#sky scribbles stuff

[skyransketches]

he really likes plants ^^

[luna-loveboop]

I really wanted Time to meet Fi. So here's Time and Fi :)

Most of this is typed up, but you can probably tell what the parts I wrote say. It's just tiny dhdbfhdbbdfhdbdhd

So the context here is like. Wild and Sky got determined to wake Fi up. She popped out of the sword and went straight to Time because she's offended he doesn't like the master sword, creating the weirdest dynamic ever

I honestly think Time would be somewhat scared of Fi. He doesn't like the master sword and views it as a curse because of what happened to him. And she IS the master sword, which he does. not. like. And then she calls them all master and spouts statistics. what.

Fi on the other hand is the literal embodiment of the master sword, and is not instantly likeable (Sky glaring at her when they first met kills me dhxbdhcbdf). But she learned some about emotions with Sky and I think she'd win Time over. Help him see the sword in a different light, overcome his trauma, etc. plus I think he'd like her practicality, and how she spoke to Zelda to help Wild in botw.

Also the whole idea of a 'curse reveal' story would be out the window if Fi is there, because Sky would be able to keep zero secrets with his goddess-made-designated-storytelling-blabbermouth there. anyways.

-><- yeah I uhh wanted Time to meet Fi. Their interactions and dynamic would be so cool. I think they'd get along well.. eventually.

:)

[remitro]

i started playing sky today!!! i really really like it so far :3 i LOVE that we’re faceless!!

[moe-broey]

That one meme but it's Moe lore🧍

Directly reffed some battle scenes for the bgs! (Under cut!)

Askr castle and tbh Askr motifs as a whole you are so. Difficult.

[hqmillioncorn]

Red moon, Red Moon

"Wait, wait! Chelinka slow down!" Elelote tried her best to keep up with what her daughter was saying. "What exactly did you say you saw when Yuri was born?" Chelinka paused her exciting activity of digging a hole in the dirt to look up at her mama. "I saw a big cherry in the sky!!" She held up her dirty hands in the air as high as she could, "I know they weren't the moon or the sun cause the moon and the sun don't look like that!" Elelote took in Chelinka's words and looked down at the newborn in her arms. Bright blue eyes looked up back at her. They were even brighter than her own. "...Hm." Surely this meant nothing.

Lalapril 4/1: Arrival :) the egg has already hatched

Chelinka hummed to herself, using a stick in her hand to draw a slightly wiggly line on the dirt. As she walked backwards she occasionally looked behind herself to make sure she wasn’t stepping on the lines she had already drawn.

It had happened before and because of that she had to start all over again. So this time she was being super duper careful not to mess up her drawing.

It was even harder than it should have been because it was dark out. The night had snuck up on Chelinka really quickly.

“Ahhhhummm….” Chelinka stopped and wiggled the stick up and down. A frown crossed her face as she looked down at her handiwork. It was meant to be a drawing of a pretty flower she had seen once but to her it sorta just looked like one of those really tasty fruits that her mama and papa brought back home sometimes. She could never pronounce the name right,

“Not a flower…” She despondently kicked a cloud of dust up with her foot.

She had wanted to give the new baby a flower as a present ever since she learned a long long time ago that she was going to be a big sister. It had to be the prettiest and bestest flower in all of the garden! In the whole world even!

Chelinka had been very insistent on growing the flower all by herself herself that she pushed her parent’s help away at every opportunity. Even when she would huddle over to her flower, trying her very best to carry the watering can in her very small hands.

Though Cocorn and Elelote found it very cute they still decided it would probably be best if they stepped in to help take care of the flower where Chelinka couldn’t. Especially after she would dump a whole water’s worth of a watering can on the poor one singular flower.

Unfortunately, the entire Starsinger family had done such a good job on raising the flower that it proved to be irresistible to a wandering Chocobo who, in the blink of an eye, had eaten the flower right before Chelinka’s eyes.

Her parents had arrived that day to see their daughter sitting on the dirt and sobbing her eyes out. And though they planted a new flower as quickly as they could, the day quickly came that her baby brother was supposed to be born. Sadly the flower had not even so much as sprouted from the ground.

Which is how Chelinka found herself scrambling for any last minute gifts she could give.

“Stupid Chobobo!” Chelinka puffed out her cheeks in anger and swung her stick around. If only she had been outside of the house at the time, she would have totally scared that bird off. “Where am I gonna get a present now?”

Chelinka waddled over to the steps of her house and finally sat down after an agonizing minutes of running around. There was a bowl of baby corn waiting on the steps for her, courtesy of her parents. Sitting next to her was her best friend Mash, the piece of Millioncorn that never talked back when she talked to it.

Both her mama and papa were inside watching over the baby very carefully. Observing the baby’s egg as it got closer and closer to hatching. They were both eagerly waiting to see if everything was going to go well.

The new baby was going to come out of a really bright pink egg! The egg had been sitting on an equally pink cushion in their house for months now and Chelinka wondered if the baby was gonna be as pink as the egg was.

Her papa told her that probably not, since the egg she hatched out of was an orange color. And she wasn’t orange! Her hair was yellow! “My hair is yellow! Like the sun! Papa said so!” Chelinka looked up to check up on the color of the sun, momentarily forgetting that right now it was nighttime and that meant that the sun was sleeping.

“Oh! Right! Suns asleep…” Chelinka yawned. Now that she thought about it she was kind of sleepy too but she really wanted to see the baby first.

Chelinka took another handful of baby corn from the bowl and happily munched on them, kicking her feet happily. “The egg is taking a long time.” She looked over to Mash, who had fallen over on their side. Chelinka carefully sat them back upright and placed a piece of baby corn into what she assumed was Mash’s mouth.

Since Mash didn’t really have a mouth the baby corn simply fell to the ground instead. Chelinka didn’t notice (otherwise she probably would have eaten it) and instead went back to thinking about what the baby was going to be like.

She had never actually seen one herself, she knew she had been a baby once but that was it. There weren’t really many opportunities to see a baby when she spent all of her time at home.

There were a few times that Chelinka had asked her mama and papa if she could go outside with them but they always explained to her that it was too dangerous for her to go. It was always going to be safer for her to stay home, where no one could take her away.

And she didn’t wanna go away! She wanted to stay here with her mama and her papa and the baby. So if being home was safer for her then this is where she was gonna stay forever and ever with her family!

Chelinka heard another noise besides her. “WAAh!” She yelped. Lots of things scared her but scary noises scared her the most. Especially when she didn’t know what made the noise.

Turns out she didn’t need to be too scared because it had been Mash who made that noise. They had fallen over again, not only that but the bowl of baby corn was empty! “Maaash? Did you eat everything?!” Chelinka was so mad. She and Mash had been taught about sharing just last week!

“Mash you gotta rember’!” Chelinka took the bowl and showed it to Mash, “We gotta share cause the baby is coming and that means we gotta let him have stuff too!”

Mash remained silent in response. It’s silk gently blowing in the night’s wind.

Chelinka nodded, “Mhhm! And that means we gotta share together! For baby!” She gave Mash a pat on what could only be described as the top of their head. “Good job Mash!” Chelinka stopped, mid-pat when she heard something. “Huh?” It sounded strange. She stuck a finger into her ear to see if there was something in there again but the sound was still around.

“Helloooo?” Chelinka looked around for anything around her. That’s when she spotted a small lizard crawling near her feet. “Oh! Mister Lizard!” Chelinka jumped from her seat and grabbed the lizard in her hands. Her mama had taught her that she couldn’t eat lizards like this so she did a good job remembering that too.

“Mister lizard!!!”

The lizard looked at her, confused.

“Mister lizard did you know…” She looked around to see if anyone else was listening. Chelinka felt the presence of someone around her but she couldn’t quite tell who or what it was. She whispered as quietly as she could. “Did ya know mister lizard? I’m gonna be a big sister!” She grinned from ear to ear.

The lizard didn’t quite seem to get it. It stuck its tongue out, wondering when Chelinka was going to let it go.

“Did ya know! Did ya?!” Chelinka laughed to herself excitedly.

Then there was a sound.

Without a word Chelinka’s grip on the lizard loosened, allowing it to safely crawl its way back to the ground and back towards its home. “…Hmm?” Chelinka wiggled her ear. There was an odd sound coming from above her.

“Who’s there?” The source of the noise was a mystery but for some reason Chelinka wasn’t really feeling scared. It sounded like someone was calling out her name. “I’m…Chelinka?” Now she was feeling really dizzy. Like she had just spun around in a circle really fast again.

Look up

Chelinka looked up at the sky. The stars were out and shining the same way they always did. Maybe they were shining brighter tonight? Whatever the case, Chelinka knew that if the stars were in the sky, then everything was okay. “Hello!” Chelinka waved up at the stars.

Over here

Chelinka heard the voice again and looked to where she had heard it. “Woah!” Up there in the sky! She could see two bright red circles! Was it the moons? Chelinka knew one of them was red but the other one wasn’t! So why was it red now?

The two red moons captured Chelinka’s complete attention as she walked off the steps and closer to where she could see them.

A bright red light illuminated everything around her. Chelinka’s eyes glowed a luminous yellow.

There was a strange voice speaking to her.

“That’s why you don’t have to worry. There isn’t a world where…

Chelinka heard her own voice.

…You and I aren’t together.” . Then as quickly as the sky had glowed red, it vanished. Chelinka looked around, confused. “Huh?” When had she walked over here?

The last thing she remembered was looking up at the big cherry in the sky. Now that she thought about it she was kinda hungry. “Mash? When’s dinner time?” Chelinka skipped over to Mash and picked them up in her hands.

Suddenly, Chelinka heard the crack of a door opening. Then another strange sound. Unlike the other one however, Chelinka thought that this one was way too loud. What she didn’t know was that it was the sound of a crying baby.

The new strange sound continued for a couple of more minutes until it slowly began to quiet down. Then Chelinka heard someone else.

“Chelinka!!”

Chelinka recognized that voice! It was her mama’s! She giggled and ran right towards her mama, who was standing in the doorway. She knelt down and caught her daughter in her arms, hugging her tight. “Is the baby here?! Is it?!” Chelinka grabbed onto her mama’s shirt. She was practically shaking in excitement.

Elelote nodded, smiling wide. “Out of the egg and without a problem.”

“Can I see him! Can I?! Can I?!” Chelinka tried her best to see past her mama’s shoulder but try as she might she really couldn’t see anything.

“Of course! But right now he’s sleeping so we have to be…?”

Chelinka gasped and put a finger up to her mouth with a shhh. “We have to be really really quiet…!”

“That’s right my little babycorn!” Elelote kissed Chelinka's forehead, ruffling her bangs around. “Ewww! Mama’s gross!!” Chelinka laughed and stuck her tongue out.

Elelote carried Chelinka inside while still laughing to herself. In the house, Cocorn was trying his hardest to clean up the bits of eggshells that had been stabbed into the ceiling.

And also pretty much every other wall and floor in the house.

Cocorn had been soooooo confident that this one was going to be different than the day Chelinka was born, and to his credit it wasn’t as bad but he was still very wrong. Losing the bet was the reason why he was currently on egg clean up duty but that could wait for a bit.

“Papa!” Chelinka cried out, stretching her arms out to him.

“Chelinka? Remember we have to be a little quiet?” Elelote gently reminded her.

“Oh! That’s right!” Chelinka looked at her papa and put a finger up to her mouth, “Papa we gotta be quiet cause the baby's sleeping! Shhhhh!”

“I’ll be the quietest I’ve ever been then.” Cocorn chuckled to himself. He took Chelinka from Elelotes arms and carried her over to the crib. “Take a look in there.”

Chelinka stretched her neck to look inside. “Woah…” There was something in there, covered with a blanket. She tried to move even closer to get a good look. To the point where he papa had to hold onto her tighter to make sure she didn’t fall.

The baby looked so much different than what she had imagined! It didn’t have that many spikes or that many eyes. Its hair was different from hers too! Her's was yellow and the baby’s hair looked like her mama’s!

Chelinka looked at one of her hands, then down to the baby. She noticed that its hands were much smaller than her’s. Everything about the baby was so much smaller. It looked just like the doll her papa had brought home for her one day.

“He’s so small!” Chelinka couldn’t believe her eyes! “Is he s’pposed to be that small?!”

Elelote and Cocorn exchanged a pair of glances, trying their best not to burst out laughing in fear of waking up their new son. “Yes, he is quite small, isn’t he?” Cocorn whispered, “You know, you were that small once too.”

“No way!” Chelinka looked honestly shocked to hear that.

“It’s true!” Cocorn held out his hand, “You were so small once that I could hold you in just one of my hands.”

“Nuh-uh! Papas lying!!”

“…Maybe just a little bit.” Cocorn smiled to himself.

Elelote took Chelinka from Cocorn and looked down at the baby with her. “He is small but that just means we have to take care of him. And make sure he can grow up big and strong. Like you!” Aleria bopped Chelinka’s nose.

Chelinka giggled, “He’s gonna get bigger?” she asked.

“That’s right!” Cocorn ruffled the top of Chelinka’s head. “Maybe he’ll even be taller than all of us when he gets bigger.”

Elelote rolled her eyes, “I wouldn’t bet on it.” Her husband was notorious for his short height and while she was taller than him, her height was still not that impressive. If anything both their children would probably end up shorter than the both of them.

“Well I can dream can’t I?”

As her parents laughed to themselves Chelinka looked down at her brother. The conversation had woken him up but instead of crying he was calmly looking up right at her. Chelinka noticed that his eyes were the same color as the sky was when the sun was out.

“Hi…!” Chelinka whispered.

The baby yawned and blinked at her. It really was small. If what her mama and papa said was true (and it always was) then he was gonna grow bigger.

Just like a flower did when she put it in the ground! When her mama had helped her put her flower in the ground, it started out as a small little thing. Then as time went on and she took care of it, it became a really big flower!

Only this time, things would be different.

Chelinka leaned in closer than ever, to the surprises of Elelote. She managed to grab onto her in the nick of time. Chelinka held her brother’s small hand in her own.

“I’m gonna keep you safe okay?”

Her brother mumbled something in response.

Elelote brought her daughter closer to her, making sure she didn’t fall. “I think that means he heard you.”

Chelinka looked down at her brother again.

“Forever and ever! I promise!”

[keeps-ache]

how are some of y'all finding my sideblogs

[luxuriainash]

i never showed you guys the new object OCs i made a couple weeks ago so here, have these freaks who cursed me to a shift so busy i felt dead after once they were created. it started with me looking at objects around me (printer + receipt, then vase) and then the other guys joined. nightlight is actually an old OC, there's history there though lmfao

[softlypossessive]

I’m so glad I stumbled onto your blog! I was wondering if I could request a monster trio headcanon for one piece. I was wondering how would they react to having a s/o on the crew whose role was to be the scribe? She basically set out to sea in hopes of writing the greatest adventure story and she joined the straw hats and decided to write out all of their adventures and stories. How would they value the work she did to ensure the straw hats story would live on? Would they ask her to also write about their blossoming “love story?”

♡･ﾟ𓏸 Monster Trio x Scribe!Reader Headcanon𓏸･ﾟ♡

♡ Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, gn!reader (with romantic s/o dynamics) ♡ Warnings: Fluff, supportive bfs, romantic tension, praise for your writing, mentions of legacy/storytelling, love story references, emotional softness, no use of Y/N ♡ Notes: Thank you for the lovely request!! I had so much fun writing this—soft, dream-chasing Strawhat energy is my JAM. This is romantic-coded, but still soft and cozy! These boys adore you and want the world to remember it ~~

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

🍖Luffy

Luffy is beyond excited that someone is literally writing down his story

He lit up the first time you told him your dream

At first, he thought “scribe” just meant you liked books

When you explained your dream—telling the greatest adventure story ever so people stuck in small lives could feel free—something clicked

That’s what Gold Roger’s story did for him

He immediately declared that you were going to make people want to be pirates

He constantly interrupts your writing like “HEY! Did you write about the Sea King punch? What about when I kicked Crocodile’s butt?!”

He doesn’t always understand the full weight of what you’re doing, but he respects your dream because it’s yours

He takes it seriously because everyone supports his dream the same way

He’s very into the idea of his rise to Pirate King being written as a legendary tale

He wants people to read it and feel inspired, just like he did as a kid

He’s obsessed with your writing now—brings you snacks, peeks over your shoulder, and grins when he sees his name

He absolutely wants the love story included

Not because he’s super romantic—but because he thinks it’s cool and funny

“Make sure you write the part where I asked you out and you said yes really fast”

You did not say yes fast—he asked twice, but he swears he heard a yes the first time

He gets kind of serious when it comes to your place in his story

“You can put that part in too, right? That I love you? That we sail together?”

It’s not about the mushy stuff—it’s about you being part of the journey

“When I’m Pirate King, I want them to know you were there. You wrote it. That’s important.”

He says it so proudly—like he’s always known your name would be written in history beside his

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

You're sprawled on the deck one evening, a gentle breeze stirring your pages. Luffy plops down beside you, upside down like a gremlin, head hanging over the edge of the bench.

“Whatcha writing?”

You smirk. “You.”

“Oooh!” He rolls over eagerly. “Read it to me!”

You hesitate for a second—because this part’s soft. It’s not about battles or meat or dreams. It’s… this:

“He laughs at the sky like it’s an old friend. He loves with the same wild heart he sails with—loud, boundless, impossible to hold. But if you’re lucky enough to be his, truly his, he makes you feel like you’ve already touched the sun.”

When you look up, Luffy’s staring at you wide-eyed. Then he beams—beams—like he’s never heard anything cooler in his life.

“That’s SO COOL!!! Write more! Write the part where I kissed you! And the part where I said I’d never leave you behind! That’s important too!”

He grabs your hand like it’s the anchor holding him to the ship.

“I want people to read that and want to fall in love on the sea.”

⚔️ Zoro

Zoro was confused at first—thought “scribe” was just a fancy word for someone who sat around reading books

Then he saw you scribbling after battle, muttering about footwork and blade arcs, and it clicked

He doesn't ask about your work directly but will silently glance over your shoulder now and then

Especially curious when he spots his name in the margins

One night, you were half-asleep at your desk, and he dropped off a sake cup with a quiet, “Don’t forget to write the part where I saved your ass”

The idea of a love story written about him makes him grumble

“Tch. What’s there to say? You like me. I like you. End of story.”

But later, you find your notes moved slightly and a new entry about Loguetown added—with perfect detail about how he looked at you when you were hurt

You didn’t write it—he did

Zoro doesn’t care about fame or legacy, but he cares because you care

You’ve caught him rereading entries about battles when he thinks you’re asleep

When he reads your writing about him—his resolve, his strength—he gets quiet

“That what you really see when you look at me?” he asked once

When you nodded, he didn’t say more, just trained harder that night

He pretends not to care about the romance stuff, but when you suggest keeping it private, he actually frowns

“Why wouldn’t you write it? It’s real, isn’t it?”

It’s not about the world knowing he’s in love—it’s about the world knowing you’re his

“Put it in the book. Make it clear.”

He won’t say ‘I love you’ out loud a hundred times—but he wants it written. Inked into history. Quiet. Permanent. True.

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

You find Zoro in the crow’s nest, dozing shirtless with a bottle beside him. Classic. You don’t mean to wake him—you’re just scribbling quietly in the corner—but he cracks an eye open anyway.

“You stalking me?” he grumbles.

You don’t reply. Just keep writing.

“…What are you saying about me this time?”

You smirk faintly. “Want me to read it?”

He shrugs, but the way he leans in says yes.

“He walks like the world owes him nothing. Like pain is just something to cut through. But he’s the one who stands between you and the storm, every time. Even if it kills him. Especially if it kills him. He doesn’t say he loves you. He just stays.”

You glance up. His brows are drawn, mouth tight, jaw working like he’s chewing on glass.

“…Tch.” He looks away, then back at you. “You’re gonna make me sound like some damn tragic hero.”

You shrug. “You kind of are.”

He takes your hand wordlessly, callused fingers curling around your pen-stained ones. Doesn’t say anything else. But you catch him rereading the entry later when he thinks you’re asleep.

🍳Sanji

Sanji is your biggest supporter—like, aggressively supportive

Brings you snacks, checks your wrist when it cramps, makes you tea or coffee without even asking

Fawns over every line you write like you’re the author of his heart (which you kinda are)

“Mon amour, your words will immortalize us! Should I pose for the cover illustration? Shirtless, of course—unless you prefer mystery~”

He’s completely enchanted by your dream to tell stories—especially their story

It’s romantic, meaningful, and he thinks it’s the most beautiful thing in the world

Sometimes you catch him just… watching you while you write. Like the weight of it all hits him out of nowhere

“We’ll be gone someday,” he once said softly, cigarette glowing. “But your words won’t.”

He’s the most emotionally open about what your writing means

Will 100% beg you to read parts of it to him like a bedtime story

And when it comes to your love story? Oh he wants the whole thing

A novella-length subplot with kissing, longing glances, dramatic declarations—he’s all in

“Put in every moment,” he says one night, curled around you as you write

“Every glance, every word I said that made you blush, all of it.”

Not embarrassed at all—he wants the world to know how deeply he loved you

“I want people to read it and feel jealous,” he says with a crooked smile

“That they weren’t loved like I loved you.”

Flirty and ridiculous 80% of the time—“What are you saying about me now? Is it about my devastating charm? My noble soul?”

But that last 20%? Pure, sincere, overwhelming admiration

He knows you’re creating legacy—and he’s honored to be part of it

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

Sanji catches you writing at the galley table, nibbling the end of your pen. You don’t even notice he’s there until he’s sliding a plate beside you.

“For the brilliant mind behind our legend,” he purrs.

You roll your eyes. “You wanna hear the part I wrote about you?”

He leans in immediately, chin propped on one hand. “More than I want air.”

You clear your throat, a little bashful now.

“He’s fire, but not just the kind that burns. He’s warmth, too. He’s the hand that feeds, the eyes that linger, the voice that sings when he thinks no one hears. He loves like he’s starved for it—like he wants to feed it back to you in spoonfuls until you’re full. And you’ll never convince him he deserves the same in return.”

Silence.

When you glance up, Sanji looks like he’s been slapped by Cupid and set on fire.

“…Mon dieu.”

His voice is thick. He presses a kiss to your wrist. Then your knuckles. Then your palm.

“You better publish that. I want the whole world to know exactly how ruined I am for you.”

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

[skyransketches]

shapeshifter

[screamlet]

fic recs: so you survived season 8(b) of 9-1-1

credits rolled on 8×18 and i decided to make myself feel better with some fic recs. these have tons of recency bias since i wanted to focus on stories set primarily during 8b - there have been a lot of good ones on this fucking section of the rollercoaster!!

if you're looking for more recs, check out my 911 fic rec or 911 fic tag (which includes my own stuff). there's also my ao3 bookmarks. fandoms include: 911, hockey rpf, bts, annnnnnnd whatever else i've got in there. (so much check please. what a time that was.) anyway.

--- all bucktommy unless noted otherwise, all complete (no wip's) most of them are locked to ao3 users

You as you were @geddyqueer 10k, rated M, complete notes: yes i know this was posted today but it needs to Be Here

"Evan," Tommy says, and the brittle look on his face makes Buck stop laughing right then and there. "What's going on?" "Oh, you know," Buck says. "I'm being evicted."

---

the only way out is through @ambernotember 10k, rated T, complete notes: yes i know this was posted yesterday but it needs to Be Here

Bobby’s old apartment building. He knew how it would look to the others so he just… hadn’t mentioned it. He met them at their houses or took Jee to neutral places, like the park or the aquarium. No one questioned it. He doubted they’d even noticed.

---

called out from the mouth of oblivion @r-o-s-e-f-i-r-e bucktommy/bathena, 4k, rated E, complete notes: 8×15 au (bobby lives)

It was good, overall, that no one had ever managed to break Buck of his impulsive, hothead ways completely. Bucking the lead, Bobby thinks fondly. It’s the thing that’ll save all of their lives again before the end finally comes, he's sure of it, and one day it'll make Buck the best kind of captain, the kind his team will follow to hell and back.

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half a page of scribbled lines @liminalmemories21, @cecilyv 25k, rated N/A, complete notes: kid fic aka THE ONE WITH ROBBY!!!!

They get married before they move in together. Tommy's pretty sure that if someone had told him a year ago that he'd be married and finding a place in his garage for the bike he's never seen Evan actually use, and watching Evan survey his — their — kitchen like he’s determining the best position to station his troops, he'd have given them a free ride to the hospital.

flag-bearers @liminalmemories21, @cecilyv tumblr fic, 8×15 coda

The bubble of hope pops abruptly when Evan says, "What are you doing here?" "Your sister called,” a voice he doesn't recognize says. And well, fuck. There's just no way this ends well.

---

wind finding @rcmclachlan 3k, rated T, complete notes: sunset helicopter drama, were we ever so young??

Tommy's in the cockpit of his favorite AW139 with a gun pressed to the base of his skull.

---

if there's solid ground below @stars-inthe-sky 1k, rated G, complete

This summer was shaping up differently.

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inhale 'til your lungs get sore @apollabarnes 5k, rated T, complete

Bobby Nash dies. Bobby Nash... sticks around.

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I Never Really Had a Friend @firewasabeast 5k, rated M, complete

Buck is standing in the middle of Eddie’s living room. No. His living room. At least for one more week. It’s almost empty... But it’s in this space, this room filled with memories and ghosts, that Buck decides he’s never really had a friend.

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what I covet, I keep @firehose118 9k, rated E, complete

Eddie is back for the weekend and Tommy stakes a claim.

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you take the love, i'll take the fall @postmodernau 4k, rated E, complete

Buck gets more than he bargains for from a Grindr hookup.

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8×15 codas from @leashybebes

part one

It doesn't matter what they are. What they were in the past. What they might be in the future. Evan is breaking apart on the screen in front of him, and Tommy feels like there's a hook in his gut, hollowing him out even as it pulls him closer.

part two

Evan pushes away from him, sits up, scrubs his hands over his face. His shoulders straighten, his back stiffens, his jaw tightens. He clears his throat and a different person looks at him out of Evan's eyes, made dull by the low light and the things that have happened. They've never knowingly worked a sanctioned scene together before, but he thinks this is what Evan must look like when he takes charge in the field.

---

these episode codas from @alchemistc

favors

Tommy's the kind of asshole who checks his phone at the table in the middle of a first date, now.

ivory limbed and brown-eyed

Buck wakes with the sun streaking across his face and a finger tracing the lines around his eyes, feather light touch and a shadow across his brow like Tommy's tilted his head just to make sure he doesn't take a direct hit from the early morning rays.

---

and there's more every day because yay fandom! we made it!

[queenofmorningstar]

See You in Hell

Lucifer x Overlord! f! Reader

Summary: A Satanist believer in life, you'd hoped to meet Lucifer who'd fight for the sinners...but what happens when he's not what you expected?

CW: Eventual Smut, Slowburn kinda??. Modern Satanism beliefs (no cannibalism of children type of shit sorry😔), Religious Themes & Imagery. Canon–Typical Violence, Reader has shitty life when alive, Human! reader death, Angst/no Comfort (in this part). Reader manipulates for her own benefit (she’s an overlord, smh)

Word Count: 2.5K

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5| Part 6| Part 7| Part 8

CHAPTER ONE

It had rained the night before, and the sidewalks still shimmered with thin puddles that reflected the colourless sky. You walked with your hands in pockets, head bowed.

Another rejection email this morning. Another unpaid bill. Another voicemail from your mother, heavy with disappointment even in its silence. You hadn’t answered. What was the point? The world had grown dull around the edges—everything grey, everything pointless. You were only out for a walk because you couldn't stand the inside of your apartment anymore. 

That’s when you saw it.

A crooked, weather-worn table stood at the end of a cracked driveway, soaked cardboard signs taped to its legs: FREE STUFF in uneven marker. The yard sale was clearly long abandoned. Most of what remained was garbage…a chipped coffee mug, broken costume jewellery, yellowed paperback novels with curling covers. But something tugged at you as you trudged ahead.

Wedged beneath a stack of waterlogged magazines was a book. It sat right in the centre, dry despite the damp area, like the rain had avoided it on purpose. Black as soot, no title on the spine or author. Just an inverted pentagram etched into the front in faded gold. 

You opened the cover. The pages were handwritten in fluid, elegant, crimson ink, almost... alive. You looked around. No one was watching. No one would miss it.

It started small.

You read the first chapter that night, sitting on your bed with the book propped in your lap. The words didn’t ask you to repent.

They didn’t tell you were broken. They didn’t demand blind obedience, or sacrifice, or guilt. Instead, they looked you dead in the eye and said: You are not evil for wanting. It taught you to believe in yourself, and all the flaws that made you human. To worship yourself first.

By the end of the week, you’d underlined passages, scribbled thoughts in the margins, whispered some of the manifestation rituals and lines.   

And slowly, so subtly you didn’t notice at first, things began to change.

You started saying no . To your mother’s guilt-laced messages. To your boss’s passive-aggressive overtime requests. To the voice in your head that told you were worthless if you weren't constantly bleeding for others.

Your laughter came back—sharp, unapologetic. Dared to look happy without apologizing for it.

Death was a whisper. But when you opened your eyes again…

The sky was red, like an endless sunset bled out. Neon lights flickered with glitchy menace, towering buildings leaned at impossible angles, and demonic figures strolled by as casually as humans in a shopping mall. Somewhere distant, a scream turned into laughter. Gunfire sounded like music.

Hell. You had made it . No chains dragged you down or demons who wanted to throw you in flames. For the first time, you were home.

You didn’t become an Overlord through brute strength alone. That was never your style.

You watched first. Studied the other overlords around you. How they schemed, how they fought, how they fell.You played the long game. Befriended sinners, made them feel safe. Gained their trust, learned their secrets. You brokered deals between rival factions, only to sabotage both and seize the aftermath for yourself. 

You didn’t need to shout to be feared. You let others speak for you. Let paranoia do your work. By the time you claimed your territory, you hadn’t just proven yourself ruthless. You’d proven yourself untouchable .

_______________________

Your assistant, an imp in a pressed black suit, rattled off tasks at a speed that made your temples throb. "—and the blood-trade deal with the Sloth Ring still needs your seal. Oh! And the emissary from Sector 7 is furious that you flayed his envoy last week—"

"He interrupted me, " you said dryly.

"—still, they’re demanding reparations." She continued onwards, scrolling through her tablet.“And your new tax policies have incited a small rebellion in the Lower Slums. Very passionate. Pitchforks. Fire. The works.”

“How quaint,” you murmured. “Tell them I’m touched, and send a response.”

“A… response?”

“Impale him. Let’s see him respawn after that.”

The imp shrugged and typed rapidly. You leaned your cheek against your knuckles, expression unreadable. This was the part of ruling you loathed—dealing with the stupidity of lesser sinners.

Before your assistant could launch into another rant about soul quotas, your door slammed open with a thunderous crack. A sinner stumbled in, panting, eyes wild. Your assistant beside you snarled, wings flaring. “How dare you barge in unannounced!”

You recognized the sinner, one of the spies you had in every district.

“Speak,” you commanded, your voice low but impossible to disobey.

“We found him, ma’am. Lucifer Morningstar,” she said. “He’s chosen to remain at the Hotel for the time being. To assist his daughter. Which complicates things.”

Your mind fixated on it instantly. Your pulse spiked, but you kept your face neutral. Lucifer. The Morning Star. The First Rebel. The one whose name you had whispered in every prayer when the world above had turned its back on you. When you were alone. You had whispered his name not in reverence, but in solidarity. You both were seen as social outcasts, always kept at the side-lines. You wanted to know…did he feel the same rage as you? Was their grief identical?

You had never seen him, not once since you arrived. So you had wanted—selfishly and hopelessly—to meet him. You had almost given up, and you had come to theorize that maybe Hell was a living entity and it was protecting its king. 

Was he still a dreamer? Still infuriatingly brilliant, and beautiful in the way only fallen things could be?

Now you had a way in. A reason to be in his orbit. You smiled, and felt alive more than ever. "Clear my schedule; I have a visit to make."

_______________________

The Hazbin Hotel exterior was a tall, elaborate amalgamation of arched windows and turrets. It was the princess herself who opened the door. “Hi there!” Charlie chirped, turning with a wide, happy grin. “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! Are you here for… redemption?” she offered, hopeful.

That word always came with a foul taste. You arched a brow, amused. “Redemption? No, darling. I didn’t come here to seek salvation. I don’t beg for anything from heaven. Hell is my home.”

Charlie blinked. “Oh! Sorry—I just thought, since our guests—”

You waved dismissively. “I’m here as a patron.”

Charlie’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “A... patron?”

“Yes, yes. Your hotel is….utterly fascinating.” You walked ahead. “You’ve made quite the splash, and well, I love where the action is. And I wouldn’t mind killing exorcist filth myself.”

Charlie regained her composure as best she could, straightening her jacket and stepping ahead with you. “Well, I—um—thank you! I mean, wow! If you don’t mind me asking–”

“Charlie,” Vaggie said sharply, her voice low but insistent. “Can I talk to you? Now.”

Charlie looked over, startled. “Can it wait a second?”

“No,” Vaggie said, her gaze flicking towards you. “It really can’t.”

Charlie gave you an apologetic glance. “Excuse me—just a moment.”

You only gave a graceful nod. Charlie followed Vaggie a few feet away toward the stairs. Not out of earshot, but just far enough to pretend it was private.

“What is it?” Charlie whispered.

“That’s her ,” Vaggie said, her voice tight. “You know who that is, right?”

Charlie blinked. “I mean… no?”

“That’s the Overlord who took over that chaotic district without a single army and made it her own, a feat no one has ever achieved. She’s manipulative, calculated, and terrifyingly efficient. No one knows how she got to where she is so fast. Some say she made a deal with something worse. Others say she is that something.”

“But she wants to be a patron,” she whispered. “Isn’t that good? ”

“No, Charlie,” Vaggie cut in. “It means she wants something. She doesn’t set foot anywhere unless there’s leverage to gain.”

Charlie chewed her lip, clearly torn. “She hasn’t done anything wrong…”

“Yet,” Vaggie snapped. “You want my advice? Send her away. Nicely. Now. Before she decides to get interested. Because once she’s interested, she stays. ”

Charlie looked back again. Your eyes met Charlie’s across the room and you smiled, not cruelly, just knowingly. But still, she said, “No. We don’t turn people away, Vaggie. If she wants to be here, we let her. That’s the point.”

Charlie turned and walked back towards you, heart pounding. She wasn’t naïve but still… she believed. When Charlie finally returned, still smiling, if a little stiff around the edges.

“Would it be too forward to ask for a tour?” you asked. 

Charlie perked up immediately. “Oh! Sure! That’d be wonderful. I’d love to show you what we’re building here.”

You offered a gracious nod. “Lead the way, then.”

“Well, well!” came a voice as the shadows manifested. “Isn’t this a surprise!”

Charlie froze mid-step. A familiar radio-static chuckle fizzled through the air as Alastor stepped into view, smile stretched wide. You turned with the same calm grace, expression unreadable, save for the faintest curve of interest on your lips. “Ah, the famous Radio Demon. I was wondering where you’d crawl out after seven years.”

Alastor’s grin twitched, just slightly. 

Charlie laughed nervously. “You two know each other?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Alastor said smoothly. “We’ve danced around each other a time or two. Power attracts power, after all. Though some of us do prefer to announce ourselves.”

You gave a soft, amused smile. “And some of us don’t need to.”

Charlie looked between them, increasingly unsure if this was a joke or something far more dangerous.

“I must say,” Alastor continued, tone still light, “it’s charming that you’ve taken an interest in our humble little rehabilitation effort. Not quite your usual flavor, though. Redemption always struck me as far too... tender for your palate.”

“I have varied tastes,” you replied. “And a fondness for lost causes.” Your smile was saccharine sweet. “Anyhow, Charlie needs more people to have her back after the last extermination attempt. And after your display of ‘battle’ with Adam, let's just say…that wouldn’t be me.”

Charlie felt the air grow a little colder. Not freezing but sharp, like the moment before a storm breaks. She quickly stepped between them, smiling tightly. “Okay! So, I see you two are… acquainted. That’s great. Really great. But, uh, we were just about to start the tour, so—”

“I wouldn’t dream of interrupting,” Alastor said, bowing low with a mock flourish. “Please. Show our mysterious benefactor around.”

His smile sharpened as he straightened. He vanished into the hall, a trail of static humming in his wake. You turned to Charlie, expression once again composed. “I’m beginning to like this place already.”

_______________________

The muffled sound of their conversation faded as they moved deeper into the hotel. Back in the lobby, silence lingered for a beat longer than it should have. “Okay, what the hell just happened?” Angel Dust muttered, eyes still fixed on the empty hallway. “Did I just watch two Overlords flirt or declare war?”

Niffty popped her head up from behind a nearby couch she had been scrubbing furiously just moments earlier. “I don’t think that was flirting,” she said, blinking. “The pretty lady looked ready to slit Alastor’s throat.”

Husk, who had been quietly nursing something strong in a stained glass, glanced up with a grunt. “She’s trouble. Big kind.”

Angel leaned forward, expression sharpening. “So what’s the play? She’s classy, scary, the whole femme fatale thing. But what’s she doing here? Nobody drops here for charity.”

“She said she was a patron,” Niffty raised her hand as if answering a teacher.

“Right,” Angel said, eyes narrowing. “Because Overlords are always just feeling generous. I give it three days before something explodes.”

“Three?” Husk scoffed. “You’re generous.”

“I try.”

*

Charlie was still speaking. You nodded absently, gaze roving past half-cleaned windows and dusty corners. Then Charlie’s face lit up, brighter than you'd seen. “Dad!”

The word rang out like a bell. Your heartbeat spiked. Finally.

Lucifer.

Your mind spiralled inward like a lock turning with a perfect key. This was why you’d come. You had imagined this more times than you could count. But what you got was—

“Mmnhhgh…”

Lucifer shuffled out of a side hallway, yawning like he was just roused from a hangover. His hair was tousled in wild blond tufts, sticking up in odd angles like he’d fought a pillow and lost. He wore a duck-print loose shirt with matching pyjama pants. In one hand was a coffee mug that read, Duck Daddy .

He blinked blearily at Charlie. “Did someone say breakfast?” he mumbled.

Lucifer raised the mug to his lips and took a long, grating sip.

You stood still, frozen with a poise born of sheer will. Internally, something in you reeled. Your anticipation twisted like a knife. This was him ?

Charlie gestured between them eagerly. “Dad, this is _________,  And she wants to help the hotel!”

This... this was it?

He hadn’t even looked at you properly. You’d heard rumours, of course. That it was Lucifer who allowed the extermination of sinners, but you’d chosen to find an excuse for it, that maybe he was pressured or something more was at play. But now that you’d seen him, you knew it in your bones that he didn’t care. 

And you hated him for it. 

You’d imagined yourself by his side. Your divine purpose. But he was just a man. It wasn’t that you had expected perfection , no. But this disinterest, this casual disregard, made you feel as though staring at a faded replica.

“Forgive me,” you said quietly. “Would you mind if I stepped out? I just need a moment. Alone.”

Charlie blinked. “Oh—of course! Um, do you want someone to—?”

“No. Thank you.” You tried not to run away.

*

“Did I say something?” Lucifer asked, scratching his head. 

Charlie frowned. “No… it wasn’t that. She looked… upset. Disappointed.”

Lucifer’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t even introduced himself properly. Just… waddled in like a fool.

He let out a long breath through his nose and rubbed a hand over his face. Here he was again. Upsetting Charlie’s first patron. Making a bad impression. Failing, once more, to be the Lucifer Morningstar that anyone expected.

He had promised himself that he would help Charlie now that he was staying with her. But it was easier said than done. He couldn’t find the motivation to wake up from the bed, or create anything new and though he wanted to help his daughter, the idea of redeeming sinners was still absurd to him… 

You had looked at him . Seen him and left. He let out a slow, humourless breath. Why did it sting? He hadn’t even said anything. His mind spiralled inward, dark and familiar. The voice was always waiting there. They always leave, eventually. 

He hadn’t even wanted to come down this morning. But Charlie had asked. Come down, Dad. Say hello. Try.

He was always trying, wasn’t he? Trying to believe in her dream. Trying to support her. Trying to pretend he still had the spark she thought was buried.

But in truth? He believed in his daughter, of course. But these sinners ? He had fought and pleaded for them. For their right to choose. To create. To love freely whoever they chose.

And they spat in that freedom. They killed and lied and committed unspeakable acts. Turned free will into rot. He was stuck in a cage of his own making, watching them ruin everything all over again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: Both Lucifer and Reader are going to work through their shit, trust me.

I’ve researched satanism to the best of my ability, and if you want to read more on it, read here.

Inspired by this post by dear @atlantis-just-drowned

On my ao3 as well ☺️

Do leave likes and comments, cuz it fuels my soul to write more and cuz I've praise kink like everyone else

Do let me know if you wanna be tagged!!

Also thank you for 200 followers!! It makes me overjoyed!

Next>>>

[its-avalon-08]

Hello! Can I req ln4 x reader where they are secretly married, but the entire world just know they're bestfriend. One day an interviewer ask if they are a thing and they say they're married but sarcastically (like Chris Evans and Elizabeth Olsen on Ellen show) and in the end they decided to just reveal it. Thank you!!

🗣️avaspeaks: i love this request so much!!! and i thoroughly enjoyed writing this one, and i hope i did it justice!

we decided to break the internet (ln4)

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•''•.¸♡ ♡¸.•''•.¸♡ ♡¸.•''•.¸♡ ♡¸.•''•.¸♡

introduction - lando and y/n were practically inseparable since childhood. building sandcastle empires on the beach, trading pokémon cards at recess, navigating the awkwardness of middle school together - they'd seen it all. what neither quite admitted, not even to themselves, was the secret crush simmering beneath the surface of their friendship. every time lando tried to impress a girl with his skateboard tricks, y/n would "accidentally" trip him mid-grind. and whenever y/n had a date, lando would "forget" to return her favorite dress, the one that made her feel invincible. their sabotage was childish, sure, but it stemmed from a fear of losing the other entirely. one summer night, sprawled on the hood of lando's beat-up car, gazing at a sky exploding with stars, something shifted. maybe it was the whispered secrets shared, or the way their laughter mingled with the chirping crickets. in that moment, childhood friendship flickered, ignited by a spark of something deeper, a love waiting to prosper.

the air crackled with anticipation as lando norris and a stunning y/n settled into the interview chairs. formula one fans adored their playful dynamic, convinced they were just best friends. little did anyone know, they'd been secretly married for over a year and a half.

"so," the interviewer began, a sly smile on his face, "the fans are curious. is there anything going on between you two, romantically?"

lando shot y/n a mock glare. "absolutely! infact we're married!!!," he deadpanned, throwing his head back in exaggerated shock.

the room froze. cameras flashed. y/n, stifling a laugh, gasped dramatically. "married and absolutely smitten with eachother! lando, haven't you told them about movie night and all the crying over sappy rom-coms?"

the audience erupted in gasps and whispers. even the other drivers, strategically placed in the back row, looked bewildered. carlos, oscar,max,charles,daniel,alex and george laughed silently into their hands.

lando, playing along, clutched his chest. "oh no, you can't tell them about that! what will the neighbors think of all the late-night screaming about popcorn refills?"

y/n doubled over, tears welling up (from laughter, not the fake movie marathons). "and the screaming matches over who gets the last slice of pizza? lando, you monster!"

the room buzzed with confusion. were they…? weren't they…?

the interviewer, clearly flustered, stammered, "wait, so… you're saying you have movie nights and… screaming matches?"

lando winked at the camera. "the usual newlywed stuff, you know?"

y/n, wiping a fake tear, added, "don't even get me started on the scooter races in the paddock."

the room descended into chaos. reporters scribbled furiously, phones buzzed, and drivers peeked over their chairs, jaws slack.

lando, barely able to hold back a real laugh, reached for y/n's hand. "alright, alright," he conceded, "we might be exaggerating a tad. movie nights are definitely a thing, though. y/n's a terror with the remote."

y/n swatted him playfully. "hey! at least i let you pick the action movies sometimes."

suddenly, y/n did something unexpected. with a flourish, she turned her hand, revealing a simple gold band with a sparkling diamond. the room fell silent.

"oh by the way we've actually married for about two years now," y/n raised an eyebrow at lando, a wide, mischievous grin spreading across her face. "forgot to mention that detail, did you?"

lando, speechless for once, could only stare at the ring, then back at the stunned faces around him. the dam broke. laughter, loud and genuine, erupted from them both. the tension in the room evaporated, replaced by a mixture of shock, amusement, and a touch of awe.

as the interview wrapped up, the secret was out. lando and y/n, f1's favorite "best friends," were husband and wife. the post-interview scrum was a whirlwind. questions flew, cameras flashed in their faces, and congratulations poured in. through it all, lando and y/n stuck together, their laughter echoing through the room, a testament to their love and their ability to surprise everyone, even the f1 world.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

well i hope you liked it! thank you for sending in your request and do send more! thanks for reading!

leave a like, leave a comment!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

[taetebebe]

AFTER THE ENCORE

Pairing: idol!Sunoo x fan!reader

Synopsis: He had the whole world watching. Still, he looked for you.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Ask:

Author’s Note: BIRTHDAY SPECIAL FOR SUNSHINE SUNOO <333 Anonnie, hopefully this is what you were looking for :) My longest fic yet! - I feel bad for Y/N cuz if it were me staying in something unlabelled for even two days I would run away. This is fic delusional stuff so pls remember this is just fiction <3

Enhypen Bookshelf [[]

The café you always came to after class was barely marked from the outside. Just a faded green awning and an old wooden sign that said “Rest”. It was quiet, the kind of place no one went to unless they meant to stay awhile. You came for the warm tea and solitude, for the cracked windows that made the sunlight look softer, like a film still.

He always arrived after 6 p.m. Sharp. Always with the same Iced Americano with syrup order, always with a black hoodie pulled over his head and a mask over the bottom half of his face. He sat in the back corner, behind a low bookshelf of forgotten novels, where the light didn’t quite reach. He rarely took out his phone. Sometimes he brought a book. Mostly, he just… sat.

You knew who he was the first time you saw him. You’d recognise that kind of presence anywhere. Kim Sunoo. One-seventh of the group that had gotten you through some of your hardest nights. The boy with the soft voice and eyes that smiled before his mouth ever did.

But you said nothing.

Not on the first day. Not the second. Not the seventh.

You figured he came here for the same reason you did—because it felt like the only place in the city that didn’t expect anything of you. And you weren’t about to ruin that.

The first week passed that way.

The second week, he left a napkin behind. Not a mistake—you could tell by how it was folded. Neatly. With care.

You found it after he left. A line written in a looping hand:

“Some silences feel like company.”

You didn’t know what it meant exactly. But you started arriving earlier. Just to be there when he came in.

You were already a fan. You knew his name, his face, his laugh—the curated versions. You’d streamed every title track, watched fancams when you couldn’t sleep. But none of that felt relevant here. Because this wasn’t him on a stage. This was someone sitting in his own silence, drinking tea, looking out a window like he was waiting for the sky to say something worth hearing.

He never approached you. But one day, when your bag tipped over and your notes scattered across the floor, he got up. Quietly. Helped you gather them with both hands.

You looked up, said, “Thank you,” and saw that his mask had slipped below his chin.

And maybe he saw something in your expression—recognition, yes, but not desperation. Not the giddy kind of awe that made people chase him.

He just nodded.

The next time, he sat one seat closer.

You didn’t know when it changed. Maybe it was the day you accidentally dropped your pencil and it rolled all the way to his table. Maybe it was the day he nodded at you as he left, and you caught the faintest flicker of a real smile in return.

Maybe it was the notebook.

He forgot it one day, left under the edge of his chair. You found it hours later, when the barista was sweeping up and muttered something about throwing it out if no one claimed it.

You shouldn’t have opened it.

But you did.

The pages weren’t linear—some were blank, others filled with lyrics half-scribbled, margins filled with doodles. A page near the back had a sketch of a stage drawn in a single pen line. Empty. Curtains down. Underneath, in barely-there handwriting, it read:

“Would anyone know me if I stopped singing?”

You closed the book with shaking hands.

The next day, you brought it back.

He was already sitting in the corner, drink in hand. You walked over before you could second-guess yourself.

“This is yours,” you said, placing it down on the table. “I didn’t read much. Just enough to know it’s important.”

He looked at the notebook, then up at you.

Then he nodded. “Thank you.”

No mask today. No hoodie.

You expected your heart to race, but it didn’t. Not in the way it had when you watched fancams or comeback trailers. This felt different. Quieter. Realer.

He was the one who started talking.

“I always wanted to go to university,” he said, unprompted.

You blinked. “What would you have studied?”

“Literature. Maybe philosophy. Something useless but beautiful.”

You laughed, caught off guard. “I’m literally doing that right now.”

He smiled, and it was small but real.

“Then maybe I’m here for extra credit.”

You got to know each other sideways. Not through long conversations, but through exchanges left in books, scribbled on napkins, underlined pages from secondhand poetry collections.

He told you he missed autumns. “They go by too fast when your schedule is set six months in advance.”

You told him about your habit of walking slowly in autumn, dragging your feet just to pretend time was on your side.

He said he envied that. Not in a glamorous way, but like someone admitting they miss being a person more than being a presence.

You said, “You still are one. Even when you’re quiet.”

He looked at you.

It was slow.

Not romance. Just comfort. Just something solid and safe.

You learned little things first. That he liked sunshowers. That he loved to take selfies but hated having to post them too often. That he once spilled hot coffee on a very famous producer and didn’t speak for a whole day out of embarrassment.

He learned about you, too. That you liked folding laundry while watching nature documentaries. That you preferred used books to new ones. That you kept a lucky charm on your bag—a small, plastic token from a limited photocard set.

“Who is it?” he asked, half teasing.

You looked at the charm, then at him. “It’s you.”

He blinked.

“But not because it’s cute or anything,” you added quickly. “Well, it is. But I kept it because it was the only one where you looked… tired. Not like, bad tired. Just… real. I don’t know. It looked like someone had caught you in a moment before you put on the idol smile.”

He stared at you for a long time.

“That’s my least favorite one,” he said.

“I figured.”

A pause.

“Mine,” he added quietly.

But you weren’t just there for him. He learned things about you too. Not just what you studied, but how your voice dropped when you talked about your silence, or how you always ordered chamomile but almost always left it untouched—“I just like how it smells more than how it tastes.”

You told him you had this fear—not of being alone, but of being half-understood. That people only ever liked the parts of you that didn’t ask too much.

And he didn’t rush to comfort you. He just said:

“I get that. I’ve lived entire years only being loved for the loudest parts of me.”

Then he added, quieter, “But I think I like your quiet parts best.”

There were rules—ones you never said aloud, but both understood. You never took photos. You never posted vague stories with his sleeve barely visible in the corner. You didn’t go to fansigns or message him online. He didn’t ask for your number. You didn’t ask for his schedule. The café was the only place you existed together. 

But the world didn’t always let you stay inside your boundaries.

It wasn’t love.

It was something more dangerous: recognition.

A mutual understanding that felt too rare to name. A conversation that continued without words.

You started to feel it more in what wasn’t said.

When he touched your wrist just to pass you a sugar packet and left his hand there half a second too long. When you wrote a line in your notebook and caught him trying to read it upside down. When he didn’t show up for a week, and you still came every day, just in case. When he finally returned and said, “I had a rough week,” and you said, “Do you want to sit in silence or in story?”And he said, “With you is fine.”

After that, something shifted. Just slightly.

He started walking you to the bus stop after the café closed. Started sending little sketches to you via folded notes left behind in the bookshelves. One day, he left you a list titled:

Things I Never Got To Do (But Might Want To Someday) 1. Enroll in a literature class. 2. Study on a college lawn. 3. Write a poem without worrying about its rhythm. 4. Hold someone’s hand without looking over my shoulder. 5. Be called by my name, not my stage one.

You added your own underneath.

Things You Still Can: 1. Ask me what we’re reading in class this week. 2. Sit with me on the grass outside the uni library. 3. Write a bad poem and read it only to me. 4. Hold my hand. Here. Now. 5. Sunwoo. That’s your name.

When he saw your reply, he folded the paper gently, like it was made of glass.

Then he reached out.

His hand, warm and hesitant, found yours across the table.

No cameras. No noise. Just two people and a connection that neither of you had planned for.

He told you once that he couldn’t write when he was happy.

You tilted your head. “That’s sad.”

“It’s not. It’s just… when I’m happy, I’m living it. I don’t need to document it to prove it existed.”

You reached for your cup, then said, “So what would you write about this?”

“This?”

You nodded.

He looked down at the steam rising between you.

Then he said, “This feels like the part of the story no one sees. The chapter before the climax, when everything is still soft and possible.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you said nothing.

But he reached for your hand under the table. And you let him.

The first time he cried in front of you, it wasn’t because of work.

It was because you read him something you’d written.

Just a short paragraph. A memory of your mother braiding your hair in silence the day you left home. The way you knew she loved you but didn’t know how to say it without her hands.

Sunoo blinked and asked, “Do you ever write about now?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “But I usually wait until the feeling’s over. It’s too hard to put something into words while it’s still happening.”

He nodded.

Then looked at you with a softness that felt like apology.

“Then maybe I’ll be the one to remember it. In case you forget.”

You never told anyone.

You didn’t need to.

He still went back to his world. To stages and studios, to photoshoots and rehearsals. But now, there was a place in his life that existed without flashbulbs.

And every time he walked into the café, past the cracked window and the worn couches, he found you—book open, tea cooling, eyes meeting his like you’d been waiting all along.

You knew what this was. What it wasn’t.

There were no labels. No promises. No declarations. He didn’t call you after shows. You didn’t ask for updates. You were just two people orbiting the same quiet place.

And yet.

When he pressed his forehead against yours one cold evening, on the walk home from the café, and whispered, “I think I know who I am when I’m with you,” you felt your heart ache in a way that didn’t need to be spoken.

You whispered back, “Then stay. Just a little longer.”

And he did.

He always did.

It wasn’t love the way people wrote it in songs. It was quieter. Like a window you didn’t know was open until the breeze changed the room.

That winter, you stopped trying to explain him to yourself. Stopped trying to define what it meant when he leaned his head on your shoulder. Or when he said things like:

“Some days, I want to be ordinary. And the only person I want to tell that to is you.”

It wasn’t fantasy anymore. It was two people folding their sadness into the same space and calling it comfort.

Sometimes you wondered what this would look like to someone else.

If they knew who he was. If they knew who you weren’t.

You were not famous. Not dazzling. Not part of his story in any official way.

You were just there. At 6:05 p.m. In the café with the crooked window and the soft chair.

And still—he always looked for you first.

He started bringing a camera.

Not for vlogs. Not for social media.

Just a small film camera. Cheap. Disposable. It was barely working. You teased him about it.

“You’re literally sponsored by tech brands. Why this?”

He shrugged. “This doesn’t try to correct things. If the light is off, it stays off. If it’s blurry, it stays blurry. No filters. No smoothing. Just memory.”

“Are you making memories now?”

He smiled faintly. “I think I’m learning how.”

Later, he gave you one of the developed photos. It was a picture of your hand on a book. A smudge of sunlight on your wrist. Nothing obvious. Nothing staged.

He had written on the back:

Not performing. Still perfect.

You kept it tucked inside your journal, folded soft between pages about all the things you never thought you’d be brave enough to feel.

One day, as spring began, he walked you to the university campus.

He wore a hat, glasses, kept his head low. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t smart. But he insisted.

“I want to know what it’s like,” he said. “To sit in the grass and not have anyone waiting on me.”

You bought two iced teas. You sat under a jacaranda tree. He took off his hat.

There were people around. But no one looked. And even if they did, he didn’t seem to care.

He looked at you instead.

The wind lifted a piece of your hair. He tucked it behind your ear without asking.

Then he said:

“If I met you before I debuted, I think I’d have fallen in love with you in a classroom.”

“And now?”

His gaze softened. “Now I’m just falling in love with you wherever I can.”

The words weren’t heavy. They didn’t need to be. Because by then, you already knew.

Not from what he said. But how he started memorizing your favorite poems. How he asked about your essays and remembered which ones made you cry. How he once missed a party with famous people just to sit next to you while you pressed flowers into a book and didn’t say a word for an hour.

That’s what it became: not loud love. Not scripted affection.

But showing up.

Again and again and again.

With a paper flower he made during a variety shoot. With a candy from Japan he saved in his pocket. With a napkin with a scribbled quote from a poem he read on a plane.

Two years later, things changed.

You graduated. He went on tour. Again.

The café closed down for much needed renovations.

You didn’t see each other for 47 days.

He texted. Sometimes late, sometimes rushed. You never asked for more than what he could give.

—he came back.

Not to the café. Not to the city.

To you.

He waited outside your new apartment, hood up, holding chamomile tea with one hand and a book in the other.

You opened the door, stunned.

He didn’t say hello.

He just handed you the book.

Inside: Letters to a Young Poet. The same one he had given you the year before.

Except this time, he’d underlined passages. Dog-eared pages. Written in the margins.

“There’s a note inside,” he added, then cleared his throat. “If you want to read it later.”

You found it on the title page. His handwriting, neat and hesitant.

I know I can’t give you normal. But I hope I can still give you something real.  If I’d gone to university, I think I’d want to sit beside you. I think I’d want to ask you what you were scribbling in your margins. I think I still do. —S.

Another corner was bookmarked.

You flipped to it. The qoute read.

“I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.”

He had written beneath it:

You know. You always did.

You looked up. He looked nervous.

“I have to leave again next week,” he said quietly. “But… I wanted you to know that I still come back here. To this. To us. Even when I’m far.”

You swallowed hard.

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I want to,” he said. “Because I think this is the truest thing I have.”

As you went to put the book away something slipped out.

A ticket.

Your name written neatly on the back.

Your seat was far from the stage—nosebleed section, middle row. But it was his concert. His first solo stage on the tour.

“I won’t ask you to come,” he had said softly. “I don’t want to bring that part of me into this if you’re not ready.”

“I want to come,” you said before he could finish.

You watched him sing to a crowd of thousands that night, all of them screaming his name.

But when the final ballad played, soft and aching, and the camera zoomed in on his face, you knew.

He was looking past the lights, past the sea of phones, to where you sat.

His voice cracked just slightly during the second verse.

You felt it in your chest like something tender being unwrapped.

After the concert, you didn’t wait for him outside.

You didn’t send a message. You just walked to the café site, like always, and stood outside.

He arrived an hour later—hair still slightly damp from the stage, hands buried in his coat pockets. He looked exhausted. He looked alive.

“I cried,” you said simply, as he stopped beside you.

He laughed, voice hoarse. “Me too.”

Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled, sweat-damp paper.

It was the setlist.

At the bottom, one song was circled: "After The Encore" Next to it: “For her.”

Your breath caught.

“That’s not its real title,” he admitted. “I renamed it. Just for tonight.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder.

And he let it stay there.

The café opened again a month later.

New chairs, new paint, new name. But the same window. The same light.

You found your seat again. Back corner. One cracked tile left untouched beneath the table, like a secret the renovations had kindly decided not to erase.

He arrived a few minutes late. No mask, no hoodie. Just him.

He placed a small box on the table between you.

Inside: A key. A photo. And a folded piece of paper.

You opened the photo first.

It was the two of you—not posed, not planned. Just a reflection caught in the café window. Your head on his shoulder. His eyes on you.

You smiled.

Then unfolded the paper.

You once said you wait until feelings are over before you write about them. I guess I’m writing this because I don’t want this to ever be over. Come home with me. Or let me come home to you. Whatever we call this— let’s keep writing it. No ending. Just more.

You looked up.

And for the first time, he didn’t look like someone who belonged to the world.

He looked like someone who had chosen a single place to stay.

You didn’t say yes.

You just took his hand.

And stayed.

© taetebebe 2025

[highprettybabyy]

Seeing Red

Part 21: So That's How

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: y/n heads back to the villa while jenna and angelo pack the stuff up at the cabin

warnings: 18+! enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore, angst, some fluff, alcohol consumption, insane man, stabbing, animal abuse and cruelty, attempted murder, neglecting personal health, murder

AN: blehhhhhhhhh

word count: 3k

You should’ve been able to sleep.

The cabin was quiet. Safe. Familiar, even - despite everything. Despite the blood still crusted under your fingernails and the faint, haunting echo of Cam’s scream before his body hit the forest floor. The sheets were warm. Jenna was beside you, her breathing soft and slow, and Angelo lay curled between your legs, belly up like he didn’t have a care in the world.

But you couldn’t sleep.

You stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, thoughts looping without pause. Your side throbbed where the bullet had torn through you, but you barely felt it compared to the pressure in your chest. Something gnawed at you - something beyond exhaustion, beyond adrenaline. A need to see him again. Not to honour him. Not to relive it. Just… to make sure.

Just to know that he was still there. Still dead.

You slipped out of bed quietly, brushing your fingers along Jenna’s arm before moving away. She murmured something wordless in her sleep, and you paused to smile at her - then scribbled a note on the back of a foraged flyer and placed it on her nightstand:

Be right back! Making sure the bastard’s still dead. <3 kisses 💋💋💋

Angelo shifted but didn’t wake, his tail twitching once as you pulled on your jacket and machete. The early morning air outside was crisp, the forest still cloaked in a soft grey mist. You didn’t rush. You let your feet carry you over the uneven path, boots crunching faintly against the pine needles, the familiar trail soothing in a way you hadn’t expected.

You found him where you left him - slumped against the base of a tree, head lolled back, mouth open to the sky. Flies already circled him in lazy spirals. His skin had gone pale, veiny, like wet paper stretched too thin.

But what stopped you wasn’t the smell or the sight of him.

It was the keys.

His jacket pocket was bulky. You reached in and pulled out a jangling mess - some you recognised. Others? Not at all. At least ten unmarked keys, some tagged, some rusty. All of them heavy with implication.

And then you found the photos.

About twenty Polaroids, all shoved into a crumpled ziplock bag near his hip.

You didn’t mean to look. Truly. But the first one slid out into your palm, and your breath caught.

A selfie. Cam grinning in the foreground, eyes wild with something almost euphoric. Behind him: a woman tied to a radiator. Barely conscious. Blood on her chest. The timestamp - February 3rd - predated the outbreak.

You swallowed thickly, flipping through the rest.

Men. Women. A teenager. Some with duct tape across their mouths. All of them half-conscious, mangled. All of them posed, like trophies. Some dated before the world ended. A full twelve taken after it fell.

You stared at the final one for a long moment. Cam’s eyes weren’t wild in that one. They were calm. Peaceful, even. Like he knew exactly what he was doing, and was proud of it.

You didn’t scream. Didn’t cry.

You dug a hole.

Hands shaking, you dropped the Polaroids in and covered them with damp earth, pressing your palm flat against the mound. You weren’t going to let him take those memories into the afterlife. He didn’t deserve to be remembered for anything except what you’d done to him.

Your fingers found something else then - your car keys.

You caught a glimpse of his shin as you stood, where his jeans had torn. A bite mark. It looked fresh.

That explained the turning. That explained the chase. The monster he was in life was now matched by the monster he became in death.

“Rot in hell,” you muttered.

The walk back felt longer than it should’ve. You checked your surroundings constantly, listening for birdsong or wind - anything to tell you you were still safe.

Inside the cabin, Jenna hadn’t stirred. Angelo had taken your place on the bed, paws twitching in his sleep. You pressed a soft kiss to Jenna’s forehead, lingering for a moment, then tapped Angelo’s belly gently. He grumbled but stayed flopped like a prince.

You weren’t tired.

The cabin wasn’t clean.

So you got to work.

You disinfected the floors. Scrubbed away dried blood from the doorframe. Reorganised the cupboards. Replaced every pillow and blanket that had been kicked over or bled on or tainted by memory. You opened windows, aired the place out. You even refolded the spare towels.

It was 6:15 AM when you stopped. The light was golden now, pouring through the trees in slow streaks.

You should’ve sat down.

You didn’t.

You grabbed your fishing rod, stepped outside, and made your way to the dock.

The lake greeted you with glassy silence. You cast your line and sat, letting your feet hang over the edge. It was peaceful. Real.

Two hours passed. You caught a few trout, a few small bass, and a couple you couldn’t name. Not bad. Enough.

Angelo emerged at last, blinking sleep from his eyes, stretching dramatically before padding over. You tossed him a bait fish. He caught it like a pro and wagged his tail.

The worst was behind you now.

You had to believe that.

-

You heard her before you saw her.

A sleepy thud of bare feet on wood, followed by the cutest little yawn. Angelo perked up immediately - tail going berserk, the fish long forgotten in his mouth as he bolted back towards the cabin.

"Ugh, your breath reeks of fish, buddy," Jenna’s voice called out, groggy but amused.

You turned just in time to see her shuffle out, hoodie tugged on lazily, hair in a messy halo that made your chest ache in the best way. She squinted into the sun, and her face lit up when she spotted you on the dock.

Angelo launched himself at her with full-bodied excitement, tongue flopping, tail wagging like a propeller as she crouched to greet him with both arms. "You’re such a menace," she murmured, pressing her face to the top of his head.

You watched from your spot at the edge of the dock, your lips already curving into a smile you didn’t try to hide. She padded toward you with a little sway to her step, eyelids still heavy with sleep, and kissed you hello without saying a word.

It was soft. Lingering.

Your arms came around her waist instinctively, tugging her close against you. Her hoodie smelled faintly like woodsmoke and leftover rain. Her skin was warm from sleep. You tucked your face into the space between her neck and shoulder and exhaled, letting yourself melt into the moment.

“You looked so cute like that, angel,” you mumbled into the fabric.

“Oh, stop,” she giggled, voice still hoarse with sleep.

You swayed together like that for a while, the lake lapping gently below, Angelo settling near your feet with a satisfied huff. You didn’t think about the apocalypse. Or Cam. Or the bags you’d eventually need to pack. You just breathed.

Jenna shifted her hands, brushing against your side-

You flinched.

A sharp hiss slipped between your teeth, involuntary. The pressure was fast and bright where her hand had landed on the bullet wound.

“Shit- sorry!” she said quickly, pulling away.

But you tightened your arms around her.

“No- no- I’m okay. I need this, angel.”

You felt her hesitate, then her weight eased back into yours. She let her hands rest on the safer parts of you, the unbroken skin. Her fingers were cold, but familiar.

You could feel her eyes roll. Not in frustration. Not anymore. But in that fond, quiet way that said you’re impossible.

You hummed, a deep sound that vibrated between you. Then breathed in - her skin, her warmth, the faint smell of toothpaste and campfire.

“Mm. Okay. I have caught us a bunch of fish. Angelo has already taste-tested a few and says they’re adequate,” you teased, finally letting her go just enough to move.

She raised a brow, amused. “Only adequate?”

“He’s a tough critic,” you said, flashing a wink.

You bent down to the net tied to the dock post, awkward with your side still sore, and pulled out four of the best fish. decent size, still fresh and glistening. “I’m thinking: breakfast of champions.”

Jenna grinned. “Survivors, you mean.”

You looked at her. “Same thing.”

-

The scent of fish and teriyaki hit your nose before you even sat down. You’d filleted and cleaned the trout on the dock with Jenna watching - eyes still puffy from sleep, chin propped on her knee. Now the pieces were sizzling on the camp stove with a splash of what was definitely expired sauce, but neither of you cared. Not after everything.

You stirred the pan gently, making sure nothing stuck, while Jenna stood a few paces back, looking over the map she’d scratched into the back of a cereal box the day before. She’d marked the villa, the cabin, the lake, and a few vague trails to the gated community you’d found on your last walk.

Angelo, ever hopeful, sat between you both - tail sweeping across the floorboards in rhythmic optimism. You tossed him a crisped fish fin and he caught it mid-air, chewing with dramatic satisfaction.

“Alright,” you said, spooning the stir fry onto two dented tin plates. “Breakfast of survivors. As promised.”

Jenna took hers with a soft thanks and sat on the porch step. You sat beside her, plates on your laps, legs stretching into the sun. For a while, there was only the sound of eating - the crunch of charred fish skin, the distant call of a bird overhead, the rustle of Angelo settling in your shadow.

Then: “I found the keys on him.”

Jenna looked up mid-bite. “What?”

“To the car,” you clarified. “Cam had them in his jacket pocket. Same little keychain you always complained about - the green plastic one that squeaks.”

Her expression shifted - something between relief and exhaustion. She nodded slowly.

“I think it’s at the villa,” you continued. “Didn’t see it wrecked nearby. If I go now, I can be back by noon. Maybe one, if the trail’s messy.”

Jenna hesitated. “I could come with-”

“No.” You cut her off gently. “You’re still healing. And honestly? I’d feel better if you stayed here. With Angelo. Just for today.”

She chewed her lip, clearly torn.

“I’ll take the crossbow. And the machete. And I’ll go quietly. The roads should be safe.”

Jenna gave a slow nod. “And I’ll pack up the cabin?”

“Yeah. Everything useful. Food, fishing gear, the extra blankets. Whatever we can load fast.”

“And if something happens?”

“It won’t,” you said, perhaps too quickly. Then softer: “But if it does - I’ll leave a trail. I’ll come back. Always.”

She reached for your hand then, and you let her take it. Her grip was firm despite the tension in her shoulders. You didn’t say more - just sat there, hand in hand, finishing your stir fry in the golden light.

It was a moment of quiet resolve. No panic. No dread. Just a plan. Finally.

By the time the plates were scraped clean and rinsed in the bucket, the sun was higher, and your pack was already loaded. You strapped the machete to your side, slung the crossbow over your shoulder, and clipped a small first aid kit to your belt.

Jenna wrapped her arms around you and very unsubtly snuck a packet of pistachios in your back pants pocket. You smiled and kissed her. “I’ll be back in a few, gorgeous.” She smirked and smacked your ass softly “You better hurry.”

You quickly stole another kiss before you turned and headed down the path - heart steady, breath calm - toward the villa.

-

The walk back to the villa was quiet in a way that left your skin crawling. Birds chirped somewhere high above in the treetops. The wind whispered through the canopy. But there were no groans. No dragging footsteps. No signs of life, or unlife. Just the rustle of your own movement, and the occasional throb in your side where the bullet wound had stiffened overnight.

Your breath felt sharp in your chest by the time the treeline thinned and the sloping roof of the villa reappeared ahead. The garden was flattened. The house looked bruised, violated. The car was still there in the driveway.

And the front door hung wide open.

You approached slowly, machete gripped in one hand, the other hovering near your belt where you'd strapped a pocket of disinfectant and gauze- just in case. Broken glass crunched underfoot. Bullet casings glinted on the ground near the front steps. The car’s passenger-side window was shattered, the glove box torn open and hanging. Something- someone- had torn through it in a frenzy.

Heart pounding, you circled cautiously around to the driver’s side. The door was ajar, like an invitation.

You bent to inspect it - only for a sudden snap of movement to blur in the corner of your eye.

Pain exploded in your ankle. Your leg was yanked violently out from under you.

You slammed into the driveway with a grunt, scraping your elbow raw as your vision swam. Your hands reached out instinctively - your machete flying from your grip and skidding several feet out of reach.

“FUCK!” you gasped, twisting to see what had grabbed you.

There was a woman - no, a thing, a crawler - half-pinned under the car, throat ripped out and long black hair tangled in the undercarriage like a warning. Her eyes locked on yours with feral, vacant hunger. Chains rattled where they tangled around her midsection - whoever chained her there had done so deliberately.

Your ankle was still in her grip. She dragged herself closer.

“Shit- SHIT!” you screamed, kicking with your free leg, scrambling backwards - her nails slashed at your boot, ripping it clean off, and catching your shin.

Your fingers clawed at the gravel, trying to reach your machete.

But it was just out of reach.

Of course it was.

.

It had been over an hour since Y/N left, maybe two. Jenna wasn’t sure. The clock on the wall didn’t work, and she hadn’t checked her watch. She didn’t want to. Not because she was afraid, but because it would make the minutes real - each one dragging by without a sign of Y/N’s return.

So instead, she stayed busy.

Angelo had been her shadow the whole time, padding behind her with his usual heavy paws, tail wagging like he had no idea the world had fallen apart. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe that was the beauty of him.

“Come on, stinky,” she said with a little grunt, lifting the folded sleeping bags into the trolley. “We’ve got work to do.”

He woofed lightly and followed her to the kitchen, sniffing the opened bag of kibble and letting out a huff of protest when she sealed it shut again. Jenna chuckled and scratched behind his ears. “Not until we’re done.”

They worked together like a unit. Jenna humming as she moved through each room, packing what was useful and ignoring what wasn’t. The tools Y/N had left out. The half-used medical kit. The spare socks that actually fit comfortably. Cans that looked new enough. Fishing line. Lighter fluid. Maps. Even the plastic container where they kept the garden seeds they'd collected over the last few weeks - zucchini, pumpkin, peppers, lettuce, tomato. Life, preserved in packets.

The morning’s fish stir fry had been left on the counter, still covered. She uncovered it, took a bite with her fingers, and nodded. Cold, but edible. They’d finish it before leaving. Maybe on the road. Maybe sitting on the bumper.

Jenna tried not to think about where they were going next. About the fact that they had to go somewhere again.

She forced her body to stay light, voice melodic, every action carefully chosen to avoid spiralling. “Alright, my boy,” she said to Angelo as she sealed up the last of the dry goods. “Anything to keep our minds off the obvious, right?”

He let out a long, exaggerated sigh, then barked once when she started singing. Loudly. Badly. She picked the most annoying song she could remember from childhood - some pop hit with a chorus that refused to die - and he howled along with every drawn-out note. Not quite in tune, but he gave it heart.

“Attaboy,” she grinned, ruffling his fur. “We should start a band.”

When the singing was done, the packing followed. Suitcases were filled with the remainder of their supplies and stacked on the porch, ready to be loaded when Y/N returned. Blankets were folded and tucked into the corners. Bottled water was lined up neatly near the steps. Weapons - carefully counted, cleaned, and placed in a padded case. Even the little luxuries were packed: spare socks, clean shirts, a half-melted chocolate bar she found in the back of a drawer.

She left the bed as it was - just in case.

Every so often, she’d glance up at the treeline. No car. No movement. The forest, for all its threats and secrets, looked peaceful again.

But she hated the way the silence could turn on her. One minute it was calm, the next it felt like holding your breath.

Still, Jenna didn’t let herself worry.

She just kept saying it out loud. “When she gets back.”

Not if.

Never if.

She scratched Angelo’s chin, kissed his nose, and whispered it again.

“When she gets back.”

And when she did - she’d better be hungry. Jenna was saving the last bite of stir fry for her.

—//—

[lightsoutmatthews]

hi:) can i request willy proposing? just lots of fluff and love lol

I love writing proposals so much 😭 excuse if my google translated swedish is not correct

Just you and me – William Nylander

You arrived in Stockholm early in July, still sleepy from the flight, the morning sun already warming the city as Wiliam wheeled your suitcase out of Arlanda and flagged down a cab.

His hand found yours in the back seat, thumb brushing the top of your wrist with quiet affection. This had been the plan since January. Off-season in Sweden, away from Toronto, away from the noise.

The first few weeks had gone by in a blur. Breakfasts at the small café across from his apartment. Long bike rides through leafy parks. Evenings watching water shimmer from the balcony, his dogs asleep at your feet.

There were friends, teammates and ex-teammates that came over, family dinners with the Nylander clan, but mostly it was just the two of you. It felt right.

You didn’t notice right away that he was acting different. Maybe because it was subtle.

He would hold you a little longer than usual when you hugged. Asked you more often what you wanted out of life, especially out of the next few years. He smiled more during quiet moments, when he was just sitting in the kitchen with you, like that alone made everything okay.

One morning in early August, you woke to the smell of toast and berries. He stood by the stove, hair messy, wearing only shorts while flipping pancakes.

“I had a dream you made these,” he laughed, when you asked what he was doing. “Figured I´d beat your to it.”

You sat on the counter while he made breakfast. His hand found your knee. “Do you ever think about what we´d be doing in five years?” he asked, not looking at you.

“Occasionally,” you replied.

His head tilted slightly, eyes soft. “Yeah?”

He didn’t say more, just handed you a plate and kissed your shoulder.

He suggested a day on Djurgården after breakfast. The weather was perfect, clear sky, temperature warm but not heavy.

He brought a backpack with drinks, a blanket and snacks. That was unusual for him. “You´re awfully prepared for someone who said “let´s just go for a walk,”” you teased.

William smiled. “Well, you´re predictable.”

You spent the afternoon strolling the shoreline, pausing at benches when you felt like it, stopping for ice cream even though you said you weren’t hungry.

He let you choose the path and that’s how you ended up by the Rosendals Trädgård gardens later in the afternoon. The flowers were in full bloom.

He didn’t seem in a rush so you strolled around for a while, hand in hand, chatting about everything and nothing.

Later, he led you back toward the water. You reached a secluded pier, small but neat, wood warmed by the sun. Someone had strung small lights overhead, not many, but enough to make it feel special.

“This is cute,” you said, glancing around.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “So, okay, promise me to not freak out.”

You turned your face to him, half-laughing. “What?”

He pulled something from the backpack. A small hardcover photo album. The cover was plain white, your initials embossed at the bottom.

“I started this in March,” he started to explain. “I´ve been filling it when we were apart, just with random stuff.”

You opened it. The first page held a photo of you asleep, drooling slightly, in his hoodie. A sticky note below read: still wanted to kiss you.

The next page held a picture of a text you sent that read, “bring snacks or I´ll die:”

Below it another sticky note that said: I brought snacks. She lived.

The rest was filled with ticket stubs, selfies, scribbled captions. There was a small menu from the restaurant you had your first dinner in Toronto, a dried flower from a walk in Yorkville, even the corner of a napkin where you had written “W + me = dumb math, cute couple.”

By the end of the book, your hands were shaking.

“William,” you whispered.

He took it from you gently and set it down on the bench behind him. His voice stayed low when he spoke again. “I´ve been thinking about this for a while. Not just this summer or just now. I´ve known I wanted this for longer than I even realized.”

He stepped forward, close enough that your knees brushed. He looked nervous but not unsure. Focused.

“I don’t care where we live, here in Stockholm, in Toronto or wherever my career takes us next. I don’t care what job you take or if you want three more dogs, kids or no kids or all of it. I don’t need a perfect plan for the rest of our lives, but I need you to be part of it until the end.”

He pulled something from his bac picked.

A small box, navy blue, classic.

He got down on one knee.

Your heart kicked against your ribs like a drum.

He opened the box to reveal a simple gold ring, no diamond, just a thin band with a small, deep-blue sapphire at the center. It was sleek and subtle, it was perfect for you.

He looked up at you, eyes wide open, no mask, none of his usual charm. Just William.

“I love you,” he said. “You make everything better. I want this – us – for the rest of my life.”

He took a deep breath. “Will you marry me?”

You didn’t cry right away. It was too much, too real and too still.

“Yes,” you breathed barely audible. “God, yes of course I will marry you.”

His grin broke wide and boyish. He stood, fast, hands at your cheeks, kissing your before you could even take a full breath.

You kissed back, arms around him, feeling the joy in every part of your chest.

You were vaguely aware of clapping behind you.

That’s when your turned.

Friends – his brother Alex, a few Leafs teammates who had made the trip, his sisters and parents, your parents and best friends – stood nearby, holding glasses of champagne and phone cameras.

Someone hit a speaker and music started. You didn’t recognize the song, but it didn’t matter.

You and William didn’t let go of each other, bathing in the bliss he had just created.

--------------

Later that day

You were on a boat. One of his friends had arranged it as a surprise – small, cozy, with open seating and lights overhead.

The city glowed around you as you drifted gently through the water, the air cool now that the sun had gone down.

William sat with you curled into his side, his hoodie around your shoulders, his hand in yours.

Neither of you said much for the first while but at one point you were too noisy to break the silence.

“You´ve been planning this for long, huh?” you chuckled.

He tilted his head. “Since February or so.”

You stared down at your hand, at the ring that still felt almost imaginary. “You were so calm.”

“I wasn’t,” he laughed. “I was sweating under my shirt.”

You laughed softly. “I thought I´d be scared,” he added. “But I wasn’t. Not about asking. You´ve always been the easy part on my life.”

You pressed your face into his shoulder, and he placed a kiss to your head. “I´m really happy,” you said, barely audible.

“Me too.”

-----------------

A few days later

The news didn’t stay private. Fans spotted the Instagram posts quicker than you expected. One of Williams friends posted a story, not noticing what he´d done until it was too late.

The Swedish press picked it up fast: “William Nylander förlovad – planerar bröllpö I Sverige?” (Willam Nylander engaged – planning a wedding in Sweden?)

Photos of you two kissing by the water, arms around each other, sunglasses up.

You didn’t really care. Your relationship hadn’t been a secret for a long time.

It didn’t touch the real part of it. The quiet part. The breakfast-for-dinner part. The holding-hands-on-the-ferry part.

William was the same. Still goofy. Still serious when it mattered. Still sliding you could water without asking. Still texting you during workouts: thinking about you. Send pics of the dogs

The only difference was the ring and the way his eyes lingered on yours when you weren’t looking.

-----------------

One week later

You sat on the edge of his bed, folding a sweatshirt into your suitcase. You had to fly home for two weeks. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching.

“Are you sure you´re coming back?” he asked, teasing but not really.

You looked over your shoulder. “Do you really think I´d leave you after that proposal?”

He smirked. “It was decent.”

You walked over, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“It was everything I dreamed of, so, of course I´m always coming back.”

He bent his head to kiss you.

And that was the thing about William. He wasn’t flashy, poetic or overly complicated but when he lived it was certain, firm and simple.  

You were his.

And he was yours.

[nom-nommmm1]

REAL MAN - EKKO

Masterlist + taglist

yk I had to do Ekko for my first Arcane fanfic

Dividers from the blog ➛ @thecutestgrotto

Real Man by beabadoobee

Content Warining !!: Just Ekko being the sweetest gentleman while on a night out with the reader, fem reader, pretend Ekko got his happy ending !!, kind of an alternate universe?? Idk I js wrote what I wanted tbh, also the firelights are still a thing but since there’s no need for rebellion Ekkos a sales man

The cool breeze blew in the night sky as I stepped outside with him following close behind. I shiver as the cold air hits my skin, goosebumps forming on my arms. Ekko walks closer to me, draping his jacket over my shoulders. Before I can even protest he speaks. “I knew you were going to need a jacket, don’t worry I’m plenty warm” he said, placing his hand on my arm, giving it a gentle squeeze as we continued to walk.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to get sick or something because of me” I ask, turning a bit to look at him. As I spoke he just smiled, shaking his head. “I promise it’s fine, don’t worry about me, my love” he says, his warm hand taking in mine to place it to his lips, kissing the knuckles. After a bit of walking, we make it to the bar, The Last Drop. Ekko opens the door for me, following after.

As we enter we are greeted by Vander and Silco. I smile, mouthing a nice greeting in return before sitting down at the nearest booth. Ekko sits in the booth across the table so we are facing each other. He hands me a menu. “You know, this place has changed a lot since Powder started helping out” he said browsing the menu.

I chuckle, looking up at him. “Yeah, it’s not like how it was when we were kids, crazy how times can change” I say, and he gives a knowing nod. “Crazy indeed, my love” he replies as Powder walks over, pulling out her pen and note pad. “What could I get started for you guys?” She asks with a polite but wild smile, you could tell just how passionate she was about this place ever since she started helping out.

She was the one who convinced Vander to keep it open because she knew how many memories this place had and even got her siblings to also help out, making this place not just a bar but also a food joint. I am snapped out of my thoughts when Ekko answers Powder. “A water for me and a lemonade for the lady” he says, looking back at me as Powder scribbles the drink orders down.

“You guys know whatcha want for food or should I give you a minute?” She asks, swiping a stray hair out of her face and behind her ear. “Just another minute please” I say, earning a smile from Powder. “Of course hon’” she says, walking away to the beverage dispensers. She tends to a few of her other tables before coming back to us with our drinks.

We then order our food, She scribbles it down. “It’ll be out shortly” she says with another smile before walking away to grab someone else’s order to take to their table. I look at Ekko to see he was already looking at me with a small smile.

“What?” I ask with a shy chuckle. He straightens up in his seat, realizing he’s been caught. “Nothing, I just think you’re really pretty is all” he mumbles, his cheeks a slight pink now. He begins to fidget with his ring, and I take his hand. “Thank you my love” I say with an appreciative look. He’s smile returns into one of a smirk, he’s thumb running over my knuckles.

Powder comes back with our drinks, placing them down and walking away again. I mutter a quick “thank you” and she replies with a head nod. After a few comfortable moments of silence I turn back to Ekko. “So, how’s firelight stuff been?” I ask, trying to make conversation. “Pretty good, y’know, sales and stuff” he says with a bored tone. “Yeah, I get that” I reply.

“Well, how’s work been for you babe?” He asks, more invested as he looks up at me and props his hand up for his jaw to rest on. I laugh at his antics. “It’s been well, a little drama at the salon but you know how it is” I say, looking at him, his eyes seem so sparkly in this moment almost like I’m seeing his eyes again for the first time.

I smile, looking over as Powder arrives with our food. “Here ya go” she says as she places the trays of food in front of us, Ekko and I mutter a thank you and she responds. “Ya welcome” she says before walking away.

I look down at my food and then back at Ekko, taking one of the forks in front of me in my hand. I slowly take a bite of my food, looking at Ekko as he does the same. I smile as his face lights up with joy as he continues to eat his food. “They sure know how to cook” I say, Ekko nodding in agreement

————————————

Once we are finished eating and have paid we walk back out into the cold but fresh air. I smile as I feel Ekko’s hands on my shoulders. “You need my jacket again or are you okay baby?” He asks, a light whisper in my ear. I turn my head to slightly look up at him before I reply. “I’m alright lovely” I say as he squeezes my shoulders one last time before letting go.

We start walking, I lightly lace my fingers with his as we walk. He chuckles as I do so but we continue our path. We make it to our home, the firelight tree. I smile a little bit I see everyone, even the children are outside. I then feel a wave of confusion wash over me as I approach them.

“Why are you all awake? Did something happen?” I ask a little scared. People motion of me to turn around and I gasp. Ekko was down on one knee. I cover my agape mouth with one hand, tears forming in my eyes as he looks at me. “No you’re not” I say in disbelief as he reaches out for my hand.

“Y/n, would you make me the happiest man and marry me?” He asks, gently squeezing hand. I smile, taking his hand in mine, a tear running down my cheek. “Yes!” I say after a few moments of silence, Ekko quickly puts the ring on my finger before standing up to give me a hug. “I’m so glad you said yes” he whispers in my ear.

I laugh, “What else would I have said?”

Hi bbs!! I’m back once again, but with my first arcane fic! Hope yous all enjoy and I am working on some Faust works! Love yous