, the force reverberating through the small space. You flinched, startled, and looked up from where you sat curled on the couch. Tim and Brian were back, their faces hard and unreadable, though the tension between them filled the room like smoke.

“It’s midnight, where the hell were you?!” you demanded, standing up as your voice quavered between anger and worry. Your heart pounded. They had been gone for hours with no word, leaving you to stew in an anxious cocktail of fear and frustration.

Tim tossed his jacket onto the back of the chair, not even sparing you a glance. “Out,” he muttered, the single word cutting through the air like a knife.

“Out? That’s all you’ve got to say?” You stepped closer, your fists clenched at your sides. “I was worried sick! You can’t just disappear for hours and not—”

“Are you even listening to me?” The words tumbled out, louder than you intended. The silence that followed was suffocating.

Brian leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were sharp, like he was sizing you up, ready to dismantle you piece by piece. “What more do you really want?” he sneered, his tone cold. “We’re back. Isn’t that enough?”

“Enough?” Your voice cracked. “You left me here, with no explanation, no text, nothing! Do you know what that feels like?”

Brian’s laugh was bitter, a sound devoid of warmth. “You’re so pathetic. Always clinging, always demanding.”

Your chest tightened, the words hitting harder than they should have. “What is wrong with you guys? I stayed up all night worrying about you. I thought you might’ve been hurt—or worse!” you snapped, though your voice wavered under the weight of Tim’s sharp glare.

Tim finally turned to you, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and something sharper. “Can you just fuck off already?” he said, his words devoid of emotion.

The ground felt like it was slipping beneath you. You stared at him, unable to process what he’d just said, eyes starting to form small beads, glistening when the kitchen light reflected off them.

Brian’s smirk widened as he tilted his head, his voice dripping with mockery. “Oh, is the poor little thing going to cry? Can’t handle a bit of truth, huh?”

You stood there, rooted in place, as the words rained down on you like blows you couldn’t dodge. Your chest tightened, each syllable slicing deeper, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The walls seemed to close in around you, the air growing heavier with every passing moment.

Tim remained unmoved, his gaze sharpening.

Brian pushed himself off the counter, his movements slow and deliberate as he walked past you, his shoulder brushing yours in a way that felt intentional. “Ever since we first met, you’ve been nothing but a burden,” he muttered, his voice low but clear enough to pierce through the din of your spiraling thoughts.

Something in you cracked. The fragile hope you’d held onto, that this was just a bad day and things would work themselves out, shattered completely. “Fine,” you said, your voice trembling but steady enough to carry the weight of your resolve. “Leave, then. Both of you. I don’t need this.”

For the first time, neither of them had a quick retort. They exchanged a glance—silent, unreadable—and without another word, Tim grabbed his jacket. Brian didn’t even bother to look back as they walked out the door.

The silence they left behind was deafening.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The door closed with a soft click this time, and the sound made your stomach twist. The fight was over, but it didn’t feel like a victory. The quiet that followed wasn’t peace—it was suffocating. You stood frozen in the center of the room, your arms hanging limply at your sides, heart hammering in your chest.  

You’d told them to leave. And they had.  

Tears pricked your eyes, blurring your vision as the weight of everything began to settle. Their words echoed in your mind, each one sharper than the last.  

“You’re so pathetic.”

“Can you just fuck off already?” 

“You’re nothing but a burden.”

Your knees buckled, and you sank onto the couch, trembling. You hugged yourself, as if you could somehow shield yourself from the bruises their words had left behind. It wasn’t the first time arguments like this had erupted between you three. The stress of working with the Operator, the endless, mind-numbing missions, and the constant danger had frayed everyone’s nerves. But tonight had been different.  

Tonight, they hadn’t just been angry—they’d been cruel.  

You wiped at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, your breath hitching as the tears came faster. “Why did it have to be like this?” you whispered to no one.  

For a moment, you let yourself remember the good days—the laughter, the late nights spent curled up together, the small moments of tenderness that had made all the chaos bearable. You’d thought that those moments meant something, that they could carry you all through the worst of it.  

But maybe you were wrong.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second dragging on longer than the last. The apartment felt too big, too empty without their presence, even if that presence had been brimming with anger. You couldn’t stop replaying the argument in your head, trying to pinpoint the moment where everything had spiraled out of control.  

Had you pushed too hard? Or had they finally shown you what they truly thought of you?  

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, snapping you out of your thoughts. You reached for it with shaking hands, half-hoping it was one of them. Maybe Tim or Brian would apologize, or at least explain what had set them off so badly.  

But it wasn’t them. It was just a useless notification—a weather alert. You threw the phone back onto the table, the small hope you’d allowed yourself fizzling out as quickly as it had come.  

A cold wave of exhaustion swept over you. You pulled a blanket over your shoulders, curling into yourself as the tears continued to fall.  

  ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Hours passed, though you couldn’t tell how many. You didn’t sleep—how could you, with your mind racing and your chest aching like this? You wanted to hate them, wanted to banish their faces from your thoughts, but it was impossible.  

The door opened again sometime near dawn. The sound jolted you upright, your breath catching in your throat. For a split second, you thought maybe they’d come back to make things right.  

Tim stood in the doorway, looking drained and disheveled. Brian was behind him, his face an unreadable mask. Neither of them spoke at first.  

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice hoarse from crying.  

Tim looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “We forgot some stuff,” he muttered. “It’s not like we came back for you.”  

The sharpness of his words was dulled by his tone—it wasn’t cruel, just... hollow.  

Brian crossed the room without a word, grabbing a duffel bag from the corner and stuffing a few things into it. He didn’t even glance in your direction.  

The sight of them, so detached and indifferent, made something inside you snap. “That’s it?” you said, your voice trembling with anger and disbelief. “You’re just going to walk in here, grab your shit, and leave? After everything?”  

Tim turned to face you, his expression darkening. “What do you want me to say?” he snapped. “That we’re sorry? That everything’s fine now? It’s not.”  

“I don’t want your empty apologies,” you shot back. “I wanted you to care. I wanted you to try.”  

Brian finally spoke, his voice cold and sharp. “We’ve been trying. You think this is easy? You think we can just continue acting like everything’s fine when it’s not?”

“Do you even hear yourselves?” you said, your voice rising. “You’re blaming me for this—like I’m the one who’s broken us!”  

Tim’s jaw tightened. “Maybe you should look in the mirror, then.”  

The room fell silent again, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a heavy stone.  

You swallowed hard, blinking back the fresh tears that threatened to spill over. “If this is how little you think of me, then why did you stay for so long?”  

Neither of them answered.  

Brian slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, his expression unchanging. “We couldn’t handle faking it anymore,” he said.  

You stared at them, your chest heaving as anger and despair warred within you. “Fine,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what I saw in you both to be together this long.” The words you spoke came out like venom, even shocking you.

Tim hesitated for a moment, but Brian didn’t look back as he opened the door and stepped out. Tim followed, the door closing behind them with a finality that left you breathless.  

And then, once again, you were alone.  

  ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The hours that followed their departure stretched endlessly, every second heavier than the last. The apartment felt like a hollow shell—an echo chamber of everything they had said and everything you hadn’t had the chance to say. Sleep evaded you; every time you closed your eyes, their voices lingered, cruel and sharp like glass shards digging into your chest.  

When the sun finally rose, its weak light spilled through the curtains, and you sat up, exhausted but restless. Their things were gone now, but the spaces they had filled—the chair Tim always slouched in, the spot on the kitchen counter Brian leaned against when he teased you—those remained, taunting you.  

By noon, you had reached your breaking point. You had to confront them—not to bring them back, but to purge the poison they’d left in your veins. You grabbed your phone and sent a message to Tim.  

We need to talk. Face-to-face. Please.

You didn’t expect him to reply. You didn’t expect him to come, either. But an hour later, there was a knock at the door.  

When you opened it, Tim stood there, his expression guarded. He had changed out of his wrinkled clothes from the night before but still looked just as tired.  

“Where’s Brian?” you asked flatly.  

“Not here,” he said, stepping inside. “He didn’t want to come.”  

“Of course he didn’t,” you muttered under your breath.  

Tim frowned, crossing his arms. “You wanted to talk. So talk.”  

The sight of him standing there, so detached, made your blood boil. “You promised me,” you said, your voice trembling. “You both did. You promised we’d stick together, no matter how hard things got.”  

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, well, promises don’t mean much when everything’s falling apart.”  

“You think I don’t know that?” you snapped. “I gave you everything I had. Everything! Look where that got me.”  

He flinched, just barely, but it was enough to spur you on. “Every time I look at you,” you said, your voice breaking, “all I see are the faces of the people who once told me they loved me, that I was the only bright spark in their dark world. And now you’re just like them—another person who tore me apart and left me here to bleed.”  

“Stop,” Tim said quietly, but you weren’t done.  

“You changed me, Tim. You and Brian both. You broke me down until there was nothing left. And the worst part? Neither of you will ever find someone who loves a soul as filthy as yours.”  

“That’s enough!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the room like a whip.  

The silence that followed was deafening. Tim looked away, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.  

You let out a shaky breath, your anger giving way to exhaustion. “Was any of it real? Did it ever really mean something to either of you?” you whispered, looking at Tim with some form of hope in your eyes.  

Tim’s head snapped back toward you, his expression shifting. “Of course it meant something!” he said, his voice cracking. “You think I didn’t care? You think none of it mattered to me?”  

“Did it?” you asked, your voice flat. “Because if it did, why did you let it end like this? Why didn’t you fight for us?”  

He stared at you, his mouth opening as if to say something, but no words came out.  

Finally, he shook his head and turned toward the door. “I can’t do this,” he muttered.  

“Of course you can’t,” you said bitterly. “Running away is the only thing you’ve ever been good at.”  

He hesitated, his hand on the doorknob, but didn’t look back. And then, just like that, he was gone.  

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The next few days passed in a blur. You didn’t hear from either of them, and part of you was grateful for the silence. But the pain lingered, festering like an open wound. You replayed the argument with Tim over and over in your mind, dissecting every word, every glance, every moment where things could have gone differently.  

You weren’t sure if you wanted to fix things anymore. Maybe there was nothing left to fix.  

But one thing was certain—you wouldn’t let them tear you apart again.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠! 🖤

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 @𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑙𝑦-𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑠

𝐺𝐼𝐹 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 @𝑘𝑟𝑣𝑝𝑖𝑘𝑎

𝐽𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒.

A/N: I’m back!! (But only for a little while lol) Take this as a sorry for my hiatus. Also, does the Eddsworld fandom still exist? Cause like I absolutely lived off it, though I kinda grew out of it. Anywho, I missed writing for you guys and I hope you enjoy.

TW: None, just pure fluff!

Word Count: 1.7k

Reader is gender-neutral.

Remember to drink plenty of water and eat delicious food, you are loved! ❤️

The rain pattered softly against the windowpane, a soothing rhythm that filled the cozy apartment. Tom sat on the couch, slouched against the cushions, nursing a cup of coffee and wearing his perpetual scowl. His hoodie was pulled up over his spiky hair, as though it could shield him from the gloomy weather outside.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more delighted. You stood by the window, watching the droplets race each other down the glass, your excitement barely contained.

“Tom!” you chirped, spinning around to face him, your eyes sparkling with an idea. “Let’s dance in the rain!”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “Dance? In the rain? Why would we do that?”

“Because it’ll be fun!” you said, practically bouncing on your toes. “Come on, when was the last time you did something just because it made you happy?”

“I’m happy right here,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely to his coffee and the couch. “Also, hypothermia is a thing. You know that, right?”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand, tugging gently. “Oh, don’t be such a grump! A little rain never hurt anyone. Besides, you’ve got me to keep you warm.”

Tom groaned, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips—not that he’d let you see it. He took another sip of his coffee, stalling for time, but the way you looked at him, eyes wide and pleading, made resistance futile.

“Fine,” he grumbled, setting his mug down and standing up. “But if I get sick, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal!” you beamed, practically dragging him toward the door.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ

Before he could change his mind, you both stepped outside. The rain was cool against your skin, and you spread your arms wide, spinning in circles and laughing. The downpour turned the world into a shimmering blur, droplets clinging to your hair and clothes as you twirled, a picture of unrestrained joy. Tom stood stiffly at first, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. But as he watched you, something softened in his expression.

“Come on, Tom!” you called, holding out your hands to him. “You’ve got to try it!”

He hesitated, then sighed heavily, stepping closer. You took his hands, intertwining your fingers, and began swaying to a rhythm only you could hear. Slowly, awkwardly, Tom followed your lead. The warmth of your touch seemed to melt away some of his resistance, and though he initially stumbled over his own feet, he eventually found a clumsy kind of rhythm.

“See?” you said, grinning up at him. “Isn’t this amazing?”

“It’s wet,” he deadpanned, but there was a softness in his tone that betrayed him.

You laughed, tilting your head back to let the rain kiss your face. Tom watched you, a strange warmth spreading through his chest despite the chill in the air. He couldn’t help but smile—a rare, genuine smile that he’d only ever let slip when he was with you.

“Okay, okay, maybe it’s not the worst thing,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Told you so,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him.

And for once, Tom didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled you closer, his movements growing less stiff as he spun you clumsily under the rain. As you danced, the rain seemed to transform the mundane into something magical. The patter of droplets against the pavement became a drumbeat, and the swish of your clothes against the water-soaked air added a melody. Your laughter was the crescendo, a sound so pure and infectious that Tom found himself chuckling along despite himself.

You spun away from him, arms wide, and did an impromptu little jig, splashing through the puddles. “Come on, Tom!” you urged, beckoning him with both hands. “You’ve got to let loose!”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto his face. “You’re going to regret this when you’re sneezing your head off tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” you said, shrugging and grinning mischievously. “But I’ll regret it even more if you don’t dance with me right now!”

Tom sighed dramatically, but he stepped forward, matching your movements with exaggerated effort. The sight of his half-hearted twirls and overly serious expression sent you into a fit of giggles.

“Not bad, Mr. Grumpypants,” you teased, grabbing his hands again and pulling him into a faster spin. “Now, don’t hold back!”

He grumbled something under his breath but followed your lead, stumbling a little as you twirled together. The world around you blurred as the rain fell harder, drenching you both completely. You lifted your arms, spinning away again, and when you turned back to face him, Tom was actually laughing—a deep, genuine laugh that you rarely heard. It was music to your ears, and you couldn’t help but join in.

“Look at you!” you said, pointing at him with mock surprise. “You’re having fun!”

“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, though the grin on his face betrayed him.

You stepped closer and grabbed his hands again, swaying together under the rain. “Oh, I’m definitely getting used to it,” you said, your voice soft but playful. “You’re not as grumpy as you think you are.”

“Don’t push your luck,” he muttered, but his tone was light, and his grip on your hands was steady.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ

Time seemed to stretch as you danced together, the rain washing away any lingering hesitation. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, and rested your head against his chest. Tom stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, his arms circling your waist. The two of you swayed gently, your movements slowing to match the rhythm of the falling rain.

“This is nice,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

Tom didn’t respond right away, but his hand moved to gently brush a strand of wet hair from your face. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It is.”

The rain fell heavier, drenching you both until even Tom’s thick hoodie was thoroughly soaked. Despite his earlier protests, he seemed to forget himself for a moment, twirling you in an exaggerated, clumsy flourish that made you burst out laughing. The sound was like music to his ears, and he found himself laughing along with you, the kind of deep, genuine laugh that left his chest warm.

“You’re ridiculous!” you said, wiping rain from your face as you grinned up at him.

“Says the one who dragged me out here,” he shot back, though his words were softened by the unmistakable fondness in his gaze. “Let’s just call it even.”

The two of you continued dancing until your movements slowed, more swaying than spinning, letting the rain become a soothing backdrop to the quiet contentment between you. You rested your head against his chest, and he held you close, his chin resting lightly on top of your damp hair. The world around you seemed to pause, leaving only the two of you in your bubble of warmth and affection.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ

When you finally made your way back inside, you left a trail of puddles in your wake, your laughter still echoing through the small apartment.

Tom muttered complaints about the mess as he peeled off his soggy hoodie, but the flush on his cheeks had nothing to do with the cold. You handed him a towel, grinning mischievously as you wrapped one around yourself.

By the time you both changed into dry clothes, the coziness of the apartment felt like a stark contrast to the rainstorm outside. Tom reluctantly let you drape a blanket over both of you as you huddled together on the couch. His usual scowl softened as you leaned against him, your hair still damp and messy from the rain.

“I still think this was a terrible idea,” he grumbled, though his arm settled around your shoulders almost instinctively.

“Admit it, you had fun,” you teased, tilting your head to look up at him. “Just a little?”

Tom rolled his eyes, but his silence spoke volumes. You smiled to yourself, content to let the warmth between you fill the room as the rain continued its steady rhythm outside.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ

The next morning, neither of you could deny the scratchy throats and sniffles that had set in. Tom’s grumbling reached new heights as he wrapped himself in a blanket cocoon on the couch, a box of tissues on one side and a mug of tea on the other.

“I told you this would happen,” he said, voice slightly hoarse but still laced with his trademark sarcasm.

You sat beside him, bundled up in your own blanket, your nose red and a pile of tissues forming on the coffee table. Despite it all, you couldn’t stop smiling.

“Wasn’t it worth it, though?” you asked, nudging him playfully.

Tom glanced at you, his expression softening despite himself. “You’re insufferable,” he said, but there was no hiding the fondness in his tone.

“And you love it,” you shot back, grinning.

He didn’t reply, but the way he leaned against you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, said enough. Even sick and miserable, Tom knew he’d do it all over again if it meant seeing you that happy. And as you both huddled together, sharing warmth and quiet laughter, you couldn’t help but feel like the rain had brought you closer than ever.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ

Over the next few days, the two of you fell into a rhythm of shared recovery. Tom, despite his grumbling, made sure your tea was always warm and your blanket properly tucked around you. You returned the favor by fussing over him, coaxing him to drink water and rest properly. It was a give-and-take that neither of you acknowledged outright, but it deepened the bond between you.

One afternoon, as the rain outside finally began to taper off, you turned to Tom with a thoughtful look. “You know,” you began, “we should do this again sometime. Maybe without the whole getting-sick-after part.”

Tom gave you a deadpan look. “You want me to voluntarily dance in the rain again?”

“Why not?” you said with a cheeky grin. “It was fun, wasn’t it?”

He sighed, shaking his head, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“And you wouldn’t have me any other way,” you replied, leaning against him with a contented smile.

Tom didn’t argue, his arm slipping around you once more as the two of you sat in comfortable silence. The rain may have passed, but the memory of that evening lingered, a reminder that sometimes, even the grumpiest souls need a little sunshine to brighten their days.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢! 💧

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 @𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑙𝑦-𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑠

𝐺𝐼𝐹 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑠.