#if you saw the same thing at different points in your life

[screwitbaby]

cybergirl

hamzahthefantastic x reader (oneshot)

[part 1] (you don’t have to read it to read this one)

summary: you’re a cam girl and you have more power over hamzah’s horny ass than you can even comprehend.

contains: smut with plot ofc

w/c: 2.7k-ish

a/n: yall convinced me. can i even call this a oneshot anymore? anyway enjoy <3

~

The clock was ticking. Hamzah's eyes couldn't stay in one place. He knew he was obsessed with you—he couldn't even jerk off to random porn anymore, only you could keep him hard—but the extent of his infatuation was starting to take a toll on his daily life. Recording gaming videos and podcasts with Martin felt like such a chore when all he could think about was your plush thighs wrapped around his head or your face pressed into his pillows, ass up. 

It was like a parasite had taken over and he was merely a host body for something sinister that was controlling his every move. He wasn't even sure if he hated it. It was one of the only things bringing him unadulterated joy as of recent. His wallet certainly hated him for it, though.

His laptop was already on and set in place. You were about to start your weekly scheduled live broadcast and he was sat in bed, waiting obediently for your arrival. The thought of creepy, old retirees with beer guts and wives also waiting for you made his skin crawl. His brain conjured up torturous scenes of you on call with them, talking to them the same way you spoke to him. Charming them with your promising words and perfect tits. No, he was sure he was special. Right?

He slapped his cheeks lightly, trying to rid the thoughts from poisoning his mind. It didn't matter. He knew what he was getting into the moment he paid for that first private meeting. He just had to suck it up and have you in any way he could.

Your panties were laid out next to him, almost tricking him into believing you were there in the room with him at one point or another. When he came home from the studio a week ago and saw a package with cursive writing and glittery gift wrap sitting at his doorstep, he was tempted to banish Martin from the building as soon as he'd welcomed him. When Martin then asked him what was in the box as he was taking it up to his room, he froze. His lies about it being an eBay order were almost as easy to see as the half-chub rising beneath his sweatpants. Luckily, Mandy called her boyfriend within the hour and he left soon thereafter without bothering to question his best friend's strange behavior.

It was pathetic, the way he locked the door to his room and shut his blinds just to open a parcel. He felt like he was living with his family again, trying to minimize any possible chances that they'd walk in on him with his dick in his hand. But he was completely alone then, and as he carefully tore the wrapping to preserve your penmanship of his name on the shipping label, his heart was beating out of his chest. Swathed in pink tissue paper lay his only worldly evidence that you were real, not just a couple of pixels on his screen.

Your lilac, lacy, worn panties.

For the next few days, Hamzah didn't leave home. He sniffed, he rubbed, he moaned and groaned. And he was loud. Any sense of shame left him as soon as he came the first time. He was sure he'd pass out from the pleasure at some point, but it was like each climax recharged him with the power to go twice as hard. It took a while for him to get himself together. It took no time at all for him to tune in to your show.

So, here he was, anxiously staring at the chat room full of digital degenerates and convincing himself he wasn't cut from the same cloth. He was different. He respected you. He liked you for more than just your perfect tits, peachy ass, lustrous hair, smooth skin, wet pu—

Then, the camera turned on. The chat started going at a hundred miles per hour. The donations began to flow in. And all you had done was smile.

"Hi, everybody," you giggled, eyes scanning the screen as you waved. "Oh, wow! Thank you for all the donations! So eager for me."

Hamzah's heart twinged. He didn't want to be reminded that he wasn't the only one. He made a donation of his own as you began reading them out.

"Thank you for the hundred dollars, SuperSpreader77!" you gasped as the notification sounded. You placed your hand on your chest, drawing Hamzah's eyes to the blood-red, satin brassiere that adorned it. "I'll be sure to make it up to you."

You winked and bit your lip. Hamzah swore he could've melted right there. The damp spot on the front of his boxers stuck out sorely, his cock aching for a release that would certainly make him see stars.

"I missed you all so much." You pouted.

And just like that, his elation was cut short by your acknowledgment of the others.

The live lasted near an hour as you touched yourself and stared into the camera and teased and did all the right things to get Hamzah wrapped even tighter around your finger. Knowing he was there after his donation made you slightly more daring than usual. You spanked yourself with a frilly paddle until your ass was stinging and bruised—a little taste of what was to come. You weren't lying about making it up to him later.

By the end, Hamzah was sure his balls were really going to turn blue. He did touch himself—how could he not?—but he knew nothing would be better than to finish with you, one on one. So he edged closer and closer to the point of no return, denying himself of his orgasm as he rutted into his fist, wishing it was your mouth or your cunt. He watched with impressive self control as you came all over your own fingers, splayed across your mattress like a priceless painting that could only be rightfully witnessed in a museum.

You ended the live by blowing a kiss and Hamzah rushed to open the Zoom app. This time, you joined within a few minutes, still topless but with your thong back on. Hamzah wasn't sure if he was sad to see you covered up or more excited that he'd get to see it get pulled off again.

"Hi, angel," you greeted. Your eyes twinkled, face flushed and lips bitten red from your previous escapade. "I missed you the most."

Hamzah groaned like the words physically wounded him.

"You're driving me insane," he said.

His hand traveled down to his navel, but before he could grab himself, you spoke.

"Ah, ah," you tutted, stopping him in his tracks. "Did you get my little gift?"

"Yes." He nodded keenly, grasping the lace from beside him and running it down his torso until he draped it over his throbbing cock.

"Do I even want to know what you've done with it?" you asked, tilting your head to the side.

"The things I wish I could do to you," Hamzah answered honestly.

He pinched the lace between his fingers and ghosted the cloth across himself, sharply inhaling at the sensation. You bit your lip and Hamzah felt himself twitch. With the way you had soaked through your thong, you wondered if he'd want this pair, too.

"Did you enjoy my show?" you asked despite knowing the answer. "Enjoy yourself?"

"I waited for you," Hamzah said. "I wanted you. Alone."

"Are you hurting? Aching for me?"

"I want you so bad. You have no idea."

"I don't?"

Hamzah shook his head.

"Show me. Show me how you used those panties."

He immediately obliged. He began by gripping his shaft, spreading the precum from his tip downward. He moved your panties to encircle his cock, dragging against his balls deliciously as he pumped himself. His head fell back, already so close that he could feel his heartbeat drumming in his ears. You watched him hungrily.

"Gonna cum already?" You licked your lips, leaving them glossy. "Let me hear you, angel."

A loud moan tumbled from his lips, a sense of abandon washing through him as he pleasured himself in front of you. You observed the way the vein in his neck popped similarly to the ones on his cock and imagined how they'd taste, how they'd feel against your tongue. You began touching yourself, swirling your fingers around your swollen clit.

"I-I can't hold—c-can I?" he stuttered out, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Do it, Hamzah. Ruin my panties."

You lay flat on your back, neck craned to watch the screen as his movements grew fervent. You tried to match his pace, tried to fuck your fingers into your pussy as he bucked his hips, tried to picture it was him inside of you. He spilled into his hand, shouting your name over and over until his voice grew scratchy and he had released every last drop all over himself and the fabric. He hadn't even opened his eyes before he was hard again. You were the only Viagra he'd ever need.

"Wanna see you," he panted, attempting in vain to catch his breath.

He ran his thumb over his tip and shivered. You leapt from bed to pull your thong off and tossed it towards the camera playfully. When you bent over your desk, his eyes widened. The marks on your ass were red and angry, slightly raised in the shape of the paddle. He didn't know he had it in him, but he genuinely growled.

"Fuck me..." He gripped himself tighter, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head from how sensitive he was.

You reached into one of the drawers and slowly pulled a toy out from the back. Hamzah was pleased to see the dildo was of similar size to him. You knew it would never compare to the real thing, but it'd have to do. You spat onto it, slapping it against your sore ass a couple times and jumping at the sting. Hamzah fell into a trance, unable to do anything but moan as he watched you run the head against your dripping folds before pressing in.

You gasped, keeling over the desk as your wetness enveloped the entirety of the silicone. The feeling of every inch stretching you had you clamping around it as your body adjusted to the intrusion. You drew it out until just the tip was still inside. Then, all at once, you drove it back in with a cry.

"Hamzah!" you whimpered, head lolling to the side. "I-I'm—"

"You're doing so good, baby." He wrapped your panties around the base of his cock, intensifying his satisfaction as the fabric cinched around him. "Fuck yourself. Hard."

His hoarse voice combined with the pleasure passing through you made your legs shake. You could barely even hold yourself up. Your chest pressed against the cold wood and your nipples grazed the surface, rendering you speechless. Hamzah watched as you flicked your wrist as fast as you could and the dildo disappeared into you. You were in the clouds, gripping the edge of the desk with your other hand until your knuckles turned white.

"Shit, s-so fuckin’ pretty," Hamzah groaned.

You couldn't even see straight anymore, but you knew him well enough to know he was closing in on his second orgasm of the night. The carnal sounds of the both of you reverberated through your rooms, a mess of moans and wet slapping. When you screwed your eyes shut tight enough, it was almost as if you were there together.

"Cum f'me, baby," Hamzah grunted out, "only me."

"Only you, angel," you whined, your mouth staying ajar as you felt your stomach clenching and your toes curling.

Broken moans toppled from your lips. Any words said were inaudible, a jumble of sweet nothings as the two of you came in unison. Your wrist was cramping and you could feel your arousal making a mess all over your legs, but you couldn't bare to stop your movements. Pure bliss coursed through your veins and Hamzah strained to watch the way your orgasm turned your body into a shaking heap atop your desk. He came so hard his vision blacked out for a moment and he huffed heavy breaths until his body was no longer tensed from head to toe.

You eventually released the dildo from your grasp and let it fall to the floor, tracing your fingers over your wetness then to your clit. Even a faint touch sent a shock through you. You giggled but it came out as a shaky sigh.

"God, baby," Hamzah murmured, unraveling your panties from his dick and sitting up to pull his laptop closer. "You okay?"

"Hmm," you hummed in your state of euphoria. You attempted to stand straight but to no avail, gripping the sides of the desk as you nearly toppled over with another giggle. "'M fine."

"Fuck," Hamzah laughed quietly, feeling the effects of his own exhaustion. "That good?"

"Mhm," you moaned, nodding.

When you turned, you wobbled on your feet for a couple steps before falling to your knees in front of the bed. You brought your laptop to the edge and smiled, wiping a tear from your eye.

"So good."

Hamzah grinned, leaning against the wall as his breathing slowly returned to a normal pace. He was sticky and slightly sore, but he couldn't even begin to imagine what you were feeling in that moment.

"How do you do this for work?" he said, bemused. "I'm destroyed."

He reached up to run his fingers through his curls, but decided against it once he felt the moisture coated between them.

"I was thinking of you during the live."

You crossed your arms on the bed, resting your cheek on your forearm as you stared at his figure through the screen. He opened his mouth and closed it a couple times, failing to find his words. You giggled again, completely spent.

"Why are you so far?"

He knew there was no real answer to his question, but he couldn't help but wonder out loud. How was it that the girl of his dreams was so out of his reach? Did he do something in a past life to deserve this fate? The longer he thought about it, the worse he felt.

"Maybe it's for the best," you offered, eyes closed. "Maybe you'd get sick of me IRL."

He contemplated the sentiment for a moment. No, there's no way. He could never get sick of your sweet voice; surely it'd be impossible.

"First of all, 'IRL'? Really?" he teased. "And who knows. Maybe I could fly you out."

"Don't be silly," you yawned, sitting back on your haunches to stretch.

"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "I already paid for your panties. What makes you think I wouldn't pay for the ticket to get the rest of you here?"

"Ridiculous."

You just couldn't make sense of it. A boy flying you out while knowing close to nothing about you. Sure, you made each other feel good, but there's a big difference between seeing someone for an hour or two weekly and seeing them everyday with no where else to go. Such an absolute scared you. Besides, a girl like you would never dare to have such big dreams of a fairytale ending.

"My offer still stands." Hamzah crossed his arms.

"What is it with you and your offers?"

"Never hurt before."

He grabbed the panties from beside him and held it up to the camera like it was evidence of his claim. The two of you laughed at the white stains that now adorned it.

"You're disgusting."

"You love it."

You shook your head, not even refuting his words. You couldn't ignore the jolt that surged through your heart.

"Really, you should consider it," he said with a shrug.

"No promises," you said. "Goodnight, angel."

You subsequently signed off, leaving Hamzah with a longing in his chest that kept him up that night and invaded his dreams when he managed to drift off in the early hours of the morning.

~

a/n: if u ask for part 3 i may just scream. idk i kinda like having them yearn for each other. thoughts? feelings? concerns? hate? leave it in the replies!

[mummyscarian]

Mumbo Stole Grian's Soul, and How it Connects to the Life Series

Alternatively, Mumbo Stole Grian's Soul, and How it Saved Everyone.

When Mumbo stole Grian's soul, he really stole it. Like he actually, genuinely stole it---the whole thing. All of it became his. Or, well, not his, exactly---it was still Grian's soul, but it was just in Mumbo's body, yeah?

Mumbo stole it to become human---it was a whole thing, really, he kept turning into a potato, and a golden carrot, and then a pig---oh, it was horrible! And he just needed to be human again. So, of course, the next logical decision was to steal his best friend's soul. Of course.

Grian wasn't exactly thrilled at first---well, he thought it was a joke at first. Mumbo insisted it wasn't, but, well, you can't actually steal someone's soul, can you? Grian went along with the joke, but he didn't feel any different, didn't feel empty or however one was supposed to feel when your soul was missing. Maybe Mumbo meant it metaphorically anyway. Regardless, the moon was big, and they were Watching.

Last Life. A new rendition of the death games the Watchers loved to put him through. And Mumbo was there. Why was Mumbo there? No matter---their minds were not their own, and the Boogeymen were coming. There was no time to think, only to survive. Watching Eyes, Listening Ears, there was never a real escape.

Mumbo died by Grian's own hands, and something felt weird about the world. He could feel it in the air---did everything become just a little more clear? When he looked up, why could he see them Watching? As the Finale neared, he could Remember. This was a death game. He was only meant to Watch---but he chose to Play.

When he died, he Watched. When Scott stood on that tree, and the Watchers started to reach---Grian defied them.

/kill Smajor1995.

He was not supposed to be able to defy Them. He always tried, of course, because who was he if not Grian, the prankster? But, regardless, he could not have defied them in their own world, where they were in control. To send a command like that, to destroy the sanctity of their game?

...Did he have that ability the whole time? The power to---No. He didn't. In 3rd Life, he was powerless. What made Last Life any different? The Watchers kept a grip on him as tight as the other Players, molding his mind into whatever they wanted, making him do horrible things to his friends.

Grian never knew what made it different. The moon was big.

Then it was Season Nine.

Mumbo---well, Last Life wasn't exactly pleasant. His mind hadn't been the greatest lately---not strictly because of Last Life, mind you. He was going through a bit of a slump. Everything had calmed down, after the moon and Last Life, and people were moving on, but he still felt uneasy, and lost, and burnt out. He... needed a break. A vacation.

So, with great hesitancy, and lots of doubt, he took one---went to see what else was out in the world. Hiked, biked, and saw all sorts of beautiful sights. And it... helped, truly, it did. It cleared his mind. He felt...

...human?

Without Mumbo, Grian felt like his soul was missing. Which was weird to say, he knew, because Mumbo had "stolen" his soul, but he just meant it metaphorically, alright? Grian without Mumbo---what was he?

He brought Grumbot back, but it still didn't feel the same. He missed his friend. And he knew it was good for Mumbo, but he still couldn't help but miss him the normal amounts (okay, maybe not the normal amounts, but that was beside the point, alright?).

He still couldn't help but wonder why Last Life ended the way it did, and why the Watchers were so silent. Grian tried to find out if he was somehow stronger, despite revoking his powers before---the Rift. Was it Grumbot, or was it him? He wasn't sure.

Then Double Life happened. And there was no Mumbo.

Things felt weird. Well, things felt normal, but slightly to the left, for a death game. Grian was distinctly aware it was a death game. They all knew it was, but there was always that fog that kept them from truly questioning, from truly fighting it. Complacent. Single-minded. Dependent. ...Violent. Aggressive. Unforgiving. Bloodthirsty.

He could still feel it, but he felt too aware of it. He could Watch the Watchers Watching them.

Double Life---it was short. Grian tried to push against the code keeping them all trapped, but, being bound to Scar---well, maybe Grian got too focused on trying to keep his soulbound (soul?) alive and, by proxy, himself as well.

Watching the Watchers Watch Pearl and Scott---They had more precautions this time, keeping Grian under Watch too. They were... wary. Cautious. Which meant they didn't know how Grian had slipped out from their grasp either.

Hope bloomed for the first time in a long time. A way to fight back, a way to save his friends from the death games---but how? Why? What happened, what was different---

Souls.

The Watchers controlled your soul. They changed its code to change you. Grian knew this very well. They had done this to his own soul many, many times. To his friends' souls.

Mumbo had stolen Grian's soul.

...He had literally stolen Grian's soul.

Grian could have laughed---he did laugh. That bastard. That loveable bastard! And he didn't even realize what he had done!

If Mumbo had Grian's soul, the Watchers couldn't bend him and break him. Grian... was free.

Well. Not entirely. Maybe Grian's soul was free, hidden where the Watchers couldn't find it (because who stole somebody's soul, seriously?). But his friends'...? They weren't. And as long as the Watchers had them... He wouldn't be free either. They used them like pawns to keep him trapped, all as punishment for daring to deny their divine gifts.

...But now he had a trick up his sleeve. A piece of the platform to stand on.

Going AFK during Limited Life was risky, but he trusted his Bad Boys' to protect him. Protect his body. (And Mumbo, unknowingly, or well, a little knowingly now, as of course Grian had told him when he returned from his vacation, protected his soul.) While his... not his mind, exactly, but another part of himself, confronted the Watchers.

This season was prime to be a bloodbath, but it would be the last of its kind, he swore to them. He demanded of them. It was a relentless argument on both sides---Grian wanted his friends to be safe and they threatened to harm them, while Grian withheld what they wanted most. Him.

The Watchers were a possessive bunch, and Grian---Xelqua---was theirs. They wanted him back, they wanted their Watcher back, he was one of Them, and they could not accept that he had dared to leave them. Could not fathom why he would.

There was a compromise---unwilling on both sides.

And so Secret Life was born.

Mumbo was there, and Grian was too scared to get too close to him, for fear that the Watchers would Look a little too close and See. He couldn't choose which players were dragged into these games, and the Watchers had their favorite victims (thankfully, Mumbo wasn't one of them, it seemed, even if he was the coal miner to the canary).

It was a fight for control, the Watchers unwilling to give it up, and Grian forcing himself onto the scene. Tasks, carefully crafted to be both frustrating and fun for His players (and sometimes just violent enough to satisfy their Hunger). Ups and downs, gives and takes. Tasks submitted by Watchers themselves---but the Boogeyman curse was all his own. See? He could make it entertaining, too. He understood what they wanted, and would give it to them, but only if they played by his rules.

Demise was a threat.

Interfere with their beloved "life" games, and They would take all of HermitCraft and force them into the games. Force them into worse. Take them, and control them, forever (just like Evo).

Real Life was a test.

It felt like loosing, to Grian. And, well, he did loose, actually. Out first, in his own game? Ridiculous. But... He felt like he lost everything he had worked so hard to create. Or, well, no, he felt like all that time spent running, and hiding, and creating a new him, trying to get himself away from the Watchers---it was for nothing. He... was submitting to them.

Of course, he knew it wasn't exactly that. He was still a Player, still him, and this was the only way to keep his friends safe. To convince the Watchers that he could run the games himself. To convince them that he was still a Watcher (it burned. It burned. He didn't want to be).

Running Real Life was difficult---he hadn't used his Watcher powers like this in... well, ever, really, to create a whole reality? He'd never gone that far. It was short lived, and, strangely, very nauseous.

But, somehow, it got the point through. He passed the test.

Wild Life was all his own. Weeks---months---spent carefully crafting a fun game for his friends, as though to apologize for everything he'd inadvertently subjected them to. He got to choose the players, and, to his surprise, they all wanted to come---even...

Even Mumbo.

Grian almost didn't want to invite him. But wouldn't that be suspicious, inviting them all but him? For them all to join but him? Mumbo would understand---but, in the end, he joined.

And he teamed with Grian. And it felt... so right. So perfect. Somehow, the death game didn't even feel like a death game. Him, Skizz, and Mumbo---the Sub-one Club! Or, well, the Floaters---or, actually, the Spanners! Yes, the Spanners! Grian almost felt at home. Being in control, the others knowing what He was and accepting him, creating a fun game for his friends. This was---well, it was just perfect! And he loved it! He loved it! It's what he had always wanted, back when 3rd Life was supposed to be his, and now, he had it! Everything he wanted!

And then

Mumbo

died

first.

[kirammanswifey]

《A Love Written in Pain(t)》

Ekko

writer's note: i'm sorry for making my boy suffer again, ekko deserves better but i'm a sucker for drama. anyways, this little (pretty long) scenarios comes from my arcane imagines, i'll let the link down there for anyone is interested, also i'll be posting a story for each one of those scenarios for this week, tomorrow it's mel's turn ;)

link:

warnings: fluff, angst, terminal illness, death of oc, ekko is a romantic sweet talented baby, reader can be a jerk sometimes but she kinda cool sometimes.

The music vibrated in the air, blending with the scent of fresh paint and street food. You had come to the urban festival on a friend's recommendation, but you never imagined it would be an afternoon that would change your life. Artists were filling the city's gray walls with bright colors and messages of hope, and among them, one boy stood out.

His white hair contrasted with his skin, and the agile movement of his hand as he slid paint onto the wall was almost hypnotic. The mural he was creating seemed to come alive with every stroke: a girl holding a broken clock, surrounded by gears that spun toward nowhere. The image had something deeply melancholic about it, as if telling a story only a few could understand.

You watched him from afar, too shy to approach, until he noticed your presence. He turned his head and smiled at you, his eyes shining with a mixture of curiosity and kindness.

"Do you like it?" he asked, coming down from the scaffolding with the same ease he seemed to do everything.

"It’s... impressive. But it also feels sad, like it’s about a loss or something that can't be recovered."

His eyebrows raised slightly, surprised. "That's exactly what I wanted to convey. It’s about time. How we always think we have more of it than we really do, but we never know when it runs out."

His explanation fit perfectly with what you had felt while observing it. "I saw it more like a fight... like she doesn't want to give up, even if the clock is already broken."

For a moment, Ekko seemed to look at you differently, as if measuring something invisible. "I’ve never thought of it that way. I like that perspective. I guess that’s what’s great about art, right? It’s a conversation."

You smiled, feeling for the first time like someone understood how you saw things. "I guess so."

"Do you always analyze strangers' murals?" he joked, a playful smile on his lips.

"Only when they make me feel something," you replied with a hint of shyness, but without looking away.

"Well, then that’s a compliment."

Hours passed, but you didn’t even notice as the sun began to set. Talking with Ekko felt like discovering a song you didn’t know you needed in your life. He told you about his workshop, his passion for helping the community, and his dreams of changing the world, one gadget at a time.

At some point, he asked about your story, and although you weren’t the type to open up easily, you felt like you could be honest with him.

"I work with kids," you began, searching for the right words. "At an orphanage near my university. I like to think I can do something for them, even if it’s small. I’m studying psychology, and I want to help people like them... people who feel alone."

Ekko nodded, as if understanding every word. "That’s amazing. It’s like... you take care of people, and I try to make sure they take care of the world around them. Maybe you should stop by my workshop sometime. I work with kids from the neighborhood, teaching them how to fix things, build gadgets. We could join forces."

The enthusiasm in his voice was contagious, but you couldn’t help feeling a pang of doubt. It had been a long time since you let yourself connect with someone new, for reasons he didn’t need to know.

"Really? You take anyone?" you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Only if they have a good eye for art and a heart for kids. You seem to qualify."

When you got up to say goodbye, he pulled out his phone and offered you his contact. "In case you decide to visit the workshop."

You took the phone, feeling a mix of excitement and fear. You didn’t know what you were getting into, but something told you that Ekko wasn’t someone you’d easily forget.

By the end of the day, as you walked back home, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. His paint-stained hands, his sincere laugh, and that strange connection you felt from the moment he looked at you.

You didn’t know it yet, but you had just met the love of your life.

A few days after the festival, you still couldn’t get Ekko out of your head. There was something about him that fascinated you: the spark in his eyes when he talked about his dreams, the passion behind every word, his way of seeing the world with optimism despite the struggles. You found yourself re-reading the festival brochure and checking his social media profile, where he shared glimpses of his life: videos of his skate tricks, photos of murals filled with messages of resistance, and small clips explaining how to build gadgets. And pictures of him too and... he was kinda cute.

Finally, you decided to message him.

"Hey, I’m the girl from the mural. You said I could come by your workshop... Is the invitation still open?"

The reply came faster than you expected: "Of course. Come by anytime. The kids will be happy to meet you. Does 4 PM today work?"

The workshop was located in an old brick building in a lively neighborhood. The exterior walls were covered in vibrant graffiti that seemed to tell stories. The main entrance had a huge phrase in bold letters: "We build the future together." When you walked through the door, you found yourself in a space that radiated creativity and chaos in perfect harmony. There were tables filled with tools, parts of half-built gadgets, unfinished murals covering the walls, and a group of kids focused while Ekko enthusiastically explained something to them.

When he saw you, his face lit up, he said with sarcasm: "Hey, the mural girl is here!

You blushed.

"I hope I’m not interrupting," you said, feeling a little shy as all eyes turned toward you.

"Not at all. Actually, come here. I want you to see this."

He led you to a table full of small artifacts and technological pieces. "This is my experiment corner," he said, pointing proudly at the mess. "This is where the magic happens, although sometimes the magic is more frustrating than anything else."

The kids started to gather around, curious, and Ekko introduced you with a warmth that made you feel at home. "She works with kids too. She helps them find their way."

One of the younger ones looked at you with bright eyes. "Really? Do you do cool things like Ekko?"

You bent down to their level, smiling. "I don’t build things like he does, but I try to help people find their strength. Sometimes, the most important thing isn’t what we do with our hands, but with our hearts."

Ekko, who had been listening, looked at you with a mix of admiration and tenderness. "That was deep. I’ll have to write that down for my next mural."

Hours passed in the workshop. You helped the kids with their projects, painted a couple of things with Ekko, and learned more about his life. In a moment of calm, while the kids were absorbed in their creations, Ekko sat next to you, a screwdriver in hand and a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You know? This place means a lot to me," he started, his tone more serious than before. "When I was a kid, there was nothing like this in my neighborhood. Growing up here was... complicated. There wasn’t always someone to turn to when things got tough."

"How did you manage to get through it?" you asked, genuinely interested.

Ekko smiled sadly. "It was thanks to my mom. She always told me that, even though we couldn’t change where we were born, we could change what we did with it. She taught me not to give up, to find ways to transform things, even if they were small. When she died... well, I promised myself I’d do something so other kids wouldn’t have to feel as alone as I did."

He paused, fiddling with the screwdriver in his hands. "At first, I didn’t know how. I just knew I wanted to make a difference. That’s when I discovered skateboarding, art, and technology. They were my escapes. And over time, they became my way of communicating, of creating something that mattered."

You felt a lump in your throat listening to his story. There was something about the way he spoke, the vulnerability behind his words, that made every detail come alive. "You’ve done something incredible here, Ekko. This place... it’s not just a workshop. It’s a home."

He looked at you, surprised by your words, then smiled, although his eyes glowed with contained emotion. "Thanks. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing enough. But hearing that... it makes me think maybe I am."

"You’re amazing." You squeezed his hand as a gesture of affection and respect, which made him smile shyly.

When the day ended, Ekko walked you to the door of the workshop. "So, what do you think?"

"I loved it! It’s like a refuge from the world."

He smiled, scratching the back of his neck with some shyness. "I try to make it that way. And I’m glad you came. The kids got along really well with you. They liked you."

"And you?" you asked, before you could stop yourself.

"Me?"

"Do you like me?"

For a moment, he seemed surprised by your question, but then he smiled with that spark in his eyes that you were starting to recognize. "I think so."

You said goodbye with a smile that didn’t leave your face the entire way home, carrying the feeling that, in some way, you had found a place where you belonged.

The afternoon sun bathed the streets in a golden light as you walked toward the park where Ekko had arranged to meet you. You weren’t sure what to expect; when he had suggested it, you thought it would be a simple, casual activity. But when you arrived and saw him carrying two skateboards, a mischievous smile on his face, you realized this wasn’t going to be any ordinary day.

“Are you ready to become a professional skater in just one afternoon?” Ekko asked, raising an eyebrow as he held a helmet in one hand and a board in the other.

“Professional? I can barely stay on my feet without falling,” you replied, laughing nervously.

“That’s what makes it fun,” he said, walking up to you to adjust your helmet. His fingers brushed your skin as he fastened it, and you noticed his movements were unnecessarily slow, as if he were looking for an excuse to be closer to you.

“And you? Are you going to wear a helmet or trust your legendary skill?”

Ekko shrugged, smiling to the side. “Nah, I was born for this.”

“Sure, sure,” you replied, nudging him with your shoulder.

The park had a wide track with ramps and flatter areas where beginners could practice. Ekko led you to one of these areas and began with a quick lesson.

“First, keep your feet steady. Don’t look down, look where you want to go. The board will follow your intentions.”

“My intentions? What am I, a witch controlling the skateboard with my mind?”

Ekko laughed. “Something like that. Though, if you were a witch, you’d probably have learned how to fly on this thing by now.”

You tried to follow his instructions, but on your first attempt, the board shot out from under you, and you ended up on the ground.

“Hey, hey! Are you okay?” Ekko was by your side in a second, kneeling next to you as he tried to hold back his laughter.

“I’m fine,” you said, though you could barely stop laughing. “I think the board hates me.”

“No, you just have to conquer it. Look.” He jumped onto his skateboard with a fluidity that seemed to defy gravity. He glided smoothly along the track, doing small tricks to impress you. “See? You just need confidence.”

“Of course, confidence is the only thing I’m lacking,” you joked.

After several attempts, you started to improve. You managed to stay on the board for more than a few seconds, though falls were still frequent. Every time you fell, Ekko was there, offering a hand to help you up, his face a mixture of concern and amusement.

After a while, both of you sat on a nearby bench to rest. Ekko took out his phone and began searching for something in his playlist.

“I’ve got the perfect song for this moment,” he said, setting it to play on the speaker.

Tyler, the Creator’s melodic voice filled the air with the song "See You Again." Ekko looked at you with a smile that seemed to hold something more than just fun.

“Why this song?” you asked, trying to interpret the meaning behind his choice.

“It reminds me of you,” he replied, his tone more serious than you expected.

You paused for a moment, allowing the music to fill the space between you. You knew there was something in his words, something he was trying to say without saying it. But instead of confronting it, you chose to laugh, avoiding the weight of the moment.

“Wow, Ekko, if you wanted to dedicate me a song, you could’ve chosen something less obvious,” you joked, pretending not to notice the gleam in his eyes.

He smiled, but there was something in his expression that made you feel a slight pang of guilt. You knew he was trying to open up to you, and you had deflected it.

As the afternoon went on, the topic faded, but a subtle tension lingered in the air. It wasn’t just about him; it was also about you. There was something you couldn’t share with Ekko, something that weighed on you more with each passing day. Your illness wasn’t an easy topic, especially now when you were just starting to get to know each other.

“Why are you so quiet?” he asked, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as you both walked toward the graffiti area of the park.

“I’m not quiet. I’m… thinking.”

“About what?”

“How easy it is to be with you,” you said without thinking. The sincerity in your words took him by surprise, and you could see his expression soften.

“Well, I’m glad it’s easy. But if you ever need to talk about something hard, I’m here too,” he said, his voice filled with warmth that made you feel guilty.

“Thanks,” was all you managed to respond.

Days later, Ekko took you to the graffiti area. He had been working on something in secret and didn’t want to tell you what it was until he finished.

“Ready to see how I see you?”

When you turned the corner and saw the mural, you were left speechless. It was your face, captured with an astonishing level of detail. Your hair seemed to move with the breeze, and your eyes were filled with a light you didn’t recognize at first. Around your face, Ekko had painted details that only the two of you would understand: small rays of light that seemed to represent hope, and a golden phrase that read:

“Life is short, but art is eternal.”

“Ekko…” you murmured, unable to find words to describe how you felt.

“This is what I see when I look at you. You're art,” he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal.

The mural was more than just an image. It was a reflection of how he saw you: as someone bright, unique, and irreplaceable. As you looked at it, you promised yourself that one day you would tell him the truth, even though you feared losing what you had.

The morning began with Ekko knocking on your door, carrying a huge box that almost covered his face.

"Are you going to let me in, or am I staying here decorating the hallway?" he said, balancing the box.

You laughed, opening the door wide. "What do you have there? A corpse?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you, baby" he joked, walking in and setting the box on the table.

Baby, that's how he was used to call you now. It didn't felt wrong, in fact, you liked it. It felt so good when he said it to you. It made you feel special. It made you feel loved. It made you feel his.

"It's for tomorrow's event. We're going to need a lot of help to make sure everything goes smoothly."

"An event? What are you talking about?"

Ekko leaned forward, resting on the table with a smile that combined enthusiasm and a bit of nervousness. "It's for the kids in the neighborhood. I'm organizing a sort of fair. Games, music, food... you know, something to help them forget for a while everything that's going on down here."

The morning passed organizing ideas. Ekko had an almost contagious energy, moving around your apartment like a whirlwind while making lists, dividing tasks, and talking about his plans.

"So, what do you think of a painting workshop? We could get some cheap canvases and brushes. I'm sure the kids would love to express themselves that way."

"I love it," you replied, watching his face light up. "How do you have so much energy for this?"

"It's important," he said, his tone turning more serious. "These kids... a lot of them don't have anyone who really shows them that they matter. If I can do something to change that, even for just one day, I will."

Your heart tightened as you listened to his words. There was something deeply inspiring about his dedication, how he used his own pain as fuel to improve the lives of others.

"So, where do I fit into all of this?" you asked, crossing your arms with a smile.

"Simple. You're my right hand. Plus, no one can resist your brilliant ideas and that smile of yours," he said, winking before turning back to focus on his plans.

In the afternoon, Ekko took you to his loft to check out some materials he had gathered for the event. His home was filled with curious objects: disassembled tech pieces, unfinished paintings, and notebooks full of sketches and notes.

"This place is like your brain made into physical space," you commented, looking around with a mix of awe and amusement.

"Is that a compliment?"

"Definitely."

You went up to the roof, where there was a small area Ekko had transformed into a personal retreat. There, he showed you his next project: a portable device designed to help people with motor disabilities perform everyday tasks with greater ease.

"How does it work?" you asked, taking the gadget in your hands.

"It's a prototype," he explained, sitting next to you. "The idea is for it to adapt to different needs. For example, someone with trouble holding objects could use it for a firmer grip. It's simple, but it could make a difference."

You looked at him, impressed. "Ekko, this is amazing. How did you come up with it?"

"I guess... I've always wanted to fix things. People, places, systems... whatever." He paused, looking at the horizon. "I don't know, I feel like it's the only thing I really know how to do."

The sincerity in his voice moved you. "You're not fixing things, Ekko. You're improving them. That's something very different."

Later, as you both worked on the final details for the event, Ekko looked at you with an intensity that made you feel uneasy.

"Can I ask you something?" he finally said, breaking the silence.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why do you always keep your distance? Sometimes I feel like you're here, but at the same time, you're not. Like there's something you don't want me to see."

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn't expect Ekko to be so direct.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, trying to keep your tone casual.

"Yes, you do," he insisted, his voice firmer. "I've noticed how you avoid certain topics, how you change the conversation when something gets too personal. Is it that you don't trust me?"

"It's not that," you replied, feeling the frustration building inside you. "There are just things I don't need to share. Not everything has to be so... open."

"Not with me?"

His question hit you like a punch to the stomach. You stood up from the chair, unable to stay seated under his probing gaze. "Ekko, it's not as simple as you think."

"Then explain it," he said, standing up as well. "Because from here, it seems like you're more concerned with what you're hiding than with what we have."

What you two had was complicated. You weren't friends, you were more than that, but you weren't a couple either. It was complicated. And you didn't like to think about complicated things.

"You have no idea what you're saying!"

The raised tone of your voice surprised both of you. You felt the stress and physical exhaustion begin to take their toll. Your vision blurred, and the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet.

"Baby, are you okay?" Ekko stepped toward you, but before he could reach you, your legs gave out.

The last thing you heard before losing consciousness was the sound of his voice, filled with panic.

You opened your eyes under a cold, white light. The smell of disinfectant confirmed what you feared: you were in a hospital. You turned your head and saw Ekko sitting next to your bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands intertwined.

The room was silent, only broken by the soft sound of the monitor marking the rhythm of your breathing. The sunlight filtered through the hospital window, creating patterns on the floor, but the calm was deceiving. You knew Ekko was worried, hurt, but what worried you the most was what Ekko had started to suspect. You couldn’t keep hiding it, and you knew the time to talk had come.

Ekko had probably been sitting in the chair next to your bed for hours, staring at the wall, lost in thoughts that seemed to consume him. You didn’t know if he hated you or if he was just trying to process what had just happened. After all, you had fallen unconscious in his arms, leaving him with a heavier emotional burden than any gadget prototype or community event. Now, he was paying the price for your secret.

“Ekko?”

He quickly lifted his head, and the mix of relief and worry on his face broke your heart.

When he finally spoke, his voice wasn’t the same as usual. There was something broken in it.

“Baby, what’s going on? What haven’t you told me? The doctor... the doctor told me that...”

It was obvious that the doctor had given him more details than you had wanted to share. You hadn’t planned on opening up to him like this. But something in his gaze, the clear worry, and the deep sadness, made you say what you had kept hidden for so long.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you said, taking a deep breath. “The illness I have has no cure.”

After a long silence, and before everything could completely fall apart, you decided to explain more deeply about the illness that was consuming you because you knew Ekko needed to understand it fully, even though you weren’t sure you could save what was left between you both.

“Ekko… what I have is a rare, autoimmune disease. My immune system is attacking my own organs. It’s called Systemic Lupus Erythematosus, and there’s no cure. It’s like my body is fighting against me all the time, little by little.”

Ekko stared at you in silence, as if he couldn’t process every word. He knew that everything you had said before, although important, wasn’t enough to understand what was really happening.

“When?” he asked, his voice tense, almost inaudible. “Since when?”

“I started feeling bad when I was 23,” you continued, your voice trembling. “It hurt all the time, and the fever wouldn’t go away. At first, I thought it was something temporary. But then I fainted once, and that’s when they admitted me to the hospital. That’s when they told me that what was happening in my body was much worse than I imagined. From there, my life completely changed. My body wasn’t mine anymore. I lost energy, I lost weight, and the flare-ups became more frequent. It’s like my body is in a constant war, and there’s no way to win it.”

The feeling of vulnerability overwhelmed you as Ekko, standing at the door, continued to look at you with a mix of disbelief and pain.

But before he could say anything, you threw out one last statement that seemed to come from the deepest part of your soul:

“And I don’t know how much time I have left, Ekko. I just know that I can’t live knowing I’m dragging you with me.”

Ekko stood still for a moment, processing your words. His breathing became heavier, as if an invisible weight had fallen on him. Finally, his eyes sought yours, and what he saw in them wasn’t surprise. It was like, somehow, he already knew, as if he had sensed it all this time.

“Your parents?” Ekko asked again, his eyes fixed on you, searching for answers that you couldn’t hide anymore.

“My parents don’t know,” you said, letting out a sigh that seemed to come from deep within. “They have no idea. How am I going to tell them that? How am I going to tell them? No… I don’t want them to see me as a project they need to save. I want them to see me for who I am, to see me as their daughter, not as a broken thing they need to take care of. I don’t want to be a burden. I’m not going to be a burden.”

Ekko looked at you, his eyes filled with frustration, but also with a sadness so deep that it made you question whether he really knew you as well as you thought.

“Baby, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide all of this from me? Did you think you could protect me from the truth? What were you really protecting—me or yourself?”

The punch of his words was like a gut punch. The wound you had tried to seal with lies and evasions started to bleed, and the emotion overflowed in you like a river that couldn’t be stopped.

“I don’t know…” you stammered, tears threatening to fall. “I don’t know, Ekko. I wanted… I wanted all of this to keep being normal. For it not to be so… so heavy. I wanted to do everything I’ve always wanted to do before… before it ended. I wanted to leave my mark on the world before I’m gone, to leave something that was worth it.”

Ekko began to pace back and forth. His frustration became more palpable, but there was something else in his attitude, something you hadn’t recognized at first.

“That’s not what I’m saying!” he yelled, and the vehemence in his words made everything in the room feel even denser. “I don’t understand why you had to carry all of this alone. Why did you shut me out, baby? Why did you make me believe that everything was okay?”

“Because it was easier that way,” you said, the words tumbling out. “Because what’s happening inside me… how do you explain that to someone who doesn’t understand? How do I explain that my body is already losing the battle, that I won’t be here much longer, that everything I touch will fade?”

The anger in Ekko’s eyes faded for a second, and what remained was a sadness so deep it seemed to swallow the light in the room.

“And what about me, baby?” he said, his voice softer, more broken. “What about us? Did you really think I didn’t care? Did you really think I could go on without knowing what’s happening to you? That I could keep smiling and helping you as if nothing was going to change?”

At that moment, something inside you broke. Without thinking, the words left your mouth, sharp and like a dagger:

“Stop looking for it in me, Ekko. I’m not your mother. I’m not her. Don’t project that onto me! I don’t want to be the memory of what you lost. I don’t want to carry that responsibility, or the guilt of not being what you expected.”

The words hung in the air, and the silence that followed was unbearable. Ekko took a step back, his face contorting with a mix of pain and confusion. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“How could you say that?” he whispered, his voice broken, as if every word he spoke cost him more than the last. “I never ‘projected’ her onto you. It’s just… I don’t want you to keep pushing me away. I don’t want you to keep hiding your fears from me.”

And then, both of you stood there, in that emotional abyss that neither of you knew how to cross. Frustration, fear, love, and sadness intertwined in the room, as if time had stopped completely.

Finally, the silence became unbearable. You sat up in bed, defeated, while Ekko turned and walked toward the door. His body tense, his breathing ragged, and the pain in his face made him feel more real than ever.

Before leaving, he stopped and looked at you one last time. “If you had used your psychology for yourself instead of for everyone else, maybe you could’ve avoided this.”

The door slammed behind him with a dull thud, and you were left there, alone, with the echo of his words ringing in your ears.

Time had passed. The days and nights blurred into a mixture of conflicting feelings, unfinished memories, and a void that both of them tried to fill without success. The argument between Ekko and you had left deep scars, although both of you knew it couldn't be the end. Not for you. However, there was something neither of you had been able to face: fear. Fear of love, fear of tragedy, and fear of losing each other before either of you expected it.

You had distanced yourself for a week. A week that had been heavier than you ever imagined. In every corner, in every solitary moment, in every thought, Ekko was there, like a persistent shadow. No matter what you did, how you tried to ignore him, the emptiness left by his departure enveloped you more and more. You tried to convince yourself it was for the best, that moving on without him was the right thing to do. But you were lying to yourself, you knew you couldn't continue without him. Not that way.

Finally, after days of deliberation, finding the strength to face your own fear, you decided to go find him. You had to talk to him, make amends, and make a decision. If you were going to die, you would do it without regrets, without leaving words unsaid, or missed opportunities. You wouldn’t care about the shadows of the future, but you couldn’t keep living with the weight of silence between you two.

You found yourself standing in front of his door, hands trembling and heart pounding in your chest. You knew what you had to say, what you wanted to say, but the words seemed stuck in your throat.

The door slowly opened, and there he was, Ekko, with that gaze that, though intense, still carried a hint of sadness. There was something in his face that told you he had been searching for you in his mind as well, though his eyes didn't yet recognize it.

"Ekko…" you finally said, your voice trembling, "I need to talk to you. Can I come in?"

Without saying a word, Ekko took a step back and opened the door, inviting you inside. The atmosphere in the room was heavier than you remembered, as if everything unsaid still lingered in the air.

You stood in front of him, your eyes fixed on his, while the words that needed to come out didn't come immediately. But in the end, you decided.

"Ekko, I know I failed you. I know, and I’m deeply sorry. It was never my intention, it never was." You took a deep breath, struggling to control the emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "But I'm here because… because I need to know if you're still willing to fight with me. If you're willing to continue this battle, to stay by my side for as long as I can."

Ekko stared at you for a moment, his face impassive, but his gaze was full of something you couldn’t decipher. There was a long pause, and then, with a sincerity that made you shiver, he responded:

"I’ve always been willing, baby. From the moment I met you, I’ve been willing to fight for you, for what we have. I don’t care what comes, I don’t care how long it is. What matters to me is that you don’t leave, that you don’t leave me behind."

Those words were everything you needed. No more doubts, no more fears. You embraced his answer with your soul, with the certainty that, finally, both of you were ready to accept the truth. The truth of who you were, what you felt, and what the future held for you.

From that day on, things changed. Although you knew each moment was a fleeting gift, you decided to make the most of it. Ekko never stopped being by your side, and you did the same for him. You were determined to live intensely, no matter how short the life you had left. And he, he was willing to love you until the end.

He accompanied you to every medical appointment, always with a smile, always willing to do anything to lighten the pain caused by the treatment. The hospital visits weren’t easy, but his presence made everything more bearable. He held your hand before entering the consultations, hugged you after every diagnosis, and never let the moments of uncertainty crush you.

"I don’t want you to be afraid," you said one day, after one of your doctor visits, while walking together through the streets, taking a break at a small café. "But I know you feel it. I know every time we go in there, it kills you a little inside."

Ekko looked at you, his gaze full of both pain and tenderness. "It’s not fear," he replied, his voice soft. "It’s not knowing how to save you. I don’t know what to do when I see you so fragile. All I can do is be here, by your side."

And that was enough. Even though both of you knew you couldn’t stop time, nor the illness, what you could do was share every second, every laugh, every small victory, and every defeat.

But it wasn’t only moments of pain and fear. There were also moments of joy, of beauty, and of creation.

Together, you started working on the project you both dreamed of—the gadget you had envisioned, which could change the way the world saw technology. Even though your health was becoming more fragile, Ekko made sure you didn’t stop. You worked side by side, sharing ideas, making decisions, and facing obstacles, but always together. It was your way of fighting, of resisting, of holding on to life amidst the chaos.

One day, while working on the final design, Ekko surprised you with an idea. "How about, in addition to all this, we paint something? Something that’s ours, something that represents what we’re doing together."

At first, you didn’t completely understand what he meant, but soon you did. Together, you would create something more than just a gadget. You would paint a mural, one that symbolized not only your dreams and love, but also the struggle you shared. The mural would represent life, love, and hope, even though you knew time was limited.

In your mind, that mural became the testament of your story, a reminder of what you had built together. The colors shone on the wall, the shapes wild and beautiful, just like your love. The mural wasn’t just a work of art, but also a promise. The promise that, no matter what else might crumble, your love would never fade. No matter how much time you had left.

The last strokes were made one sunny afternoon, in a deep, shared silence. The piece was finished, and as you stepped back to admire it in its entirety, both of you knew you didn’t need words to understand what it meant.

The mural was more than a reminder of your love; it was a testament to what you had built together, of how, even in the darkness, you had found light. Though the future remained uncertain, the mural would stay there, eternal, as a trace of what once was and would always be.

As the days passed, time seemed to grow more valuable, more scarce. You knew that every minute spent with Ekko was a gift. And although illness had taken much from you, it had given you something you never imagined: a deep, real love that feared no tragedy.

One afternoon, while resting together in his loft, Ekko looked at you seriously, more serious than you’d seen him in a long time. In a soft voice, almost as if afraid of the answer, he asked:

"Would you like to be my girlfriend?"

You paused for a few seconds, feeling the weight of the question. But in that moment, something inside you broke. You smiled tenderly, a smile full of love and resignation.

"Ekko," you said softly, moving closer to him, "we’re so much more than that."

The smile he gave you was the answer both of you needed. You didn’t need labels, you didn’t need promises of an uncertain future. The only thing that mattered was that, in that instant, you shared something so deep and real that it didn’t need to be defined by words.

And, without another word, your lips met in a first kiss, a kiss full of love, despair, and hope. A kiss that marked the beginning of what both of you knew would be a short story, but one that would last a lifetime in your hearts.

The weeks following the reconciliation were a whirlwind of emotions. Even though you knew time was running out, you decided to live each moment with Ekko as if it were the last, because in reality, it was. Sometimes, the smiles were forced, but in the most sincere moments, you could see in his eyes the reflection of a love so strong it took your breath away. Every time he looked at you, every time he held your hand, there was a mix of hope and pain, but neither of you wanted to face the inevitable.

The illness progressed rapidly. Every day, your body seemed to fall apart a little more. The doctors had told you, warned you, but you never imagined how quickly the end would come. You had learned to live with the pain, the fatigue, the moments of weakness, but nothing had prepared you to see Ekko closely watching the changes happening inside you.

You had already told your parents about it, and when you did it he was there with you, by your side, ride or die. And of course they didn't take it well, but there was nothing they could do. They just let you be happy with Ekko.

Sometimes, when you woke up in the morning, you’d see him sitting beside you, his gaze lost in some undefined point, as if he were waiting for you to wake up from the shared dream. He’d ask you how you were feeling, and you’d always say you were fine, even though the truth was you could barely bear the weight of your own body.

You saw him trying to distract you, taking you to places that made you happy, but you knew nothing could escape that reality. He didn’t want to accept what was happening, and neither did you, but neither of you wanted to say it out loud. No one wanted to mention what was already so obvious.

That night, after another doctor’s appointment that you could barely endure, you lay down hoping to rest, even though it was becoming harder and harder to find deep sleep. Your body no longer responded the way it used to, and the symptoms had started affecting you more brutally. You could barely move your hands without feeling pain, your breathing grew more labored with every effort, but you kept smiling. You had to, not only for Ekko, but for yourself.

Ekko was sitting beside you in the chair he always occupied when taking care of you. His presence was as comforting as it was painful. You knew he was holding onto every fragment of his strength to not show you how devastated he was, but you could feel it in his eyes. He gently stroked your hair and whispered, as though afraid that if he spoke any louder, everything would collapse.

“I promise we’ll get through this. Together, we’ll make it. I won’t let you leave me, not without a fight.”

You looked at him, knowing he was struggling not to cry. But his words, although full of love, only reminded you of the harsh reality. There was no more time for promises, no more room for fighting. The end was near, and you knew it.

“Ekko…” you said, your voice weak. “You don’t have to fight anymore. I’ve loved you so much, you know that, right?”

His eyes filled with tears, but he made an effort to smile. “I know. I know, baby. And I love you more than words can say.”

But what you didn’t know was that, at that very moment, Ekko was also fighting his own pain. While you rested, trying to gather some strength, he was in the workshop, working frantically on the gadget, the project you both had shared. The same gadget that, in his mind, represented everything you had built together. The gadget wasn’t just an object. It was the manifestation of what you two could accomplish when united, when you fought as a team.

Ekko knew the gadget couldn’t save you. He knew nothing could save you. But still, he felt that if he finished that project, a piece of you would remain. A trace of the hope you had brought into his life.

Hours passed, and the night stretched on in heavy silence. Ekko was so focused on his work that he didn’t realize time was slipping away. The light in the workshop flickered as he soldered pieces, making adjustments, checking everything over and over, as if somehow he could turn back time, change the course of history. But he knew he couldn’t.

When he finally gave up on the gadget, exhausted from the intensity of the night and the weight of worry, he went up to the bedroom. He wanted to see you, wanted to make sure you were still breathing, even though he already feared what he might find. He entered the room with the hope that, by some miracle, everything had changed. But what he found was the silhouette of your body lying still. In the absolute silence of the room, Ekko slowly approached, his heart pounding, and when he reached your side, he touched your hand gently. It was cold. Too cold.

The shock paralyzed him for a second. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t accept that you were no longer there, by his side, where you had always been. He looked at you, observing your pale face, your peaceful expression, as if you were simply sleeping, but deep down, he knew there was no turning back.

Desperation washed over him. The pain hit him so hard it felt as though his chest would explode. How was it possible? How could something so beautiful, so real, vanish in the blink of an eye?

He knelt by the bed, gripping your hand tightly, as if by doing so, he could bring you back to life. “You can’t go,” he whispered, his voice breaking with the tears he could no longer hold back. “Not now. Not like this.”

But deep in his heart, he knew it was the end. He knew he couldn’t bring back what was already gone. He couldn’t revive the irreparable. And for the first time in his life, Ekko didn’t have a solution, he didn’t have a plan. All that was left was the pain, and that painful acceptance that it was all over.

In the following week, Ekko lived in a limbo. No one saw him, no one knew how to face his pain. Memories of you were everywhere. In the bed where you slept, in the gadget he completed, in the mural you painted together, in the streets where you both walked, always hand in hand. Everything that had once been a dream was now just an echo, a shadow.

Sometimes he’d find himself in front of your photo, the smile you shared on a random afternoon, one that he could no longer remember without the lump in his throat becoming unbearable. The reality hit him harder each time: you were no longer there.

Ekko became a shadow of himself. His mind still searched for you, as though somehow you might return, as though he could find a way to save you. But nothing could change what had happened.

In his darkest moments, Ekko would remember the last words you had said: “I’ve loved you so much.” Those words gave him strength to keep going, to not give up completely. Though the pain was unbearable, he had loved you, and that was something he would never forget.

And with the gadget in his hand, looking at the mural you both painted, Ekko made a promise, a silent promise: he would live to honor what you shared. He wouldn’t let your death be in vain. Your love, your fight, your story would live on in his heart, forever.

The city, as always, continued its course, indifferent to everything Ekko had lost, to everything that had changed in his world. But for him, the day was no longer just a succession of hours; every second was a struggle to find something that gave his pain and love meaning.

Months had passed since you left, but it felt like your absence was so recent, so sharp, that Ekko couldn't stop feeling that his entire being was stuck between life and death. No matter how much time had passed, your image was engraved in his mind, not as a memory, but as a constant presence, a voice whispering in his ear, as if you had never left.

Today, in particular, everything seemed to pull him back to the pieces of his pain. The project you had worked on together, the gadget, was finally ready. After so many sleepless nights, so much effort and sacrifice, the moment to present it had arrived. It had been a creation of love, passion, and farewell. A tribute to you, to what you shared, to what still remained of you in his heart.

Ekko walked with firm steps toward the community event where he would present the gadget. Around him, the people, some curious, others hopeful to see the result of years of teamwork. But he couldn't see them. He couldn't see beyond his own thoughts, the image of you floating in his mind. Sometimes, he thought that everything he had done in the past few months was just a way to avoid facing the truth: that you were gone and that, despite everything, life had to go on.

He entered the venue, a large hall filled with tables covered in technology, art, and brilliant inventions. The gadget was there, on a pedestal, waiting to be presented. Ekko stared at it in silence for a moment, recalling every afternoon spent working on it together. The design was sleek, full of details that reflected his intelligence and your ability to come up with unimaginable solutions. It was more than just a gadget; it was a piece of you, a piece of what they had been together.

The event began, and Ekko, with a calm that only he could have, presented his creation. He explained, with soft but firm words, how the idea had been born, how you had been the spark of inspiration for something that transcended technology and reached the heart. As he spoke, the words intertwined with memories, with your laughter, your jokes, the long nights spent debating the design, the future, and what they wanted to do. Every word felt like a sigh from the past, a sigh that tried to make the present make sense.

But inside him, Ekko knew that everything he was doing was just an echo of what had been. What remained was the emptiness, the absence you had left in his life.

When he finished, he stepped away from the stage, letting the gadget speak for itself. No one in the room understood what that creation really meant. No one knew how much it had cost, not in terms of hours of work, but in terms of love, sacrifice, and farewell. They didn’t understand that every screw, every adjustment, had been made with the hope that, in some way, it would bring you back, even if only for a second.

After the presentation, Ekko moved away from the bustle, walking slowly toward a secluded corner of the city. There, on the wall, was the first mural that he painted of you. The mural was a mural of love, hope, and pain. A mural that reflected every laugh they shared, every glance, every moment they had lived together. In the mural, you were more than just a figure; you were a story told in colors and shapes, in every stroke Ekko had made, in every brushstroke you had guided. The mural wasn’t just art; it was a piece of his soul, his heart, of you.

When Ekko stopped in front of the mural, the wind gently blew, moving some fallen leaves on the ground. His eyes, moist, traced every part of the painting, as if he were searching for something he would never find. He remembered how you had smiled while he was painting you, how you had loved it so much when he showed it to you.

The mural showed a version of you that was etched in his memory. He saw you, with your serene smile and your eyes full of dreams and desires. But what really stood out in the mural was your figure, as if everything else was just a stage for you, for what you meant in his life.

"We did it, baby," Ekko whispered, as if he could hear your voice responding, as if you were still there. "We did it together. Everything we dreamed, everything we wanted... we did it."

His tears began to fall, one by one, flowing like a torrent he could no longer hold back. His heart broke once more, but there was something in the sadness of that moment that gave him a strange sense of peace. Maybe it was because he finally understood that, even though you had gone, the love you shared could not disappear. Love doesn’t vanish with death; it stays, like a shadow that always follows the light. In the mural, in the gadget, in his memories, you would always be a part of him, forever.

Ekko stepped away from the mural, glancing one last time at the figure that now represented everything he had lost. He looked toward the future, toward the horizon, where the lights were beginning to flicker on, and the streets once again filled with people who knew nothing of what he had been through. An uncertain future, but a future he would have to face, because at the end of the day, what really mattered was how he would live after the loss.

With the image of the mural etched in his mind, Ekko moved forward. And in his heart, a promise: he would never forget what you both shared, he would never forget the legacy you left, and he would move forward with the strength of your love, because now he understood that love didn’t die, it transformed, just like art does. Like you did.

[homestuckreplay]

New Year, New Trolls

(page 1089-1099)

So far, every scene of Homestuck has taken place on John, Rose, Dave or Jade’s birthday. I’m also really excited that the Dave flashback we got a glimpse of on page 1073 is real and here, even if his city looks miserable in December. And page 1089 includes an absolute top tier line: ‘When [John] sees your staggering gesture of sentimentality he will finally understand. He will understand that in the game of facetious sentimental gestures, no one gets the best of Rose Lalonde.’

It’s also fun learning that both Rose and Dave have changed their desktop wallpapers recently! I’m delighted to know that Rose Lalonde’s previous wallpaper was the official art for the Call of Cthulhu card game – sorry, the Foretelling of Fluthlu card game – with a heavy purple filter applied. I believe this edition is from 2008 and Rose is definitely playing it. Meanwhile, Dave has chosen an officially licensed Starsky & Hutch wallpaper, released by Warner Bros. as promotional material before the movie’s 2004 release. Dave has removed the ‘In Theaters March 5’ but kept everything else identical. Ironically, I’m sure.

John’s Letters

John is the sweetest, and I wish he could see more of his own strengths and wasn’t dunking on his own drawings here. His letters are very different to how he communicates via Pesterchum – he’s expressing feelings towards his friends far more strongly here, and he’s also showing a deeper understanding of them than usual. It must be easier for him to express himself with that extra layer of distance, having time to think about his words and knowing that he won’t get a direct response.

John casually drops that Rose has been his friend ‘all these years’, so they’ve known each other since they were… 8 or 9, maybe? That’s a reasonable age to be on the internet and proficient with typing, and see each other as old friends by 12 or 13. I mean, they’ve probably been friends for 4 years and 13 days at the start of the story, so that fits.

John knowing what a wet T-shirt contest is feels pretty jarring, and totally came from whatever movie he watched the night before writing this. More obviously in character is John saying ‘they're totally authentic! they actually touched ben stiller's weird, sort of gaunt face at some point’ in his December letter to Dave, and then using the exact same phrasing via Pesterchum the following April - ‘you do realize they touched stiller's weird, sort of gaunt face at some point’ (p.110). It’s also extremely heartwarming that Dave immediately takes off the shades that match his brother’s and puts on the new ones he got from his best friend, and then never switches back. John says ‘i think you just gotta get out of your bro's shadow and spread your wings dude!!!’ and Dave actually listens. That’s a hard thing to do all at once, but a big first step, and it only happened because Dave had support from an actual cool person in his life.

Here’s the thing: John loves his friends. Jade’s visions and their importance suggest that a lot of Homestuck is about predestination, and that it’s possible that at least John and Jade’s meeting was fated or engineered. But even if all four kids only met because of something Jade saw in dreams, that doesn’t create love! They’re still the kids who put in the effort to connect despite all their differences and who go above and beyond to care for each other and show love on each other’s birthdays! At this point John knows nothing about any predestination, he just knows that these people mean a lot to him and he wants them to know that.

Act 3 began with a page titled ‘Dear John,’ (p.759), showing us Nanna’s message inside Colonel Sassacre’s tome, and now we’ve got ‘dear rose,’ (p.1091) and ‘dear dave,’ (p.1097), so I am calling it now that the final page of the act will be a Dear Jade.

grimAuxiliatrix

carcinoGeneticist was a very disappointing and uncreative troll when we met on page 859, but grimAuxiliatrix is a master at work, and their pesterlog with Rose is a joy to read. GA’s gambit of claiming to be an alien out of sync with Earth’s time and used to dealing with species of far superior intellect is hilarious, I would actively enjoy getting trolled by them, and of course Rose would be compelled enough by the game to accidentally in some way fall for it. The ‘beginning every word with a capital letter’ is a nice touch that does make them sound more alien. Rose and Dave’s banter is great but I feel like GA challenges Rose more than Dave does, and definitely has a more similar vocabulary. Describing time as ‘A Utility That A Universe May Resort To In Order To Advance A Desired Degree Of Complexity’ is interesting, and suggests the possibility of a universe that does not utilize time – the Incipisphere, perhaps?

It seems like Rose isn’t fully buying GA’s claim to have spoken to future Rose, but we know from her relationship with Jade that she’s not fully closed off to the supernatural, so I’m hoping this previous/next conversation comes around soon.

adiosToreador

While John and Jade’s instincts are to avoid messages from the trolls, Rose and Dave’s are to play the trolls at their own game. Dave and AT’s conversation is equal parts disgusting and disturbing and contains several phrases I wish I’d never read, and hope to never read again. But essentially they’re playing online gay chicken, and Dave is willing to take it much further. GA referred to a group that is ‘All Already In Agreement’, but they could be a leader of the group, and AT a more unwilling follower who doesn’t take to trolling so well. It seems like they’re going for a mix of CG’s aggression and GA’s wordiness and not really succeeding with either, and having this easy target for bullying brings out the worst in Dave, so I’m not on anyone’s side here. They’re both knowingly trying to upset each other, and I think it is believable that they would talk like this, but I don't want any part of it.

This is also, technically, the act’s title page – Dave drops the phrase ‘insane corkscrew haymakers’ towards the end of the page, in a context I don’t especially want to explore in depth. It’s a fun phrase out of context but I too would block Dave for some of the other stuff he says.

Troll Theories

It would be way too much of a coincidence if, in a story where some locations exist ‘untouched by the flow of time’ of others, these trolls were just regular people on Earth making this all up. I personally think the trolls are currently on the ominous planet, and are specifically trying to cause problems for these Sburb players. I’m not sure if they are part of the game – either a random rival group of players admitted to the same session, or a group of NPCs – or if they’re hackers who have infiltrated this session against the game’s wishes. If they are hackers, they could end up being technically ‘good’ if they’re working against Sburb itself, but will probably still have different goals to the kids.

If they’re planted by Sburb and there are twelve of them aligned with the ominous planet, and only four fighting on behalf of Prospit, this could explain why the forces of light are destined to lose. If that’s the case, the game has a social angle – if Rose can convince GA that it’s smarter to fight for the light, and if Dave can bully AT into doing the same, then John and Jade only need to sway one person each for an evenly matched, fair fight. I also think it’s possible that the Midnight Crew is four of these guys, although I don’t have any thoughts as to which, or to who the other eight would be.

> Dave: Break old sunglasses in annoyance.

[notheroicnotromantic]

la plus belle des malédictions (wip wednesday edition)

the best of all curses 

good morning, happy new year and happy first wip wednesday of 2025 <3

roughly 4,5k of a 30k WIP

sequel to la pire de bénédictions

fluff, domestic landoscar, rookie!lando living his best life with his cute boyfriend, clock the angst set up? 👀 oh SMUT! almost forget about that one 😩

barely edited (sorry)

hope you enjoy <3 “Lando, would it kill you to just do me the favour and go with this, please?”  “Okay, shutting up now,” Lando raises his head in a non-threatening stance. “I’m all yours.” Oscar continues to take them through the park then, until they make it to the Greenwich Observatory. Lando can’t help but smile at Oscar. “We’re watching stars?”

-

 2026 MIGHT BECOME THE MOST INTERESTING SEASON IN F1 YET – AND HERE’S WHY

In 2025 we saw McLaren’s Oscar Piastri take his first WDC title, while the Constructor’s Championship went to Ferrari. Just the year before Max Verstappen was able to achieve his 4th WDC title while McLaren received their first team championship in 26 years. That’s four different winners in the categories just in the last two years…

That comes down to one simple thing: the margins between the top contending cars are smaller than ever. Naturally, that means there’s a good chance the same will go for the 2026 season, even though there will be different regulations.

Not only that, but we’ve had some of the most promising rookies of the last years join the grid in 2025. There’s Ferrari reserve driver Oliver Bearman, who drove into the point’s multiple times with HAAS, as well as Mercedes’ Andrea Kimi Antonelli, the 8th place finisher of the last season and - who could forget 21-year-old Lando Norris. Finishing 6th in his first season with McLaren, managing a first race win at the final race of the season. 

Of course, there is the argument Norris’ would have achieved his first career win earlier, if the team hadn’t swapped him with Piastri back in Silverstone, but the team decided to prioritize the Australian’s championship bid – a gamble that paid off. 

It’s clear however, that McLaren has two strong drivers in their line-up and if Lando Norris has been doing his homework over winter break, there’s a real chance he’ll be a threat to his teammate this year!

-

January 2026, London, UK 

Lando Norris is shaking in his place by the door, excitedly waiting for his boyfriend to arrive. They’ve been dating for barely more than four weeks, but it somehow feels like he’s always had this. The comfortableness when they’re close, the sweet touches, the way the older will take care of him.

Most days, Lando wonders if he’ll ever stop swooning over every one of Oscar’s small gestures. He hasn’t said it out loud to the other yet, the fact that this is his first serious relationship. It scares him a little, still. Making it obvious how inexperienced he is, compared to his partner. And since their relationship is so new, they weren’t able to spend the holidays together.

Oscar had made his way back to Monaco to get his things, and flown out to Melbourne afterwards, while Lando had taken the drive up to Bristol. Shutting himself away in the Norris’ family home and eating his weight in gingerbread and chocolate. Here’s to hoping Jon will let him smile away the extra pounds on the scale once they return to Woking in a couple of days. 

(The chance of that happening is close to zero, but Lando won’t stop believing until he sees the disappointed frown on the older Brit’s face.)

Now, the younger is waiting for Oscar to arrive in London – Lando wishes desperately he could have picked him up at the airport, but Oscar had pointed out (in this very dry and adorable way of his), that they’re not trying to come out right now. It’s fair, but it made Lando a little sad all the same. Aren’t drivers allowed to be friends; he wondered as he was getting into bed last night. Luckily, any grievance washes away by the perspective of holding Oscar in just a few minutes.

The last few days had been spent trying to clean every single surface in his flat to perfection, rearranging pieces of furniture and trying to do some grocery shopping. Lando even went to the fancy Australian shop on the other side of the city, getting some Tim-Tams, he knows Oscar will be craving in no time. Yeah, Lando’s going to be the best boyfriend ever. 

His phone chimes with a notification, startling Lando bad enough to flinch. It’s Oscar, telling him he’s almost there, and Lando feels the way his legs turn to jelly. It’s fucking ridiculous getting so nervous, he knows Oscar loves him. Well, he’s stuck trying to believe it, but he’s been getting better in recent times. Swear on his life.

The doorbell rings next, and Lando jumps into the air, opening the apartment door in the next breath – and there he is. Lando’s lovely, beautiful boyfriend. Just as stunning as he was, the last time they had seen each other. Oscar’s hair is a little flat, and his eyes are tired, knowing the Australian, he barely managed to sleep on the aeroplane at all. It’s still the best view, Lando’s ever seen. 

“Hi,” he breathes, and then there’s an equally as big of a smile spreading on Oscar’s lips.  In the next second, Oscar opens his arms wide, as he’s stepping through the door. Lando can’t do anything but leap into the other’s hold. 

Oscar probably didn’t expect quite such an enthusiastic greeting, the way they both go off balance a little, but Oscar manages to steady them as he’s gripping Lando underneath his thighs. “That excited to see, me?” 

“Shut up, muppet,” Lando grins, looking down on Oscar (something he doesn’t do often, admittedly) from his place, locking his arms around the older’s neck. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m just as happy to finally have you, where you belong again,” Oscar sighs, before they meet in a soft kiss. It’s not intense or particularly sexual, despite the fact that Lando’s been suffering blue balls for weeks (getting off via telephone sex turns out to be quite difficult when they’re both in houses filled with their respective family members), but it’s still amazing.

They’re trading gentle kisses, as Oscar kicks down the door behind him (oops) and carries Lando to the couch in the middle of the room. He plops the younger down on the cushions, pushing him back to lie down as he traps Lando underneath himself. 

There are hands running through Lando’s curls, tightly pulling on the strands as Oscar pulls him into another kiss. It’s messier now, more desperate. A clash of tongues, that ends in Lando losing the fight for dominance as Oscar starts exploring his mouth. Content, Lando sighs into the kiss as Oscar separates from him and starts to press kisses onto his neck. Just as Oscar’s pulling down the collar of Lando’s hoodie, they get interrupted by the loud rumble of a stomach. 

Giggling, Lando pushes Oscar away, “Hungry?”

“Yeah,” Oscar scratches the back of his head, “I don’t think airplane food is getting better anytime soon.” 

“Good thing I planned ahead then. There’s lasagna from the place across the street waiting in the kitchen for you,” the Brit points towards the door to their right side and Oscar’s up in the next second. Holding out his hand for Lando take, “Up you go, princess.” Lando feels a little dumb about it, how much that nickname makes him tingle inside. Though Lando supposes everything Oscar does, makes him blissful. 

He hopes this feeling – this pure happiness – will last forever. That they’ll always find it themselves to love each other, laugh with each other, return to each other’s arms at night. No matter what happens. Maybe, he’s naïve for believing in something like that. 

Oscar interwinds their fingers on the short walk to the kitchen and it makes butterflies dance inside Lando’s stomach. “Osc,” he pushes his free hand into his boyfriend’s side, “You know I love you, right?” It’s enough of a cheesy statement, for Oscar to turn around and press a peck to Lando’s lips before he busies himself with heating up his dinner in the microwave.

The low buzzing of the kitchen appliance is filling the room, as Oscar carefully strokes his thumb across Lando’s cheek, “Baby, you know I love you even more, right?” Yeah, Lando starts blushing at the statement immediately, listen, he’s just a guy. A baby, really. 

“I don’t think that’s an argument you want to start, babe,” Lando replies, before dragging Oscar closer to himself, grazing the soft knuckles of the other’s hands with his mouth. 

At that, Oscar shakes his head, but he seems amused rather than annoyed as he pulls the younger into a tight hug, swaying them from one side to the other. The microwave starts beeping and they pull away, but not before Oscar makes a point by pressing one more kiss onto the tip of Lando’s nose. 

After Oscar is finished eating, they migrate back to the couch – there’s a new season of Squid Game, they’ve been meaning to watch together, after all. Lando doesn’t know when Oscar’s weird obsession with Korean Dramas inflicted him too, but he’s watched way too many over Christmas. He felt a closer to his boyfriend, doing so. Even if that might seem stupid. 

It doesn’t take long for Oscar to drift off though, clearly exhausted, so Lando suggests heading to bed. The older is close to falling asleep on his feet, as Lando pushes him into the bedroom. They get ready for bed in silent company, slipping into the sheets together. Oscar wastes no time pulling Lando into himself, manhandling him until Lando’s on top of him, pressing his face into Oscar’s soft neck. In a matter of minutes, they fall asleep like this, pressed close to each other. Home, Lando’s brain provides. 

No surprises, it ends up being the best night of sleep Lando has had in ages. 

When Lando wakes on the next morning, the first thing he feels are soft touches. Goosebumps spread all over his skin, as his boyfriends’ hands are running up his sides, drawing patterns of everything and nothing onto him. “Osc what’you’doin’”, he mumbles into the pecks, his face is smashed in to. Huh, seems like Lando scootched down a little during the night. He’s quite surprised, they managed to cling onto each other throughout the entire night. 

“Finally, I thought you’d never wake up,” Oscar teases, slipping one hand into the younger’s curls, scratching along his scalp. Lando mewls into the touch, a bit like a cat, before the words hit him. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Piastri,” he complains. 

“You’re going to want to take that sass back in a second, love,” the Australian grins as he slips his other hand down, down and down, until he’s in Lando’s shorts. Softly tracing the shape of his cheeks, before starting to circle around his hole with a finger. “Don’t start something you won’t finish,” Lando admonishes, which makes his boyfriend chuckle. “Oh, I’m planning on both of us finishing.”

Lando’s dick is growing hard against Oscar’s thigh almost immediately – listen, he’s young and in his prime – and he sighs into the soft cotton of the other’s t-shirt. They continue like this, sleep-riddled, lazy touches until Lando grows restless. He needs more, and he needs it now. “Osc,” Lando groans, “Please.”

“Of course, baby,” Oscar replies, moving his hands to drag Lando upwards. Now, that they’re face-to-face, he starts pressing a sweet kiss into Lando’s cheek before their lips meet. It’s a messy dance of tongues, that ends with Lando letting go and sucking into the sensitive skin of Oscar’s throat. Oscar reaches over, searching the nightstand for the lube, as Lando begins to (tamely, really) bite into the skin he’s been licking over. 

Gently, oh so careful hands, Oscar starts to prep him, shyly pressing one then two then three fingers into him, stretching his walls. Lando’s been desperately craving this, finally feeling full again – though his boyfriend’s fingers are only a sour replacement for his cock. “’M ready,” he sighs into Oscar, still hiding his face into his neck. 

“I just don’t want to hurt you, baby.”

“I know you’d never,” Lando raises his head then, so he can look Oscar in his pretty, chocolate brown eyes. “You’re so careful with me, always. I promise you; I can take it now.” A soft smile spreads across pink lips, “Okay, how do you want me?”

“Like this? Wanna b’ on top but don’ wanna move,” Lando sighs, and Oscar snorts, “Pillow princess.”

“Hey,” he hits Oscar in the chest, “Stop being mean to me.” Pouting properly, Lando watches as Oscar rolls his eyes, more fond than annoyed. “You know I’m ridiculously in love with you, Lando.”

“Yeah, but hearing it more often oesn’t hurt, you know?”

Lando’s about to complain a little more, but his words get stuck in his throat when he feels Oscar’s slick cock pushing into his hole. Content, he sighs and smushes his face back into Oscar’s pecks. Despite his earlier demands, Lando ends up raising his hips in tandem with his boyfriend’s thrusts.

It’s not entirely coordinated, lazy with sleep-heavy limbs. Somehow, it’s still some of the best sex, Lando’s ever had. No time at all passes, until they both reach their climax. Oscar groaning as he tightens his hold on Lando’s waist, while Lando cries out.

They spent some more time panting against each other, but the stickiness in Lando’s short turns disgusting pretty quick, so he makes Oscar carry him to the shower. If there’s time for round two, no one has to be any wiser.

A little later, they’re both silently munching on their breakfast (yes, it’s still considered that even if it’s almost 12pm now) – non-Jon approved cereal for Lando, porridge for Oscar (goody-two-shoes) – when Oscar starts to smile at Lando, a mischievous tint to it. Lando, confused, raises an eyebrow at the other’s antics. “What?”

“Will you let me take you on a date today?” The question makes Lando blush, profusely. “What kind of question is that mate,” he tries to play it off. It makes Oscar laugh, leaning over the breakfast bar to press a kiss to top of his head. “Back to being your mate now, am I?” 

“Well, if that date isn’t impressive, you never know,” the Brit teases, before kissing his boyfriend’s cheek. “Kidding, of course.” If he spams the 2025 ROOKIES group chat in excitement while they’re getting ready, well Oscar’s never going to find out. Lando’s got enough blackmail material on Kimi and Ollie respectively. 

Together, they head out and hop into Lando’s McLaren (Artura, orange, yes, he’s got one now), Oscar insists on driving, since Lando doesn’t know where they’re going. (“No, baby, if you put in the address in google maps, it’s going to ruin the surprise, too.”) At least that means, that Lando is in charge of the ‘road trip’ playlist, much to Oscar’s dismay. (“Harassing me with your music pre-race isn’t enough for you now?”) 

The entire way to wherever his boyfriend is taking them, Lando is busy imaging, being allowed to cuddle close to Oscar at Christmas Markets, to take his hand in public and intertwine it with Lando’s own. He knows they’re far away from ever doing something like that, Lando isn’t interested in losing the seat he just obtained. But dreaming hasn’t hurt anyone, ever. So, he has a hard time feeling bad about it. 

“Will you finally tell me where we’re going?” Lando needles Oscar, as the older is searching for parking space. They’re in White City now, a district of the city the younger doesn’t spend a lot of time in necessarily. Once they finally park Lando’s car, Oscar comes around to open up the door for him. It’s cute, but it also makes Lando roll his eyes. He’s not some damsel, besides why is it okay for Oscar to be cute in public, but Lando can’t even pick up his boyfriend from the airport? 

Lando knows he’s being unreasonable. Sometimes he can’t help it though, those ugly demons inside of him rearing their heads again. If he’s actually going to challenge for a title this year, he knows he’s going to have to toughen up. Jon and Nico had been ecstatic, when he agreed to start seeing the sport psychologist they’d been buggering him about. 

His first appointment will be at the end of the month, and every day Lando thinks about skipping out after all. Turns out encouraging others to take care of their mental health and doing it yourself are two very separate things. 

In the next moment they’re rounding a corner and then, they’re in front of a Westfield. No way did they drive all this way to go into a damn shopping centre. One that’s going to be insanely crowded, post-holidays, too. “Oscar, did you just bring me to a Westfield?” 

The other snorts, “Kind of I guess, but we’re not here for shopping. Even though I know you’ve been dying to get some new hoodies.” Lando supposes it’s a fair statement; he’s been meaning to get himself more comfortable hoodies, to keep warm in for cold races. But he’s also got boyfriend privileges now, doesn’t he? Why bother spending his money on new clothes when he can just steal stuff from Oscar’s suitcase.

Oscar continues to lead the way until they stop in front of a Puttshak, and Lando feels his stomach flutter at. “Wait are you taking me Mini golfing? But you hate golf!” Thinking about spending his day doing something he loves with the man he loves is making Lando giddy. 

“I don’t hate it. Completely. Besides, this one’s got like funny lights and stuff, it’s not as boring as regular golf,” Oscar shrugs, but Lando appreciates the gesture all the same. He leans in close to Oscar, whispering into his ear, “Want me to suck you off in the bathrooms?”

Turning red, Oscar pushes Lando away, “Behave or else I’ll turn around and just drive back to the flat.” 

“No!” Lando starts pouting, probably looking ridiculous as he tilts his head and opens up his eyes wide. He’s trying to look cute but judging from Oscar’s gaze he doesn’t quite manage it. “Okay, Jesus. I’ll go inside with you but only if you stop the Powerpuff Girls Impression.”

They head inside then, getting some golf clubs and balls. The next hours are filled with some of the most fun, Lando has had in months. They play two rounds, slipping in between the colourful LED courses. In between their session they sit down to eat, and Oscar insists on covering their bill. (“It’s still a date, baby.” “How, when I’m not even allowed to kiss you?”) Lando gets some cheesy chips while Oscar orders a plate of nachos, both go for sodas with their meals, too. 

Jon and Kim will have their heads on Monday, but Lando can’t be bothered to care about it. (Right now, he’ll regret it in approximately 72 hours.)

Just like he did in the first round, Lando absolutely wipes the floor with his boyfriend. “Okay, I’m done losing now,” Oscar grumbles as they return their clubs at the entrance. “Never expected you to be such a sore loser, Osc,” Lando pokes his side, which results in Oscar shoving his hand away. It’s a harsh motion, and the younger can tell Oscar feels bad about it at once. “Sorry, ticklish”

Somehow Lando never noticed that before. Weird. 

“So, what are we doing next?” 

“You don’t think you’ll actually get that out of me, do you, baby?” Oscar laughs as he sits down in the driver’s seat once more, Lando getting comfortable in his place as passenger princess. At least he can blast some good music.

It takes them a little more than an hour to get to the next place, it’s always bad in London but they get suck in a traffic jam due to – you guessed it – constructions. His boyfriend keeps surprising Lando because their next stop is Greenwich Park, of all places. “Babe, do you think I’ve never been to this park before, or?” Lando can’t help but ask as they leave the car.

“Lando, would it kill you to just do me the favour and go with this, please?” 

“Okay, shutting up now,” Lando raises his head in a non-threatening stance. “I’m all yours.” Oscar continues to take them through the park then, until they make it to the Greenwich Observatory. Lando can’t help but smile at Oscar. “We’re watching stars?”

“Well, I figured you’d like it since you like astrology and stars. And stuff, but if it’s boring, we can do something else,” Oscar tries to act nonchalant about it but it’s pretty obvious how nervous the older’s actually feeling. It’s kind of cute, in all honesty. “Shut up, muppet. It’s perfect.”

They do the whole shebang, Lando insists on it. Starting by taking silly pictures of each other at the Prime Meridian Line, before they head inside the building. Lando sends a particularly funny one to his group chat with Kimi and Ollie and talks Oscar into sending one of his to his friends as well. 

After that, they take a look through the Annie Maunder Astrographic Telescope, and Lando feels honoured at being able to use a piece of history like that. He’ll never get tired of watching the sky. Then, they head to the ‘Earth from Space’ exhibition that has some of the coolest pictures, Lando’s ever seen, displayed. Like the most distant picture taken of earth, ever. How cool is that? Is Lando a nerd for celebrating shit like that? Maybe, but Oscar looks just as excited about everything. 

The sun has set, once they’re done and, on their walk, back through the park to the car. “Best date ever,” Lando sighs as he stretches out his limbs. “Best boyfriend ever too,” he grins up at Oscar, who smiles back. “Well, I do love to please. I’m just happy you had a good time today; I was seriously worried you were going to hate it.”

“Osc,” the Brit turns serious then, feeling like he owes it to Oscar, to make it clear how much this means to him. He still feels bad about how he had acted at the end of the last season. Ignoring him and running from Oscar, stewing in his hurt instead of just hearing his teammate out. “This was the most perfect date, I’ve ever been on, yeah? Genuinely. ‘Sides, you know I’m stupidly in love with you, so you really shouldn’t be surprised about it.” 

“I know,” Oscar breathes, squeezing Lando’s hand in his for a second before letting go again. “Good,” Lando replies, “Also, can I drive now?” It makes his boyfriend break out in laughter, shaking his head as he agrees with Lando’s demand. 

Their weekend is spent mostly by lazing around the flat. Once, they head out on Saturday for a grocery run before locking themselves back inside again. They also binge through the second season of Squid Game and Lando successfully bullies Oscar into joining the other 2025 rookies and him for a couple of rounds of CoD and Tarkov. Kimi spends most of the time (he doesn’t screech at them after getting killed off) absolutely clowning Oscar. Lando finds it amusing but puts an end to his friends’ torments, once he can tell things are actually getting to the Australian. 

It's a weird talent of the Italian, poking at other people until they snap. Lando loves him, wholeheartedly, but sometimes he wonders how Ollie can put up with him. Those two had spent their holidays together, spamming Lando with a tooth-rooting amount of cute and kissy selfies. He tried not to be jealous about it, back then, but as he was cuddling into his bed at night, he ended up wishing for Oscar more times than not. Well, there’s hope next year will be different. 

On one of those days, lounging on the couch, Lando asks Oscar about it. “Do you think we’ll still be together Christmas next year?”

Oscar turns to him, a grumpy frown on his face, “Of course. I don’t want to spend a Christmas without you ever again, baby. You’re stuck with me for life.” Maybe it’s cheesy, but Lando’s heart warms at the statement all the same. Lando misses some of the third episode of their series then, as he slips onto the ground and frees Oscar from his joggers. 

The days pass to quickly, and it’s time to get back to work in no time at all. Monday morning, they get ready in silent solidarity, before heading out to Woking in separate cars. It’s to keep up appearances, of course. Lando’s fairly sure Kim, Jon, and Nico all know what’s going on, they had front seats to the last season after all, but it’s not like they’ll crash through the door with the news.

Things are still too fresh for that. 

Lando feels a little stupid, when he walks into the MTC and it feels like home, but he really feels like he might make this team his own. Has been doing so for the past year, and he’s finally starting to believe that they like having him here. That they see him capable enough to do great things, win a championship with them. There’s nothing he wishes for more desperately. Winning a constructor’s championship with his boyfriend. At one point maybe even achieving a driver championship to call his own? Call Lando greedy, but he wants it all. 

His teammate – and boyfriend – had arrived a little earlier than Lando, already in a meeting with what Lando assumes to be Webber and his race engineer, Tom, probably Zak and Andrea, too. Nico, Will and Jon are waiting for the Brit in his own office, and something feels like reuniting with family about that too. Being out of his rookie seasons seems to have made Lando a little nostalgic, or wistful, maybe. 

Excited, he swings the door open, “Guess who’s back!” 

Nico, sitting on Lando’s desk chair, rolls his eyes at the younger’s antics, while Jon snorts and Will simply looks at him. “Welcome back, little rookie,” his trainer grins, before ruffling through Lando’s curls. “Hey, rude! I’ve spent way too much time on my hair this morning.”

“I don’t think he qualifies as a rookie anymore, anyways,” Nico provides from his place, before getting up to greet Lando with a warm hug. Will’s next, simply bumping his fist with Lando’s, “Good to have you back with us, mate.”

Lando looks at them all, the three most important people in his career. The men he’d trust with his fucking life, and does so, every day. It could be rose-tinted glasses or just the high of ending the last season with his first win, but something tells Lando the 2026 season is going to be a good one. 

[writtenbysprout]

The Heated Confession | Sam Winchester x reader

Word count: 4.1k+

Pairings: Sam Winchester x reader

tags: pining, yearning, tooth rotting fluff, angst

Sequal to The Quiet Ache

The four of you—Sam, Dean, Castiel and you—are gathered around a worn motel table, pouring over case notes and trying to piece together the threads of the last hunt. The air is thick with concentration, the only sounds are the rustle of papers and the faint hum of the flickering motel light above.

You’re sitting next to Castiel, the angel frowning at a pile of documents as he tries to decipher the complexities of human handwriting. He’s been staring at the same page for ten minutes, his brow furrowed in frustration.

“Cas,” you say gently, nudging him out of his thoughts. “Do you need some help?”

He looks at you, his expression both puzzled and earnest. “I understand the words individually, but their meaning together is... elusive.”

You smile softly, taking the paper from his hands. “It’s just a witness statement,” you explain, leaning closer to show him the details. “This part here means they saw something in the woods. And this bit—it’s just their guess about what it was.”

Castiel listens intently, his head tilted slightly as he absorbs your explanation. When he nods, it’s slow, deliberate, as if he’s committing every word you say to memory.

“You’re really good at this,” he says after a moment, his voice tinged with something close to admiration. “At making things understandable.”

You laugh lightly, brushing off the compliment. “It’s just explaining, Cas. You’ll get the hang of it.”

But Sam, sitting across the table, feels his chest tighten as he watches the interaction.

It’s not the first time he’s seen you take the time to help Castiel navigate the complexities of being human. Whether it’s showing him how to work a coffee maker, explaining why humans say “bless you” after sneezing, or patiently describing the rules of Monopoly during a rare downtime, you always approach him with the same warmth and patience.

Sam remembers the way you guided Castiel through his first attempt at cooking, laughing softly as the angel held an egg like it might explode. The way you reassured him when he accidentally burned the toast, telling him it was no big deal and that everyone starts somewhere.

You treat Castiel not as someone who’s different or apart, but as someone who belongs. And it’s not just with Castiel. You have this quiet way of making everyone around you feel seen and valued.

As you lean closer to Castiel now, pointing something out on the paper in front of him, Sam can’t help but marvel at the easy kindness you extend to everyone in your life.

It’s in the way you explain things to Castiel without a trace of condescension, as though you genuinely enjoy helping him understand the nuances of human behavior. It’s in the way you treat Dean with a blend of camaraderie and care, knowing when to push him and when to let him be.

And it’s in the way you treat Sam—with a softness that feels almost like a salve to the rough edges of his life.

How do you do it? Sam wonders, his gaze lingering on you. How do you make everyone feel like they matter?

He notices the little things—the way your voice softens when you’re speaking to Castiel, the way you smile even when you think no one is looking, the way you never seem to tire of offering your patience and understanding.

It’s not just admirable; it’s breathtaking.

Sam doesn’t even realize he’s staring until you glance up and catch his eye.

“What’s up?” you ask, your tone light and curious.

He quickly shakes his head, his face flushing slightly as he pretends to refocus on the paper in front of him. “Nothing,” he says, his voice a little too quick, a little too quiet. “Just… watching you explain things to Cas. You’re good at it.”

You smile at him, a faint blush dusting your cheeks at the compliment. “Well, someone has to make sure he doesn’t think Monopoly is a form of warfare.”

Sam chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. But inside, his thoughts spiral.

You don’t even know, he thinks. You don’t know how much better you make everything. How much better you make me.

As you turn back to Castiel, picking up where you left off, Sam leans back in his chair, his gaze still lingering on you. He doesn’t say anything more, but in the quiet moments that follow, one thought echoes in his mind.

If there’s any good left in this world, it’s sitting right here at this table.

But it’s the little things you do that undo him, the quiet acts of care that feel so natural to you and yet so monumental to Sam. He knows you’re not trying to be extraordinary, but to him, you are.

He notices everything.

The way you leave a cup of coffee at his elbow during the late nights spent researching. You never make a fuss about it, never draw attention to yourself. You just set the steaming mug down with a quiet precision, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and return to your seat. It’s such a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. It tells him you see him, that you’re thinking of him even when he’s too caught up in his own mind to notice his own needs.

The way your voice changes when you talk to him. You’re still you—direct, steady, with a clarity that cuts through the chaos of their world—but there’s a softness, a warmth that’s reserved just for him. It’s in the way you ask if he’s eaten, the way you tease him when his head gets too stuck in the books, the way you draw him out of himself when the weight of everything becomes too much.

And then there’s the way you look at him.

It’s not pity—God, he hates pity—but something deeper, something gentler. Your eyes hold an understanding that feels rare and precious, an acceptance that makes him feel seen in a way that both comforts and terrifies him. It’s as though you’ve peered into the darkest corners of him, the parts he hides from everyone, even himself, and decided they’re worth staying for.

Sam doesn’t just notice the moments—you’ve etched them into his mind.

He remembers the night after a hunt that had gone sideways, leaving everyone bruised and exhausted. He’d been sitting at the war room table, staring blankly at the maps spread out before him, unable to shake the weight of the lives they couldn’t save. The bunker had been quiet, and he’d thought he was alone until he heard your footsteps.

You’d walked in, carrying two mugs of tea. “Coffee this late’ll wreck you,” you’d said simply, setting one in front of him before taking a seat across the table.

He hadn’t said much—what could he say? But he remembers the way the warmth of the tea seeped into his hands as he wrapped them around the mug, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. You hadn’t pushed him to talk, hadn’t tried to fix anything. You’d just been there, your presence anchoring him, your silence offering a solace words couldn’t provide.

Or the time you’d patched him up after a rough hunt. The gash on his arm had been deep, the sting of the antiseptic biting into his skin, but your hands had been steady, your focus sharp. You’d worked with a quiet efficiency, your brow furrowed in concentration, and for a while, he’d let himself just watch you, marveling at the way you carried yourself with such quiet strength.

When he’d flinched at the sting, your touch softened immediately. You’d glanced up at him, your eyes filled with something that looked like apology.

“It’s okay,” you’d murmured, your voice low and soothing. “You’re okay.”

And he’d believed you—not because of the words, but because of the way you’d said them, the quiet certainty in your tone that made him feel, even just for a moment, that he really was okay.

When you’d finished wrapping his arm, your fingers had lingered on his skin, just for a second longer than necessary. And in that second, Sam had felt the air between you shift, heavy with something unspoken. He remembers wishing you wouldn’t pull away, wishing he could reach out and hold onto that moment, onto you.

These memories stay with him, surfacing in the quiet hours when he’s alone. They aren’t loud or dramatic, but they cut deeper than any grand gesture ever could.

Because it’s not just the way you care for him—it’s the way you do it without expecting anything in return. The way you make him feel seen, steady, and whole in a life that so often feels like it’s falling apart.

Sam doesn’t know what to do with these feelings, doesn’t know how to tell you what you mean to him without risking everything. But the ache in his chest is growing, spreading, impossible to ignore.

And as he sits across the room now, watching you curled up in that oversized chair, your face serene, he can’t help but think: You deserve so much more than this life.

Sam doesn’t mean to hover. At least, that’s what he tells himself. But lately, it feels like you’ve become a magnet, and he’s powerless to do anything but orbit around you.

If you’re in the library, he finds reasons to join you. His laptop is always conveniently dead, his notes mysteriously missing, or he suddenly remembers a book he needs to check. He’ll settle across from you, opening a lore tome or pretending to skim a case file, but his eyes inevitably wander. He watches the way your brow furrows when you’re deep in thought, the way your lips twitch into a small smile when you find something interesting.

And when you glance up and catch him looking, his heart skips a beat.

“Need something, Sam?” you ask, teasing but not unkind.

He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “Just… wondering if you found anything.”

You smile, shaking your head. “Not yet. But I’ll let you know.”

In the kitchen, it’s the same story. You’ll be making tea or rummaging through the fridge, and suddenly, Sam decides he needs a snack. It’s not subtle—Dean’s smirk from across the room tells him as much—but Sam doesn’t care.

You greet him with a warm smile, sliding a mug of coffee across the counter to him before he even asks. “Figured you could use this.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment as he takes the mug. The brief contact sends a jolt through him, one he has to mask with a long sip of coffee.

You start talking about something casual—the weather, a new book you’re reading—and Sam drinks it in, grateful for the excuse to just be near you.

One evening, he walks into the living room to find you curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs and a movie playing softly on the TV. You look up when he enters, your face lighting up with a smile that’s brighter than it has any right to be.

“Hey,” you say, shifting to make room for him.

Sam hesitates, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not,” you say, patting the cushion beside you.

He sits down, careful to keep a bit of space between you at first. The movie is something light, a romantic comedy that Dean would have mercilessly mocked, but Sam doesn’t care. He’s too focused on the warmth radiating from you, the way your laughter fills the room.

“You can change it if you want,” you offer, gesturing toward the remote.

“No, this is fine,” he says quickly.

Minutes pass, the movie fading into the background as Sam’s attention drifts entirely to you. You shift, leaning into him, your head resting against his shoulder.

Sam freezes, his heart hammering in his chest. He glances down at you, the soft glow of the TV illuminating your face. Your eyes are closed, your breathing steady, and for a moment, he can’t believe this is real.

He wants to move, to wrap his arm around you, to hold you closer, but he’s terrified of waking you. So he sits there, perfectly still, letting the weight of your head anchor him in a way nothing else ever has.

You fall asleep like that, your body relaxed against his. Sam stays awake, his mind racing but his body still, savoring the moment. The blanket you’ve draped over yourself spills onto him, and he tugs it up a little, covering you more fully.

The movie ends, the credits rolling silently, but Sam doesn’t dare reach for the remote. He doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t want to disturb the fragile peace that’s settled over the room.

In the quiet, he lets himself imagine—what it would be like if moments like this weren’t rare, if they weren’t accidents. What it would be like if he could hold you like this every night, no excuses, no hesitations.

But for now, he just sits there, his heart full and aching all at once, and lets the hours pass with you by his side.

It starts small—a faint tightening in his chest, a flicker of heat low in his stomach. Sam tells himself it’s nothing, just the remnants of a long day and a longer week. But as he watches, that faint flicker builds, burning into something sharper, something heavier.

You’re standing by the counter of the diner, waiting for the check while the three of you gear up to leave. The guy behind the register—tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy grin—has been chatting with you for a few minutes now. It’s harmless. He’s just being friendly, and you, being you, respond with a warm smile and a polite laugh.

Sam knows that smile. He’s seen it a hundred times. It’s the one you give to strangers who need a bit of kindness, the one that makes people feel at ease. It shouldn’t bother him. You’re not flirting, not leading the guy on in the slightest. You’re just… you.

And yet, it twists something inside him.

Sam knows it’s irrational. He knows he has no right to feel this way. You’re not his—hell, he hasn’t even worked up the courage to tell you how he feels. And even if you were, this? This isn’t anything.

But knowing doesn’t make it easier.

He tries to focus on something else—the way the warm light of the diner reflects off the checkered tiles, the smell of burgers and coffee that hangs in the air—but his eyes keep drifting back to you. To the way your shoulders relax as you chat, to the way your laugh rings out, soft but genuine.

To the way the guy leans just a little closer, like he’s trying to soak in as much of you as he can.

Sam’s fists clench under the table, his nails digging into his palms. He hates the way it makes him feel, this jealousy curling tight in his chest. It’s not you—it’s him, and he knows it.

You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re just being polite, kind, the way you always are. But Sam can’t help it, can’t stop the possessive streak that flares despite every logical argument he throws at it.

Dean notices, of course. He always notices.

“You good, man?” Dean asks, his voice low as he leans back in the booth. His eyes flick toward you, still at the counter, before landing on Sam with a knowing look.

“I’m fine,” Sam says quickly, too quickly.

Dean raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. “Right. You keep telling yourself that.”

Sam grits his teeth, his gaze dropping to the table. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to acknowledge the mess of feelings swirling inside him. Because the truth is, this isn’t the first time he’s felt it—the ache of wanting something he doesn’t know how to reach, the sting of watching someone else notice what he’s known all along.

When you finally return to the table, smiling as you hand over the receipt, Sam forces himself to relax. He unclenches his fists, lets out a slow breath, and meets your eyes with what he hopes is a neutral expression.

“Everything okay?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “Ready to go?”

You nod, grabbing your coat as Dean tosses a few bills onto the table for a tip.

As the three of you step out into the cool night air, Sam walks beside you, keeping his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. He’s quiet, his mind racing with thoughts he can’t quite pin down.

It’s not your fault. You don’t even know.

But that doesn’t make the jealousy any easier to bear.

Because the truth is, Sam wants more than he has any right to. He wants to be the one who makes you laugh like that, who gets to lean close and soak in your warmth. And as much as he hates himself for it, he wants everyone else to see that you’re his—even though he knows you’re not.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

The thought is enough to make his chest tighten, but he keeps walking, the sound of your voice pulling him out of his spiral as you talk about something mundane and comforting.

Sam’s grip on his machete tightens as the group approaches the abandoned house. The air is heavy, the kind of oppressive stillness that always precedes a fight. Dean is leading the way, his shotgun raised, while you follow just behind, your steps quiet but sure.

Sam should be focusing on the hunt—on the creak of the floorboards, the faint whispers of movement coming from deeper inside—but he can’t. His eyes keep darting to you, his chest tightening every time you take a step further into danger.

“Stay close,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual.

You glance back at him, raising an eyebrow but nodding. “I’m fine, Sam.”

Fine. The word does nothing to ease the knot in his stomach.

It happens fast. Too fast.

The wendigo bursts through a wall, a blur of claws and teeth, and the room erupts into chaos. Dean fires a shot, the salt rounds forcing the creature to stumble, but it’s not enough to stop it. You lunge toward it with your knife, and Sam’s heart nearly stops.

“Wait!” he yells, his voice sharp.

You hesitate for just a second, long enough for the wendigo to change direction. It barrels toward you, and before Sam can think, he’s moving. He throws himself between you and the creature, his machete swinging in a wide arc.

The blade connects, but it’s not a clean hit. The wendigo shrieks, clawing at Sam’s arm as it retreats into the shadows. Blood drips down his sleeve, hot and sticky, but he barely notices.

“Sam!” Your voice is frantic as you grab his arm, trying to check the wound.

“I’m fine,” he says, brushing you off as his eyes dart around the room. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? You’re bleeding!”

Dean shouts from across the room, drawing their attention back to the hunt. “Focus, you two! It’s still here!”

Sam forces himself to breathe, to focus, but his hands shake as he readjusts his grip on the machete.

The hunt ends in a blur. Dean gets the kill, the wendigo collapsing in a heap of ash and bone, and the three of you stumble out of the house, battered but alive.

Back at the Impala, Dean tosses his shotgun into the trunk with a muttered curse. “What the hell was that, Sam? You almost got yourself killed!”

Sam doesn’t answer, his eyes fixed on you as you press a cloth against his arm, trying to stop the bleeding.

“I told you, I’m fine,” he says, his voice softer than before.

You glare at him. “You’re not fine, Sam. That thing could’ve killed you.”

“And it could’ve killed you!” he snaps, the words bursting out before he can stop them.

The silence that follows is heavy. Dean glances between the two of you, his expression unreadable, before muttering something about “patching up later” and climbing into the driver’s seat.

Later, inside the bunker, you refuse to let him brush it off. You pull him into the kitchen, forcing him to sit while you clean and bandage his arm.

“What was that back there?” you ask, your voice quiet but firm.

Sam hesitates, his jaw tightening. “I just… I couldn’t let you—”

“Get hurt?” you interrupt, finishing his sentence for him.

He nods, his gaze dropping to the table. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

For a moment, you say nothing, your hands working methodically to wrap the bandage around his arm. When you finally speak, your voice is softer. “Sam, I know you worry. But you can’t let it get in the way like that. We have to trust each other out there.”

“I do trust you,” he says quickly. “It’s me I don’t trust. Not when it comes to keeping you safe.”

You meet his eyes, your expression gentle but unyielding. “We keep each other safe. That’s how this works.”

Sam swallows hard, the weight of your words settling over him. He knows you’re right. But as he looks at you, at the quiet strength in your eyes, he also knows that his feelings for you are becoming harder to control.

For now, though, he nods, forcing a small smile. “Okay.”

But deep down, he knows it’s not that simple.

Another hunt had gone wrong—terribly, inexplicably wrong.

You’re sitting at the war room table back in the bunker, a hastily wrapped bandage on your arm, your face pale and drawn. Sam is pacing, his long strides eating up the space between the table and the far wall, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“Do you have any idea how stupid that was?” His voice is sharp, louder than you’ve ever heard it.

You glare at him, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. “I saved your ass, Sam! Or did you miss the part where that thing was about to rip your head off?”

“I didn’t need you to throw yourself into danger like that!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you snap, standing up despite the sharp pain in your arm. “Did you want me to just stand there and watch you get torn apart?”

“That’s not the point!” Sam’s voice cracks, his frustration turning into something raw.

“Then what is the point, Sam?” you shout, stepping closer to him. “Because all I see is you treating me like I’m some fragile thing that can’t handle myself!”

“You don’t get it,” he growls, his eyes blazing as he finally stops pacing. “It’s not about whether you can handle yourself! It’s about the fact that I can’t handle losing you!”

The words hang in the air, the weight of them pressing down on both of you. Your breath catches, your anger faltering as his admission sinks in.

“Sam…” you start, but he cuts you off, his voice softer now but no less intense.

“You don’t understand,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Every time we’re out there, I can’t stop thinking about what could happen to you. Every scratch, every close call—it eats me alive. And tonight? Seeing you get hurt? I—” He stops, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to find the words. “I can’t do it anymore.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding. “Sam, I—”

But before you can finish, he closes the distance between you in two long strides, his hands cupping your face as his lips crash into yours. It’s desperate, unrestrained, years of pent-up emotion spilling over all at once.

For a moment, you freeze, too stunned to react. But then you’re kissing him back, your fingers tangling in his shirt as you pull him closer. It’s messy, overwhelming, and everything you’ve both been holding back.

The sound of someone clearing their throat snaps you both back to reality.

You break apart, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you turn to see Dean and Castiel standing in the doorway. Dean’s eyebrows are raised so high they practically disappear into his hairline, while Cas looks… well, Cas-like, but with a hint of curiosity.

“Uh… are we interrupting something?” Dean asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his best effort to sound serious.

Sam takes a step back, his face flushed as he scrambles to say something. “I, uh—this isn’t—”

“Sure doesn’t look like ‘nothing,’” Dean quips, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Oh my God.”

Cas tilts his head, his expression thoughtful. “I believe this is what humans call ‘acting on repressed emotions.’”

Dean lets out a bark of laughter, clapping Cas on the shoulder. “Well, I’d say it’s about damn time.”

[welovewarcraft]

when i die

fandom(s): homicipher

pairing(s): mr. crawling/reader (mc)

summary: What a blissful love life he enjoys. Alas, all good things must come to an end.

The fresh air was very nice to feel; it was very different from the metallic odor that constantly lingered in his old world. You told him about the sky and how beautiful it could be when it was blue. When the rain clouds cleared and he saw the sun's rays poke through the clouds from the confines of your apartment, he was giggling and happy. He had no eyes, but due to his supernatural qualities, he could still see.

Mr. Crawling liked many other things about your world in comparison to his. The buildings and their interiors were much like the ones he was familiar with, except they were cleaner and not tinged with dirt, rust, and blood. There were no ghosts with dubious intentions that could pop out at any moment. Though paranormal activity still existed in this world, as long as the both of you stayed away from prominent areas and activities, you two were fine. 

This world was so much safer and nicer.

With you, Mr. Crawling was almost ecstatic every day. He had his first shower, his first set of clothes that weren’t his usual robe (you thought he looked rather cute in a hoodie and pair of sweatpants of the same color, but in the end, Mr. Crawling preferred his old clothes, so you got multiple kimonos for him), and his first real meal that wasn’t flesh (you’re a great cook!). He also learned about your language, your interests, and much more (once, you joked about turning him into a man of culture, but Mr. Crawling didn’t understand at the time). 

About a year had passed since he started living with you. Mr. Crawling was content with the better and safer lifestyle, and he was able to speak your language at a basic level. One day, as Mr. Crawling was watching a documentary, he noticed you weren’t beside him. When he looked over, he noticed you staring out the window, lost in thought.

“(Name)?” He asked, the name rolling off his tongue naturally.

You looked at him in response.

“Yes, Mr. Crawling?”

“What are you thinking about?” His words still sounded a bit stiff. Your name was the only word that came naturally to him; once he got it right, he was ecstatic and didn’t stop saying it for a long while, enough to practice pronouncing it perfectly.

“Nothing, dear,” you replied.

Mr. Crawling blushed at the endearing nickname, but he still felt a bit unsure. Despite that, he turned his attention back to the documentary, enjoying the visuals on-screen and trying his best to pick up new words.

Mr. Crawling was very glad that he got to go to the human world with you.

A few days later, Mr. Crawling got worried. You seemed increasingly stressed, and he wanted to relieve you of it. This time, he was really poking at you, to the point of being annoying. He hadn’t acted this worrisome in a long time since accompanying you in the other world. When you finally were pushed past a tipping point by his badgering, you snapped and said that you attracted the wrong kind of attention and that if you weren’t careful, you would end up dead. 

Mr. Crawling cried at your outburst. He could not produce tears, but the feeling was there all the same. You felt really bad, and patted his head and back to soothe him. Once he calmed down, he wanted to know everything. You refused to tell him much. A bit toward the end of your conversation, you said some words to him that made him shudder.

“When I die,” you began, “I would like to feed you my flesh so that you won’t be hungry for some time. I want to do one more good thing, even after I die.”

At this, Mr. Crawling had burst into tears again (to remind, metaphorically). He wanted to perish the thought, but you already planted the seed in his head, and he couldn’t seem to uproot it now. He could never eat you! You are his joy, the light of his life! He would rather go back to the otherworld or die than do such a thing.

He must have been really out of it because you dropped the subject instantly.

After that, Mr. Crawling became very clingy. He didn’t want you to leave your apartment at all. He succeeded at first, but after a few days, you managed to get away to go to work. You had to promise him extra cuddles and kisses after you came home every day (even on the weekends). He never wanted to leave your side, even when you had to take a shower (and thus, that’s how he got his first bath with you. It was greatly comforting, even if it was just temporary). You even got him a phone so you could send messages about what you were doing.

Fortunately, a few months later, the fear seemed to disappear almost entirely. You had managed to convince him that you fixed whatever situation you were in and that he didn’t have to eat your flesh. He was overjoyed. Everything was back to normal and perfect again.

Until one day, you didn’t come home. Mr. Crawling wasn’t too worried at first but when it was about eleven o’clock at night, he couldn’t take it anymore. He unlocked the apartment door while he was on his knees and exited the apartment. He tried his best to lock the door from the outside despite not having much experience with them; he knew you would be upset if you came home to an unlocked door and him not being there at the same time, but he was just so worried for your safety, that he eventually stopped trying and just left.

He wandered the city, making sure to stay away from other people and stick to the shadows. As he traversed, he picked up a strong metallic scent. He hadn’t smelled blood this strong since his residence in the other world (you would cut your hand on the kitchen knife sometimes). Afraid, he cautiously followed the scent.

He crawled and crawled until he reached an empty park. He made it to some trees when he saw you. You were still recognizable, but your body was mangled on the ground.

He crawled hurriedly over to your corpse and cried.

If only you just… didn’t go to work. 

He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. His human was dead. Who would do this to you? 

As he drowned in his sorrow, he suddenly remembered your words.

When I die, I would like to feed you my flesh, so that you won’t be hungry for some time. I want to do one more good thing, even after I die.

He made a louder whimpering noise. He wanted to preserve your corpse, like how he watched in those videos about funerals. He didn’t want to eat you! He was torn between doing what you wanted and doing what he wanted.

After he was able to calm down a bit, he looked at your corpse for a little while.

Unsure, he slowly reached with his claws out.

+++

AO3

[jennycalendar]

making a list of good things that happened this year because there's too many and i need them recorded for posterity

visited bonus mom in england and it rewired my entire brain chemistry. i did not blog about it a lot i don't think and i don't talk about it often because it was such a joyful celia is fully present experience, but i will say that when i first arrived at the airport i was so fucking nervous and i was all kinds of shaky and fucked up and terrified that this six year long relationship would fall apart when we tried to translate it to irl and then i saw them there with a sign for me that is now on my wall in my apartment and something in my heart snapped into place and i literally physically flung myself at them and tripped over my suitcase and my knees gave out and i ended up dragging them down to the floor and we hugged for like at least ten minutes (conservative estimate probably). true story

jess is an entire bullet point on this list. funny sweet important passionate talented dedicated hardworking academically iconic definitely needs to take more naps keeps me apprised on extensive sims lore is coming out to visit in february is incisively thoughtful and we've made up beef for our dnd characters together. i love you a lot jess. i would say more things but i bet even these things are going to make you hide under a pillow. so.

so many other friends! like??? insane???? quite a few irl friends which is so cool! particular love for hal and silvain and rj (calendiles dnd crew i love you i'm so glad me putting down jenny has not meant putting down our friendships bc you're all such marvelous people) and gabby and silvain (silvain gets a double mention for Reading Literally All Of My 200K Word Fic reasons. erudite, and immensely appreciated)

and the new bg3 friends i'm beginning to associate with who i don't wanna name by name bc i'm shy and i care overly but PLEASEEE know if we've texted more than once about bg3 i probably adore you greatly and admire your creativity and thoughtful opinions and am trying to play it cool but im bad at it. yes this is about you. i deeply hope we will continue talking. probably about jaheira bc im obsessed with that woman.

being part of like 2 different dnd campaigns this year right around the time i started playing bg3 for the first time was REALLY fucking cool.

ACTUALLY ON THAT SUBJECT THE WHOLE BG3 THING WAS REALLY FUCKING COOL. it feels really special to not like....idk, this year is the first year of my life i have not been labeling myself as That Jenny Calendar Girl! i don't feel like i'm That Jenny Calendar Girl. i am celia :) i like a lot of different things! i like video games, i like bookmaking, i like drawing, i like cooking and food, i like fashion, i like writing, i like little calico critters <3 ironically my url is still the same but i think i am going to keep it that way for a little while, because i like remembering what brought me to this blog in the first place.

fell in love with my neighborhood! it was always bound to happen, but the moving-in process was rough, and it took me a while to connect with the place. now i know what drink i like to order at the local cafes, i know where i want to go for coffee and for pizza, i know about farmers' markets and local events, i know that There Is A Fucking Swimming Pool Across From My House. i do not think i can ever leave.

started to FINALLY feel comfortable in my job! i still don't totally know what i'm doing, but i don't feel like i'm sleepwalking through work while badly dissociating, and i really love the work that i do + the position i fill. i'm so hopeful that i can continue to work with teens. being a teen librarian is oft a difficult position to find

learned how to cook! did not do it often this year but oh well. i was busy.

went to the chicago art institute for the first time ever and got to see a sunday afternoon on the island of la grande jatte by georges seurat which was really insanely meaningful because sunday in the park with george is one of my dad's favorite musicals, and he went and saw that painting a long long time ago, and he also went and saw the monet paintings, and we texted a bunch about it

kept connected with my dad and my brother, and am starting to realize that having my own adult life means i fit a lot easier into theirs.

was briefly and meaningfully reunited with the actual love of my life (the pacific ocean)

VISITED A ROCK BEACH IN ENGLAND. if no one else got me i KNOW rock beach got me. everyone i have talked to is like "no, beaches need to be sandy" but i don't think they understand the sensory experience of sitting among 10000000000 rocks and picking them up and playing with them and finding a piece of rock chalk and drawing faces on the rocks and leaving all the rock faces for someone else to find and hopefully be unnerved by and then having your bonus mom's partner be like "celia are you just abandoning your children there" and reconsidering a lot of life choices but not enough to take the rock faces

i love you lake michigan im sorry i spent 80 percent of this year being mad at you for not being the pacific ocean im done having emotional problems i promise

went and saw wicked 3 different times

went on a couple of really meaningful and sweet dates and even if they didn't go anywhere i think the fact that i'm capable of feeling like that about another person is super awesome to know, and makes me so excited to keep on trying with that

went on a bunch of REALLY wonderful friend-dates and made new friends :) who i have been hanging out with on and off when our schedules allow for the last few months, and who invite me to parties and things!

received some really incredible and personal holiday gifts from a couple of friends, making me subsequently realize that maybe i'm not impossible to give gifts to

drew an entire wall of art for above my bed

bought a four piece microwave safe dish set in colors i love that remind me of marigold. for $10. will absolutely never let anyone forget that or change my blog title (which is a reference to the fact that i went insane that day to the extent that a woman leaving the shop saw me sitting outside with my cardboard box of dishes and went "are you still enjoying your dish set?" and i did not know who she was bc i blacked out and told everyone in the store about how much i loved the dish set. apparently)

i cannot even talk about marigold without getting so unwell and feeling in my chest just this indescribable feeling. i spent like eight years unwaveringly obsessed with a minor character from a 90s tv show who i really was just making into my own original character, but she never could feel fully mine, and the experience of creating my own girl from scratch (baking her, lol) when i was regularly dissociating and vaguely suicidal and having her be the thing that made me figure out how to connect with things and be happy again has been probably one of the best things i have ever experienced. to know unequivocally that the thing that makes me feel strong and centered is something i made for myself out of all the complicated insecurities and worries i feel. she brings me so much joy. i don't think i'm ever going to put her down. that 90s girl was not my baby, and that 90s video game woman, as beloved as she is, may not be around in my heart forever (though i strongly suspect it's going to be another decade, lol) but marigold? that's always. i love her. she's the girl i made for me

[oysters-aint-for-me]

i’m about the watch the good omens season 2 finale with my extremely offline mother. she hasn’t seen it yet. she doesn’t look at tumblr or any fandom-related social media. she doesn’t read spoilers. so she has no idea. no clue as to what’s coming. and i’m so maliciously excited abt it, i cannot wait to see her reaction(s) mwaahahaha

[youngyoo-apologist]

OG Choi Han they could never make me hate you cause if some random rich boy was yelling at me and telling me my family deserved to die like a day after it happened and all I wanted was to know how I could get help I’d beat him up too

This plus the added fact that the Harris Village people were the first people to take Choi Han in and take care of him after years and years in the dark forest. Like he’s obviously not going to be mentally stable after all that, and he was so young when everything happened to him like I cannot blame him at all. I don’t think I can ever hate OG Choi Han like ever, he’s flawed, he has problems, but I love him dearly. He deserves the world. This kid who had to fight for his life, was taken away from his family, and in the process had to give up parts of his own humanity to survive, and like went to war two years later, they could never make me hate u OG Choi Han…

Like yeah violence is bad I guess but OG Cale had it coming(saying this as an OG Cale fan, I love him, but he was mean as hell when he was younger!)

If I’m honest, I think they were both in the wrong to an extent. Like OG Cale shouldn’t have said all that no matter the circumstances, and OG Choi Han shouldn’t have beaten him up so much. But u say mean shit and you get hit, that is how it will work when you’re talking to the guy who just saw his entire village get murdered like idkkkk man

I understand where OG Cale was coming from, but he had many issues and while he wasn’t an awful person, he was capable of doing bad things because of his own internalized pain and emotions that he never got to properly process because of his emotionally distant childhood and relationship with his father who should have been there for him more when he was younger.

Okay speaking of his childhood, Deruth isn’t the WORST father in the world but there are a lot of things he could have done better. I think a lot of Deruth’s flaws come from his fear of failure and messing up. He’s scared of doing the wrong thing, and so he sticks to doing what he knows and using what he knows best. That’s why he uses his money, that’s why gift giving is his way of showing affection, he knows that it is one thing he cannot mess up.

The problem is that money and gifts is NOT what OG Cale needed. I think what that guy needed the most was a parent who wasn’t afraid to talk to him, to ask him questions. Not to say that Deruth gave up on OG Cale, but I think in a way he gave up on OG Cale by giving up on himself. Deruth didn’t trust himself to have the capabilities to talk to OG Cale, which is why he never did. It’s because that Deruth was scared, and didn’t trust himself, that he could never face OG Cale

If Deruth was able to trust himself a little more, and pull himself together, I don’t think OG Cale would have turned out the way he did. As a kid, he probably thought the only way he could help his family without relying on anyone(no doubt this whole ‘I have to do it myself’ thing came from the fact that he couldn’t rely on his father when his mom died, and instead was acting as a pillar of support for his father when it should have been the other way around) was to sabotage himself, the only heir. If he was shown to be unfit to be heir, then everyone else would have no choice but to direct their hatred towards him instead of his family.

If Deruth had talked to his son at least ONCE when he was a kid, asking him why he was upset or why he did the things he did, I think OG Cale would have told him. Why? Because he’s a kid!! A kid will obviously want to rely on his father, if he just had one sign telling him that he didn’t have to do it alone I’m 90% sure OG Cale would have said something.

Basically, while Deruth isn’t the worst father, he’s not really a great father either. I think he does do his best, but he has issues with communication lol

OG Cale and OG Choi Han are both complex characters and had their own reasons to behave the way they did. The thing is with people is that they’re complicated and have layers, so the situation with them would have layers behind it as well with multiple co-existing truths and stuff

[phantomchick]

friendly reminder to donate to verified charities and people, there are a lot of scammers out there who will have no problem taking advantage of tragedy for their own gain, especially online

[omegapheromone]

Hiya, I've been on a lengthy hiatus from online misce spaces for various reasons, but I'm preparing to get a bit more active again finally! Sorry to everyone who sent asks either before or during this time, I know I've been away for AGES so I don't know if I'll answer every single one right away.

That being said, how has everyone been? What's new? Are people still having random drama over nothing? Have the misce spaces and omegaverse fiction/author spaces separated further again? What's the hot topic to talk about currently /hj

No but I do want to know. How has everyone been? I won't tag any specific people since it's been a long time since I've interacted with anyone, but please don't hesitate to respond to this post, send asks, dms, whatever- I'm glad to be back and feeling more stable again ^^

[mariyekos]

One day I'm going to finish my FFXVI mega essay, but for now I think my thoughts on the game can be summarized like this:

When making FFXVI, the developers sure knew what they wanted to do, and by god were they going to do it.

Were they also going to do other things that would make those first thing better? Were they going to do other things that make a good game overall? Ehhhhh...they were going to do what they wanted to do, and invest all their time and effort into that, so surely that would be enough! Surely!

[dirt-str1der]

Whatever

[zaddyazula]

something i think some people don’t understand is that everyone has different things that happen to them in their life!!! just because something isn’t emotional to you doesn’t mean you should try and tell people who did find it emotional it’s not!!!! people have lived beyond who you know in person!!!!!

[pink-karnery]

@weatherquest

Love takes practice. You won’t always get it right on the first try. You’ll love too hard and trip over your own feet. You’ll love too quietly and they won’t hear you. You’ll love just right and they won’t appreciate it. But you’ll never stop loving, and you’ll grow in your understanding of love until it fits just right. And one day someone will see you and be so happy to practice loving with you, it will all be worth it.