Thinking About Designationless!reader Au, How The Boys Would Spend HOURS Searching For Candles That Properly

𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦.

A/N: This idea has been itching in the back of my head all day that I couldn’t help but write it down. Enjoy my lovelies.

TW: Cheating, Angst to Comfort, Yelling, Grief.

Word Count: 1.3K

Reader is Female

The evening air was thick with the usual hustle and bustle of Piltover’s streets, the city’s golden glow reflecting off polished steel and glass. You paced nervously in your modest apartment, going over your latest conversation with Vi in your mind. The room felt smaller than usual, closing in with every unresolved thought.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Before the fractures started to show, there was a time when everything felt perfect. You and Vi would lie together in the dim glow of lanterns, sprawled across the couch in her Zaunite hideout or tucked away in your Piltover apartment. She’d whisper wild dreams about a future where Zaun and Piltover weren’t at each other’s throats, where no one had to fight to survive.

“You know what I think about sometimes?” Vi had asked one night, her head resting on your chest as you absentmindedly ran your fingers through her pink hair. “A wedding. Ours. Somewhere at the border where Zaun and Piltover meet. A big bridge all lit up with lights. No sides. Just us.”

You’d laughed softly, your hand pausing in her hair. “You? Thinking about a wedding? That’s rich.”

She’d grinned up at you, punching your arm lightly. “Hey, don’t ruin my moment. I’m being serious here. Just imagine it, yeah? Everyone from both cities, sitting together, watching us make something real. Something they’d have to believe in because we believed in it first.”

Her words had filled you with a warmth so deep it made your chest ache. You’d cupped her face, looking into those sharp, determined eyes. “I’d marry you anywhere, Vi. Even if it’s just us on some rooftop in Zaun. But if that’s your dream, then I’ll make it mine, too.”

The smile she gave you then was unlike any you’d ever seen—soft, vulnerable, and full of hope. For a moment, it felt like anything was possible.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

But dreams are fragile things, easily broken by reality. As the weeks passed, the cracks in that perfect vision began to show. It started with small disagreements, the weight of your responsibilities in Piltover colliding with her unwavering loyalty to Zaun. You’d tell her about the progress you were making in your work, trying to bridge gaps between the two cities, but she’d scoff, calling it naive.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Vi had said, her voice low and rough during that fateful argument. “Piltover chews people up and spits them out. You think you can change that from the inside?”

Your reply had been sharp, almost desperate. “I have to try! I can’t just… sit back and do nothing. Not everyone in Piltover is corrupt. Some of us want to make it better.”

Vi’s jaw tightened, and she let out a bitter laugh. “And what? You think they’ll listen to you because you’re one of them? You’re just another cog in their machine. You don’t belong to Zaun, and you don’t belong to me if this is the path you want.”

The words had cut deep, and neither of you had backed down. The argument spiraled into accusations and misunderstandings until she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. That was two weeks ago, and you hadn’t seen her since.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The silence between you hadn’t lasted long before the news came. Vi had been arrested during a raid on one of Zaun’s safe houses, caught in the act of defending a group of children hiding from enforcers. She hadn’t gone quietly—they said she’d taken down three officers before being subdued. You heard whispers of her being transferred to Stillwater Hold, Piltover’s most notorious prison.

You wanted to help her, but what could you do? Your position in Piltover’s hierarchy was tenuous at best. Every attempt to pull strings was met with cold refusals and veiled warnings. The system you believed in had failed her, just as she’d always said it would.

The days stretched into weeks, and though you tried to visit, the guards at Stillwater Hold never let you through. Each rejection felt like another nail in the coffin of what you and Vi had shared.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The first week after her arrest, you had told yourself she’d come back. That somehow, some way, you’d find a way to fix things. But as days turned into weeks, the silence spoke louder than any words could. You threw yourself into your work, trying to drown the ache in productivity. Every morning you donned the mask of a dedicated citizen of Piltover, hoping no one noticed the cracks. At night, the silence of your apartment swallowed you whole.

Months passed, and the emptiness became a part of you, a dull ache that refused to fade. You told yourself you were moving on, but every corner of Piltover held memories of her—the way she’d smirk at the absurdity of high-society parties, or how her fingers felt laced with yours as you walked the streets together.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

But tonight was different. Tonight, you couldn’t focus. The city’s energy only served as a painful reminder of the life you and Vi had once dreamed of together—a bridge between two worlds, something neither of you had fully understood but had hoped to build.

A loud cheer from the street below broke your thoughts. Curious, you moved to the window, brushing aside the curtain. A festival was in full swing, the streets alive with laughter and music. And then you saw her.

Vi.

She stood out effortlessly, her pink hair glowing under the lantern lights, her confident stance drawing eyes. But it wasn’t just her presence that made your heart stop. It was the way she leaned toward someone, her hands resting casually on Caitlyn Kiramman’s waist. The enforcer’s dark hair framed her delicate features, and her smile was bright and unguarded as she whispered something that made Vi laugh.

Your chest tightened as Vi’s laughter softened, her face inching closer to Caitlyn’s. And then they kissed. It wasn’t hesitant or fleeting. It was passionate, the kind of kiss that spoke of intimacy and trust—a connection.

Your breath hitched, and you stepped back from the window, your hands trembling. The sight was burned into your mind, a cruel reminder of everything you’d lost. The ache in your chest blossomed into a full-fledged storm, rage and sorrow intertwining until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

You thought of the nights you’d stayed awake, waiting for her to come back. Of the times she’d held you close, promising that no matter what, you were her safe haven. All of it seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the reality of what you’d just seen.

The urge to confront her was overwhelming, but what would you even say? That it wasn’t fair? That you still loved her? That you’d been wrong to think you could make a difference in Piltover without her by your side?

You stepped away from the window, the walls of your apartment suddenly suffocating. With trembling hands, you grabbed your coat and headed outside, blending into the festive crowds. The music was too loud, the colors too bright, but you walked aimlessly, desperate to escape the whirlpool of emotions inside you.

Eventually, you found yourself at the edge of the festival, where the noise faded into the quiet hum of the city. You leaned against a cold, steel railing, staring out over the distant horizon. Zaun’s shadowed depths loomed below, a reminder of where Vi had come from and where you could never truly follow her.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you let them fall. For the first time, you allowed yourself to grieve—not just for the love you’d lost, but for the dream that had shattered between you. And as the city lights flickered around you, you made a quiet promise to yourself.

You would move forward, step by step, even if it hurt. Because if there was one thing Vi had taught you, it was that survival wasn’t about never falling—it was about finding the strength to rise again.

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

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑦: @𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑠-𝑛-𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒

𝐺𝐼𝐹 𝑏𝑦: @𝑎𝑟𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑓𝑠

𝐶𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑦𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎 𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡:

𝐽𝑒𝑓𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐾𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟:

Nothing here yet..

𝐸𝑦𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝐽𝑎𝑐𝑘:

Nothing here yet..

𝐵𝑒𝑛 𝐷𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑑:

Nothing here yet..

𝑇𝑖𝑐𝑐𝑖 𝑇𝑜𝑏𝑦:

𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐲 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

𝑋-𝑉𝑖𝑟𝑢𝑠:

𝑋-𝑉𝑖𝑟𝑢𝑠 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠

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

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 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

WAIT WAIT WAIT but what if in the angst duchess au, she reaches her breaking point but instead of crying she gets angry, really angry? she did nothing but be kind (JUSTICE FOR DUCHESS)

What would happen if she threatened to reveal their secret if they didn't at least start treating her with respect? Would they accept or threaten her back? (i can see simon protect his man and and their relationship) I NEED ANSWER

(really really love your blog, even if i'm still busy with university i Always find time to read It <3 <3 <3)

I’m more focused on the idea of her threatening them and them threatening her back- that must cause sooo much tension omg?? Especially if you adapt a very frosty, very cold attitude towards everyone in the duchy after that disastrous day of threats. There’s an awful pressure surrounding everyone, and even the staff take to silently doing their jobs to not risk anyone’s ire- especially after you fire several maids who had been whispering about you, and John didn’t put up a fuss and neither did Kyle.

They become used to feeling your glares, your chilling silence, the downright crude way you tell them how much you hate them, the constant threats- they become used to it. Or at least, they think they are becoming used to it until they notice you one day, a smile on your face while reading a letter that came with a big bouquet of red roses.

An admirer.

tatted! simon motorcycle shenanigans

TATTED UP! Simon Riley who lets you turn him into a colouring book. He doesn’t care how you colour his tattoos, he just wants to see the scrunched up look of concentration on your cute face.

“What colour do you want?” You murmur as you glance at your numerous eyeshadow palettes. Simon wants to say black or grey but he sees the way you eye the pink palette for a moment too long.

“… Pink.” He finally answers, his gaze focused solely on your bright smile.

You find joy in colouring his arm with various shades of pink and purple as he watches. “Look, so cute.” You murmur, eliciting a low laugh from Simon.

“Yeah.” His voice rumbles, “You wanna colour the rest in?”

BONUS

“Aye, LT, you got your tattoo redone or what?” Jonny can barely hold back his laughter as he looks at Simon’s arm. The previously edgy tattoos were now adorned with feminine colours and glitter.

“No. Just making the misses happy.” Simon doesn’t really care for his teammates’ reactions because the memory of your smile is enough to block out Jonny’s cackles.

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

*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: :)

Small Hiatus

Hi guys!

Firstly, I am sorry I haven’t been writing a whole lot here recently. My family and I have begun celebrating Christmas and doing holiday themed activities, which kind of put me at a standstill with writing. I promise I will get to your guys requests it just might take some time. Secondly, I will be going on vacation from the 30th to the 5th so I will not be writing anything during that time as I wish too spend it with my family. I hope you guys will understand.

Love you guys and Happy Holidays!

— Merxcy ❤️💚