#so I keep feeling like I need to clear my throat

[lordprettyflackotara]

Follow You || Chapter One || Eyeless Jack

syn:Eyeless Jack has found himself becoming more isolated over the years, distancing himself from everyone and everything. He considers himself an unforgivable monster, one that shouldn’t be a burden to anyone else. After leaving Slender’s mansion and wondering aimlessly through the woods, he stumbles upon a drunken girl in danger. After saving you, he finds himself completely infatuated with you. You’re strikingly similar to him, even attending his old college. He battles an internal debate as he falls for you, deciding whether or not to burden you by staying. While Jack fights his internal turmoil, old enemies from an all too familiar college come out to play. Will Jack be able to defeat his oldest enemy? Will he be able to overcome his self conscious fears to save you? You’d better hope so, since the cult for Chernabog is back and you seem like the perfect sacrifice.

tw: reader has common sense, mostly

a/n: not me writing a mc whose not a hopeless simp lmaoo

The sun was too mother fucking bright. 

You groaned, squinting in disgust at the suns rays beaming through the window. Your thoughts were  cloudy, your mind in a dazed state. Your vision began to settle, your heart racing as the gears in your brain began turning. You didn’t recognize your surroundings at all. With your heart thudding against your chest you sat up, alarmed as you climbed out of the bed. Panicked, you looked down at your body. Thankfully you were still fully clothed, bandages covering your sore knees. What the hell did you get yourself into? You swallowed as your bare feet hit the floor, those bandaged as well. You were surprised to realize you weren’t being physically restrained, the bed you were laying on quite neat compared to the rest of the room.

Unsurely you looked around, grabbing a nearby lamp. It looked questionable, possibly over a few decades old. You yanked the cord out of the wall, bracing yourself as you stepped towards the bedroom door. Your escape was interrupted, Jack happening to walk in at the same time. He could hear your heart racing a mile away, so naturally he came to check on you. You stared up at him in terror, your eyes darting back and forth as you stared up at the ominous black empty holes of his mask. Jack awkwardly cleared his throat, his eyebrows raising at the sight of your knuckles turning white from gripping the lamp so hard. “Hello, how are you feeling?” He asked, trying his hardest to keep his voice even. You looked absolutely bewildered and although the situation not ideal, Jack couldn’t place why. “How am I feeling? What the fuck is this? Who the fuck are you?” You hissed. 

Jack raised an eyebrow under his mask at the sight of you bouncing your weight back and forth on each foot as you stared at him defensively. You appeared to be ready to attack, although Jacks hands were shoved in his hoodie pocket. “My name is Jack. You passed out drunk in the forest last night. I brought you to my cabin to ensure you wouldn’t be devoured by local coyotes,” He answered honestly. Your face softened for a moment, your grip on the lamp loosening. Jack tilted his head to the side as he pointed at the lamp. “Would you mind putting that down? Its quite sentimental to me,” He asked. Sentimentality meant a lot to humans. In this instance it was a thorn in his side if it was broken and he needed to get another. The last thing he desired was to live off of candlelight. You slowly set down the lamp, your gaze fierce as you refused to look away from Jack. 

“Don’t you think it’s kinda creepy and off putting to live in the middle of the woods and wear that mask?” You asked bluntly.  Jack couldn’t quite understand why this was your question. You were a lot more feisty and logical sober. “Dont you find it quite unsafe to become so intoxicated you wander into forest miles away from civilization?” He quipped, matching your energy. This seemed to humble you a bit, your shoulders dropping as you crossed your arms. “You’ve never been to a Mark Wilder party I assume. Everyone gets trashed. I followed some guy into the woods, I don’t remember where he went. I think I was trying to follow him or something,” You explained. While intelligent you seemed to lack ‘street smarts’. You placed your hand on your head, rubbing your temple. Your head was relentlessly pounding, your eyes squeezing shut. Jack wondered if you felt as awkward as he did.

“Would you like tylenol? I have some down in the kitchen,” Jack offered. You rubbed your eyes, overwhelmed. “Wait so i’m not like, trapped here or anything?” You questioned. Jack turned around, anticipating you to follow him. Curiously you did so, ignoring the stinging from the wounds that rubbed against the bandages. You followed him down a dusty staircase, each wooden slab creaking under your weight. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander around, noticing the mountains of dust that coated the paintings that covered the walls. “This is your cabin?” You asked slowly. Jack could hear the disbelief and fear lacing your words. You followed closely behind Jack as he turned into the tiny kitchen. To your dismay it looked like it hadn’t been used in ages, the stove rusted and fridge humming so loud you anticipated it to explode. “Mostly. I visit often, but never stay for long,” Jack answered honestly. His explanation may have been vague, but he couldn’t violate too many of The Operators rules. 

He handed you a bottle of tylenol as well as a bottle of water. Both of which he had stolen from a nearby gas station before the sun came up. Jack had studied alcohol and its affects to the human body. While he couldn’t become intoxicated as easily, he was forced to study it due to Masky’s temporarily alcoholism. He had stolen saltine crackers (just a sleeve, not the whole box), a bottle of water, and tylenol. The cabin was just lucky enough to have faint electricity, he knew anything a fragile human girl would need would not be readily available. Hesitantly you took the bottle, satisfied to see it had been unopened. You popped two of the pain killers like candy, chugging the bottle of water. You leaned against the rusted dishwasher, opening the sleeve of crackers. “So, aren’t you going to ask me my name or anything?” You asked. You weren’t buying the whole savior act. You weren’t aware Jack wasn’t attempting to sell you any sort of act. Underneath his mask he was feeling extremely awkward, unsure how to interact with you.

With each passing second he could hear your heart beat, the blood flowing through your veins. It became hard for him to focus, the demon thrilled you decided to begin a civil conversation. “I don’t need to. Your backpack provided that for me,” Jack explained. He reached over the counter, grabbing your backpack from a dusty bar stool. Dust particles floated carelessly in the air as he held it up. Your name had been stitched onto the front pocket, courtesy of your mother. You felt heat flush to your cheeks, mumbling a thanks as you took it from him. Popping a cracker into your mouth you grabbed his wrist, stopping him from concealing his hand. Jack froze under your warm touch, your eyes curiously examining his skin. “Argryia,” He stated dryly. He silently hoped you wouldn’t recall your own theory.  Your eyes seemed to flicker at the word, a sense of recognition igniting them. “That’s absurdly unlucky. Do you know how rare that is?” You asked curiously. It was as if your interest had peeked, Jack analyzing you as you studied the color of his hand. 

“All too well unfortunately,” Jack responded. He watched you stroke your thumb over the harshness of his skin, before pulling away. “Well if it makes you feel any better I understand the whole cabin in the woods mask thing now,” You sighed, resuming your attention back to the bottle of water. Jack was mesmerized as he watched you gulp down the bottle as if you were dying of thirst. “If I may ask, how do you know what argryia is?” He asked you. It was irresponsible for him to engage in anything beyond a mild conversation with you. Slender would be far from happy if he found out. You swallowed the cracker you were nibbling on, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m a med student at Harvard. I’m gonna be a doctor some day,” You explained, taking another sip of your water. Jacks interest was peaked. You were attending the same university he did ages ago for an identical major. “Speaking of medicine, how did you bandage me up so well? If I didn’t know any better i’d think you were a doctor yourself,” You said. Jack couldn’t help but feel his heart skip a beat at your flattery. 

“Medicine is my pride and joy. I’ve studied it for years,” He answered. While he was answering honestly he was beating around the bush. While you seemed harmless, he knew humans were prone to gossip. Sharing stories with one another formed stronger bonds. He had no doubt this would be one you would be sharing. “Well Dr.Jack, as fun as this has been I think it’s time for me to bounce,” You say, shoving your backpack over your shoulders. Jack anxiously followed behind you as you turned towards the front door. “Do you know how to get back?” He asked unsurely. Maybe he was hovering too heavily, but he felt an odd urge to look after you. The sun may have provided some form of a safety net, but Jack knew what creatures lurked in these woods. One wrong turn and you could cross the threshold into Slender’s forest, where The Rake would have a field day with you. You dug into your backpack, taking out a cracked iphone. It was on a smooth five percent, multiple missed calls and text on your lockscreen. “I have GPS, i’ll be fine,” You assured him. 

You stepped onto the porch, the wood rotting from age. You looked over your shoulder at the demon, his eye sockets wide. “Thank you for everything Jack, i’ll see you later!” You said cheerfully, biting into another cracker before stepping down onto the forest floor. Jack tried not to hover too much, truly. He was sure you were uneasy from being in a cabin with a stranger. Even if his intentions were pure, he knew what monsters lurked in the shadows that loved to prey on a pretty face like yours. So Jack said nothing, waving goodbye as you traveled into the forest alone. Jack would’ve loved for that to have been the end of it. He would’ve thought that he would never see you again, allowing you to be on your way. That’s how it should’ve gone. 

But it didn’t.

As stealthy as he could he followed you, from a safe distance of course. You appeared to be studying your phone, the sun rays blocking out whatever was on your screen. Jack opted to use the trees above as leverage, jumping from each branch with ease. The crunching of the previously fallen leaf’s would be a dead giveaway, traveling by tall trees much safer as to not be caught. From what Jack could tell you were blissfully oblivious as you traveled, carelessly heading north. Jack sighed as he watched you. Did humans have no sense of awareness at all? Although he didn’t expect you to catch him following you, he did expect you to look around every once in a while. Instead your attention was glued to your phone, as a majority of humans were. He knew most of them spent their time focused on their cellar device but he couldn’t help but question how any humans had made it this far if this was the base level of survival skills. He silently trailed behind you, attempting to not stay on one tree branch for too long. If he did the leafs were bound to fall, exposing him.

Jack wasn’t proud of himself for following you. If anything your hesitance to trust him was proven correct based on his behavior. Although the demon inside of him was purring with satisfaction of stalking, Jack fought his primal urges internally. He knew his intentions were pure, even if the demon lurking in the depths of his being craved something more sinister. Jack was pleasantly surprised to find that you had found your way back to civilization, the Harvard campus attached to these woods. He was slightly impressed that a human of your stature had traveled miles without complaint or sign of slowing down. He managed a small smile as he watched you join the hoards of students, disappearing in the waves of students traveling every which direction. The sounds of voices, heartbeats, and pumping blood began to feel overwhelming, causing the demon to turn away. 

Slender wouldn’t be happy, he knew that. But he felt a sense of ease for the first time in a long time. He had spent his time doing something good. Something morally good. Something impactful. Meaningful even. He walked back the rest of the way, a certain weight slightly lifted off of his shoulders as he strolled. He could feel his stomach growl, the demon cracking his neck at the sound. For once his hunger wasn’t the priority, but an afterthought. He gleamed with a sense of pride as he made it back to the cabin, making sure he had locked it. Slender had multiple run down cabins littered throughout the nearby forest, just in case a creep or proxy was injured. It was meant to look run down and abandoned, so no nosy humans would investigate. Jack’s footsteps echoed throughout the hollow cabin as he checked the back door, a surprise gasp escaping his lips. He had nearly tripped over your heels, his eye sockets widening.

Shit.

Well, if Slender was pissed now he knew this would send him into a fit of rage. Jack didn’t know much about fashion but your shoes looked expensive, even if he didn’t recognize the name brand. He was going to return them to you, putting his and all the creeps' risk of exposure on the line. He couldn’t describe the feeling, but he had an odd sense of relief wash over him knowing he would see you again.

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Part 4 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

Present

Billy Loomis is Sam’s real dad. . .

Tara’s words and her recount of her conversation with Sam makes all the puzzle pieces fall into place.

That’s why Sam snuck into my room all those years ago. That’s why she changed so much after, and that’s why she left.

It all makes sense now, but it doesn’t change the fact that she hurt Tara by leaving, hurt me by leaving. It also doesn’t change the fact that she wasn’t there for me when I needed her to most. When I begged her to come back and she just screamed at me to stop calling without even letting me explain why I was calling in the first place.

I’m feeling so many things right now, it’s kind of overwhelming, but I try my best to stay calm so I don’t freak Tara out.

She’s been moved to a private floor since Sam left and slept earlier while I called Liam and Paige again. Now, she’s awake once more, curled into my side while we’re watching a movie together.

I really try to focus on what’s going on, but my mind keeps drifting back to Sam.

She could have talked to me! She could have told me about her real dad. Why didn’t she? Did she think I was going to hate her for it? Did she think I would stop being her friend if I knew?

I wouldn’t have done any of that. Who her father is doesn’t change who she is. At least that’s my opinion. She must think otherwise, because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have left.

I’m mad at her for abandoning Tara and leaving me. I’m sad she felt like she couldn’t talk to me, and I’m heartbroken thinking about how she tried to numb her pain by doing every drug imaginable and sleeping with anyone who would have her.

I still love her, that’s for sure because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be feeling like this, but I’m just not sure love is enough for me to forgive and forget everything she’s done.

“Hey.” Tara’s voice and her finger poking my chin snaps me out of my thoughts.

I clear my throat quietly and look down at her. “Yeah?”

“You okay?” she asks, her kind brown eyes darting between my own.

“No, not really, Sprout.” Tara wrinkles her nose and I chuckle. She’s never liked that nickname. “But I will be, and so will you.“

“You sure?” she asks and I nod.

“I’m sure. Now watch the movie, or I’m changing it,” I tease, making her laugh softly.

“Okay, okay. . .” She looks me over one last time before turning her attention back to the movie, mumbling, “You’re so annoying.”

I just hum and scratch her head, settling deeper into the bed and actually focusing on the movie. Thoughts of Sam are still swirling around in the back of my mind, but I ignore them as best as I can.

About half an hour later, the movie is still playing and, much to my surprise, I’m actually invested in the story now.

Some shuffling and a grunt in the hallway outside makes me look away from the TV though. We’re on a private floor and no one but Deputy Vinson should be here. A nurse comes in every two hours or so to check on Tara, but she was just here before we started the movie.

Alarm bells almost instantly go off in the back of my head, but I don’t want to scare Tara, so I stay calm and shout, “Hello?”

There’s no answer.

“Vinson?”

Again, nothing.

My stomach drops. This is not good. This is not good, at all.

“Y/N?” Tara whispers fearfully, the beeping sound of her heart rate monitor next to the bed speeding up.

I swallow thickly and continue to stare at the open doorway, straining my ears to hear anything else. It stays quiet though, and with every second that passes, the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach grows.

“Y/N,” Tara whimpers and when our eyes meet I see the fear I’m feeling inside reflected back at me.

He’s back. It’s Ghostface. It has to be him. He’s returned to finish the job.

I can feel my own heart rate picking up speed, and after another beat of silence, I decide that we have to leave. We’re sitting ducks if we stay.

“Fuck this.” I swallow again and nod to myself before pushing the blanket to the bottom of the bed. “We’re leaving, Sprout.”

Tara’s eyes widen and she doesn’t protest when I disconnect the IV from the back of her hand. For a moment, she’s frozen, watching me disconnect her from all the machines she’s attached to, before springing into action herself.

With shaking hands, she removes the oxygen tube while I get up and pull the nearby wheelchair to the side of the bed.

I won’t be able to do anything with only one arm, so even though it hurts and I know I’m probably going to tear my stitches, I take off my sling.

I wince at the stinging pain that shoots through my neck and arm, but grit my teeth and help Tara with the rest of the wires. Then I make sure the wheelchair’s breaks are on before turning back to the bed.

“We have to get moving, c’mon. I know this is going to hurt, but we have to go,” I say, slipping my arms under Tara’s knees and under her back. I don’t lift her yet though, waiting for her to nod before hoisting her up.

The gasp she lets out makes me hurt for her, but I can’t stop now.

We have to leave.

Carefully, I lift her out of the bed and place her in the wheelchair, making sure I don’t bump her broken leg against anything.

My shoulder protests, screaming in pain even though Tara is easy to lift, but I don’t stop moving especially when the lights suddenly go out.

We have to leave, now!

Tara whimpers in fear and in pain, and I rush to turn off the breaks on the wheelchair before pushing her to the doorway.

He’s here. I know it.

I peek into the ominously dark hallway all while trying not to let panic take over my mind.

Fear is healthy, panic is deadly.

That’s what my father taught me, and I know if we’re going to get out of this alive, I have to keep a clear head.

The hallway is empty, and the only way out is by getting to the elevator at the end of the hallway, so I slowly push Tara out of the room, keeping my eyes and ears open for any movement near by.

Just get to the elevator.

The deafening sound of Tara’s phone ringing on the bedside table back in her room makes both of us jump for a moment.

Tara sobs quietly, and I tighten my grip on the wheelchair.

I glance over my shoulder, seeing the screen of the phone light up the room before turning back around. There’s no time to get it now, and even less time to answer it.

I push Tara into the hallway, slowly and quietly while letting my eyes dart around in the darkness for any sign of danger.

It still eerily quiet though and I don’t see anything, so I continue pushing her until we get to the nurses’ station.

That’s where a chocked gasp claws it’s way out of Tara and when I follow her line of sight, I freeze for a second.

Laying right there on his back on the ground, with a slit throat and a pool of blood around his head is one of the deputies Sheriff Hicks assigned to Tara’s floor. He’s still alive, even though only barely, and chokes on his own blood, his wide eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling.

There’s nothing we can do to help him, he’ll be dead within a minute, but still, the sight of him, so helpless and alone, makes the blood in my veins freeze.

That could be me, or worse, Tara.

Stop! Don’t think about that, Y/N. Focus.

My dad’s voice rings in my head and makes me snap out of it. He’s right, I have to focus.

I’m about to continue pushing Tara towards the elevator, but then a thought strikes me.

I pause and look around again before letting go of the wheelchair and crouching down next to the deputy. I reach for his belt, fumbling around until my hand grazes the holster of his gun.

With a gun, we’d at least stand a change against Ghostface, but as fate would have it, the holster is empty. The gun is gone.

Fuck.

Not only does that mean that we have nothing to defend ourselves with, it also means that Ghostface has the gun.

Tara sobs into her hands and watches me get back up, only to flinch and freeze a second later when we hear a door being opened somewhere down the hall.

There’s no time to ponder over the gun and its whereabouts now. I spin around and take a hold of the wheelchair again.

Getting to the elevator now is too risky. It’s too far away, so I wheel Tara into the room right next to the nurses’ station.

We need help.

Tara whimpers and cries quietly while I close the door behind us. I don’t shut it all the way, just enough to hide us from plain sight while still being able to see what’s going on outside. Then, I fumble around for my phone in my sweatpants.

Just like with the gun though, I come up empty, and the realization that it must have slipped out of my pocket while watching the movie makes my heart drop.

No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

My hands begin shaking, and it’s getting harder to keep my panic at bay.

We’re alone with a psychopathic killer, we have no way out, no help is coming, and I’m not in any shape to fight properly.

Tears well up in my eyes and I feel my bottom lip quivering. There’s no way out.

My heart starts pounding in my ears and my hands start shaking.

Please, no. Not now.

I’ve had enough panic attacks after my parents death to know what it feels like when one is about to start, and even though it sucks having them at any time, it would be especially inconvenient right now.

I force myself to calm my breaths and blink away the tears, but it doesn’t help much.

We’re trapped.

We’re alone.

I continue to focus on steadying my breathing while also keeping an ear out for any more sounds in the hallway.

That is until Tara nudges me. I clench and unclench my fists, and look at her. She has tears streaming down her face, but she’s urgently gesturing at something she can’t reach.

I follow the length of her arm with my eyes and almost start crying with relief when I spot the phone on the wall right next to the door.

I lunge for it and start dialing 911 with shaking hands only to stop a moment later when another door opens out in the hallway.

Tara clutches the back of my sweater with her uninjured hand and bites her bottom lip to prevent any more sobs from escaping her.

I flinch when another door gets opened, this time closer by, and hold my breath.

This is it. He’s here.

I lower the phone and square my shoulders, ready to fight when the door to our room suddenly swings open.

Tara yelps and I instinctively punch whoever just walked in.

“Ow!” Richie stumbles back against the doorframe and raises a hand to where my fist just connected with his jaw. “Ah, goddamn it!”

“Richie?” Tara’s pulls on the back of my sweater to get me to step out of her line of sight while I simply stare at Richie in disbelief.

I’m honestly relieved it’s just him, and that he’s here because now we’re no longer alone, but I can’t find it in myself to feel sorry for punching him.

“What are you doing here?” Tara asks as Richie continues to recover from the punch.

“Sam called,” he explains and as he continues to talk, I feel some of the tension in my body dissipate. “She said that you were in trouble.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it, and the revelation that Sam probably only called about Tara is like a blow to the stomach.

I don’t get much time to dwell on it though because a split second later, Ghosface appears behind Richie, ready to strike with a knife in his hand.

“Look out!” I shout, stepping in front of Tara again.

Richie spins just in time to avoid getting stabbed, but the knife manages to cut his forearm. Ghostface goes in for another stab, but Richie manages to catch his wrist before he can bring the knife down on him.

He grunts and they struggle for a moment, but then Ghostface manages to grab the back of Richies head and slam him into the door frame, knocking him out.

“Shit!” I clench my jaw when Ghostface turns his attention to Tara and me, and quickly grab the IV stand next to us, flinging it at him.

Ghostface goes down because the monitor on the IV stand hits him in the head, and I rush to wheel Tara out of the room.

We’re almost back in the hallway, away from Ghostface, when he suddenly lands a punch on the back of my left knee, making my leg buckle. I stumble and manage to regain my footing without going down, but that little trip costs me a lot of precious seconds.

“Y/N!” Tara twists around in the wheelchair with wide eyes and even though I know Ghostface is now back on his feet and right behind me, it still catches me off guard when he wraps his arm around my neck from behind and punches me in the side, right below my ribs.

“Ah, fuck!” I grunt and grab his forearm, trying to pry it away from my neck, but it doesn’t budge. “Go, Tara!”

Another blow, this time to my ribs, takes my breath away, and even though I’m in pain, it fills me with an unexplainable rage.

Instead of trying to get his arm away from my neck again, I dig my heels into the ground and push backward until we hit a wall. Ghostface hisses in pain and I use the momentary distraction to get out of the headlock.

Then, I run to Tara, limping slightly and ignoring the sound of a phone ringing nearby. She’s crying and struggling to move in the wheelchair, and the sight of the blood soaked bandage around her hand makes my stomach clench.

I’m about to reach her, my arms already outstretched to grab onto the wheelchair, but then I’m tackled to the ground from behind.

My head hits the floor, making black dots dance in my vision for a moment and then my head is yanked up by my hair.

“Hold it right there, Tara,” Ghostface says, the voice changer eerily distorting his voice, “or I’ll slit Y/N’s throat.”

Tara freezes and wheels around in time to see Ghostface press the blade of his knife against my neck. He’s kneeling on my back and I know I have no way of escaping without getting my throat slit.

It stings when he pushes the knife down a little too hard, drawing some blood in the process, but I don’t dare to move.

“Y/N!” Tara cries and I try not to cough because of the weight on my back. “No, please don’t.“

“Tara, go!” I rasp, feeling the edge of the knife dig even deeper into the skin of my neck.

Tara shakes he head desperately, tears rolling down her cheeks. “No, Y/N, I—“

“Do you hear that, Sam?” Ghostface says and at the mention of Sam’s name my heart drops. He must be on the phone with her. “Your little sister and Y/N, begging for each other’s lives. Pathetic, don’t you think?”

Tara makes a move to wheel closer, but I pin her down with a stare to stop her. Go, I mouth, but Tara doesn’t move while Ghostface continues talking to Sam.

I can’t hear everything he’s saying because my ears are ringing, but when he suddenly gets off my back and approaches Tara with calculated steps, I hear him say, “So, the choice is up to you. Who is it going to be, Sam? Richie, Y/N, or Tara?”

Tara whimpers as Ghostface gets nearer, but she’s too injured to get away. She manages to turn the wheelchair around, but Ghostface is right there before she can even attempt to get away.

He grabs the handles of the chair and tips it forward forcefully, making Tara fall and land on the ground with a cry of pain.

No, not her. Not Tara. Please, anyone but her. She’s been through enough.

“Stop!” I groan, trying to get up, but slipping on something sticky on the floor. My shoulder stings and the side where Ghostface punched me burns, but I try to get back up again, and this time, I manage. On unsteady feet, I limp toward Ghostface who’s now standing over Tara.

He twirls the knife in his hand and raises his arm, getting ready to strike while Tara sobs.

“No!” I’m not going to make it. “Tara!”

Just then, the elevator dings and the doors open. Ghostface looks up, surprised, and dives out of the way when gunshots ring out.

My eyes widen at the sight of Sam and Dewey?! who dart out of the elevator.

“Tara!” Sam rushes to her sister’s side and drops to her knees, trying to help her to her feet.

“I’ll get Richie,” Dewey says, but then he freezes when his eyes land on me. “Y/N?! What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

I wave him off and shake my head, looking around to see where Ghostface went. “Not now, I’m fine. Go get Richie, I’ll help Sam with Tara.”

“Okay.” Dewey nods and stares at me a moment longer before dashing past me to help Richie.

The last time we saw each other was at my parents’ funeral. He used to be like an uncle to me because he was friends with my dad, but after the accident, we kind of drifted apart.

Now is no time to dwell on the past though. I push through my dizziness and the pain in my side, shoulder and leg, and limp the rest of the way to Tara and Sam.

Sam’s already managed to get a crying and whimpering Tara to her feet, but Tara can’t walk with her broken leg, so as soon as I’m within reach I tug on Sam’s jacket to get her to stop dragging Tara to the elevator.

“Stop, let me help.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Y/N, y-you’re here?”

“Of course, I’m here,” I snap, not because I’m mad but because there’s no time to talk. “Now, let’s get a move on!”

Still in disbelief, Sam doesn’t say anything else as I scoop Tara up into my arms.

“Ow,” she whines and I quickly apologize for hurting her.

I limp to the elevator with Sam hot on my heels and lean against the wall as soon as we’re inside. My legs are shaking and my entire body hurts, but I’m not letting go of Tara until we’re safe.

Sam holds the doors open while Richie and Dewey make their way to the elevator.

They’ve almost made it when, out of nowhere, Ghostface comes back, crashing into them from the side. Richie falls to the ground, and Dewey gets pushed against the wall which makes him fire his gun.

A struggle ensues between Dewey and Ghostface while Richie tries to get back up, and for a moment it looks as though Ghostface’s got the upper hand, but then Dewey headbutts him.

Ghostface stumbles back and Dewey grabs his gun off the ground, firing it at Ghostface before he can come at him again.

He stumbles back at the force of the shots hitting him in the chest until he crashes into the glass display cabinet on the opposite wall.

He sinks to the ground and stops moving, and even though I’m not convinced he’s dead, there’s no time to make sure he is. We have to get out of here as fast as possible.

Dewey must think so too because he gets to his feet and immediately pulls Richie up as well.

“Let’s get out of here,” he grunts, dragging Richie toward the elevator. “Come on, hurry up.”

They finally make it, and Richie slumps against the wall next to Sam who runs her hands over him and checks for any not-so obvious injuries.

“You okay?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.

Richie nods and exhales shakily. “Yeah, you?”

Sam nods. “Fine.” Then she turns her attention back to Tara who’s got her arms wrapped around my neck and is crying into my shoulder.

“It hurts, Sam,” she cries, and I press a kiss to her forehead while Sam takes a hold of her hand.

Dewey pushes the elevator button for the first floor, but before the doors can slide shut, he stops them with his hand and says, “The head. . .”

Richie frowns. “What?”

“You have to shoot ‘em in the head or they always come back,” Dewey explains, stepping back out of the elevator.

Sam gapes at him and asks exactly what I’m thinking. “Dewey, who gives a fuck?”

A forlorn look enters his eyes and as the doors slide shut, he says, “I do.”

“No! Dewey!” I try to step forward to stop him, but as soon as I shift my weight off the wall, my legs start trembling, so I slump back and grit my teeth.

It’s too late.

The doors close and the elevator starts descending. A tense silence settles over us for the duration of the ride, but then the doors open and Richie stumbles out first, shouting for help.

Doctors and nurses swarm us almost instantly and within seconds, a gurney is brought over and I place Tara on it.

She’s okay.

Seeing her being taken care of lifts a huge weight off my shoulders and the relief on Sam’s face makes me smile a little.

She’s going to be okay.

The dizziness I felt before suddenly returns full force now that the adrenaline is wearing off, but I can’t sit down and rest until Dewey is safe, too.

He’s up there all alone. Someone has to help him.

I stumble back to the elevator but a hand on my stomach stops me from entering it.

I look down, swaying slightly, before following the arm connect to the hand all the way up with my eyes until they land on Sam’s face.

Wait. . . Sam?

“Where are you going, Y/N?” she asks, frowning.

I blink to get rid of the irritating black dots growing in my vision and try to push past her. “D-Dewey, he needs—he needs help, Sam.”

“I know,” she says, stopping me again by grabbing a fistful of my sweater. “But you can’t go up there. The police are already on their way.”

“But. . . But Dewey,” I slur. I grasp at Sam’s hand to get her to let go of me which, much to my surprise, she actually does.

It doesn’t last long though because not even a second later my knees buckle and I fall forward, right into her arms.

“Y/N? Y/N!” Sam panics and grabs onto anything she can to stop both of us from toppling to the ground. “Oh my God, you’re hurt.”

I awkwardly slide down her body, bringing her down with me until we’re both on the floor and I’m gasping for air.

“Y/N, hey. . . Hey!” Sam grunts and manages to scramble out from underneath me before propping me up against the wall next to us. “Look at me. What’s wrong? What hurts?” she asks, but I can’t answer. My lungs suddenly feel like they’re on fire and every breath I take makes it harder to breathe.

“What happened? Did Ghostface—“ She falls silent when her eyes land on her hands and when I look down, I see why.

They’re covered in blood. My blood. But. . . how?

I think about everything that happened, and then dread settles in the pit of my stomach when the realization hits.

Ghostface wasn’t punching me. When he “hit” me all those times, he wasn’t punching me. He wasn’t punching me at all. He was stabbing me.

Welp, that explains why my side hurts so much. I thought I was going soft.

My eyes flutter shut and I cough, tasting blood in my mouth.

I guess no one noticed I was hurt until now because I didn’t feel anything until the adrenaline wore off and the blood soaking my clothes wasn’t visible because both my sweater and my sweatpants are black.

“Y/N, hey! Don’t you dare close your eyes.” Sam cups my cheeks and shakes my head slightly to get me to open my eyes again. “We need some help over here!” she shouts over her shoulder before looking back at me.

She’s frantic, more frantic than I’ve ever seen her, and her eyes are filling with tears. Her hands drop off my face and she’s quick to push my sweater up to take in the extent of my injuries.

“Oh my God.” Her voice cracks and when she presses her hands against my side to slow the bleeding, I cry out in pain.

I gasp like a fish out of water, still struggling to get enough air into my lungs, and push at her hands.

“No, stop— Stop!” she protests, desperately pressing her hands against my side again.

“Hurts,” I wheeze and Sam nods frantically with tears dripping down her cheeks.

“I know, I know,” she says, “but I’m trying to help.”

I writhe in agony, but don’t try to push her off again. I don’t think I even could if I tried because with every passing moment I feel weaker.

My eyes are also threatening to close again and when Sam notices, she presses down harder on my side and shouts for help again.

This time, a nearby nurse notices and she springs into action. She rushes over, dragging a doctor with her and tells another nurse to bring a gurney.

I don’t focus on her though. No, I keep my attention on Sam and how she’s desperately try to stop my bleeding.

She’s crying, covered in blood, and on the verge of hyperventilating, but she’s still beautiful.

So beautiful. . .

I cough again just as the nurse and doctor drop down next to me, and when Sam takes her hands away so they can examine me, I give into the urge to close my eyes.

_______________________________________________

Whew! I wrote this in one sitting, and only proofread it once, so please excuse any mistakes I may have made/overlooked.

Tag list: @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @bella423

[ghoulangerlee]

HERE WE GO. dewther phone sex that probably could have gone on for another six thousand words if I'd continued writing instead of forcing myself to end it :)

there is some lore-y stuff in here because I am not me if I don't include my own personal lore, and at the end there's mentions of heats and knotting but neither of those actually happen :)

Dew is a lil mean in this but as it turns out, Aether really likes em mean.

-

The phone rings, pulling him from the inventory reports in front of him—it's the desk phone of all things, not his cell that sits face down a little further away and for a moment, he thinks to ignore it, to continue his work so he can finish quicker and get to bed sooner, but at the late hour it could be some kind of emergency— 

He picks it up, balancing his pen in his other hand as he cradles the desk phone between his ear and shoulder, “Infirmary, this is Aether speaking, how can I help you?”  

There’s silence on the line for a moment and Aether tilts his head, “Hello? Is someone there?”  

A sigh, familiar in its tone echoes across the line, “Hey Aeth,” Dew mumbles, sounding tired, “Didn’t know if you’d still be awake.”  

Aether glances up at the clock across the room, the hands ticking by slowly, it’s late, much later than he’d expected, “Ah,” he says, “I was finishing up some inventory reports in the infirmary, some new guy decided to double the amount of gauze we need so now we’re swimming in it but don’t have any more antibiotics,” he glances down at the papers in front of him, red lines crossed through black numbers, “Been down here most of the day counting things to get everything right again.”  

Dew hums, a pleased little sound, “I like hearing you talk about the work you do,” he says, tone bordering on that sappy-tired one he gets whenever he’s worked to the bone and sleepy, “I miss you.”  

“I miss you too,” Aether murmurs with a small smile, leaning back in his chair and focusing all of his attention on Dew, “How is guard duty with Frater Imperator?” he asks, a brief flash of worry catching him.  

“He’s safe,” Dew says, yawns widely over the line, “A little annoyed by the travel, a lot annoyed that there may still be something or someone after him despite everything,” he’s candid about it, and if Aether closes his eyes, he can almost see Dew sitting in front of him, waving a lazy hand in emphasis as he speaks. “Of course, we’re doing fine, this other church is okay, a little drafty and the ghouls here don’t really speak, but I guess it’s fine for a little while. The elders keep giving me dirty looks when they think Copia isn’t watching though.”  

A pang of regret goes through him, he’d almost went with Dew and Copia, but something had come up in the infirmary, someone had fallen ill and he’d been the best person to fill in, he wishes he were there with Dew right now. “Sounds exciting,” he says, “A little draft isn’t too much for a fire ghoul, right?” he asks teasingly, feeling the tension of the day fade the longer he speaks to Dew.  

“Cold day in Hell that a puny little church with an annoying clergy bothers me enough to make me leave early,” Dew says with a snort, “I wanted to talk to you though, time differences suck. We’re on different continents and everything so I can’t even really feel you right now either.”  

Aether gets it, he can feel the way his bond with Dew is weakened, barely there, dormant in the distance between them—in the back of his mind he can still feel him, but it’s a far cry from the usual. “I know, wisp,” he murmurs, “I wish we were closer too,” he admits, “Church is quiet without you here.”  

“Copia was giving me shit earlier,” Dew admits after a few moments of silence, “Said I looked sad, like someone stole something from me,” he pauses, clears his throat, “Told me to come call you, that you’d probably be up working still even at the late hour.”  

“He was right,” Aether says with a little laugh, “Not that he has any room to talk about what is and isn’t late,” he continues, and then glances up at the ceiling, “Are you still sad?” he asks cheekily, lazily spinning his chair to the side, “Do you need me to talk to you so you can fall asleep?”  

He means it as a joke, but there’s a serious undercurrent there, something they’d discovered before Copia’s lateral move, when Dew had toured but Aether stayed behind—sometimes, sometimes his brain wouldn’t let him sleep, not alone, and he’d call Aether, listen to the quintessence ghoul talk until his eyes grew heavy and he fell into a comfortable sleep—imagining his mate right there beside him.  

Dew hums lazily, “Maybe,” he starts, but this time, there’s something of a breathless quality to his voice, “Or maybe I want to talk to you about other things.”  

It takes Aether a moment, if he focuses hard enough, he can hear something on the other line, a slick sound, a hitch in Dew’s breathing, “Is this a booty call?” he can’t help but ask, the words spilling out before he can stop it, “Dew are you—” he cuts himself off, presses his palm against the bottom of the phone and glances around the office.  

It’s late, of course, and the door isn’t locked, but he’s the only one down here right now, having sent the rest of the staff off, only keeping a bare bones support staff in case of emergencies, but he can’t sense anyone else.  

“I am working,” Aether finally says, lowering his hand, feeling a flush come up the sides of his neck, “If someone were to walk into my office, they’d—”  

“They’d what?” Dew asks sharply, the hitch in his voice making it obvious what he’s doing, “They’d think you were on the phone, right, baby? That you’re working late, working so hard for everyone, making sure the inventory reports are all correct. You’re not doing something silly like touch yourself, are you? You’re on the phone and you’re working diligently.”  

Aether grits his teeth, pressing a fist hard into his thigh, “I’m not touching myself,” he says, and looks down at his desk again, numbers taunting him on the page, “I’ve stopped working for the moment to talk to you,” he inhales deeply, bites his lip when he hears Dew moan quietly over the line.  

“You’re being such a good boy,” Dew murmurs the praise, praise that shoots right down to Aether’s core, “I’m going to touch myself and you’re going to listen to me and keep working, aren’t you?”  

Aether bites harder at his lower lip, tilting his head back against the chair, “I am,” he finally agrees, after a long moment of listening to Dew breathe heavily, the slick sounds of his hand.  

Dew waits for a moment, almost as if he’s aware that Aether’s not working, waits for minutes until Aether sits up, scoots his chair forward and picks his pen back up, “If I were there with you, I’d situate myself under your desk,” he purrs, words going a bit high on the end. “You’d be a busy body about it, complain about me distracting you but we both know you want me to.”  

Aether digs the pen into the paper in front of him, keeping his gaze trained on the numbers on the page and he hums a little, “You are good at being a little shit sometimes,” he says, trying to keep his tone casual.  

A laugh, breathless and the slick sounds seem to get louder, “Uh huh,” he agrees, “I am, but you love me like that, you love when I push your buttons. Take you down a peg, big guy.” Dew grunts a little and Aether can only imagine that he’s fucking up into his fist, “You turn to putty in my hands the second I get my mouth on you,” he breathes.  

“Lies,” Aether says, trying to keep his voice firm as he presses his legs together, “You’re just running your mouth.”  

Dew swears softly, “Aether,” he moans out, “Strong words for the guy who begged me to fuck him right before I left,” he teases, and Aether feels hot under the collar when he thinks about it, how desperate he had been for Dew’s dick. “It’s okay big guy, I love when you fall apart for me, when you can barely speak because you’re so dick drunk,” he coos, “Thinking about how your skin’s so cold, but every time I get inside you, you heat up like a fire ghoul,” he teases, “Like I’m branding you from the inside out, isn’t that right baby, you’re all mine and no one can fuck you as good as I can.”  

Aether squeezes the pen in his hand tight enough that he can hear the plastic creaking, “Dew,” he says sharply, but doesn’t speak beyond that, knows if he says anything else he’s going to make a fool of himself, he’s going to start babbling about how much he wishes Dew were here now, down under his desk, mouth on him, making him come.  

As the silence stretches between them, Dew moans again, this time higher, another swear, the steady creak of bedsprings, little ah, ah, ahs falling from his lips as he does, “Say something sweet for me baby,” he finally says, breathless and oh so close. “Let me hear your gorgeous voice, tell me what you want me to do for you, baby.”  

And oh Dew’s begging now, desperate in the same way he gets when they’re together, even when he’s being mean and teasing Aether—when he’s close, when he just needs a bit more to come.  

The pen clatters to the desk and Aether’s quick to shove his hand down the front of his scrubs, so glad he’d opted for them instead of the stuffy slacks he normally wore when on administration duties, “I want your mouth on me,” he finally admits, “Wanna fuck your face while you wait under the desk for me to finish working,” he manages to get out, moans when his fingers meet his dick, stroking over it quickly. “Want you to put a couple of fingers inside me, something for me to squeeze around,” he swallows heavily, tilts his head back against the chair as he arches his hips up into his own touch, imagining the heat of Dew’s mouth around him, “I feel so empty, firelight,” he admits, voice breaking a little as he does, pants out in the open, “Feels so empty when you’re away, want you to carve a place inside me and never leave.”  

Dew swears again, louder, a litany of fucks falling from his lips and Aether thinks he comes, thinks if he focuses hard enough he can feel it, the heat of it inside him, that maybe their distance is driving him a bit mad with how much he misses him.  

“Come for me baby,” Dew’s voice, rough with his orgasm, fills Aether’s ears, draws a sharp gasp out of him as he clenches around nothing and comes, goes completely breathless with it as he continues to touch himself until he’s too sensitive and he has to pull his hand away though it doesn’t go far, arm falling limp between his thighs once his hand is free from his scrub pants.  

It takes a while for his heart to settle down, for his breathing to fall under control again and he allows it, floats there as he wishes that Dew were here with him right now, a warm weight between his legs, fire all down his chest and stomach as he cradles him close, chasing away the chill that always falls over Aether after coming.  

“—ay we’re going to be back tomorrow, we’ve done all the ground work here, anyway, the rest is just boring admin work that can be done over Doom meetings.” Dew’s murmuring when he comes back into focus, “As soon as I see you baby, I’m going to get my hands all over you just like you deserve,” he promises, filthy and low in his ear, “Gonna have you coming so much you’ll be satisfied for days.”  

Aether hums, interested when his brain catches on the first part, still mostly focused on the second half of Dew’s words, “Tomorrow?” he asks, hating the way his voice sounds so hopeful.  

Fuck, it’d been weeks though, since he’d last seen Dew. Since they’d been together. He misses him.  

“Yeah, baby,” Dew murmurs, “Our plane landed a bit ago, we’re at a hotel for the night, but Copia’s got a car coming to get us in the morning. We’ll be home before you know it.”  

Aether makes another noise, something choked, “Oh,” he says, looks down at the paper on the desk in front of him, half-finished inventory reports, “I’ve got to—”  

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” Dew says firmly, “You’ve got tomorrow off and maybe the day after, Copia’s feeling a bit benevolent,” he says that with a bit of a grin in his voice, “Inventory will be fine for a couple of days, besides, Copia said he’d work on whatever you didn’t finish, just leave it where you’ve got it and he’ll take over. No arguing with me, alright?”  

And well, Aether can’t argue, because he’s feeling a bit selfish, a bit like he wants to shirk his duties for a few days so he can spend time with Dew instead, something warm settling in the pit of his stomach. “Okay,” he settles on, feels the weight lifted off of his shoulders at the word as he leans back in the chair, making it squeak a bit under his weight.  

“Good boy,” Dew says sweetly, “Now, listen, I want you to hang up the phone and go get cleaned up, settle in our bed and before you know it, I’ll be there, waking you up with a kiss.”  

Aether thinks about his nest, the one he’d been working on since Dew had left, how it still smells like the two of them and how much he wants to be there now, “Okay, yeah,” he says, “I can do that.” He swallows, bites his lip, “I love you, Dew.”  

Dew hums softly, “I love you too, big guy, I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”  

When he hangs up the phone, it’s with warm feelings, and as he levers himself up out of the chair, he feels like he’s floating.  

He grabs his phone, scrolling through the few notifications that he has, there’s a couple of text messages that he’s not too concerned with answering tonight, another text from Dew that’s just a heart emoji and then a singular calendar notification.  

Aether raises an eyebrow but thinks nothing of it at first, locks up the office and deposits the key in the safe box for another staff member to find before he heads up from the infirmary and to his and Dew’s bedroom.  

Once he’s showered and settled into bed, wearing only his underwear and a thin t-shirt that used to be Dew’s at one point and is entirely too short on Aether and stretched out the from the number of times he’s squeezed into it, he picks his phone up again.  

Taps the calendar notification and blinks at the entry that had been added recently.  

Mandatory Leave 10.26 - 11.3 – Accepted by F. Imperator  

There’s a text, one that had come in while he was in the shower, from Copia this time.  

Dew may be a little grumpy in the morning, our car arrives in three hours to pick us up, we’ll be back before your heat starts. The others have stocked your room while you were working and I’ve taken the opportunity to clear your schedule for the next week just in case. Let me know if there’s anything you need <3  

He feels a surge of affection, sends back a heart in response and takes a moment to take stock of himself, feels the low simmer of something that had been bothering him for a while, something gnawing at him the entire time he’d been without Dew—and he didn’t think that it was heat, thought it was just something happening because Dew had been away for so long. His mind races a bit, wonders why his heat had decided to show now of all times—  

His phone buzzes again, a text from Dew.  

Go to sleep, Aeth. I can feel you thinking from all the way out here. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.  

He huffs quietly, sends back a fuck you and a heart a moment later, almost immediately, another text comes through.  

Of course, big boy, anything you need. I’ll even let you knot me if you want <3  

[chaoskull]

Lawrence Alma-Tadema - Ask me no more

Carelessness to Respite

Roboute Guilliman x gn!reader

Summary: Guilliman is neglecting himself, as his spouse, you cannot let this keep happening further more.

This is for you Guilliman addicts, ENJOY!

Guilliman had been stuck on his office for far too long, reviewing reports, ordering resources, and writing his signature. It had become a default movement for his hand, to glide a pen through paper drawing his name for hours.

"You've been at this table for how long?" Your question was left unanswered, as his focus was entirely on the words in front of his eyes. You clear your throat, the sound disrupting his concentration.

"Don't you want something to eat or drink?"

He waits a second to see if you're merely trying to stop him from his work. "If it isn't too much to ask, I could accept a beverage."

There was a gleam in his eye, one visible at times he felt true enjoyment, you were surely the only able to find. It is rare to see it, ever since he had awoken from his wound, the arduous task of keeping the imperium together had left him exhausted.

Leaning over his shoulder, you take a look at his desk. A sea of documents, you recognise a few names, mostly Sicarus, probably complaining. "That's a lot of papers, my husband"

He let out a deep, tired sigh. You were concerned over his well being, there had been a time where he was far more attentive to his health.

"I'll be back, and you had enough recaff for today" You say as leave him with a kiss to his forehead. He gave you a tired but appreciative gaze as you left, slowly drifting back to the pile of papers and reports, turning his attention back to work.

When you returned, he was still reading through the paperwork. "I wonder when you will take a break" you comment as you place a glass of wine and plate, it had a much bigger sized loaf of bread with sweets to accompany, on his desk.

"Thank you, my love. But I'm afraid I still have a lot of work that needs done." He takes the glass to take a sip and pulls the plate out of his way.

"No, first you eat" You insist, ordering him to stop his irresponsible behavior, snatching the pen he held in his hand and placing it on a holder.

"And what will you do if I don't?" He challenges you, amused by actions, he lets you continue this scene, waiting for a comeback.

"Something you won't like, now eat" I push the plate closer to him. He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head, he ran a hand through his eyes to remove some of his fatigue, you were right, he felt terrible inside, so he obliges. "If that is how it is, I'll eat"

He reaches out and picks up the glass of wine again, taking a long drink. Grabbing a slice of bread, he took a bite. Slowly he starts to feel more relaxed, enjoying the small halt from his work.

You sat beside him, on the armrest of his chair, if not you wouldn't be able to get so close to his height, you had watched him finish his entire meal, not letting him neglect himself, as he had for so long.

"I hope you know I won't leave your side ever again" You whisper near his ear, he was done eating by the time you said it, and so this time, as he looked at you, a smile formed in his lips.

Content with the primarchs reaction, you catch him slightly off guard bringing in an embrace. He holds you with as much enthusiasm, as he deflates himself, his head falling into your shoulder.

The day had ended and you were still helping him finish his reports, you had to usually beg him to do so, but this time it wasn't needed.

Surprisingly, no one had come into his office that afternoon to end the moment of you two together.

It's a short little thing, but I hope you liked it!

[rose24207]

Fourth time’s the charm

Summary: In which Lando tries to confess to you but gets interrupted every single time.

Genre: Fluff

TW: None!

A/N: English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

Lando Norris had always been confident in most areas of his life. When it came to racing, he was a force to be reckoned with.

But when it came to matters of the heart, especially when it involved you, his confidence wavered like a leaf in the wind.

You had this way of making him feel as if he had never once had a solid thought in his head.

Everything about you was magnetic. The way you laughed at his jokes, even when they were terrible, the way you listened so intently when he rambled about his day.

You’d spent weeks teasing him gently, making him feel like you could read his mind—and it only made him fall harder.

It was impossible not to notice how effortlessly beautiful you were.

You were self-assured, sharp, and witty—traits that made him admire you from the sidelines. Every time you caught his eye, a fluttering sensation took over his chest.

He had to make a move.

It was just... well, asking you out seemed like such a monumental step.

The problem was that Lando had been trying to ask you out for weeks. And for some bizarre cosmic reason, every time he gathered the courage, something always seemed to interrupt him.

Today, he was determined.

Today would be different.

He would ask you out, and he wouldn’t let anyone get in his way.

Attempt One: The McLaren Hospitality Suite

It was early in the day.

Lando was sitting in the McLaren hospitality suite, sipping on a cup of coffee while trying to distract himself from the million thoughts racing through his mind.

He’d seen you earlier, sitting at a table, engrossed in your laptop. Your usual relaxed air and the way you made everything look so effortless only made him admire you more.

He watched you for a few moments, silently working up the nerve. He’d spent the last hour trying to figure out how to phrase it perfectly, but nothing sounded right. It didn’t matter how much time he spent perfecting the words; all that mattered was asking you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, making his move, trying to keep his voice casual.

You looked up from your screen, eyebrows lifting. “Oh, hey! What’s up?”

He cleared his throat, doing his best to sound confident. “I was wondering if—”

“Lando, mate!”

A loud voice cut through the moment like a knife. It was Carlos Sainz, entering the room with his usual jovial energy.

He clapped a hand on Lando’s shoulder, his enthusiasm evident.

“Have you seen the new lap data? It’s insane.”

Lando’s mouth snapped shut as Carlos carried on, excitedly talking about telemetry and tire wear.

He shot you an apologetic glance, but the moment was gone.

Carlos continued on, oblivious to the tension he’d just interrupted, leaving Lando feeling helpless.

As the conversation continued, Lando’s thoughts drifted back to you, only to be pulled away again and again by the sound of Carlos babbling.

The universe, it seemed, was against him.

Attempt Two: The Paddock

Later that afternoon, Lando found himself in the paddock area, looking for an opportunity to talk to you.

You were standing near the barriers, deep in conversation with a reporter.

Lando’s gaze immediately fixed on you.

The way you smiled and laughed, and the ease with which you made even the most mundane conversation feel important, was irresistible.

Now was his chance.

He walked over, trying to calm the nervous flutter in his chest. As he reached you, his heart pounded in his ears. “Y/N,” he called, smiling slightly.

”Can I steal you for a second?”

You looked up from your conversation, your expression turning curious.

“Of course,” you said, politely excusing yourself from the reporter.

But as he opened his mouth to speak, a firm hand landed on his shoulder.

“Lando, media’s waiting. We need you now.” It was his PR manager, pointing at him with a sense of urgency.

Lando exhaled sharply, frustrated. He shot you an apologetic look.

“I’ll catch you later,” he said quickly, before being whisked away.

You gave him a soft, understanding smile.

”No worries, Lando. Go on.”

And just like that, another chance slipped through his fingers.

Attempt Three: The Team Dinner

By evening, Lando had almost resigned himself to the idea that today was just not going to be the day.

The entire McLaren crew had gathered at a restaurant to celebrate the end of a successful race weekend.

Lando had been looking forward to the dinner all day, but now all he could think about was how he’d barely spoken to you.

As dessert was being served, Lando noticed you leaning in, chatting with a couple of teammates. His heart skipped as he found the courage to finally act.

“Y/N,” he said, voice a little quieter than usual as he leaned forward to catch your attention.

You looked up, that familiar warm smile spreading across your face as your eyes met his. “Hmm?”

Lando swallowed hard. This was it. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

But before he could continue, the entire restaurant seemed to erupt into chaos.

“Toast time!” someone shouted from across the table, causing everyone to rise and cheer. Glasses clinked, laughter filled the air, and suddenly all eyes were on the celebration, drowning out Lando’s attempt.

He groaned inwardly, sinking back into his seat, helpless as the conversation moved on.

He was starting to feel like the universe was intentionally torturing him.

Final Attempt: Under the Stars

It was well past dinner, and the team was slowly filtering out of the restaurant. Lando, however, found himself lingering outside, hoping for one last chance to speak with you.

The night air was cool, and the city lights cast a soft glow over everything.

You were standing near the curb, talking to a few friends, laughing in that carefree way of yours.

Lando watched you for a few moments, once again finding himself paralyzed by your presence.

He took a deep breath and walked over.

“Y/N,” he said softly, cutting through the noise of the city.

You turned to face him, your smile instantly appearing, a sense of calm washing over him as he looked into your eyes.

“What’s up?” you asked.

Lando opened his mouth, finally prepared to say the words he’d been rehearsing all day.

“I... I’ve been trying to talk to you all day,” he admitted, laughing nervously. “But every time I’ve tried, something’s happened. Carlos, the media, the team, even toast time—”

You laughed, the sound sweet and genuine, like music to his ears. “I noticed,” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been acting a little off.”

He chuckled nervously, his heart beating wildly. “I guess I’m just... I’m just nervous,” he admitted.

“About what?”

“About asking you out,” he said in a rush, finally pushing past the nerves.

“I like you. A lot. And I’ve been trying to ask you for weeks, but I didn’t know how.”

You stared at him, the soft night breeze swirling around the both of you. For a moment, everything felt still.

“I... I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just that every time I’m around you, I feel... I feel like I don’t know how to act.”

You took a step forward, closing the distance between you.

“Lando,” you said softly, “you could’ve just asked.”

And just like that, the floodgates opened. The tension, the hesitation—it all melted away in the warmth of your gaze.

Lando could only smile, feeling the weight of his fears lift as he finally said the words that had been bottled up inside him.

“Will you go out with me?” he asked, his voice genuine.

You smiled, your eyes sparkling under the soft glow of the streetlights. “Yes, Lando. I will.”

And for the first time that day, there were no interruptions.

Thank you for reading!

[moraxine]

Fragments of Us [Ekko]

pairing: ekko x reader

words: 2k

summary: ekko wakes up in an alternate universe where you’re alive and everything feels right—but it’s not his world. torn between love and duty, he must leave to save his reality.

ARCANE SPOILERS!

i.

“Powder. Ugh, she’s so annoying sometimes. I told her that the graffiti on Sevika’s stupid bar wasn’t even that good—like, come on, who even uses pink for a skull?—and she just flipped out ! Called me a ‘wannabe artist.�� Like, okay?”

Ekko’s chest burns as he violently jolts awake, aware , coughing as if he’s been drowning moments before. His head is pounding, all memories flooding his mind and spinning round and round. It takes a few moments for his vision to stabilise and start clearing up.

What the hell happened?

“Hey, are you okay?”

Hearing your voice, familiar yet a voice he never thought his ears would detect ever again, he freezes. His eyes snap open, adjusting to the dim glow of the neon streetlamp. After a while of simply blinking, right hand on his forehead, he dares to turn your way, only to face you in utter shock.

There you are, right beside him, nervously fiddling with a small gadget in your hand while waiting for his answer.

Ekko’s breath gets caught in his throat.

His gaze desperately darts around, taking in the distorted version of Zaun. The buildings look eerily familiar but cleaner, more polished. And then there is you —alive, bright-eyed, rambling as if nothing in the world could ever go wrong.

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

“You’re staring at me like I’ve got two heads or something. All good in there?” You ask, leaning closer as you gently tap his head.

No, no, no.

This must be some kind of twisted joke, a dream soon to turn into a nightmare, like the ones he experienced after your passing.

A strong wave of dizziness takes over and he loses balance. You’re not fast enough to catch him and he collapses on the floor, tears gleaming in his eyes.

“Shit, Ekko, I told you I’m fine walking home by myself! You need to focus on fixing that sleep schedule of yours. You work too much….”

You kneel down to check on him but as soon as you reach for his arm, he manages to pull himself up, wincing as his muscles protest. “I’m fine,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “Just… where am I?”

Your brow furrows. “Zaun, duh. Did you hit your head?”

Zaun. But not his Zaun. This is different. Cleaner. Sharper. Brighter. Wrong.

You wave a hand in front of his face when he’s up on his feet again, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Seriously, you’re acting super weird.”

He shakes his head, trying to gather himself. “I’m… just tired.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you say, leaning back on your heels. “Well, you can sleep at my place if you want. It’s a bit of a mess, but it’s better than the middle of the street.”

“Why…Why are you helping me?”

I didn’t protect you. I let you die-

You scoff, crossing your arms. “You have to be kidding me, really.”

He stares at you, his chest tightening. You are so casual, so warm, so alive. This isn’t his world—it is someone else’s. Someone’s whom was able to keep you safe and happy.

You wave a hand in front of his face. “Helloooo? You good, or do I need to drag you there myself?”

He blinks, shaking himself out of his trance. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Finally,” you say grabbing his arm. “You’re lucky I’m such a good friend, y’know.”

As you lead him down the street, continuing your pointless rambling about Powder and some argument over graffiti, Ekko follows silently, his mind racing. He doesn’t belong here, but for the first time in years, being near you feels like he is home.

ii.

Ekko is standing in the corner of your cluttered workshop, his fingers trembling slightly as he tightens the final screws on a device he barely understands anymore. Weeks have been spent scavenging parts, tearing apart old tech, and sketching blueprints on scraps of paper. The machine is almost ready—his way out of this world is almost ready.

You, of course, don’t know. In fact, you seem to know nothing about Ekko lately. Ever since that incident outside the bar, he’s been acting strange in a way you can’t pinpoint.

“Hey, genius,” you call from across the room, pulling him out of his thoughts. You’re perched on a high stool, playing with a broken clock. “You’ve been staring at that thing for hours. What is it, anyway?”

He stiffens at your question, keeping his face carefully neutral. “Just… something to help me get around. It’s nothing.”

You narrow your eyes, unconvinced. “Since when do you get all secretive about your projects? You used to brag about your tech every chance you got.”

“Since now,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze.

It’s been this way for quite some time now—Ekko growing quieter, more distant, all while you try to bridge the gap with your usual chatter. You’ve noticed the way he avoids your eyes, the way he flinches whenever you stand too close. It’s not like him.

And it hurts.

“You’re acting weird, Ekko,” you admit, setting the clock down and leaning back on your hands. “Like, even weirder than usual. Did I do something?”

“No,” he says quickly, but his voice sounds strained, and the single word only makes you more assured that there is indeed something going on.

“Then what?” you press, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. Is this about Powder? Because if so, she’s the one being difficult, not me.”

Ekko clenches his jaw, his hands tightening around the tool in his grip. He can’t tell you. You wouldn’t understand—not fully. How could he possibly explain that you’re not even supposed to be here? That this version of you isn’t his you? That in his world, you’re just a memory he carries like a scar?

“It’s nothing,” he says finally, his voice low. “Just… drop it, okay?”

You flinch at the coldness in his tone, but you force a laugh, trying to mask the sting. “Fine. Be mysterious, then. See if I care.”

Turning away, you pretend to focus on the clock again, but your heart isn’t in it. You want to push him, demand answers, but something in his expression stops you. There’s a pain in his eyes that you can’t quite place, and for the first time, you wonder if this is bigger than any conflict he might have had with people in the past.

Ekko exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging. He hates doing this—pushing you away. But if he lets you in, it’ll only make leaving harder.

Because he is leaving. As much as he wants to stay, to pretend this is his life, he knows it isn’t real. He doesn’t belong here. And the longer he stays, the harder it’ll be to say goodbye. Especially to you.

“Hey,” you say suddenly, breaking the silence. “For what it’s worth, you’re still my favorite nerd. Even if you’re being a jerk.”

He looks up at you, startled by the softness in your voice. For a moment, he wants to tell you everything—to explain why he can’t let himself get too close. To tell you he loves you. But that would be partially true as you’re not his. Instead, he just nods. “Thank you.”

You offer him a small yet warm smile and his resolve falters for a moment. But then his gaze falls on the machine again—his way out—and he reminds himself why he has to do this.

It’s almost done. Just a little longer.

iii.

Ekko stands in the middle of the workshop, his hand resting on the activation lever of the machine. The room hums faintly with power, the cobbled-together contraption sparking faintly as it waits for his final command. It’s ready. After days of work, this is it—it’s time to go back to the people who need him.

But his chest feels tight, and it’s not just from the lingering ache of exhaustion. It’s because of you.

The door creaks open, and his heart sinks. You’re standing there, your expression caught somewhere between confusion and anger. “What the hell is this?” you ask, stepping inside. “Ekko, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t look at you. He can’t. “It’s… nothing.”

“Nothing?” you snap, gesturing at the machine. “You’ve been shutting me out for God knows how long, and now I find you messing with… whatever this is you’ve made? Don’t lie to me, Ekko.”

He finally meets your eyes, and the raw emotion there almost makes him crumble. But he takes a deep breath and steadies himself. “I can’t explain it.”

You take a step closer, your frustration giving way to hurt. “Why? Why can’t you just tell me? I’m not mad—I just… I don’t understand why you’ve been acting like this.”

Ekko clenches his fists, his mind racing. He could tell you the truth—about the alternate universe, about the fact that you don’t even exist anymore in his world. But what good would it do?

“It’s better this way,” he replies quietly.

Your hands drop to your sides, and the look in your eyes nearly breaks him. “Better for who? For me? Or for you?”

“Y/n…” His voice cracks, but he quickly swallows it down. “I don’t belong here. I need to leave. That’s all I can say.”

You shake your head, your voice trembling. “You’re lying. You’ve been here all this fucking time, and now you’re just… leaving? Without a word?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do!” you shout, stepping closer until you’re right in front of him. “Whatever this is, whoever you think you are—you’re my… friend, Ekko. You don’t just get to disappear without telling me why.”

His hands tremble as he reaches up to touch your shoulder, his gaze locked on yours. “You are—” His voice breaks, and he has to force himself to keep going. “You’re amazing. You’re… everything good about this place. You’re the reason I’m still alive. But I can’t stay.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding. His words feel final, and the weight of them crushes you completely. You fail to understand. Nothing makes sense, absolutely nothing. “Why?” you whisper, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “Why can’t you stay? Is it something I did?”

“No!” he says, more forcefully than he means to. He takes your hands, holding them tightly. “It’s not you. It’s… me. It’s my world. I need to go back to where I came from.”

You can’t comprehend what he’s saying, but the desperation in his voice silences your questions. You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “Fine,” you say, even though it’s anything but fine. “If you have to go… go.”

His hands linger on yours for a moment longer before he lets go. “I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me,” he says softly. “But I can’t. Not here.”

Tears spill over as you watch him turn back to the machine. “Will I ever see you again?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

He hesitates, his hand hovering over the lever. “I don’t know.”

That’s all he can give you.

With one last look at you, his expression filled with regret and longing, he pulls the lever. The machine sparks to life, and the air around him ripples with energy. You take a step back, shielding your eyes as the light grows blinding.

When the light fades, he’s there, his tired body slumped down on the ground. You immediately run to his side, kneeling down and pulling him to your lap. The room falls silent, the only sound the faint hum of the now blown up machine. You gently caress his cheek, tears running down your hot cheeks.

After a while, he wakes up.

And it doesn’t take you very long to realise.

You glance at the remains one last time.

And you hope that wherever he is, he’s doing what he set out to do—saving his people, his world, even if it meant leaving this one behind.

[bewitchedfeathers]

You Don't Need To - Jayce Snz Fic

Jayce has a cold and Mel tries to convince him to take the day off.

This is for @rosieknows who requested sick Jayce with JayMel and Jayce refusing to rest. Thank you so much for your request darling! I hope you enjoy it!

---

“I'm fine, Mel. Really,” he reassured as he pulled on his clothes for the council meeting later that day. 

“Jayce. You're sick. You need to rest.” She hovered while trying not to look like she was hovering. 

“It's just a hh-head cold. I have too much to get done to take a day off. Snff. I have the council and hh…Hextech, and none of it can wait.” He rubbed at his nose with an irritated expression. 

“Jayce…” Mel said soft and concerned, coming up to his side..

“Hey, I'm…fuhh..hh’huhh… Heh’ESHHxxt-shuhh…hhh’HT-RSSHHoo..sndff… finde.” He sneezed towards his shoulder, trying and failing to suppress his sneezes, and then winced when he realized Mel was in the same direction. “Scuse mbe. SNF! Shit, I didn't get you did I?”

“Bless you. No,” she reassured. “But Jayce I'm serious, you need to rest in order to get better. “ 

“I just…I'm already struggling to keep up with all the…political maneuvering and then this…huhhh….gottasneeze-HH’GZZSHuh…shit, sorry,” he sneezed into his elbow and then kept it pressed to his lower face as he scrambled to pull a handkerchief from his pocket. Mel stepped closer and pulled his kerchief out seamlessly, reaching up towards his face. 

He grabbed her hand to stop her from moving his arm. “I've got it, thandks,” he said gently, embarrassed at what a mess he was.

He turned away and wiped himself clean and then blew his nose, grimacing at the productive sound. Mel's hand brushed over his back and he turned back to her with a tired attempt at a reassuring smile. 

“I'm fine. Snf. Really. You don't need to fuss over me.”

“Is that what you think I'm doing?” she asked with a curious tilt of her brow. 

“Isn't it?” He asked hesitantly.

“Jayce, I care about you. And I want to take care of you, if you'll let me.” She reached up to cradle his face between her hands, expression open and sincere. His face flushed and he struggled to meet her gaze. 

“I…thank you, Mel. Really. But you don't need to. I can…tuhh…take care of my-huhhh-myself…Mel…lehhh.. I'm gonna…hhh’Uhhh’EEISHHHoo..” Mel moved to the side out of range just in time for him to sneeze down towards the floor. He swiped at his reddening nose with the back of his hand, cheeks adorably pink. “Sorry.”

“Bless you. And I know you can take care of yourself, Jayce. You're very good at taking care of people,” she said kindly as she stepped back in front of him, “But I want to take care of you. Won't you let me?” 

She could see him struggle between not wanting to deny her but not wanting to accept help either. 

“Please, darling?” She asked, gentle and coaxing, brushing a few loose strands of hair off his warm brow. 

“If it means that much to you…” he conceded with uncertainty. 

“It would mean a great deal to me to be able to take care of you when you're feeling sick and vulnerable, Jayce,” she knew how difficult it could be for him to let down to guard, “Thank you.”

He gave a huff of disbelief tinged with fondness. “You're welcome, I guess?” He said with an uncertain smile. He still felt wrong footed accepting help, and uncertain about what exactly she meant to do. 

Mel merely smiled with her usual air of calm confidence. “Now why don't you change back into some pajamas and get back into bed.”

“Wha-Mel, there's a council meeting today! And then Viktor is expecting me in the-huhh..Snf the lab,” he protested. He coughed harshly into his elbow for moment. Mel shifting to rest a supportive hand between his shoulder blades. 

“The council meeting can be rescheduled. I'll have Allura take care of it. And I'll have someone let Viktor know that you're sick and resting.”

“He'll worry-” he rasped, and then cleared his throat, swallowing heavily to ease the growing ache. 

“Then I'll invite him here so he can see that you're being well taken care of. I'm certain that will assuage any concerns he may have,” she said with a hint of smugness at having so quickly undone his arguments. 

Jayce floundered for a moment before giving in with a crooked grin. “Snff. Alright, alright. I'mb SNFsnf going back to bed.”

—-

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, know that I hoard positive comments like some kind of dragon and then use them to power my writing motivation!

I am currently taking requests/prompts for Jayce and Viktor in my ask box!

[Snz Fic Masterlist] (you can also check my masterlist for my current wip fics)

[muppeddie]

Blame it on my DNA

808 coda; Eddie tells Chris about his plan to move to El Paso. It does not go well. Buck is forced into the narrative about it. Ao3

“Hey, Bud. You got a minute?” 

“Uh-uh.” 

Chris’ room is dark. He keeps the curtains drawn tight and the blinds down most of the time. It’s three in the afternoon in El Paso, Eddie knows there should be sun streaming through, bathing the beddings and showing him what his son has up on his walls, if he left his shoes all over the place, if the bed is made.

It must be, though. His mother always used to make them during breakfast.She would serve them and disappear, lighting fast as she drew up covers and fixed pillows before they could be done. 

Eddie used to go back to his room before leaving for school and find the bed made, like magic. 

He’s sure Helena does Chris’ bed, too. Must take her time with it since she doesn’t have three kids at once anymore, too.

“How was the chess tournament?” he asks, coward.

Chris rolls his eyes, one hand picking at the lint on his pants. “It was fine. I got third place.”

A smile breaks out on Eddie’s face. Lips turning up and up, hurting his cheek. He’s so proud. “No way! That’s amazing, Chris.”

“It’s third place, Dad,” he says, deadpanned. Something in Eddie breaks. “Nothing to write home about.”

He settles more firmly against the chair. This time, he’s chosen to take the call from the kitchen. Barren, most of his utensils are already in boxes to be shipped out to some storage room until he can make peace with either selling or taking them with him when he moves.

“Hey. Everything you do is something to write home about. You got some kinda trophy I can bust about at the station?”

Bashful, Chris bends out of frame. The room is so dark; how Eddie worries. He comes up after shuffling around somewhere with a framed letter of participation, declaring him third best in the school chess championship. There is a little brown ribbon printed on the picture. 

“Just this,” Chris says, shy and low. It comes out so thin, Eddie barely hears.

“That’s great. I’m really proud of you, Bud. I mean it,” he says, because Eddie thinks he should hear it.

“Grandpa says we can practice more and I can try the tournament week after next, just not in school. There is like this social center thing… it’s for charity or something.” It’s been months since he heard his kid say so many words at once. Eddie feels choked up about it, just a little. 

He clears his throat before he speaks again. In for a penny. “What if… what if I was there, to cheer on you? Would you like that?”

Chris sits straight in his chair, his head is lopsided but his eyes shine behind his glasses - bright, bright, bright blue. “I guess.” He takes the longest pause in Eddie’s life. “It would be cool.”

“Good.” It propels him forward, an asteroid ready to crash and burn. “Because I’m coming to El Paso in a few weeks.”

“Like, for holiday? Buck didn’t say you have time off.”

“No, no. Not for holiday, uhm…” He wets his lips, swallows around the nerves that have balled in his throat, picks at the linen in his gym shorts, a mirror of Chris. “For… ever? I’m- I’m moving back to Texas, Chris. Saw a new house and everything. We can go check it out together, if you want.”

Chris pales, the blue of the screen casts him in a weirdly off-putting light.

“Not. Not that I’m gonna make you come live with me. I mean, you can do whatever you want, but if you do want to live with your grandparents, I want to be there. For you. I’m not missing the big moments anymore.” 

Eddie gets to the end of his little speech, Chris’ chest is heaving. He reaches for the tablet like it will allow him to reach through the screen and touch, comfort, reassure.

This is exactly why he needs to go back to Texas. 

“What… what about the house? You can’t just sell it.”

Eddie opens his mouth to speak, but Chris is on a spiral. He looks somewhere to the left of the screen, barely catching his breath. “What about your job? Does Captain Nash know? Did you tell Buck?”

Nodding, Eddie replies, his voice a bit higher, a bit firmer, “I did. It’s all taken care of, you don’t need to worry about it, that’s my job.”

“You never do things for me. Just for you,” Chris spats, vitriol and anger right on the center of the keyboard. “You’re always thinking about yourself first.”

And that - that can’t be further from the truth. He needs to know, Eddie needs to tell him. And why is the screen suddenly so blurry? Why is his chest aching? Did someone shoot him again? Right there, in his kitchen?

“That’s not true Christopher. You know that’s not true. I’m…”

Chris interrupts him. “First you leave Mom behind, then you send me away, and now I don’t get to come back home?” He’s yelling now, full-body spasms, his arms shaking. That much stress cannot be good for him. “You promised. You promised.”

“Chris.”

“I don’t wanna talk to you anymore.” The connection shuts. There is only a black screen and the image of Eddie’s red eyes and snotty face. 

He clicks to the right, just below Christopher’s name on his contact history. The tablet rings for about three seconds before the call gets picked up and Buck’s face lights up the screen. He’s at home, on his couch, relaxed in the gray hoodie he keeps for nothing-days. 

If he notices how rattled Eddie is, he doesn’t show it. 

“Hey, what’s up?” 

“I think I screwed up, Buck.”

The expression on his best friend’s face changes, he gets that frown he has when they talk about something big, shifting forward in his seat. “Tell me about it.”

[bloomzone]

Do you ever feel like SHIT? Like life is moving so fast, and you’re stuck, tired, or completely drained? cuz same 🙋🏻‍♀️. That’s why I started looking into Japanese and Chinese habits—because I'm searching for slow down type of lifestyle, finding balance, and creating small moments of peace in the dawm chaos. Now, I know some of y’all will say, 'It’s overrated, you’re just obsessed with China or Japan,' but hear me out these habits aren’t about trends—they’re rooted in centuries and they’ve genuinely helped me improve both physically and mentally. If you’re ready to stop just surviving and start thriving, keep reading. These little changes might just change your life too.

Little Habits, Big Glow: Japanese & Chinese Traditions That Changed My Life part 1:

First off, warm water in the MORNING. I used to roll out of bed and go straight for coffee or cold ass water cuz my throat is DRYYYY , and honestly, my body hated me for it fr. But then I read about how in Chinese medicine, drinking warm water first thing in the morning is seen as a way to wake up your body gently. And let me tell you, IT WORK. No bloating, no sluggishness—just a simple, calming way to start the day. Sometimes I add a slice of lemon, and it feels like I’m doing something kind for my body before I even check my phone

Two Ikigai.( I talked Abt Ikigai and how to achieve this concept click here!) Japanese concept changed the way I see my day-to-day life. It’s basically finding purpose in the little things—like, not waiting for some huge life-changing moment to feel fulfilled. I used to put so much pressure on myself, thinking I needed to achieve these massive goals to be happy. But Ikigai taught me to slow down and find joy in small things, like enjoying my morning tea or journaling. It’s a game-changer for anyone who feels like they’re always chasing something bigger.

Another thing I’ve started doing is Tai Chi or qing gong. I know I know—it looks slow and kind of boring, but hear me out. It’s like moving meditation, and if you’re someone who struggles with anxiety (like meeey), this will center you like nothing else. It’s not about burning calories or anything like that; it’s about connecting your body and mind in the most peaceful way. Even just 10 minutes a day leaves me feeling lighter and more focused. (Click here to watch a video of it) When I first started, I thought, 'This is way too slow for me.' But then something clicked. The slowness is the point. It forces you to focus on your breathing, your posture, and every little movement. It’s like a moving meditation that clears your mind while strengthening your body.

© bloomzone

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Sanji Flirting With You While He Waits On You

OPLA Sanji X FemReader

Rating: G

Warnings: Flirting

Word Count: 800

(A/N:) It feels so good to be writing again! It has been crazy around here and it's just going to get worse with the holidays coming up! I hope to write more soon as my drafts are so full of ideas so keep an eye out for more stories to come, cause just because I haven't been writing much doesn't mean that I've quit! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

The Baratie was the talk across the span of the East Blue and you had been dreaming of the food for weeks. With a reservation made in advanced you counted down the days until the moment finally arrived. The doors opening before you, beckoning you inside with an extravaganza of wonderful and delicious smells. Lead to a table closest to the kitchen, the host left you with a polite smile and promising your waiter would be with you shortly. Despite dining alone, you dressed nicely and put a light layer of makeup on. You enjoyed looking nice and you didn't let your relationship status keep you from wearing things you enjoy or eating at restaurants like the Baratie. Despite the host's promise it was taking a little bit for your waiter to make his way to your table. The place was busy and you could wait patiently, though you did wish they would at least bring you some water to sip on.

Taking in the extravagant decorations that surrounded you, you didn't pay much attention to the commotion going on in the kitchen until a loud clatter caused you to jump. Out from the swinging double doors a young blond haired man stomped out with a large mustached man following right behind. Feeling a little guilty you couldn't help but watch the scene play out. Both men continued to shout at one another before the younger one tugged off his apron and tossed it at the older chef. His hands in his pockets he ignored the enraged shouts coming from the head chef. The other patrons quickly turned away so you took that as your cue to do the same. You watched the blond talk with the waiter before he nodded and headed in your direction. You gulped, suddenly dreading being there as you didn't want to make him mad. You could tell he was still seething but as he got closer to your table his shoulders relaxed and he grinned brightly at you.

"Welcome to the Baratie madam. Pardon the rough housing, but we hope it doesn't frighten you away. Can I start you off with something to drink?"

You couldn't help but gap in awe. How he could go from enraged to a perfect gentleman astounded you. He waited patiently before you were finally able to speak.

"A-a glass of water please," you answered a bit flustered.

"Absolutely. Any preferences?"

"No just water please."

"As you wish," he winked. "My name is Sanji by the way and I look forward to serving you for as long as you need me to."

You couldn't help but smile as he walked away, leaving you feeling giddy and excited to see what else he could flatter you with tonight.

Moments later he arrived with your water and set it before you with a flourish that had you smiling.

"Now could I start our lovely guest off with something delicious like our lobster bisque? Or would the madam prefer something sweet to go along with her personality?"

"Let me ask you this," you smirked. "Is the bisque as smooth as my waiter?"

Sanji chuckled, "Not quite. You may be the smoothest one here darling."

Not sure how you could top that you just cleared your throat and threaded your fingers. Giving Sanji a small smile, "The lobster bisque sounds wonderful."

"As you wish," Sanji winked again and took your order to the window.

Your cheeks were warm and your heart was light as you hummed thoughtfully to yourself. Not long after Sanji returned setting a bowl of perfectly made soup in front of you before sitting another plate with a large slice of chocolate cake and he topped off your water glass.

"But I didn't," you begun to protest.

Sanji shushed you immediately, "On the house love. And maybe after the lady takes her time enjoying her food, she could join me for drinks afterward?"

You seemed to think about if for a moment, enjoying watching him squirm just a little bit. "Since you brought me free cake, I think I could manage a drink or two with my handsome waiter."

Sanji bowed gracefully, "Take your time to enjoy your food and I look forward to later."

"Me too," you replied to his back as he walked away."

You came to try the amazing food at the Baratie and wound up with a date with one of handsome waiters. You couldn't help but feel like you had won the day. Savoring your meal you counted down the seconds until you could be whisked away with Sanji and you hoped that it wouldn't be the only time you got to spend with him. Baratie may have found their most loyal customer in you.

[mistresscitrusslice]

Our Glorious Evolution - Chapter 4: The Cage of Your Warmth

He slept an entire day again, didn’t he? Everything hurts. His joints hurt. His back hurts. His head hurts. His neck hurts. Most of his body isn’t even augmented but it feels like the rest of him underwent an operation too.

The bedroom isn’t dark despite the light being off. Jayce can clearly make out a picture frame on the dresser across the room. It’s a photograph of himself and Viktor at the ribbon cutting ceremony for the opening of the Hexgates. It took both of them to hold the enormous scissors, one of the few times Viktor was included in the celebration of their ventures and accepted the invitation.

Jayce shuts his eyes. When he opens them again, the room is pitch black and the silhouette of the dresser and its photo are barely visible. He sighs and slumps back against the headboard, willing the space around him to appear bright again. Naturally, his eyes would have night vision.

The door creaks open and Viktor peeks his head in. The orange light of his eyes reflects in the glass of the photo frame.

“How long-”

“It’s Tuesday,” Viktor says with a bit of pity.

Jayce does the math. He’s been out for a day and a half at least.

Viktor steps into the room, bringing the light of the hall outside with him, glowing golden against his neck and the Hexclaw.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Like I just got my spine ripped out.”

His partner sits down on the other side of the bed. There’s a guilty look in his eyes. Jayce expected him to be callous about the pain of recovery, but he supposes he isn’t giving him enough credit. Viktor would know how it feels, after all.

Viktor clears his throat. He probably doesn’t need to, but it breaks the silence. “This drink is beneficial to recovery.”

He hands Jayce a tin cup of something warm and he takes a sniff.

“Viktor. This is sweetmilk.”

He shrugs. “Like I said, beneficial to recovery.” He reaches for the lamp, but Jayce stops him, irritating his chest a little.

“I can see just fine.”

“Oh, you figured it out.” He’s still keeping his distance, not moving to sit next to him, staying just out of reach. “Have you discovered the magnifying function yet?” He smiles a little, the side of his lips quirking up.

“The…?” He wants to laugh, this is so ridiculous. Jayce sets the sweetmilk down on the bedside table without taking a sip. He’s puzzled, but Viktor’s smile is contagious.

More on AO3 bc this is too damn long for Tumblr

[httpvomitello]

Shell of Trust *⁠.⁠✧

Mikey hummed to himself as he leaped from rooftop to rooftop, the city skyline a blur around him. Tonight felt good—a clear sky, no major threats, and most importantly, a chance to check in on you.

You’d been in his thoughts a lot lately. Sure, you were April’s best friend, but to Mikey, you were special. Your kindness drew him in like a moth to a flame, but he could also sense there was more to you. You laughed at his jokes and indulged his antics, yet you always kept a certain distance. He figured you just needed time to open up, but lately, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something you weren’t telling him.

So, naturally, Mikey decided tonight was the night to surprise you.

“Operation Surprise Visit,” he whispered to himself as he landed gracefully on your fire escape.

Peering into your apartment, he noticed the living room light was on. He pressed his face against the window, grinning—until he saw her.

A little girl sat on the couch, clutching a stuffed bear to her chest and watching cartoons. Mikey’s grin faltered.

“Wait… who’s that?” he muttered.

As if on cue, the girl turned toward the window and froze. Her wide eyes met Mikey’s bright blue ones, and her face scrunched up in panic.

“Mommy!” she screamed, scrambling off the couch. “There’s a monster outside!”

Mikey recoiled, his hands raised defensively. “Whoa, whoa, I’m not a monster! I’m a friendly turtle!”

Before he could explain further, the window flew open, and there you were, holding a frying pan.

"You bastard! You better stay away from my ho... Mikey?!

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, hey. Didn’t mean to freak out the kid. I was just, you know, dropping by to say hi.”

Your eyes flicked toward the window where your daughter was peeking out cautiously, clutching her stuffed bear. You sighed, stepping outside and closing the window behind you.

“Mikey, what are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to see you!” he said, his tone cheerful but edged with confusion. “But, uh, you didn’t tell me you had a kid.”

You winced, your arms crossing defensively. “Yeah, well… it’s not exactly something I go around advertising.”

Mikey tilted his head, his usual lighthearted demeanor softening. “Why not? She looks adorable.”

Your lips twitched into a reluctant smile, but it quickly faded. “Because it’s complicated, Mikey. And it’s easier to just keep that part of my life private, people will judge me less.”

“Judgy people suck,” Mikey said immediately, his tone firm.

You blinked at him, startled by his bluntness.

“Seriously,” he continued, his blue eyes earnest. “If anyone’s giving you grief, they don’t know what they’re talking about. You’re awesome, and if she’s anything like you, then she’s awesome too.”

A lump formed in your throat at his words, and you looked away, blinking back tears. “It’s not just that, Mikey. Her dad… he left after I was three months pregnant. He didn’t want anything to do with us. Ever since then, it’s been just me and Dahlia, and… I didn’t want to risk you—or your brothers—treating us differently because of it.”

Mikey’s heart ached. “We’d never do that,” he said softly.

“You say that, but you don’t know what it’s like,” you whispered. “So I decided it was best to keep that part a secret, so she wouldn't get attached to someone and then that person... just leave.”

Mikey stepped closer, his tone gentle but firm. “Hey. I get that you’re trying to protect her, but you don’t have to protect her from me. I think you’re amazing, and I think Dahlia’s lucky to have you as her mom.”

Your breath hitched, and you finally looked at him. “You really mean that?”

“Totally,” he said, his smile returning. “And if you let me, I’d love to meet her. I’ll be on my best behavior—scout’s honor!” He held up three fingers in a mock salute.

You laughed softly, the tension in your shoulders easing. “She’s probably still freaked out, but… okay. Just give her a minute, and don’t take it personally if she’s a little shy.”

“Got it,” he said, giving you a thumbs-up.

When you opened the door, Mikey stepped inside cautiously, his movements uncharacteristically slow. Dahlia was still on the couch, clutching her bear and eyeing him warily.

“Hi there,” Mikey said gently, crouching down to her level. “I’m Mikey. I’m a friend of your mom’s.”

She didn’t say anything, her grip on the bear tightening.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” you said softly, sitting beside her. “Mikey’s really nice. Remember how I told you about Mommy’s awesome friends? He’s one of them.”

Dahlia glanced at you, then back at Mikey. “You’re orange.”

Mikey chuckled. “Yep, I’m one of a kind!”

Her lips twitched into a tiny smile. “Do you like bears?”

“I love bears!” he said enthusiastically. “Especially the cuddly kind.”

Dahlia hesitated, then held out her bear toward him. “This is Mr. Fluff. He’s my best friend.”

Mikey gasped dramatically, taking the bear carefully in his hands. “Mr. Fluff? That’s an awesome name. Nice to meet you, buddy!”

You watched the exchange, your heart swelling with warmth. Mikey’s natural charm had melted Dahlia’s initial fear, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a flicker of hope.

As the evening went on, Mikey made Dahlia laugh more times than you could count, and by the time she was nodding off, clutching Mr. Fluff, you knew you’d made the right choice letting him in.

Mikey looked at you as you tucked Dahlia into bed, his expression soft. “She’s amazing, just like her mom.”

You smiled, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Thank you, Mikey. You are amazing.”

“Always,” he said with a grin. “And, uh, if you ever need a babysitter, I’m your guy. I’m great with kids!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

[iwillstabyou]

Owwwww

My head hurts so bad. And my neck hurts too, even in the ‘comfortable’ positions. Why do you mock me, Cruel World?

[faaun]

oh my god ! haha . anyway a bit buzzed perhaps. anyway here's what happened on the date

[thelunarsystemshares]

MOLY COW THATS A RRALLY GOOD TAKE (in the taggsss)

Envy isn't a meal.

a short, simple comic.

[sukunasteeth]

Sukuna has never said no to you.

It didn’t matter what the request was, simple or complicated, easy to fix or a days-long job, Sukuna was always at your side, completing the task as fast as he needed to to keep you satisfied. He would love to deny it, you’re sure, but evidence proves time and time again that he puts your needs and wants at the top of his priority list. 

And you were curious how far you could go with it.

The two of you are sitting in your underwear at the breakfast nook, warming yourselves in the bay window while the morning sun starts on the leftover night time chill. It wasn't quite time for breakfast, still too early for the both of you. In the meantime, you sip on your morning brews, preserving the comfortable silence. Sukuna is flipping through the day's newspaper, his eyes are groggy with sleep and he hasn't said more than a handful of words to you yet. He wasn't a morning person.

You were starting to change that.

"Kuna," You call to him, nudging him with your foot from your corner of the window bench.

"Hmm?" He doesn't look up from the paper, but his hand reaches down and grabs your foot, pulling it into his lap. His thumbs start to subconsciously knead at your muscles.

"I want these." You hold up your phone, which you had previously been scrolling through in an attempt to find something ridiculous for this exact moment. You were sure you had found it, something even Sukuna would find unnecessary. 

And yet, he merely glances at your screen, takes in the sight for all of two seconds, and then returns his attention to whatever news article he was in the middle of.

"My wallet's on the counter." He clears the sleep from his throat not sparing a second look. 

You blink at him in surprise.

"D-Did you even see what it is?" You flip your phone around to make sure you were displaying the correct thing. 

Sukuna is frowning before he looks up again, curious at your persistence. He gently cups your hand, bringing it only a minuscule amount closer to examine your screen a second time. 

You were on one of the most luxurious brand’s websites, showing him an incredibly regular pair of panties, no straps, no details, all black- with one of the most outrageous price tags you had ever seen for something so ordinary. 

Sukuna cocks a brow at you over your phone, "Can't imagine you need more panties when you're constantly stealing my boxers. But whatever, hand it over. I know my card number-"

"Kuna," You interrupt him with a surprised laugh, holding fast to your phone when he tries to pluck it out of your hands, "they're a thousand dollars."

He glances back, his eyes focusing lower on the screen where you know the price tag to be. The newspaper in his hands drops down, momentarily forgotten by what he sees. For a moment, you think you've found his limit.

"Wait, are those red one's assless?" He points just below the price, where the recommended products are depicted. "Get those too."

You drop the phone down so that he meets your eyes, which are wide with shock.

Sukuna always took care of you. Always insisted on being the provider of any single thing that you may need; a warm meal, a soft bed, anything your eyes twinkled at that was available for purchase- even if you would never think of buying or owning it. Granted, you never wanted much in terms of material possessions, so you didn't realize the true extent of Sukuna's leniency until now.

It was slightly intimidating, and part of it felt wrong. Sukuna had money, plenty of it, but that didn’t mean he should feel the need to spend copious amounts of it on you just because you could ask him to. He was giving you too much power, it felt like.

You huff through your nose, frowning at him, which only has him tilting his head further to the side in question.

You ignore it, setting your phone onto the window seat and crawling your way closer to him, until you can gather up his face in your hands and lock his gaze into yours.

He glares at you past smushed cheeks, but doesn't make a move to break free of your hold, humoring you. "The hell are you doing-"

"You know you don't always have to say yes to me?"

Now that has him taken aback. His mouth automatically opens for a witty response, but your question seems to have effectively taken the words from his mouth. You can see the cogs in his head turning, and what you wouldn't give to peer inside his mind and hear his thoughts.

It takes him a moment, but eventually that familiar confident smile stretches across his sleepy face. His hands seem to instinctively slide their way up your bare legs until his fingers grip your hip bones, pressing into you. 

He hums, "When have you ever said no to me?"

You scoff, ready to give him a prime example, but end up coming up short. The two of you loved to tease each other with disobedience, but in the end you were eager to give Sukuna anything his heart desired. You loved to please him, it was one of your favorite things to do, in fact.

"You never ask anything ridiculous of me." You remind him, smiling as one of his warm hands slides back down your waist and dips into the pair of his boxers you were sporting that day. 

"You know what's ridiculous?” His voice wraps around your throat, and suddenly has you swallowing past the delicious grip. You're folding into him before you even realize it, at the mercy of his calloused hands. "The implication that I wouldn't do just about anything for you."

You can't help but sigh hopelessly, although it comes out as a desperate noise that pleads him for more. You really were all his, just like he loved to tell you.

"Now hand me your phone." It's a whisper, coaxing you. "I wanna see you in red."

You can’t say no. 

At least it was mutual.