#lanebbd

its finally Lane's birthday in my country! i never thought so many people would love this jerk! xD

unfortunately, i couldnt draw any special illustration for him... but im making really good progress on the game so consider Shift 3 as my biggest thank you to all of you!😽💕

rn i can only share little screenshots, also for BB because i can.😏💕

thank you everyone for loving this unlovable guy!😽💖

Happy birthday to Lane once again!

My little thoughts:

I love this piece so so so much!!!😻😻😻

It’s created by my favorite idol artist😽😽!@bombsanchez 我爱你…

I was totally drawn in by their fan arts back then. I never imagined I could actually get a commission from them. I’m utterly overjoyed. I hope I can commission them again someday. Wish I could secure a slot every time they open for commissions!!!!😿💞

I love every single fan art they draw. It feels like I’m in a dream, and all my unhappiness has faded away completely!!I really feel like the goddess of luck is looking after me🥺❤️❤️❤️

Lastly, thank you everyone for loving Lane. He’s such a lucky sweetie.

再次祝lane生日快乐💞

一些我的碎碎念：

唉呦 约到女神的稿我真的好开心呀 就是有一种说不上来的感觉 你们懂的当时就是女神的同人图把我吸引入坑的！

我从来没有想过居然可以约到 女神也特别特别宠我的…

I get why Laly said, “Lane is way more jealous than BB.”

BB’s vibe is pure obsession, while Lane’s energy is all jealousy.

One is about possession, the other is about territory. Uhm, uhm, you see the difference, right?

I used a reference for the picture and was a bit lazy, so I didn’t draw the background 🤪

I thought the reference really suited Lane’s vibe, so I couldn’t resist drawing it 😆💖💖

图片有参考，我稍微偷了点懒，没有画背景🤪

⸺ ft. Lane (BBD) , reader

⋆˚꩜｡ summary . Lane has a new favorite hobby. Unfortunately, it's you. (and you don’t mind this as much as you should) ౨ৎ wc . + 1.5k!

⋆˙⟡ tags . mature — mdni, reader-insert, second person pov, gn!reader, no explicit content, workplace romance, he's annoying on purpose and that's the whole plot, flirting disguised as antagonizing, idiots to lovers, soft ending, big bad dogs fanfic, + lane meme at the end because why not

₊˚⊹♡ cw . mature — mdni, lane, lane, lane again, lane being an insufferable menace (affectionate), mild sexism (called out!!), workplace setting, mild sexual tension, no explicit content, light physical contact, he's down bad and refuses to admit it, some french sprinkled in because i’m french, lane est un emmerdeur de première mais c’est pour ça qu’on l’aime <33

✧ a/n! . aaand here it is! a fic based on Lane, a character from the visual novel Big Bad Dogs made by the very talented @where-spar0w-barks ! go check her stuff out, she does an amazing job on her VN and she deserves all the support in the world! posted this in honor of the release date of Shift 3 at the end of June, which means GO PLAY THE VN RIGHT NOW >:))) OMG AND ALSO i have another bbd fic in my drafts ;))) ONE DAY I’LL GIVE IT TO YOU GUYS DON’T WORRY! (and yes I absolutely have other cod fics for you dww) happy reading and hope you enjoy ♡

Lane loves riling you up.

Started as an obsession, became an addiction.

Not that it hadn't been before. But now? Now Lane threw himself into antagonizing you with the kind of methodical dedication he usually reserved for doing absolutely nothing productive during his shift.

Because he'd seen behind the curtain. He'd made you laugh during the shitty date he’d pulled in the stock room, the two of you bantering and flirting. You'd called him out on every bit of the sexist bullshit he'd said, you'd reciprocated the banter, matched him blow for blow. Which meant that somewhere, buried under all the irritation and exhaustion, you didn't actually hate this.

Didn't hate him.

And for Lane, that was dangerous knowledge. So, it became a routine. An absolutely ridiculous routine, and he knew how stupid it was, but really, he couldn’t help it.

Not when the way you reacted was so endearing to him.

Monday night, he decided he’d grant you the effort of working the cash register, the only one in the store, with the busted scanner that you had to angle just right, and he spent twenty minutes pretending he couldn't figure it out, asking you for help with that infuriating smirk.

You’d given him the most judgmental side-eye he’d ever received in his entire life before shoving him aside and scanning the items for the poor customer who’d been standing at the counter for God knows how long.

Perfect.

Tuesday, he critiqued your stock rotation while following you around the store and through the aisles with his hands in his pockets, just enough to be annoying. Pointed out a "shelving inconsistency" that wasn't actually inconsistent at all, just a different approach than his. And when you’d finally decided to snap back at him, he slipped into the stock room and blocked the door from inside with his full weight for five solid minutes, just so you couldn’t enter.

You’d told him he was a ‘territorial manchild with the emotional intelligence of a rock’.

Lane had been grinning for hours afterward.

Wednesday, he got to that damn stock room first. Drank one Redbull, then two, then three, just enough to increase his chances of having a heart attack. Or at least question his cardiovascular future. Then he'd stood there, and instead of throwing the empty cans in the trash like a normal human being, he'd stacked them into a neat little tower right in front of the door, dead center, perfectly positioned for you to walk straight into them. Which you did, and the crash was magnificent.

You glared daggers at him from across the room.

"Problem?" he'd asked innocently.

"You're a menace," you’d hissed back.

God, yes.

By Thursday, you were staring at him, deadpan, as he reorganized all the facing you’d done by yourself. Because of course that idiot, who’d never once dragged his ass over to help you during a shift, had decided to suddenly, very diligently, do his part of the job, with the sole purpose of doing it wrong and watching you twitch.

"That's the third time today," you muttered, watching Lane deliberately rearrange the chocolate shelf in a way that was already pissing you off. "You moved that stuff three times in one shift."

"You keep putting it back wrong, babe," Lane said, completely shameless.

"There is no wrong. You're just being an asshole."

"You wound my heart."

Your jaw tightened, and you weren’t sure if it was because he was actually getting to you, or because you were trying very hard to hide the amused smile pulling at the corner of your lips. "You know what's gonna happen, right? I’m gonna snap. Like, actually snap. Worse than last time. Remember the slap?"

Lane paused, considering this. You? Slapping him?

"Looking forward to it," he said finally.

"You're sick."

"Probably."

Friday night, Lane found you at the counter, meticulously refilling the display rack closest to the register, the one with the small packets of candy and chewing gums. He grabbed the stool right next to you, even though there were plenty of other places to be, and started "helping" restock the shelf beside you.

Close enough that your arms occasionally bumped.

Close enough to be annoying.

"You're in my space, Lane," you said without looking up.

"Plenty of room for both of us here, doll," he replied easily.

"There is an entire store."

"I like it here. Better company."

You finally looked at him, and there it was—that fire starting to blaze in your eyes. "You're doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?" Pure innocence.

"This." You gestured between Lane and yourself. "All of it. The register, the empty cans, and now—" You waved again, this time at the minimal space between you two. "—this."

Lane set down the packet he was holding, turning to face you fully. That familiar smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"You could always make me stop," he said, voice dropping just slightly lower. "Tell me to back off. Complain to RJ. Hell, slap me again if you want."

Please slap him again. He’d beg on all fours. Hell, he’d bark. He’d bark like a dog.

You stared at him for a long moment, jaw working like you were physically restraining yourself from saying something, before you finally muttered: "You're impossible," and turned back to the display rack.

But you didn't move away, and Lane counted that as a win.

“... You’re gonna invite me?”

“Yeah.”

“On a date?”

“Yeah.”

You paused in your movements, mop stilling on the tiles, and slowly looked up to stare at Lane, scanning every inch of his face, looking for the tell. A smirk, a glint, some sign that he was messing with you. His expression was unreadable. Arms crossed, leaning against the counter, watching you with half-lidded eyes.

It was around 5 a.m., both of you were tired, bored, and you’d been busy mopping the sticky floor when Lane had decided to open his mouth and hit you with his plan. Well, you didn’t believe him. Or maybe you didn’t want to acknowledge the warm feeling that had settled in your fluttery stomach the moment he’d said ‘I wanna take you out on a date.’

Especially when the last date he’d pulled had been the one in the stock room, playing truth or dare while drinking cheap energy drinks and flirting like teenagers. Plus, you hadn't admitted to yourself yet that you'd loved that night. That it had followed you home, replayed in the dark behind your eyes every morning since when you were too tired to keep your guard up.

“With what money?” you finally asked.

“The money that I make while working.”

“You don’t work, Lane. I’m the one doing the damn job here.”

“I still get paid for it. Probably a few more bucks than you do. Y’know, wage gap and all that.”

There it was. Again. Clearly, that man didn’t listen to you. His words landed small and sharp, and your expression flattened. Not into anger, exactly, but into the particular kind of tired disappointment that came from someone almost being better, and then choosing not to be.

Your fingers loosened around the mop handle, and it dropped, the wood cracking against the counter, sound echoing in the empty store. You turned on your heels to walk away from him—only for Lane’s hand to close around your wrist.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” His voice dropped, tone now low and intimate. “Let me make it up to you.”

You didn’t turn around.

He tugged, gently, just enough to angle you back towards him, and you opposed no resistance, although you were still pouting. His thumb found the inside of your wrist and started moving in slow circles against your skin. Pleasant and soft.

“Please, baby?”

He was infuriating. You looked away, out at the empty aisles, the hum of the fridges, the buzz of the fluorescent lights. And still, you could feel the smile you were trying to hold back.

“If you wanna make it up to me so bad,” you finally said quietly, “you can start working on that shitty sexist attitude of yours.”

“I am working on it.”

“Hardly.”

“So it’s a yes on the date?”

Il est exaspérant.

But this time, you didn’t hold back the amused smile on your lips—slow, reluctant. You looked down at where his thumb was, still tracing patient circles against your pulse point, and it made something flutter in your lower belly. The knot in your throat loosened.

It was nice, you thought, despite everything. To be wanted like this. Not quietly, not a secret. To be wanted loudly, badly, and with all the subtlety of a man who’d spent the entire week teasing you and antagonizing you on purpose.

It was nice to know that someone was eager.

Even if that someone was Lane.

And to be honest, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“... Promise you’ll behave from now on?”

His thumb never stopped the slow circles against your skin, and this time, he completely tugged you against him. Cradled the back of your head with his free hand, letting your forehead rest against him as he propped his chin at the top of your head.

“I’ll try my best, angel.”