Tags: fluff, jealousy, possessive behavior, being protective, kissing in public, biting, holding hands, public display of affection, canon typical violence, suggestive
Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions
A/N: Would die if they were jealous over me. Melt into a puddle. Gone.
When Viktor gets jealous he gets a bit more withdrawn than he usually is. Not that he was ever a social butterfly, however he was always more open and happy to talk when it was with you. So his behavior is odd, he even seems to get quieter whenever you walk into the room. Like he's trying to remove himself from you with silence.
"I am not avoiding you. Look, there has been a lot to do for the past week, I'm sorry if you got a bad impression but I was simply busy. If you want more company, go ask Jayce, or Skye, I'm sure they will be more than happy to entertain you, darling."
Viktor is short with his answers, saying as little as possible to minimize the amount of time he spends talking to you. Not because he doesn't want to talk to you, he loves talking to you, but if he keeps talking there's a chance he might say something he's going to regret. And end up hurting you.
"There you go again with these ridiculous accusations. You won't leave it alone will you? So now it's my fault that your project is running late? I would have been happy to help but someone was too busy talking with... you know what, nevermind. You're right, we both have a lot to do, so let's just drop this conversation and focus on work."
If you keep getting in the way of his work, Viktor will eventually come to a breaking point. Him not being able to work is only adding to his emotions, and he's never been the best at dealing with them. While he doesn't exactly yell at you, it's very rare that he ever raises his voice there's a notable frustration in his words, and pain, fear that you'd leave.
"If I'm being so unreasonable then leave. Go. Have fun. I know it's not idea to be cooped up in the lab all the time. There are so many more things to do out there. if you... want to go with other people I suppose I can't stop you, nor can I stop my own jealousy. How am I being even more unreasonable? I know you wouldn't leave me without talking about it. Look... I do not... want you to leave, working is more fun with you. But am I truly all that you want? Me? This lab? Because you're all I want. All that I can think of."
When Jayce gets jealous he keeps invading your personal space when you're around the person or people he's jealous of. His behavior is nothing innapropriate or pushy. It's just his arm around your waist, just him bringing you that drink you wanted, just him bragging about you a bit too loud and saying how much he loves you.
"You really are great, babe. How in Runterra did I ever find a beauty like you huh? What's that bashfulness for now, I always praise you, and I'm never gonna stop. You're my girl right? I can be a proud boyfriend and talk you up every once in a while."
Physical affection a big deal to Jayce and a way he shows he cares but also a giveaway to his jealousy. He holds your hand longer, his eyes flicker between you and the one he's jealous off, his smile is a bit more nervous when he has to leave you alone. Then there are his kisses, not as gentle, not a little, quick peck on the edge of your lips but a real kiss, lips pressed against yours until you let him know you need air.
"Got a bit carried away there. Ah, sorry, I can't resist you sometimes. All the time. Do you expect me to when you wear lipstick like that? Makes your lips look like they're made to be kissed. By me specifically. I'd kiss you all night long, for the rest of our lives and never get tired of it."
Jayce keeps denying that he's jealous when you bring it up in a teasing way. Logically there's no reason to get jealous, everyone knows your relationship is doing great, in fact you're hardly ever fighting and even when you are it doesn't last too long. How does he turn that part of his brain off? How can he not get jealous when all those people look at you the way he looks at you?
"They're always looking at you. How can you not notice? It's so obvious. You don't notice because... you're only looking at me? That doesn't even make sense! Of course they're looking, you're breathtaking everywhere you go. I just hope that wherever you go, you'll always take me with you, because I want to be by your side forever."
Ekko often jokes about being jealous so you don't pick up on him actually being jealous. A little jealousy is fine but not when it's getting in the way of his missions and operations with his team. He'd been a bit distracted in the past, by one of the Firelights flying too close to you, so he pushed his way between you two.
"It was the formation! Which you would have remembered if you weren't too busy chatting. Come on, Firefly, get your head in this. Otherwise you're gonna make your leader jealous. Wouldn't want that right? What if... what if you get demoted for it? Hey! Ow! I wouldn't demote you, who would listen to all my plans?"
When you have free time together Ekko makes sure to spend as much time with you as possible. If you're together all the time there's less chance that someone else will swoop in and flirt with you. He would never describe his behavior as being clingy, all he wants is to spend free time with his girlfriend. That is perfectly normal behavior.
"What do you say we go out to get some food? We don't have to spend all our time here. Not like the tree is gonna burn down if we're away for a couple of hours right? Besides it's been a while since it was just you and me all alone. Miss being alone with you. Don't you miss it too?"
If the person he's jealous of ever puts you in danger in any way Ekko will go off on them. Harder than he scolded others in the past. He might let some of his jealousy show then, but he storms off, well flies off before you can talk to him. As much as he wants to be alone he also makes room for you on his hoverboard when you float down next to him.
"Shouldn't have went off on them like that. I know, you don't gotta say it, I'll say I'm sorry. Let cool off a bit. You'd think that if they were flirting with you that much they could have been looking out a bit better. I'm always looking out for you. Maybe a bit too much. Sorry if I've been weird about it lately. Would you forgive me if I took you on a romantic hoverboard ride?"
No one wants to piss off a big man like Vander by flirting with his wife. Everyone values their life and their bones too much. But... they stare at you. Quite openly actually. You see it, and you bet he sees it too. He sees everything that's happening at his bar and he won't stand for someone ogling his wife, even if he has to get aggressive about it.
"It's my damn bar, I've got the right to break the table with their heads when they're looking at ya like that. Tell ya what, a lot more people would avoid this place if I started beating up every asshole that looks at ya wrong. Only reason I don't is cause I don't want ya to be mad at me after."
He hasn't banned anyone from his bar in a very long time. Vander knows he tolerates a lot, this is Zaun, and some people don't have the best manners, that's not exactly their fault. But on the other hand if they start something with him then he will finish it. When he tells them to stop looking at you like you like you were one of Babette's workers and they get in his face he will pick them up and throw them out.
"Bastards had it coming. I tried to be nice, then they had to go and call ya names. Ain't no way in hell I'm gonna let anyone insult my wife. Not here, not on the streets, not anywhere. I went there and I wanted to talk to them, tell them to fuck the hell off, they were the ones who started getting violent. So I responded in kind."
Vander calls you over to the bar a bit more often if he sees a particular table is trying to monopolize you. He carries some of the drinks over, the food plates too, or he simply walks up behind you when one of the guys is getting flirty. Seeing his imposing, huge frame behind you, his muscles bulging, is enough to get most to back off you.
"See, darlin', I can talk things out just fine. When people are being smart about it that is. Might have to stop selling so much booze in this place, then they won't be so bold with ya. Ya are a pretty sight, I can't say otherwise. But ya are a pretty sight for me, not them, ain't that right? Mhm. I know, I'm all yer's too."
Silco never ever says he's jealous of anyone. He is the most powerful man in all of Zaun, everyone is scared of him and with good reason. As the Eye of Zaun he knows when people are looking, talking too, and might even try to touch you. Those people are often payed a not so nice visit by his men.
"I did hear about that gang, yes. It's very unfortunate that they don't know how to keep their noses where they don't belong. It's not that big of a loss on our end. There are a hundred people who can do their work, and better. All that matters is that they won't even have to think about not touching you again."
He rarely has to get his own hands dirty when he gets jealous. All it takes is him saying who the target or targets are and he makes them dissapear from Zaun. That doesn't always have to be deadly, but if they're really dumb it is. If Silco feels that you're in some kind of danger then he will keep you close by. He tries to distract you from seeing he's jealous.
"All I'm saying is that we could take a break from work. Sevika and Jinx can handle a week of it. And you and me can lock ourselves up in our home and not come out. The bedroom works perfectly fine too, if you'd rather spend our time in there. And what is it that I'm doing, darling? Jealous? You are an observant one. I wouldn't want you any other way."
The only time Silco will threaten someone in person is if that someone is bold enough to flirt with you in front of them. He can scare people within an inch of their life just by talking to them, he's not just a good businessman, and some people tend to forget that. He has Zaun in the palm of his hand, and everyone in it.
"He did not actually piss himself. Did he actually. Hm, I wasn't look at him anymore to be honest. He was spineless, surprising given he talked to you like he did. Guess he was thinking with his other head a bit too much for his own good. Why are you looking at me that way? Ah, I see. Looks like someone enjoyed watching me put a scumbag into his place a bit too much."
Since Finn isn't someone who would take anything lying down he will be damned before he sees someone coming onto his woman and not do anything about it. He might have a certain charm about him but that doesn't mean he's not ready to makes heads roll the moment when someone crosses any kind of line with you. Imaginary or otherwise.
"Hah, did you see that doll? As soon as I threw one punch he went down. All his buddies ran like rats. Left him all alone there. After all that tough talk and he couldn't even defend himself. Serves him right. He's lucky all I did was break his nose when he flirted with you. I wasn't even that far away."
Finn will make out with you in front of who ever he is jealous of just to prove a point to them. And while he has you moaning, has your head buried against his neck and your body running hot he will look at the other person and stick his tongue out at them, right before making a V with his fingers and putting his tongue between them. He's vulgar but it gets the point across very well.
"All these people looking at what's mine. Now, I can't have that right? I love that you're showing off your body, it's a great body, you know how much I love it. But sometimes I want to keep you away from prying eyes. And if I can't the least I can do is give them a show. Make them know I'm the only one who can touch you."
His jacket is a signature part of his outfit, but Finn will let you wear it. Hell, he will walk over and drape it over your shoulders while not even looking at whoever you're talking to. Sometimes they're not worth looking at when he can look at the pretty way you blush as you touch his hand that's lingering on your shoulder.
"Thought you looked a bit cold there. Keep this on all night. Later on I'll help you warm up my way, a much more fun way. Don't even worry about your perfume getting all into this, love having your scent all over me. And by tomorrow you're gonna be wearing all of my marks."
There are a lot of people in the Enforcers who tease Marcus about having such a pretty wife. He knows you're pretty, but he doesn't like that the department is noticing it so much as well. Not that there's any way for him to hide it, or that he wants you to hide it, that would be a real crime.
"I was not pouting. That is so childish. I was glaring at them. Well, they were the ones who stared first. You visit me at work, like that's such a big deal. We're married, honey, I pick you up from work too. Why is it such a big deal here? I think they're just trying to get a rise out of me."
Won't deny that he's feeling jealous or shy away from showing it. When Marcus notices any of his men flirting with you he makes them work extra hard that day, he gives them more paperwork, something that everyone hates there, or assigns them to the toughest jobs that he knows will take them days to complete. He can't help but chuckle when you visit again and they're too tired to flirt with you, they just say hello.
"What do you mean I'm picking on them? Of course not. You know how hard it is to deal with all these extra cases. Someone has to take on a few more. No, the fact that it's the same Enforcers who gave you flowers that one time has nothing to do with it. You think it does? And do you have evidence of this accusation?"
Marcus isn't shy about kissing you in front of the whole department. If that's what it takes to send them all a clear message to back off. It's always perfectly chaste kisses, but he does make sure that everyone hears him say he loves you when you leave. He smirks when eyes turn to him and he wishes them all a good rest of their day.
"Now you call me petty. All of these accusations and you still don't have any evidence. That's not a very good way to have a case. You've been keeping count have you? Oh. You... actually have been keeping count? I'm guilty? Fine, you got me, you got me. Maybe... that was a little petty of me, but I'm not sorry."
Every time Loris is jealous it's almost impossible for him to hide that fact. He's a big guy, nothing about him is easy to his, not even his emotions. And he's loud, so every time he huffs, mumbles something, or grunts you hear it. Your eyes meet and he looks away, his hand grasping yours and running his thumb over the back of your hand.
'They were staring at you a bit too much for my liking, pretty girl. If they were as tough as they pretend they were they should have held their ground more. Proves they were all bark and no bite. People like that really get on my nerves, and then they talk to my girl like she's single."
Loris invites you to have lunch with him quite often, even more often when he gets jealous of someone who works with him. Dealing with them in any other way would be unprofessional of him, and might get him in trouble. This way he gets to avoid that, avoid them, and spend a nice lunch date with you. No matter how you look at it he's the real winner here.
"Looks so good. But if you keep looking at me like that I might get hungry for something else besides the food. Just try shifting the blame on me when you know exactly how you're looking at me right now. I wouldn't risk it at work, but... if you showed up with a few hickeys on your neck it might get the rest of the department to stop flirting with you."
As much as he tries to make his jealousy go away it's not easy. Loris knows he should be an example for others, after all he had been an Enforcer for a long time, he can't just let his emotions get the better of him. Hard to keep those emotions down when they concern you. If nothing else works he will intimidate people. Easy enough for him. But he would rather that be a last resort.
"If he wasn't ready to throw fists and words at me then he shouldn't have thrown flirty words at you. He should be able to back himself up if he's gonna be saying stuff like that. All I did was pick him up and throw him outside. Hey, I might get in a bit of trouble for it, but at least he'll leave you alone from now on. I'd risk my badge for you if I have to, you know that."
Since he is the quiet type Steb shows his emotions and jealousy is one that he works hard to surpress. Every time he notices that someone is standing a little too close to you he walks over and looks at you, lovingly, then he looks at the other person with a glare, a deadly one. All the while he's standing shoulder to shoulder with you.
"Come now, angelfish, they weren't even worth your time. We both know they only had one thing in mind when they were talking to you. I could see it in their eyes. I don't appreciate that they looked at you like that. And I know you don't either. So I felt like I had to step in."
He is very physical with his jealousy. Steb lets his eyes and touches linger a few moments longer when he wants to make a point to someone. While he knows you don't hate it he also doesn't want to come off as too jealous or too possessive over you. You can take care of yourself and he loves that about you, he's watched you put people in their place often, but there are times where he can't hold himself back.
"I could feel your fingers interlocking with mine. You wanted me to stand close to you when they weren't leaving you alone. Would you have raised your voice if I hadn't walked over? It would be amusing to see it. But I think those kisses we shared also sent an equally powerful message. You didn't have to bit me though."
Steb nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck when he's feeling really, really jealous of someone. He makes it look less possessive than it is, pretending like he's overhearing something you have to say, and then pushing himself just a little bit closer. His cold lips make contact with your neck, sending shivers down your body before he brushes your lips with his thumb and leaves with a smirk.
"That ought to be enough. I could have done more but marking you in public might have been a step too far. We can enjoy things like that in private however. I enjoy being close to you in any context, and if it makes others realize you're not looking for anyone because you've already got a man then I enjoy it even more."
Guess who just finished acrane and is writing this with actual tears on my face!!! I need some Vander fluff- i think i will emplode- it doesnt even have to be anything specific i just need comfort after that shit storm 😭
Yes my child. Mommy will make good on your request.
And don’t even get me started on S2. I can’t bring myself to watch it yet. I’m still not even over S1 and I KNOW for a fact it’s not even as sad as I’ve learned S2 is.
But shhhhh, Mommy’s got you. Here’s the fluff you asked for.
Piltover’s Got Nothin’ On You | Vander Fluff Flash 🍺🤎
(GIF cred: me <3)
Pairings: Vander x GN!Reader
Pronouns: No pronouns used.
Rating: Slight NSFW because Reader and Vander are presumably half naked in bed, so 18+!! MDNI !! You WILL be blocked
Word Count: 524
Summary: Vander is enjoying a nice cozy morning with you, and reminds you exactly how he feels.
Tags: A little spicy, just because it’s a little maturely themed if you whip out a magnifying glass, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Domesticity W/ Vander, OoeyGooeyRomance
Notes: None, just enjoy. Take a breather. 🤍
“Would I lie to you?” The question hung in the air, light yet loaded with meaning. It was enough to send a familiar flutter through your stomach, a soft, nervous twinge that made your heart skip. The sensation was strangely uncomfortable, yet in the most endearing way—like a gentle reminder of how much he could still make you feel, even in the simplest of moments.
You lay atop the man you were speaking to, both of you bare-chested, the warmth of your skin pressing together in an effortlessly comforting way. The coolness of the morning air was a distant contrast to the heat between you, a calm presence that made the moment feel serene to say the least. His steady breathing beneath you gave the moment a gentle rhythm, and for a while, there was nothing but the simple unspoken connection between you both before you responded.
“Maybe. Depends.” You tease, your words playful but laced with a hint of mischief.
His response is immediate—his large hand slipping into yours with a quiet sense of contentment, the warmth of his grip grounding you. There’s a comfort in the way he holds you, as if, in this moment, the world outside doesn’t matter. His touch speaks volumes, the unspoken understanding between you both more powerful than anything words could convey.
“Someone clearly thinks highly of me,” he teases back, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. Before you can answer, he leans down and places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, his touch tender and full of quiet affection. The sweetness of the gesture catches you off guard, a simple act that somehow feels like the most genuine expression of his feelings—a quiet reminder of how deeply he cares.
You smile, a soft laugh slipping from your lips.
“All I was saying is that, as much as Piltover has its minor flaws—“ you begin, your voice light with amusement as you’re stopped short.
“Appalling flaws, really. Humongous, towering flaws,” he interrupts playfully, his tone teasing as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, still held firmly in his.
You can’t help but laugh at his wit.
“Yes, huge, appalling flaws. But despite all that, Topside is stunning at night. The lights here are beautiful, too, but nothing compares to the glow of Piltover.” You add, trying to make your point clear: a city’s beauty can stand on its own, no matter what darkness might lurk behind the scenes.
He regards you for a long while, his gaze lingering on your face with an amusement that never quite fades. The seconds stretch on, almost too long—what might seem like a few moments in the world’s rhythm becomes an eternity in his eyes. Each shift in your expression, each subtle change in your posture, draws him in, holding his attention as if time itself has slowed. And yet, even as eternity unfolds, it’s still not enough. To him, no amount of time could ever truly capture all he wants to see.
“That may be true,” he says, his voice steady, the smirk never quite leaving his face.
Your writing is so cool!!!!! I love your characterizations and your headcanons and the gifs you pick <333333
May I request the Arcane characters (your choice on who and how many, so long as Silco’s in there!) being given something handmade from their s/o? (Matching bracelets, sweater, plushie, etc.) 👉👈 thank you!
Warnings: None, I don't think!
Notes: Is Silco's a little odd now I step back and look at it? Yes. However. It makes sense, in my head. I think.
Edit; (I forgot before posting) Thank you, kind anon! I take great pride in how I portray characters! I'm glad you enjoy them! The gifs I use I try to match to the vibe, and are all found on Tumblr!
My requests are currently open! My request post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!
Silco
You gave Silco a trinket for his desk. A cute little crocheted figure - that seemed like nothing more than an ineffective paperweight to most. But to Silco, it was something that he felt tied the whole space of his desk together. When not doing paperwork, it is one of the only things on the desk at all. And it’s certainly the only thing in his office at all with any pop of colour. It was his little faux companion - a way for the room to not feel as isolating as it usually was. He wasn’t entirely sure if you had done it on purpose, to give him that sense of company, but he was grateful for it, regardless.
It’s usual spot is in front of the picture of him and Jinx, both serving as a reminder to him of the family that he had managed to build, from nothing, and despite what he had been through. He stares at both items very often, no matter the time of day. If he’s stuck in some paperwork, or listening idly to Sevika or a lower grunt make a report, his eyes will slowly drift towards that corner of his desk. It brings him a lot of security, for being such a small thing. Knowing that it was made by your hands is likely what makes it mean so much to him.
Once, it completely vanished from his desk, and he was furious. He had been on the verge of a screaming match with whomever even looked at him wrong all day. Only when it is safely returned to his desk does he calm down - even though the only time it ever really leaves his desk is for repairs or touch-ups, he’s grown attached to the little thing. Even though it’s inanimate, he’s… Bonded to it.
He’s only taken it out of his office himself on very select occasions. Namely, ones where he feels perhaps a mite exposed, or nervous. Of course, outwardly, no one would be able to guess this. His stoic expression never shifted, and his stare was something that most cowered away from. Anyone who would have even thought of Silco having something as sweet as a small crocheted item tucked away in his coat would have easily been dismissed as mad.
God forbid you make him more than that initial one. He’s badly attached to the first, and the same will go for all the others that you may make him. And though he doesn’t ‘officially’ name them, or anything like that, but he knows if and when one of them is out of place - and he rarely goes back to his baseline mood until he knows that they are all back in their spots, safe and sound. "No, the one with the blue shirt sits by the one with the black shirt. Yes... Yes, just like that. Much better, don't you think?"
Mel
You weave Mel a small bracelet for a special achievement or occasion; a birthday, and anniversary, a particularly good step in legislation that you know that she’s been trying to push for you don’t know how long. You presented it to her in a little box, topped with a neat bow, and the face that she had made when opening it? That spark of curiosity in her eye, that morphed into sheer, unadulterated joy when she saw what it was? Bliss - priceless bliss.
She wears the thing everywhere, except for when she’s bathing - she doesn’t want to risk it being damaged by getting wet. It doesn’t matter to her whether or not it matches with her outfit, she’ll find some way to incorporate it. She absolutely loves talking about it, too - if someone asks about it, she’ll spend a minimum of 5 to 10 minutes explaining to them that you made it for her, what occasion you gave it to her, and then proceed to gush about you some more - how talented you are, how wonderful you are, how much she loves you. It’s perhaps the only instance she will ever break that collected air about her.
She also asks that you make yourself one, or better yet, teach her how to make them, so she can make you one for yourself. “So we can match,” She’d tell you, with a happy smile on her face. Even though you’re not in the public eye nearly as much as she is, being able to wear something that’s matching with her means a great deal to Mel. A little, unspoken connection between the two of you.
If she ever loses the bracelet or it becomes damaged beyond repair, she’s rather upset. It doesn’t outwardly last for very long - she tells you the sad news with an incredibly despondent look, handing you the threads if she has them. After that, she moves on. At least, that’s how it appears to the untrained eye. But you notice how her fingers drift to her wrist, trying to fiddle with fabric that is no longer there. Or, if it’s an occasion where she’d wear it in her hair instead, it’s hard to miss the way that her fingers will still try to seek it out, to no avail. You can’t bear it for more than a week before you give her a new one - just the same as the original, but all the more meaningful to her. You had known, noticed how much she missed it. She’s ever so thankful to have such an attentive and creative partner.
Vander
Vander has a very… Minimal wardrobe - and unfortunately, most of his articles are falling apart, or have holes in them. He does a lot of repairs for them himself; for having such big hands, he’s surprisingly adroit with a needle and thread. With a rather considerable supply of rags, he saw no real reason to splash out money on himself when it could easily be spend on other, better things - clothes for the children, or small needed improvements for The Last Drop. He’s had handmade things given to him before - mostly twisted bracelets, from Powder.
So when you hand him the big, thick jumper you had spent a week making? He was stunned. Grateful, but stunned. And he absolutely loves it. It’s a dark blue - a similar shade to a couple of other items in his wardrobe, so clearly you had been paying attention to what he had been wearing and what colours looked good on him - or at any rate, what colours you liked to see on him. And the fit was wonderful, too. He made a joke about you taking his measurements in his sleep, to which you both heartily laughed.
From then on, almost every evening, you see him wearing it once the sun goes down. Before you had made it, he very rarely wore anything with long sleeves, other than the old jacket he wore when leaving to go out and about. Whenever someone asks him about his sudden change in style, he replies with a simple; “Nights are getting cold down here, now.” Regardless of whether that’s true or not, that’s the story he sticks with. He hates having to part with it in Summer time, but… Even he has to admit that it is just far too hot to wear during that time of year.
He washes it ‘himself’ - by that, I mean he makes sure that it’s back in his possession the very moment that it’s dry enough to wear again. He doesn’t part with it for any longer than what he thinks is absolutely necessary. You’ve had to devise a system where it’s one of the first things to be washed on laundry days - that way there was a much better chance of it being dry come sundown. And he’s incredibly grumpy if you have to take it to sew any wear-and-tear - you never tend to have it for more than a day, but you can tell the question of ‘when am I getting it back?’ simmers just below the surface.
Ambessa
You tailor her a cloak. Yes, she has many, and yours doesn’t stand out too much when put beside any of the other bespoke pieces she’s had made for herself. But to Ambessa? It is a wonderful thing; easily one of her favourites. Simply because you had turned your hand to a craft, for her. She sees it as an act of devotion - even if, in comparison to the other acts she has been shown by the people beneath her, it is small.
She wears it only to the most intimate of occasions; an evening spent with you savouring cuisine, or perhaps a night spent at the theatre house. Very rarely has it ever been used for more political meetings. When it is, it’s usually one-on-one, and for the reason that wearing something so personal makes any outside party think Ambessa is being open with them; making them more relaxed in the process. If she’s wearing it in front of someone other than yourself, it’s always as a political choice.
She doesn’t wear it enough for it to get damaged naturally, but there is a chance that it may get torn via other means. Most likely a blade. If someone dared to do so, she would be furious - plain and simple. Any rapport that the opposing figure may have built with her would disappear in an instant, as quickly as the cut was made. Because despite her never really telling you - or anyone - anything about how she felt about this particular cloak, it meant a great deal to her. It meant more to her than any of the other cloaks in her extensive wardrobe.
Ambessa doesn’t demand you make another one for her, nor does she dwell on the fact that the first one has been ruined or destroyed. She just… Makes you aware, disposes of the tatters, and leaves it at that. She doesn’t seem to be all that bothered by it - but she is. She knows the time and care that went into making it, she knows of the toils that you went through to make sure she had something made by you to wear. She also knows that if you want to make her another, you will do so of your own decision and accord - she doesn’t need to force you. Beyond that - if you choose to make her another one, it’ll just further prove to her your devotion.
Viktor
You made Viktor a pair of gloves - it can get rather cold in the lab when the sun isn’t streaming directly through the large windows. For the first few days you think that he really likes the gift! He had thanked you heartily when you had given them to him, clearly appreciating the time and effort that you had put into them. It wasn’t until you visited him during one of his multiple-day stints in the lab when you realised he… Wasn’t wearing them. At all. They were neatly placed, one on top of the other, at the end of one of the cluttered desks.
Viktor notices the way you eye that corner of the desk several times throughout your visit. Eventually, when you bring it up, he gives you a very simple answer; “Unfortunately, though they are warm… The fingers make it rather difficult for me to complete my more… Delicate tasks, where dexterity is key.” He shrugs, turning his attention back to his desk. So, it isn’t that he doesn’t appreciate your gift to him, it just makes his job slightly more challenging - as if it isn’t already, at some points. He assures you, though, that he wears them to and from the laboratory when he feels it is too cold for him.
So, you decide to make him another pair - this time with some changes. Instead of making fingered gloves, you make mittens… With a button on the back so that Viktor could pin the top back, letting him still wear the mittens as he completed the various fiddly tasks his research needed. From then on when you visit, you don’t see the mittens discarded at the corner of his desk waiting for the end of the day, but instead on his hands where they belonged.
To say that Viktor is thankful for your gift - especially this revised version - is an understatement. For far too long he had just powered through the inconvenience of being a bit cold most of the time. Now, he had a way to be comfortable, and do his job at the same time. And truthfully, it felt like an absolute game changer. No longer were his fingers and joints stiff and at points struggling to stay as steady as he needed them to. No longer did he have to deal with the gruelling wait of trying and willing his hand to be still for a moment. And no longer does he have to rub his hands together like some neglected waif, he just has to pop his mittens on and just keep on working. They quickly become a stable of the bag he takes to the lab; he rarely ever leaves without them, if ever.
Jayce
You knit Jayce a scarf - only a small one, a first project, but Jayce loves it. When you first hand it to him, he cradles it in his hands as he gazes down at it, almost on the verge of tears. He used to have many pieces like this made for him, by his mother - but as he grew older, they became less frequent. Not that he blamed his mother, of course, he understood that getting older meant there were other responsibilities they both had to perform. But to have a handmade item now, in his hands, he’s overjoyed. It’s simple in its design - just a deep blue, but he loves it.
He wears the damn thing everywhere he can - during Autumn. Winter, Spring. Any time there’s even the slightest of breezes, out comes the scarf. You find it quite sweet, really, the fact that something so simple was something that meant so much to him. “Well, of course I love it,” Jayce replies when you ask about it, sounding mildly annoyed that you thought he wouldn’t. “You made it for me. You could have thrown it out, frogged it, or donated it… But you didn’t. And I’m… I love you for it. Well, for more than that, but…” He’d laugh quietly at himself. “... You know what I mean.”
He wears the thing so much, that soon enough - much sooner than he’d have liked - the poor article is starting to fall apart. He’s in denial about it for quite a while, too - he’d rather do anything other than admit to himself that one of his favourite pieces of clothing is coming to the end of it’s time. Eventually he gets to the point where he packs the scarf away - better to have it stored for him to get out from time to time, than for it to completely crumble and have to be thrown away. He sulks for a long time after this, a long time. He misses his scarf. Sure, it’s ‘just a bit of clothing’, but to him it was almost like a part of him at some points.
So, you make him another one as a surprise. This one is a bit more complex than the last one, with varying colours, and even some tassels on the end. It’s a variety of blues this time - light to dark and back to light again, and quite a bit longer too. And the face that Jayce made when he unwrapped the tissue paper you had put it in? It was so clear to see the more boyish side of him, the one that wasn’t often seen even by you. He held it close to his face for a moment, before all but pouncing onto you and peppering you with kisses and various words of thanks. To say that he’s just a happy man would be the understatement of the year. He absolutely loves the fact that not only did you make a scarf for him once, but you loved him enough to do it again. It truly astounds him, and his heart is set on finding a way to pay back that love.
May i please get some delicious hcs for arcane characters x reader who smells like vanilla? Thx
sure thing! thanks anon!! :3
My Masterlist🌱
Vanilla Kind Of Love
Including: Viktor, Jayce, Vander, Silco
character x reader all have a romantic dynamic :3
Viktor:
Viktor had developed a special appreciation for food ever since he had moved to Piltover. In the Undercity, he never took much pleasure in eating. It was always something that drained his pockets, something he wished he could just forego altogether. But ever since he had his own money? He found himself visiting different restaurants as often as possible; sometimes not even to eat. Just for the smells alone.
Stepping inside of one bakery in particular, he was more than pleased when the entire shop smelled of vanilla. He felt his stomach gnawing at him already as he walked up to the counter, peering into the display cases at the different baked goods lined up uniformly. His gaze shot up when he saw you walk from the back, a tired smile on your lips.
“Hi! Sorry, it’s going to be just a minute” you smile weakly. “I managed to spill vanilla extract everywhere” you chuckled, grabbing a mop from the corner. He nodded, his eyes trailing over your form as you quickly moved to the back. After a few moments he hears a loud thud, followed by a string of curses.
He hesitantly slipped behind the counter, moving to the doorway that led to the back and pausing when he saw you on the floor, covered in sticky brown liquid. He couldn’t help but smile slightly at your frustrated pout, groaning as you stood up. “Perhaps we should be more careful around slippery floors.” He muses.
You shoot him a glare, huffing as you manage to stand up. “You don’t look like you’re known for your balance either.” You mutter in a weak retort, walking over to him as he chuckles. Before you can pick up the mop and slip out of his reach, he leans towards you, pulling a small handkerchief out of his pocket. Holding it up, he gently dabs a spot of vanilla extract off of your cheek.
“And you..” he murmurs as he wipes your cheek. “Look good enough to eat.” He hums. “Are you always such a sweet smelling mess? A mess nonetheless.. but it comes with its redeeming qualities.”
Your cheeks heat up at his words and you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you always such a flirt?”
He smiles, tilting his head slightly. “Would you like me to be?”
Jayce:
If there was one thing Jayce loved most about your relationship, it was getting to unwind with you after a long day. He often found himself being run ragged by different duties, his body aching and a headache starting to form behind his eyes. If there was one constant in his life, it was that at the end of the day you would always be there to drag him into the bath, cleaning him when he’s too tired to clean himself.
Sometimes it was just too difficult to prioritize his own self care. Before you he would spend nights at the lab, no concern for his sleep schedule. Now you would lull him into the bathroom as soon as he got home, helping him undress once you get the bath water running. He adored the way you always knew exactly how warm he liked the water, the perfect temperature to make his muscles unwind.
Helping him into the bathtub, making sure he doesn’t slip in his exhausted state. You even roll up a towel for him to lean his head back against while you clean his chest, using that special soap you’d bought for him. Before you he used the cheapest soap he could find, not seeing the point in having anything other than a three in one. The moment you showed him your own soaps he fell in love, asking if he could try. Ever since he insisted on using the same vanilla scented body wash as you.
He always reveled in how lovely you smelled, and the idea of carrying your signature scent around with him every day made him swoon. One time you bought him something new, a lavender scented soap to try. He almost immediately pouted, asking if he could just keep using your soap. Sometimes he’d insist on bathing together- you use the same soap anyways, right? Why not just conserve water together. Needless to say every night after his bath he curled up against you, burying his nose against your neck and falling asleep almost instantly.
Vander:
The two of you ran The Last Drop together, him tending the bar while you served drinks and chatted with customers. His eyes couldn’t help but follow you as you bustled between tables, offering sweet smiles and familiar conversation. If there was one thing you were good at, it was making people feel at home. Vander may be the one to break up bar fights, but you were the one who prevented them.
Having a real knack for knowing who needed what made you perfect for keeping the peace. He wasn’t sure how you did it- you just had such a calming presence compared to the people that passed through his bar, gruff and worn down. You were his to protect, his to keep soft. He might be the only man in the Undercity that could let you be as sweet as you are, shielding you from everything harsh beyond his doors.
When it got to be closing time, he was always quick to usher people out, closing and locking the doors with a contented hum. He throws his bar rag over his shoulder, starting to clean up the tables with a small smile on his lips as he heard the jukebox turn on. Call it a routine- or a ritual. He didn’t care. But it was yours; and he loved it. After every shift you’d turn on music, light a vanilla scented candle or two, and start to clean behind the bar.
And every night without fail, he was slowly meander behind the bar, his hands falling to your hips as he wraps around you. “Bed. Now.” He grumbles, resting his chin on your head. Before you can protest he scoops you up in his arms, making you laugh. “M’bringin’ the candle too.” He mutters, grabbing one of the candles that you loved to fill your home with, always leaving a sense of safety in the sweet scent of vanilla.
Silco:
Having a crime lord for a boyfriend wasn’t as bad as everyone made it seem. You were well fed, well loved- and most of all? Spoiled. In the beginning you were embarrassed by how well he took care of you. But he quickly got you out of that mentality, ensuring you that you were doing his part by letting him take care of you. What kind of man would he be if his favorite plaything wasn’t well kept?
Bringing you to the shops, letting you pick whatever made your eyes dilate and your heart flutter. New clothes, a wrist watch- maybe something for your hair? He was always an active participant when he took you shopping, asking you to try things on for him and making different suggestions. Once when you thanked him for complimenting you so much, a little something snapped inside of him. His every breath would be something sweet if it was possible.
You come home one day with a small bag in hand, walking into your shared bathroom and humming sweetly. “Sil?” You call for him. He gently sets down his pen, slinking out of his seat at his desk and walking into the bathroom. “Something new?” He muses, moving behind you until his arm slips around your waist. “Only the best for you, hm?”
You chuckle softly, pulling a small bottle of cologne out of the bag- vanilla scented. “It’s for you, silly.” You beam as you look down at the bottle. “I thought you might like it. And you’re always buying me things.” You say softly, holding up the bottle for him to take. His mind blanks for a few moments as he reads over the label. You were thinking of him.
That cologne very quickly became a signature scent of the household. Not only did Silco use it, but if he ever had to work late nights he found out that you’d spray yourself with it, snuggling up in bed, waiting for him to come home. You constantly smelled of vanilla now, its trace leaving an imprint on your soul.
thanks for reading!! in a bit of a writers block right now, but i promise i think about writing 24/7 lol. Notes, comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated!! :3
Summary: Working at The Last Drop has its perks: steady pay, a front-row seat to Zaun’s chaos, and a certain bear-sized bartender who definitely has you weak in the knees. One night off turns into a poker game you’re terrible at, a bar fight you start, and a flirtation you’re not quite ready to end.
Genre/ Pairing: Fluff, No Smut, Slow Burn, Friends-to-lovers, Vander x Fem! Reader
WARNINGS: Y/n, Smoking/Drinking, Gambling, Boss x Worker, (Implied) Sexual Harassment, Bar fights, Tension, lmk if I missed any
Word Count: 5.2k
Notes: I have been loving Vander Fluff. It’s messy but I thought it was cute <3
Reblog and like!! I read every comment; they make my whole day!
If you find any spelling errors, no you didn't. Grammarly, don’t fail me now..
The Last Drop had a pulse of its own: low, steady, and thrumming through the floorboards like the heartbeat of Zaun itself. You knew every creak in the wood, every smudge on the bar top, every off-kilter nail in the floor that made bottles teeter when the music got loud. But tonight wasn’t a work night. Tonight was your night.
No apron. No rag. No endless parade of orders shouted over the din. Just you in your worn-in boots, a black tank top that clung slightly to your skin from the humidity, and a mindset focused on forgetting whatever had made the week feel so heavy. The bar hadn’t quite hit peak chaos yet, so it still smelled like wood polish and spilled cider instead of smoke and blood. The lights were dim, flickering softly in amber and red, and someone in the corner had started tuning a busted guitar, as if they might play it later, if it held together long enough.
You stepped inside, already smiling at the warmth swelling in your chest. Familiar voices, familiar shadows. It was loud in a way that felt safe—crowded, sure, but nothing was on fire yet.
Yet.
A sharp whistle cut through the air from the corner. You didn’t need to look to know it was Sevika. Her voice followed, dry and teasing. “Well, well, well. Look who decided to crawl in without a tray in her hands.”
You turned, arching an eyebrow. “I’m allowed to exist outside the bar, you know.”
“You sure?” she waved you over with a gloved hand. “You’re twitching like you miss it.”
You snorted but wandered her way, settling across from her at a small round table covered in bottle caps, old poker chips, and three empty glasses. A well-used deck of cards sat in front of her like bait. You gave her a narrow-eyed look. “No.”
She smirked. “Didn’t say anything yet.”
“You looked at me with your ‘I want to beat someone stupid at cards’ face.”
“Technically accurate.”
You squinted. “I don’t do poker.”
“Exactly why I want you to play.”
You stared at her, then sighed dramatically, even as you slid into the chair. “Fine. But I’m telling you now, I’m broke and bad at this.”
Sevika grinned around her cigar. “Even better.”
She shuffled the cards with practiced flair, dealing them with quick, flicking motions. You picked yours up awkwardly, tilting them too high and immediately catching Vi watching you from across the room as if you were the opening act in a circus.
“Don’t let her see your cards!” Powder hissed from behind the bar, half-crouched and peeking through empty bottle crates stacked under the counter.
“She’s showing everyone!” Mylo stage-whispered. “This is embarrassing. Secondhand shame.”
You flipped them off without looking up. “Play your own damn game if you’re so smart.”
Sevika chuckled, smoke curling lazily from her mouth as she leaned back. “They’re not wrong. You’ve got ‘I just learned what a flush is five minutes ago’ written all over you.”
You stared at the cards. “Is this a straight? I have, like… numbers.”
“Like numbers, she says,” Sevika drawled.
“I am numbers.”
“You’re gonna be broke in numbers.”
You tried to scowl but couldn’t stop the grin curling your lips. The tension between you buzzed, but it was friendly, sharp-edged banter wrapped in familiarity. A few clinks and footsteps echoed from the stairs. The kids had settled at the landing above, peering through the railing like nosy little street cats. Vi leaned over the edge, calling down. “Are you really letting Sevika hustle you?”
“Shut up and go to bed!” you yelled back, not taking your eyes off your hand.
“Doesn’t get paid and gets robbed,” Mylo muttered.
Powder giggled, clearly enjoying the spectacle. A moment later, the heavy tread of boots came from the main hall.
“Alright, enough,” Vander’s voice cut through the space like a low growl of thunder. He walked in wearing his signature fur-collared coat, sweat-slicked from some errand run in the lower lanes. He didn’t yell, didn’t rush, but the moment he spoke, even the walls listened.
He glanced at the stairs. “Vi. Powder. Upstairs. Now.”
Vi huffed but obeyed, scooping Powder up under one arm. “Y/N’s about to make some very dumb decisions,” she protested, legs kicking.
“I’ll give you the recap,” Mylo said, darting up after them.
You caught Vander’s eye as they disappeared. He stared at you for a long second.
You lifted your cards like a weapon. “I’m being supervised.”
“That's what worries me.”
He shook his head and disappeared behind the bar, the air shifting in his wake. You could feel the tension subtly begin to thicken as the later crowd rolled in. Taller shadows. Heavier boots. Greedier eyes, all kinds of people who didn’t want to be carded.
***
The game went exactly as expected, which was to say: badly.
In the ten minutes since Vander had sent the kids upstairs, you had managed to lose almost every hand. You had also developed an impressive ability to call everything by the wrong name.
“What’s it called when I have two fours?” you asked.
“…A pair,” Sevika deadpanned for the third time.
“I feel like that should be worth more.”
Sevika rolled her eyes and tossed another chip into the pile with the ease of someone who probably had enough coin to buy the entire bar if she wanted. You, on the other hand, were down to one sad little button, two lint-covered toffees you’d found in your pocket, and a single coin that might have been real… once.
You stared at your dwindling options and sighed. “Okay, that’s me tapped.”
Sevika arched an eyebrow. “That's all you brought?”
“I didn’t come here to win; I came here to drink and emotionally spiral.”
“Good news,” she said dryly, “you’re on track for both.”
You were about to stand, admit defeat, and crawl back to the safety of your old stool behind the bar when Sevika leaned forward, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across her face.
“Alright then,” she said, plucking a mostly full bottle of Zaunshine from the edge of the table. “New rules. You lose a hand, you take a shot.”
You paused. “That’s not a rule; that’s a threat.”
“It’s tradition,” she countered.
You glanced toward the bar. Vander hadn’t returned yet—probably checking stock in the back room or muttering at barrels that weren’t rolling fast enough. The music had grown louder, rougher—more percussion than melody. The crowd had thickened, heat rising off the bodies packed into the space like steam in a kettle.
You looked back at Sevika. The bottle in her hand gleamed amber in the low light, the neck fogged over from where it had been resting in a metal tray of half-melted ice. “…Alright,” you said slowly, “but if I die, it’s on your head.”
“If you die, I’m looting your pockets,” she said, already shuffling the cards.
“Rude.”
“Realistic.”
You lost the first hand, of course.
Sevika didn’t even smirk. She just poured. A small glass, filled with clear liquid that smelled like solvents. You held it up to the light. “Are you sure this is drinkable?”
She knocked her own glass back without flinching. “Only one way to find out.”
You threw yours back and immediately regretted it. Your throat caught fire, your lungs seemed to try to crawl out of your body, and your voice emerged as a rasping wheeze. “Holy shit.”
Sevika smiled, all teeth. “Told you. Zaunshine. Burn and bloom.”
For the second hand, you tried bluffing, but she saw right through it.
Another shot. By the third hand, you didn’t even bother.
Somewhere above, faint footsteps crossed the wooden beams. You caught a flash of a small figure slipping between the stair rails—Powder, probably. A quick blur of blue hair and pale, curious eyes before she ducked back out of sight.
You tilted your head up toward the ceiling. “Don’t spy, or I’m telling Vander.”
A muffled giggle echoed down.
Sevika didn’t even glance up. “Let her. This is the best show she’s going to get before curfew.”
“I hate that you’re not even pretending I’m a challenge.”
“You stopped being a challenge after round one.”
You were grinning now, despite the growing fog in your head. You could feel your body getting a little lighter, movements becoming a bit looser, and your thoughts not quite sticking. But there was something addictive about how the table felt like a spotlight while the rest of the bar blurred around the edges. The laughter. The yelling. The music. It was like being in the eye of a storm.
You were just about to try reshuffling the deck yourself, potentially a mistake waiting to happen, when you felt a shift in the air. Not just yours, the room's.
You looked up, and there he was: Vander. He moved through the crowd like a shadow made of iron, shoulders broad, jaw clenched, that worn coat of his dusted with Zaun grime and pipe smoke. His eyes scanned the floor in a practiced sweep, watching for trouble like a wolf observing movement in the brush.
He didn't say anything at first; he didn't have to. The moment people noticed him, they instinctively stepped back from the bar and quieted down a little. When his gaze landed on you, you raised your shot glass in a half-drunk salute. He arched a brow. "You on the clock?"
"Off," you chirped. "Deeply, deeply off."
"She's losing badly," Sevika chimed in, ever helpful.
Vander muttered something under his breath—probably a prayer for patience—and moved behind the bar. That’s when things really began to shift.
The door slammed open again. Another group came in—louder, rougher. You didn’t recognize them, but you could feel their presence. The weight of their gaze, the scrape of their boots, and that too-casual stance people adopt when they're looking for a reason to fight.
Vander noticed it instantly. He leaned over the bar, his voice low but firm.
“Upstairs,” he said.
Powder pouted. “But—”
“Now.”
Even from across the room, the tone in his voice was unmistakable. Not angry or sharp—just a quiet finality that settled deep in your gut, making even grown men reconsider their choices.
The kids disappeared a moment later, with Vi dragging Powder by the wrist.
The poker table remained still. The bottle waited. You smiled at Sevika, glass in hand, feeling the fire already alive in your chest.
The fourth shot went down easier than the last, though you weren't sure if that was a good thing. Everything felt warm—your throat, chest, fingertips. The edge of the table dug into your side just enough to keep you upright as your body rocked in time with the bass-thump of the music bleeding through the floorboards. Somewhere overhead, the kids were probably still peeking through the cracks in the railing. Powder never could sit still when trouble was brewing, which meant she was likely having the time of her life right now.
The bar had transitioned from rowdy to raucous. The kind of energy that didn’t build but boiled. Voices were loud enough to rattle glass, heavy boots scuffed across the floorboards, and dice, tankards, and curses clattered off tables. You could feel the sweat, smoke, and street dust press against your skin, clinging like static.
“Another?” Sevika asked, flicking the neck of the bottle with her nail.
“Gods, no,” you groaned, slumping over the table. “I like having a liver.”
Sevika grinned and downed another shot anyway. Because, of course, she did.
That’s when you felt it: the touch.
It wasn’t accidental. It wasn’t some drunkard brushing past too close on his way to the bar. It was deliberate. A hand—clammy and bold—ghosted too low across your back, trying to linger at your hip. You froze. Just for a second.
Then you turned your head, slow and icy. The guy behind you was tallish, rough around the edges, with sunken eyes and too many teeth. A band of faded tattoos crept up his neck like mold in a forgotten alley. You didn’t recognize him; he wasn’t local, and by the look in his eyes, he wasn’t sober, either.
“Easy,” he slurred, a crooked grin on his face. “Just being friendly.”
You tilted your head, your smile brittle as cracked glass. “Oh? Well, friendly involves touching me with permission. And yours just expired.”
He leaned in, his breath heavy with the scent of cheap alcohol and even cheaper intentions. “You’re feisty. Bet that’s why Vander keeps you around, huh?”
Your jaw clenched. Sevika stopped mid-shuffle, her expression unchanged, but her fingers tensed around the cards.
You stood slowly, deliberately. The bar behind you continued to move, oblivious, but the people nearest had started to sense the shift. You looked the man up and down, then smiled—not the soft kind, but the “don’t say I didn’t warn you” kind.
“Sweetheart,” you said, your voice smooth as broken glass, “I fuck the owner.”
CRACK.
The instant your fist connected with his jaw, everything slowed. He stumbled back a few steps, shock flickering across his face, but the kind of men who put their hands where they don’t belong never learn the first time.
“You little—!” he spat, blood threading down the side of his mouth. He lunged.
You sidestepped, your foot gliding across the floor, but before you could fully evade him, his arm caught your shoulder in a wild swing. It wasn’t clean—he was too drunk for that—but it stung. You hissed through your teeth, your eyes flashing.
You stepped in fast and low, your fist jamming straight into his ribs with the weight of your hips behind it. You felt the wind knocked out of him, but he didn’t go down. He shoved you hard, trying to use his weight to knock you off balance. You stumbled back a half-step—just enough for your heel to knock a tankard off the table. It clattered to the floor with a bang. That was when the whole bar stopped pretending not to watch.
He came at you again, louder this time—messy, angry, stupid.
He reached for your arm, maybe trying to grapple, maybe just trying to yank you closer to yell in your face. Bad move either way. You twisted your torso, yanked your arm back like a whip, and ducked beneath his swing.
You came up fast.
CRACK.
Your elbow caught him right at the base of his jaw—sharp and brutal—and his head snapped back with a grunt. He reeled but didn’t fall, so you made sure he would.
You surged forward, slamming your palm into his chest with everything you had, sending him crashing back into a chair that snapped beneath his weight. He hit the floor with a shout, table legs and playing cards raining around him like confetti at a funeral.
Someone at the back whooped. Another shouted, “Did you see that?!”
The man groaned, dazed and heaving, trying to rise.
You didn’t let him. You grabbed the front of his grimy jacket and yanked him halfway up by the collar. He sputtered—blood on his lips now, full-on snarl—and made the mistake of spitting in your direction.
Your knee drove up into his stomach with a thud, folding him in half. Then your fist followed—right hook to the side of his head, clean and final.
He dropped flat, motionless, moaning.
Now the crowd started to roar. Chairs scraped backward, and people rushed in—not to fight, but to get a better look. Sevika didn’t even pretend not to be entertained. She took a long drink and muttered, “Damn.”
Then you heard it. Boots. Heavy ones. Vander.
He stepped out from behind the bar like a storm given shape. One glance at the scene—Sevika standing off to the side, you upright with a bruised knuckle, and one limp man on the floor—told him everything he needed to know.
“What the hell happened?” he rumbled, already heading your way. He looked angry, but beneath that? There was pride, and something else you weren’t sure you should name.
You shrugged, half-smirking. “He forgot his manners.”
Vander looked down at the groaning man. “Is that right?”
The guy tried to speak but couldn’t quite manage it. Vander turned to one of the regulars. “Get him out. Make sure he doesn’t come back.”
The man nodded, grabbing the idiot under the arms and dragging him toward the door with the same care you’d give a sack of moldy potatoes.
Vander finally turned back to you, his eyes narrowing as he scanned your hand. “You alright?”
You wiggled your fingers. “Nothing broken.”
He gave you that look—the one that said, You’re lucky I like you and Please don’t start a riot in my bar again, both in equal parts.
“Next time,” he muttered, “wait until he swings first.”
You leaned in, biting back a grin. “But then I wouldn’t get the first hit.”
“Come on,” he grunted, nodding you toward the bar. “Before you start another damn brawl.”
The bar erupted again. Not in chaos—yet—but in that sharp-edged buzz that meant a fight might break out at any second. People stood, chairs scraped, and the air thickened with the scent of adrenaline and testosterone.
The music started up again, and the crowd buzzed with energy, but Vander didn’t loosen his grip until you were tucked safely behind the bar. His hand remained warm around your arm—more a habit than restraint. Protective. Possessive. You weren't sure which made your pulse race faster.
“Sit,” he said, his voice low but unmistakable.
You slid onto a worn barstool, your knuckles still tingling. He grabbed a rag and a scoop of ice, pressing them into your hands with a familiar frown.
“You’re lucky you didn’t break something,” he muttered as he poured water into a chipped glass. “You hit him like you were trying to knock out a tooth or two.”
“He grabbed my ass,” you replied plainly, still heated from the adrenaline. “I held back.”
Vander blinked. “That was you holding back?”
You shot him a wicked grin while pressing the cold rag to your knuckles. “What can I say? I sleep with the owner.”
His brows rose—amused, surprised, maybe a little smug—but he didn’t quite smile yet. He stepped in closer, planting both forearms on the bar and leaning down just enough that the space between you felt electric.
“Do you?” he said, his voice deep and quiet.
You didn’t flinch. Instead, you looked up at him through your lashes, cocky as only someone who just won a bar fight could be. “I mean,” you said, dragging your words out a little slower, “if I don’t, that would be a real shame. You’ve got this whole ‘hot dad’ vibe going. You’re real good at that whole gruff but protective thing. Hot dad energy. Very take-care-of-me coded.”
Vander paused. Then turned to face you fully. Eyebrows lifted.
You shrugged, shameless. “I mean, I see the arms. The beard. The voice. You could carry me and a barrel of mead at the same time and not break a sweat. Some of us notice things.”
That broke him. Vander let out a full-bodied laugh—a low, gruff sound that rolled out of his chest and made your spine straighten. He gave you a look that was equal parts baffled and endeared, as if he weren’t sure whether to scold you or kiss you.
“Hot dad?” he echoed, folding his arms. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”
“You’re built like a bear, and you throw people out by their collars,” you said. “You fix broken barstools and make soup for Powder when she’s sick. Face it, you’ve got the energy.”
He shook his head as if trying to stay serious, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. “You’re a menace,” he muttered.
You sipped your water innocently. “Yeah, but I’m your menace.”
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping. “Is that so?”
Your heart stuttered. You hadn’t meant for it to get quiet again, but that’s exactly what happened. His eyes were fixed on yours—blue, tired, and endless.
“I don’t like it when people touch what’s mine,” he said. It wasn’t a threat or even a warning, just a truth, set gently between you like a glass teetering on the edge.
Your voice came out smaller than you intended. “Am I yours?”
Vander’s gaze dropped to your lips, just for a second. Just enough.
“…You want to be, don’t you?”
That pulled a breath out of you before you could stop it. Your hand ached to reach for him—just a sleeve, a finger, something. But then a loud crash from the other side of the bar shattered the moment. A bottle fell, a laugh erupted, and someone cheered.
He didn’t move away, but his focus shifted. “Go get patched up,” he murmured. “We’ll finish this conversation later.”
You smirked, the heat still lingering like embers under your skin. “Is that a promise?”
He just gave you a look, the kind that said yes without needing to say a word.
***
The worst part about the end of a fight isn’t the bruises—it’s the comedown. That slow, almost itchy crawl of calm when your body remembers it’s tired and your heart realizes it has been racing for hours. You had been riding the high from punching grabby McLoser into the floor, and Vander dragging you behind the bar like a misbehaving stray should have been your signal to stop. But, of course, it wasn’t.
You hadn’t planned to sneak drinks. Not really. But you weren’t cut off; you were just... not currently being served. Totally different. So, while Vander cleaned glasses, checked on customers, and glared at anyone who looked at you for too long, you slipped behind the bar like you belonged there (which you did), poured yourself tiny shots, and scribbled down the price in the back of an old receipt book you found beneath the counter. One shot. Another. You weren’t even trying to get drunk—you just didn’t want the night to end on a leash.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop?” Vander asked from somewhere over your shoulder, his voice dry.
You flinched just slightly, tucking the latest receipt under a coaster. “It’s on the books. I’m not robbing the place.”
“You think writing down ‘one for the road x3’ counts as bookkeeping?”
You gave him a lazy grin, resting your chin on your palm as you spun the pen between your fingers. “I’m nothing if not honest.”
He shook his head, but he didn’t make you stop. He didn’t take the glass away. He just wiped down the counter next to you, slow and deliberate, like he was giving you space to wear yourself out.
The bar had thinned out. People had drifted into the night or gone upstairs to sleep it off. Someone had left their coat on a chair, and someone else had forgotten their shoes under a table. Powder had peeked down the staircase once to check the noise level but disappeared again when she saw Vander nearby. You were glad. The kids didn’t need to see you this sloshed.
Eventually, your pen slowed. You tapped the tip against your empty glass. “I used to think you hated me,” you said suddenly, blinking hard at the counter like it was about to tilt sideways.
Vander hummed. “Why?”
“You always stared. Never smiled. Never said anything nice.”
“I was keeping you out of trouble.”
“You were judging me.”
He glanced over, his gaze cutting through the warm haze. “You think this is me judging you?”
You looked at him then, fully. “No. I think this is you making sure I don’t drown in whiskey and throw another punch.”
“You’re not wrong.”
You sighed, fingers spreading across the cool wood of the bar like you were grounding yourself. “You know, I had a good night.”
He paused. “You got your ass handed to you in poker.”
“I was magnificent. And I did win the fight.”
“Technically.”
You nudged him with your elbow. “You just don’t like that I have a better form than you.”
He gave you that tired smile again—the one that looked like it only ever belonged to you. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re grumpy.”
“And you’re drunk.”
You leaned your head against his arm without asking. He didn’t move.
“I like when you talk to me,” you mumbled, your voice softer now, almost a secret.
He looked down. “Do you?”
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Makes me feel safe. You make me feel safe.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. The bar lights flickered a little, and you could hear someone snoring faintly in the corner booth. The night was finally still.
Vander reached behind the bar and pulled out one of the old wool blankets used to cover winter draft leaks. He draped it around your shoulders like he’d done it a hundred times before. You thought you might say something else—something clever, brave, or a little too honest—but your head slipped sideways and settled against the edge of the bar before the words could escape.
He watched your breathing even out. He waited until your lips parted slightly in sleep and the empty glass slipped from your fingers. Then he tucked the blanket closer around you, quiet and careful.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured, almost too low for even the room to hear.
And with that, he turned off the last light, locking up as you snored softly behind the bar.
***
The smell of old wood, beer foam, and something faintly sweet—maybe citrus—was the first thing to hit you. The second was the cold.
You stirred under something heavy and scratchy. Your arm, bent at an awkward angle behind your head, had gone completely numb. A quiet groan slipped from your lips as you cracked one eye open and stared up at… the underside of the bar?
What the hell?
It took a few seconds to register the full picture: a blanket over your shoulders, your legs curled awkwardly around the base of a barstool, and a thin line of drool dried at the corner of your mouth. Very glamorous. Very you.
You pushed yourself up with a wince, the back of your neck protesting painfully. Someone, definitely Vander, had tucked you into a makeshift cocoon behind the bar. Your glass was still nearby, empty but placed like an offering.
The bar itself was quiet now, with sunlight filtering through grimy windows and casting golden dust motes across empty tables. A couple of chairs were knocked over, and someone had drawn a mustache on a wall poster. Classic.
You scrubbed your face, vaguely registering that your knuckles were sore.
Oh. Right. The fight.
A groan echoed from the stairs. You looked up just in time to see Vi’s head peek around the railing, her blue eyes wide and blinking.
“Shit,” she whispered, ducking back immediately.
There was a brief shuffle of feet and hushed giggles as the other kids scrambled to spy through the stair slats like goblins.
“Great,” you muttered, dragging your blanket tighter. “Witnesses.”
“Morning, sunshine.”
You didn’t even jump—just sighed and turned to find Vander leaning in the doorway from the back, arms crossed and hair tied back sloppily. He looked like he’d slept about as well as you had, though the glint in his eyes indicated he was much more amused about it.
You groaned again. “I have questions.”
“I figured. Want coffee or answers first?”
You looked down at your bruised hands, the scribbled receipt still stuck to your boot, and the smear of dried sauce on your sleeve. “…Coffee, please...”
He smirked, disappearing into the back with a grunt. “Coming up.”
You gathered your hair into a messy twist, sighed, and peeked up at the kids again. Powder waved sheepishly from her hiding spot. You gave her a half-hearted salute.
Somewhere deep in your skull, memories were slowly coming back together like drunk puzzle pieces.
Poker. Losing badly. Drinking. Winning a fight. Talking to Vander. Talking… about him being hot? Your head dropped to the bar with a thud. “Gods,” you whispered. “Please tell me I didn’t say ‘hot dad.’”
No answer—just the smell of coffee and the sound of Vander chuckling behind you. You were halfway through your second sip of coffee—black, bitter, and scalding, exactly how you liked it—when you heard them creeping.
Tiny feet on old wood gave them away. The soft creak of stairs and muffled snorts of laughter revealed the stealth mission. You didn’t even have to look up. “If any of you say the word ‘hangover,’ I swear to the Lanes I will make you eat an ashtray.”
A snicker broke the silence. Then Powder peeked around the corner, eyes wide with mischief. “We weren’t gonna say that…”
Clagger appeared next, munching on a crust of bread like this was just another morning show. “We were gonna ask if you actually said you ‘fuck the owner.’”
You choked. Literally choked on your coffee.
Vander, who had just stepped out from behind the bar while wiping his hands on a rag, froze mid-step.
Powder gasped. “Oh no—she’s dying!”
You coughed into your elbow, eyes watering. “Who told you that?!”
“My room’s right above the bar,” Vi said flatly, emerging with her arms crossed and eyebrows raised high. “Your voice really carries.”
“She said it after punching that guy in the throat,” Powder added, practically bouncing. “It was, like… so cool.”
“Oh, she definitely has a thing for dads,” Mylo grinned, poking his head around the bannister. “Big, strong, owns-a-bar kind of dads.”
Vander turned slowly, giving you a look so smug it should’ve been illegal. “So… just to clarify, what exactly is this thing you’ve got for dads?”
You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I’m never drinking again.”
“That’s a lie,” he said, patting your shoulder as he passed. “You already snuck three shots before coffee and wrote them down like a very responsible drunk.”
“I’m responsibly humiliated.”
Clagger chimed in again, eyes wide. “Wait—does that mean you two are…?”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” you snapped, pointing at him with your spoon.
“I mean,” Vi smirked, her arms behind her head, “you did say something like ‘he can take care of me with those big arms’ last night.”
“Did I?” you asked weakly.
“Oh yeah,” Vander said, grinning as he leaned over your shoulder. “Word for word, sweetheart.”
“Kill me.”
“No need,” he shrugged. “They’ll do it for me.”
The kids cackled, the little monsters. You took another sip of coffee, glaring over the rim. “You know what? I did beat a guy’s ass last night, and I’d do it again.”
“Right after crying about how hot the bartender is,” Mylo muttered to Powder, who nodded as if it were gospel.
Vander just laughed, ruffling your hair with his enormous hand. “You’re a mess.”
“Yeah, but I’m your mess,” you replied.
The kids collectively screamed.
You slammed your cup down. “Upstairs. All of you. Go pretend this never happened.”
“You wish,” Vi grinned, grabbing Powder by the scruff of her neck. “Come on, squirt. Let’s leave them to it before they start flirting again.”
“We're already traumatized!” Mylo hollered as they stomped up the stairs.
You flopped forward onto the bar with a groan, muffled by your arms. “Next time I say I want a night off, just tell me no.”
Vander chuckled softly, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
RAHHHH I SAW THE ONE SHOT LIST FOR ARCANEE TJAUSUAHFMSG (blows up)
vander x married spouse(gn) reader..where they are just dealing with domestic bliss with their four kids…(and maybe a time skip to where season 1 takes place and the reader sees vi for the first time in years)
For old times sake.
Pairing: Vander x GN! Reader
Warnings: none! not proofread
Word count: 666
✰Masterlist
This morning you woke up to an empty spot next to you in bed and the smell of breakfast cooking. Usually you would be right up with Vander, but he always urged you to sleep in. You guess you were simply just too exhausted to wake up early today. Which would make sense as you stayed up half the night comforting Powder after she woke up from a nightmare. Getting up and making your way out of your shared bedroom, the morning air hits you. Vander was in the kitchen, making breakfast as usual, Powder at his hip, wanting to help in anyway she could.
Though you thought it would be too early for their nonsense, Milo and Claggor were already playfully wrestling. You remember a few years ago when Milo vowed he'd take down the much less enthusiastic Claggor. Since then he would try every single day. However, you assumed that Claggor was letting him win most of the time, as he could barely stand against Vi. Speaking of her, she was currently getting some punches in before the sun started to hit. Not that the Undercity really ever saw the sun, but they felt the heat like Piltover. Even if it was just from the coal mines, it would still make you work up a sweat.
You remember when Vander worked in the mines, before the two of you got married. It was a relief when he did give it up for The Last Drop, though. When you did get married his children came alongside that. Even if you weren't related by blood, you still treated them as your own. And they didn't treat you any less than they did Vander. Your little family wouldn't hold up to Piltover's standards, but down here, no one batted an eye. It also helped that you're married to one of the most well liked and friendly men in the Undercity. Vander had a heart of gold, no one could sweep you off your feet like he could.
As you stood there, lost in thought, Powder noticed you. She runs over, hugging you when you are in arms reach. Powder always seemed to have a special in your heart. Maybe it was because she wasn't a moody teenager yet, unlike her sister. Most of the time Vi, Milo, and Claggor went out on their collections, leaving Powder all alone. Well you weren't going to have that. So, every time they left her out of something, you would take her out to go test her latest inventions. Out of the four of them, you were the closest to her, she even started to feel like your own daughter.
When Vander sees you, he smiles, finishing the last plate for breakfast. You walk over to him, letting him wrap his muscular arm around your shoulder. "You didn't wake me up." you complain, though there was no real bite to it. He chuckles, giving your shoulder a squeeze "I didn't want you to be all cranky from the lack of sleep." You huff, rolling your eyes in response. But you knew it was true, and you were grateful for a couple of extra hours in bed. Vander grabs your chin, tilting your head up. You stand on your tippy-toes as he leans down and kisses you.
This display of affection, like every other you guys have, draws a string of 'ewwwws' from your kids. That always made Vander kiss you harder, though, his beard scratching your skin. He pulls away, giving you a subtle wink. "That's enough." Vander looks to Milo, who was making kissing noises to mock you. "Let's eat!" Vi clapped her hands together, then gave Milo a firm slap on the back. You helped Powder and Vander carry the plates to the small dining table. It wasn't much, but it was better than most in the Undercity. Everything was just fine for you as it was. Your husband, your kids, your business. It was home. It was perfect.
Star's notes -> I didn't want to do any angst, just some nice fluffy fluff :[
(Thank you @sweetadonisbutbetter for requesting!) (Requests are open!)
synop: some drabbles, first kisses & how they’d go with my fav arcane men!
ft. gn!reader, jayce, viktor, & vander
a/n: should i flesh any of these out? >:3
(this is sfw but slightly suggestive w/ a lil angst)
𝐉𝐀𝐘𝐂𝐄
— is the type that once he gets a taste, he doesn’t want to stop.
his hazel eyes glance down at your lips and they linger for a long moment, full of want and need as he debates on kissing you; can see the gears turning inside his head. until jayce realizes he’s staring for a little longer than he should and breaks out in a little embarrassed smile, flashing his fangs and that cute little gap in his teeth. “sorry…” he apologizes, ripping his eyes back up to yours.
“it’s okay.” you whisper; as if you were any better than he was, staring at his tilted lips. craving and wanting him with so much tension, it could surely be cut with a knife.
jayce chuckles nervously under his breath but leans forward despite his hesitation, pushing aside any and all of his worries, as he presses his lips gently against yours. it’s a small, soft peck of a kiss; just enough for him to get a sweet taste of you. he leans back a little then, eyes hazy as if he’s become intoxicated with just one kiss. and before either of you can voice an opinion on your first kiss, jayce is eagerly moving on.
“one more.” he mutters, seeking your lips again. he plants a firm kiss against you this time. his breathing is quickly turning into wild rasps as he presses his lips again and again into yours. his hand are roaming along every inch of your body. fingers grasping at your thighs, digging gently into your skin, smoothing across your waist, tugging you into his own lap while his lips continue to find yours.
he whispers countless of pleas and begs of just “one more” between each kiss until they’re no longer just quick pecks and evolve into fuller, far more passionate kisses. one giant hand runs up your thigh again while his other moves to hook around the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. “taste so good.” jayce whispers just as his tongue runs along your bottom lip.
“more.” he mutters across your reddening lips. “please need a little more…” he adds in a huff, waiting for you to give him the green light.
he’s got your head spinning in circles; breathless while your lips still tingle from his desperate make out. your face burns with a drunken blush from the kiss and you’re not entirely sure if you can find the right words to say, so instead you capture his lips now.
and it’s the only answer he needs before he’s desperately sweeping you back into a passionate make out session.
𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑
— is the type who kisses you by total accident one day and then flees.
it had just been you and viktor in the lab together for days on end. the two of you had worked through countless of formula errors, spent every sleepless night together, drank enough coffee that it could replace every ounce of water in your body; and yet you two enjoyed it more than anything. you laughed, brainstormed, and have come closer than you’ve ever had before.
it was…a little obvious that you liked viktor, well to your knowledge it was but not so much to viktor; or so it seemed.
“you’ve done it!” you exclaim, excitement creeping into your voice as you stand from your chair as vik does the same. you crowd over vik’s shoulder to get a better look at the smooth, luminous glass ball, eyes wide open as you stare at the stabilized hex crystal before you. “you’ve actually done it!”
“no,” vik speaks, ripping off his goggles as he stares up at you. “i could not have done this without you. you’ve contributed so much! we did it.” he adds before tossing his goggles off to the side. he quickly tries to gather any paperwork and journal entries the two of you had written in the last few days; eager to rush off and show his work to heimerdinger and the council. and he says little else, too excited to show off his breakthrough, pocketing the hex crystal as he hurries for the lab door.
in his flurry, he forgets a very important piece of paperwork. you grab it, turning towards the door to the lab where viktor had started heading off towards to, waving it in the air before vik can get too far. “viktor! you forgot something!”
vik stops just at the door and spins on his heel to come hurriedly back to you. but instead of taking the note and continuing on his journey to the council room, he’s instead closing the distance between you and him very quickly; quick enough you don’t have time to think, let alone react as vik is sweeping forward to press his lips fully into yours.
he kisses you then, passionate and full of just pure excitement for the things you two have managed to do. and the kiss is far more amazing than anything you could have imagined but it’s cut entirely too short when vik is suddenly realizing all too fast exactly what he’s done and breaking away. he backs up, damn near tripping over his own cane in his hurry, as he takes the paper right out of your hand. he mutters a goodbye and nothing else before he’s gone; just as quickly as he had kissed you.
you stand frozen, in humbled shock, debating if that had actually happened or not. but the warmth blooming across your lips and face is a dead giveaway that yes, it did in fact happen.
and you smile with the thought that this could be the start of something wonderful…and yet it’s only the start of viktor avoiding you at any cost.
𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑
— is the type to be a little embarrassed because of his age but really he’s been holding back for too long.
“you don’t really want this, do ya? i’m practically an old man now.” vander laughs from behind his bar top. he sips on the cheap whiskey he’s been drinking the entire night, glancing at you over the rim.
everyone else from the bar had gone home for the night but you had decided to stick around for a little bit longer; just for this. for him. you swirl your drink around inside your cup, glancing between the moving liquid and vander’s handsome face. you had been dropping hints for, god knows how long, that you wanted him, and now that it was just the two of you…you were willing to push your luck a little to get exactly what you wanted.
“mmm i know.” you respond, taking a sip off your own alcohol of choice that night. “that’s what i like about you though.” you add with a smirk.
your response only makes him laugh again, shaking his head. he pushes his cup out of the way and off to the side, most likely empty and definitely forgotten for the rest of the night, as he settles his hands on the edge of his bar. “that so?” he asks with a grin.
you nod, mirroring his grin right back at him. if you were given the chance sooner, you would’ve dragged him out of the bar two and a half hours ago.
“what if this old man can’t keep up with you?”
now it was your turn to chuckle as you crawl up onto the bar, sliding across the wood surface until you’re sitting pretty right between his settled hands. you move your legs to dangle on the other side of the counter, closing the gap as much as you can. “guess you’re just going to have to find out, hmm?” you respond, running a hand down the front of his broad chest.
while he’s still a little hesitant, it doesn’t take anymore convincing as soon as the distance is closed. his gaze is hungry, always has been, as he settles his eyes onto your pretty face. he’s sucking in a deep breath when the last bit of his resolve vanishes. and it’s his turn to close the gap now as he captures your lips in one swift movement. he’s feverishly kissing you, deep and full of yearning. gripping the edge of the bar like his life depends on it, keeping himself upright and from what you can only assume is to hold himself back just a tiny bit; didn’t want to scare you off with just how badly he wanted you too.
vander grunts against your lips, reaching with a large hand to caress the side of your neck, deepening the kiss with a swirl of his tongue meshing into your own before he’s huffing a deep breath and breaking off the kiss. he pants against your slowly swelling lips, still keeping himself close but far enough away you’d have to chase after his lips if you wanted anymore.
“gonna ask again, you sure about this?” vander mutters. and you can see it in his gray eyes, the want and the need he holds for you and how he’s holding himself back, just in case you may have changed your mind.
but that was impossible. you wanted him and only him. you roll your eyes at his slightly concerned tone of voice before you slide your arms up to lock around his neck. “i’m more than sure. now shut up and fucking kiss me.”
Hey sorry to bother you but may I request a marriage HC for Vander x Morticia reader like The reader is like Morticia Addams and she loves creepy things and loves writing poetry and she loves her family so much and Vander and the kids gets to see the reader's family and they're like The Addams family again sorry to bother you what do you think though how about the idea.
A/N: Never a bother! I love filling requests! I basically just gave Morticia a sister lolz
***
~You met when he came into your oddities store looking for a gift for Powder, it took a while to get something he liked for her but you were persuasive, and if he's honest you could probably convince him of anything batting your pretty lashes and flashing sweet smiles the way you did that day.
~You ran an oddities shop; taxidermy, dangerous plants, potions and things, items you'd really not find anywhere else, it attracted a very specific clientele- some of whom would spook the average person.
~A little while later he brought Powder to the shop at her behest to see this magical store her gift came from. One look at you when she came in and she got to work on the matchmaking. She liked you and was willing to make it happen.
~The courting period was a little awkward, he wasn't quite thinking about dating at the time with the girls and you were perfectly content with your store and your family- a love life had never really been something you bothered with. After all, your sister Morticia and her family were always so loving you had no reason to feel as if something was missing.
~But even if he wasn't thinking about dating Vander quickly found himself enchanted by you. You were funny, and charming, and one of the most fascinatingly intelligent people he'd ever met. He never got tired of hearing you speak. He admired your ability to fall in love with and appreciate even the most morbid things, speaking of them in ways that taught him to appreciate their beauty.
~And you found him equally enamoring. He was oftentimes nervous around you, especially early on in your courting process but you always found it oh so very endearing. He was naturally funny and was wonderful at keeping up with you. You love that he was kind and intuitive and approached everything and everyone with honest curiosity, not judgment. You enjoyed his company, and he enjoyed yours.
~It helped that Powder took to you immediately, and Violet was shockingly close behind her younger sister in warming up to you. Vander almost couldn't believe the girls were so comfortable with you so quickly. Well he kind of could, the more time he spent with you the more amazing he felt you were, but Powder and Violet were usually far more weary of strangers.
~And you were so good with them as well. Even when it interrupted dates or kept Vander too busy for, in his mind, far too many days in a row, you were patient and kind to the girls and to him.
~They made it easy, the girls were so sweet and fun and despite their vibrant and colorful aesthetics they were delightfully compatible with you as far as personality goes. Powder loved to paint with neon colors and Vi was boisterous in her own right with pink hair and a short fuse. A stark contrast from your family's usual subdued expressiveness but delightful nonetheless.
~Speaking of your family, it took a while for you to introduce him to your family. Morticia huffed and puffed for ages until you caved. You didn't date often and she was almost too excited when she found out you were seeing someone but you kept waving her off. It wasn't that you wanted to hide Vander from your family or anything really, but you wanted to be sure about him first, at least a little bit. No need to introduce a short term fling and risk making it more awkward when things fizzle out, if they were going to.
~It was almost two years before you invited him to a family dinner at Morticia's behest. He gets on with Gomez immediately which comes as no surprise, Gomez has a certain charm that tends to endear most everyone he meets to him. His love for life really worked in his favor.
~Morticia was harder on him at first, grilling him in her usual gentle demeanor that often bordered on unsettling, she meant well of course, and you had tried to warn Vander it would come, you knew your sister, you knew she'd have a checklist for him to pass, but Vander was nothing if not a good sport, always and you trusted him to come out the other end of her interrogation. Vander only told you much later how much she'd unnerved him that first night they met. But once she approved of him, she embraced him like one of the family... though you did have to remind her not to get ahead of herself with plans of a future.
~The kids were another challenge for Vander, Pugsley and Wednesday had their own plans for unsettling your partner, talking at the same time, making jokes that are admittedly on brand for your family but definitely not something Vander was used to in such quantities at the time. It took some time but he eventually found common ground first with Pugsley and then with Wednesday a little while after.
~Only once he managed to get your niece and nephew to like him did you discuss bringing his own daughters to one of these family dinners. The girls fit right in with your family though, even Vander was caught off guard. Powder and Pugsley were quick to trade stories of science experiments 'gone wrong' that were absolutely stressing Vander out. Wednesday and Vi were quieter at first. A sort of unspoken agreement seemed to be at play between them the first few dinners, 'don't bother me and I won't bother you'. And you and Vander let that go on, until eventually the two realized they had some things in common, leading to hushed conversations during every dinner after.
~Vander was relieved for the girls to have some friends and you were thrilled the families blended so well, it was the thing that made you actually consider a future with Vander for the first time.
~Not that you hadn't ever thought about it before, but until then it was more of like a theoretical thing. He would do something thoughtful like replace something that he noticed you were missing, or fix something in the shop that you'd casually muttered about getting to eventually, and a passive thought would roll through your mind about how you could get very used to being taken care of that way. Or when you'd started spending the night on occasion, you'd realized you'd enjoy waking up next to him forever. But it wasn't until Pugsley and Wednesday clicked with Powder and Violet that you really entertained the idea of spending the rest of your life with him and really liking it.
~The proposal came a little after your 3 year anniversary, Morticia helped him plan the whole thing somehow keeping you completely in the dark which was not her forte. It was well-thought-out and personal, and got both of your families involved, and it was something you loved to look back on even years down the line. It warmed your heart beyond words the way it really showed how in support everyone was of the two of you.
~Being called mom by Powder and Violet was a bit of an adjustment, and Vander was just as shocked when Wednesday and Pugsley started calling him 'uncle Vander', though he embraced the extension of family wholeheartedly.
And all because he needed a gift for an odd little girl and someone told him he'd find something in your shop. Turned out to be way more than a gift.
***
A/N: Guys I accidentally misread this ask and started working on a like- proper fic for this before about 2/3rds of the way through I realized it was a HC ask- would you guys even WANT the fic version?
