WAIT WAIT WAIT But What If In The Angst Duchess Au, She Reaches Her Breaking Point But Instead Of Crying

*Simon following up behind y/n* Y/n: So...me and Simon are dating *Simon nodding* Price: ha! We already knew Soap: like why were you even hiding it from us this long Y/n and Simon: *confused* Y/n:We only started dating today Price: Soap: Then what the fuck was happening for the last three years ?! Simon: :)

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

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

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.

PLEASE READ!

Hey everyone, firstly I would like to apologize for the lack of writing. I know I promised more headcanons for the Sally face crew but exams have been consuming me for the last two weeks, and I am just beyond tired. I have one more final on Thursday and I will be on break (hopefully I will start writing soon). On a positive note, I will begin taking requests during my break! So please feel free to ask away and I will do the best I can to get back with you!

Also, thank you so much for the support on the Sal Fisher headcanons. I am new to writing fanfiction and it means so much to mean that you guys have taken the time to read my work and hearted it.

Love ya guys,

Merxcy <3

OMGMGMGMGMGM THE @beloveds-embrace NOTICED ME, MY HEART IS SO FULL!!! 😫❤️

Hi love! I was wondering how does the reader in your Roomates AU fall in love with each of the boys? Does the reader see something in them or the boys do something that makes the reader just stop and internally panic (in love ofc <3).

p.s. I love your writing, keep up the amazing work! ❤️

First of all, thank you so much!! 💕🫶🏻

In all honesty I am a huge sucker of that one trope where Reader has no idea she’s even fallen into a sort of relationship with them until one of her friends keeps giving her a weird, far too teasing smile when they drop by to visit her.

“It’s like- they are your boyfriends! Multiple!”

And you brush them aside at first, not believing them but their words just keep repeating in your head until you really think about it and realize: yes… they do act like your boyfriends, don’t they?

(And you don’t seem to mind it all. Shocker.)

𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑇𝑖𝑒𝑠

A/N: Here is Part 2 of ‘I Love You, I’m Sorry’ for all my lovelies that requested it! I tried to write it to where it has even more angst, and I hope you all enjoy! :)

Word Count: 2.3k

TW: Mentions of Suicide (If you or a loved one is suffering, I urge you to reach out for help, you are loved even if you cannot see it), Aruging, Toxic ex-relationship.

The city of Piltover always hummed with life, its streets alive with industry and ambition. Tonight, however, it felt subdued, as though the city itself shared your unease. You walked aimlessly, boots scuffing against cobblestones worn smooth by countless steps. The festival lanterns glowed faintly in the distance, their light flickering like dying embers.

Your mind refused to quiet. It circled back again and again to Vi—to her laughter, her fire, the way she’d make even the darkest corners of Zaun feel like home. But those memories now carried an edge, cutting deep whenever they surfaced. You’d spent so many nights hoping she’d return, only to realize that hope could be a double-edged sword. Sometimes, it kept you alive. Other times, it made the fall so much worse.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You thought about the first time you’d met her. It had been at a Zaunite rally, a chaotic clash of voices demanding justice. You had been there to observe, to report back to your Piltover contacts about the growing unrest below. But then she’d stepped onto a crate in the center of the crowd, her pink hair catching the faint light as she spoke with raw, unyielding passion. Her words had seared into your soul, leaving you questioning everything you thought you believed.

“If we’re going to survive,” she’d said, her voice ringing clear above the noise, “we have to stop begging for scraps. We’re not the broken pieces of Piltover’s machine. We’re the ones who’ll tear it down and build something better.”

Even now, you could feel the electricity of that moment, the way her conviction had drawn you in like a moth to a flame. You hadn’t known it then, but that was the night your life had begun to split in two. There was the you that belonged to Piltover, its orderly streets and gilded towers. And then there was the you that longed for something more—for her.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The sound of footsteps pulled you back to the present. You looked up and saw someone walking toward you. For a brief, gut-wrenching moment, you thought it might be Vi. But as the figure drew closer, you saw that it was a man, hunched and shrouded in a heavy coat. He gave you a passing glance before disappearing into the shadows, leaving you alone once more.

You sighed and turned down a narrow alley, the noise of the festival fading behind you. This part of the city was quieter, almost eerily so. The buildings here were older, their facades cracked and weathered by time. It reminded you of Zaun in a way, though the air was cleaner and the streets more stable underfoot.

Your thoughts drifted to Caitlyn Kiramman, Piltover’s golden enforcer. She’d always been an enigma to you, with her poised demeanor and piercing gaze. Vi had spoken of her often, always with a mixture of admiration and frustration. “She’s too good for this city,” Vi had once said. “Too good for me, too. But she’s got this… way of seeing things, you know? Like she’s already ten steps ahead of everyone else.”

You hadn’t known what to say to that. The jealousy that prickled at the edges of your thoughts was ugly, but undeniable. You had wondered, even then, if Caitlyn was the reason Vi’s heart always felt just out of reach. And now, after what you’d seen tonight, you couldn’t help but feel you’d been right.

The kiss between them had been so… certain. So unguarded. It had felt like the final nail in the coffin of everything you and Vi had built together. You tried to remind yourself that she deserved happiness, that Caitlyn’s steady presence might be what Vi needed. But the thought only twisted the knife deeper.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You stopped walking and leaned against a lamppost, the cool metal grounding you. The city stretched out below, a labyrinth of light and shadow. Somewhere out there, Vi was laughing, living, moving on. And you? You were stuck here, caught in the liminal space between what was and what could never be.

“What am I even doing?” you muttered to no one in particular. The words dissipated into the night, unanswered.

Your gaze drifted upward, toward the towering skyline of Piltover. You’d spent years climbing its social ladder, trying to carve out a space where you could make a difference. You’d believed in its promise of progress, in the idea that change could come from within. But now, all you could see were the cracks—the lies and corruption that seeped through the city’s polished exterior. Vi had seen them too, but she’d never shared your faith that they could be repaired.

“Piltover doesn’t change,” she’d told you once, her voice heavy with resignation. “It just finds new ways to keep people in their place.”

At the time, you’d argued with her, insisting that things could be different. But now, in the aftermath of her absence, you weren’t so sure. Maybe she’d been right all along. Maybe your efforts were nothing more than a fool’s errand.

The sound of distant laughter reached your ears, and you turned instinctively toward it. A group of festival-goers passed by, their faces bright with joy. You watched them for a moment, feeling like an outsider looking in. Once, you might have been among them, caught up in the revelry. But tonight, it felt impossible. The weight of your grief was too heavy to set aside, even for a moment.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You pushed off the lamppost and kept walking, the streets growing quieter as you moved further from the festival. Your feet carried you toward the border between Piltover and Zaun, a place you’d avoided for months. It was a strange sort of no-man’s-land, a place where the two cities bled into each other without ever truly meeting. Here, the air was thicker, the lights dimmer. It felt like a fitting backdrop for your mood.

You stopped at the edge of a rusted bridge, the same one Vi had once described in her dreams of a wedding. She’d envisioned it covered in lights, filled with people from both cities coming together to celebrate something real. But now, it stood empty and decayed, a monument to everything that had gone wrong.

The thought crept in quietly, unbidden but persistent. What if you just… let go? The bridge loomed over the murky depths of the water below, its surface reflecting the faint glow of distant lanterns. You stepped closer to the edge, the wind tugging at your coat. For a moment, you imagined the release—the quiet, the stillness. No more pain. No more longing.

But as you gripped the railing, a voice cut through the fog of your thoughts. “Hey!”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You froze, your heart lurching as you turned to see Vi standing at the other end of the bridge. Her pink hair caught the faint glow of the city lights, her broad shoulders framed against the night sky. She looked different—tired, older somehow—but the fire in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Vi,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The air between you felt charged, heavy with everything that had been left unsaid.

She stepped closer, her expression unreadable. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Funny,” you replied bitterly, stepping away from the edge. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight either. Especially not with her.”

Vi’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing. “So that’s what this is about? You spying on me now?”

“I wasn’t spying,” you snapped. “I was just… there. And I saw enough.”

She crossed her arms, her posture defensive. “You don’t get to judge me. You don’t know what it’s been like these past few months.”

“Don’t I?” you shot back, the anger you’d been holding back finally boiling over. “You think you’re the only one who’s been hurting? I’ve been trying to hold everything together, Vi. For you. For us. And all this time, you were—” Your voice broke, the words catching in your throat. “You were moving on.”

“Moving on?” she echoed, her voice sharp. “You think that’s what this is? You think I wanted any of this? You don’t understand what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning, to grab onto anything just to keep your head above water.”

Your chest ached, her words cutting deeper than you thought possible. “I was there for you, Vi. I would’ve done anything for you. But you left. You left, and now you’re standing here acting like I’m the one who doesn’t understand?”

Her gaze softened for a moment, but then she shook her head, her expression hardening again. “I didn’t leave. I fought for what I believed in. And if you couldn’t handle that—if you couldn’t handle me—then maybe this was doomed from the start.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. You stared at her, tears blurring your vision, but you refused to let them fall. “Maybe it was,” you said quietly, the weight of your grief settling over you like a shroud. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Vi looked away, her jaw clenching as though she was holding back words she couldn’t bring herself to say. Her fists tightened at her sides, the leather of her gloves creaking under the pressure. For a moment, it seemed as if she might walk away again, leaving you with nothing but silence and the weight of her absence. But instead, she let out a ragged breath and turned back to you, her eyes shadowed with a pain that mirrored your own.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” she said, her voice cracking. “But what do you want me to say? That I didn’t screw up? That I didn’t let you down? I did. And I hate myself for it.”

Her admission hit you like a punch to the gut. You’d dreamed of hearing her say those words, of having her acknowledge the chasm that had opened between you. But now that she had, it didn’t feel like the closure you’d hoped for. It felt like another wound, raw and bleeding.

“You don’t get to hate yourself,” you said bitterly. “You don’t get to take the easy way out. You don’t get to kiss someone else and then come here acting like you’re the victim.”

Vi flinched, her eyes narrowing. “You think it’s easy? Being with Caitlyn, pretending I’m okay when every part of me feels like it’s falling apart? She’s safe. She doesn’t make me feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.”

The words stung, and you took an involuntary step back. “So that’s what I was to you? A risk? Something dangerous you needed to escape from?”

“No,” Vi said quickly, her voice desperate. “You were everything. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I couldn’t handle it. You saw me as something more than I could be—as someone better than I am.”

“I saw you as someone worth fighting for,” you countered, your voice rising. “But you couldn’t do the same for me. You couldn’t even stay.”

Vi ran a hand through her hair, her frustration palpable. “It wasn’t about not wanting to stay. It was about surviving. Every time I looked at you, I saw everything I couldn’t have—everything I wanted but couldn’t hold onto. And it killed me.”

“Then why are you here now?” you demanded, your voice breaking under the weight of your emotions. “Why did you stop me if you’ve already moved on? What do you want from me, Vi?”

She stared at you, her lips parted as though she had an answer but couldn’t bring herself to say it. The silence between you stretched, heavy and suffocating. Finally, she whispered, “I don’t know.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of humor. “That’s just like you, isn’t it? Always running, always unsure. You’re so afraid of being vulnerable that you’d rather destroy everything than risk getting hurt.”

Vi’s eyes flashed with anger, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she took a step closer, her voice low and trembling. “And what about you? Huh? You think standing on the edge of that bridge is brave? You think giving up is some kind of statement?”

“It’s not about bravery,” you shot back. “It’s about not knowing how to keep going when everything feels so goddamn empty.”

Her face crumpled, and for a moment, she looked like she might break. But then she straightened, her shoulders squared. “You keep going because you’re stronger than this. Because you’re better than this.”

“Am I?” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I don’t feel strong. I don’t feel better. I feel broken, Vi. And you’re part of the reason why.”

The words hung between you like a dagger, sharp and unrelenting. Vi reached out as if to touch you, but her hand faltered, hovering in the air before falling back to her side. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice barely audible. “For everything.”

But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. You took a step back, shaking your head. “Sorry doesn’t fix this. It doesn’t bring us back. It doesn’t make me whole again.”

Vi nodded, her expression hollow. “I know.”

And with that, the distance between you felt insurmountable. She stood there, framed by the faint glow of Piltover’s lights, and you realized that this was the end. There would be no mending, no reconciliation. The chasm between you had grown too wide, and neither of you had the strength to bridge it.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the stillness. Vi didn’t call after you, and you didn’t look back. The weight of everything you’d lost pressed down on you, but for the first time, you knew it was a burden you’d have to carry alone.

Above you, the stars shone cold and distant, offering no comfort.

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

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟.

Dad! Simon

You find him in the bedroom, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, legs stretched out, a shoebox balanced on his thigh. And, scattered around him—like fallen leaves—are photographs.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Planning a scrapbook?”

Simon doesn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Just recognition.

"He’s gotten so big now," he mutters, lifting a picture between his fingers. He turns it toward you—your son, a newborn, swaddled tight, impossibly small in his arms. "Look at this—head barely bigger than my palm."

You step inside, lowering yourself beside him. The photos form a mosaic across the carpet—a timeline of a life measured in firsts.

First ultrasound. First bath. First wobbly steps.

His first birthday, cake frosting, smeared across chubby cheeks, fingers reaching for Simon’s.

His first time on Simon’s shoulders, tiny hands gripping his head, giggling like he’d never known a world without laughter.

You pick up a more recent one—your son at five, sitting on Simon’s lap, eyes bright, smile wide. He looks just like him. Same sharp gaze, same shape of the mouth. It’s almost funny how undeniable it is.

Simon exhales, slow and steady, his thumb tracing over the glossy surface.

"Simon ...do you want me to - "

His jaw tightens, just for a second, before he lets out a quiet huff. “No, it’s fine. Thinkin’ of puttin’ some in an album.”

You don’t catch him on the lie.

Because what you don’t know—what you won’t know for a long time—is that there will be no album.

The photos will go back into the box. Just like they always do.

And later that night, after the house has settled into quiet, after you’ve both gone to bed, he’ll slip the box under his side of the nightstand—within reach, always.

And when it’s time—when the bags are packed, when his boots are laced, when the house is still dark with sleep—he’ll take the smallest, most recent one.

-- where your son is missing a front tooth, grinning wide, arms thrown around your neck like he never wants to let go.

He’ll fold it carefully, tuck it into the pocket of his gear.

Because the thought of not having it, of not carrying that proof of life with him, is unbearable.

So he keeps them.

And sometimes, when he’s halfway across the world, when the silence stretches too long and the weight in his chest feels too heavy to bear, he’ll take that photo out.

Run his thumb over the edges.

Remind himself of what’s waiting for him at home.

Just for a little while.

Just to hold on.

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

imagine the task force 141 falsely accusing you of being a traitor to the team. knowing your biggest fear, they use it against you. water. water, where your feet can't touch the ground. water you can't see through. at first it started with waterboarding. then slowly but surely they threatened to drop you into the pool. into the dark, deep pool. even john, who was like a father to you before, didn't help you. no. not at all. actually, he was the one who stepped into the water fully clothed, dragging your crying and squirming form with him into the bloodcurling liquid. your tears blended in with it while you we're screaming, practically begging that you were the wrong one. that you'd never do something like that. but they just stood at the edge of the pool, watching their captain almost drowning your terrified self. how would they react, when they get the information that you really weren't the one...?