#{ even if she chooses one or the other of them she is still her own!!!!! }

[blchwaaaan]

You know that tomorrow is the day you die. You heard your wife conspiring with her lover that they will kill you and inherit your wealth. You did not marry her for love. You knew that her parents made her marry you, for status, for connections, and both of you were your families' puppets since you were born.

You never resented her. The mansion is so big that you didn't see her for days at a time. You've only met her at the gate sometimes, and when you had to visit your elders. You lied and said that you're trying for a child, just to please her parents and your parents, and your wife sat by your side and held your hand for as long as she was expected to. She had confessed on your wedding night that she couldn't have children even if she tried, and didn't say why. You left her to her own devices. Your marriage bed was left untouched. You didn't care who'd inherit the fortune that you didn't do anything to earn.

Most of your days are uneventful. You've never had to work one day in your life. Your butler manages your estate. Your butler hires people to manage your farm, and your factories, and all you ever do is own things. You pay your butler well. You ask him to pay everyone who works for you well, and you choose to trust him like your father trusted his father. You don't mind if he takes more money for himself without telling you. If he steals anything, he already deserves it.

He's the one who tells you that your wife has taken a lover. He is sorry for you, but you feel happy. You have never seen her smile, but when you approach her side of the mansion, you hear laughter. Her joy echoes in the walls. Her handmaidens giggle to themselves. She wears colorful dresses and puts roses in her hair.

Today your wife is running through the hedge maze with her lover. You hear their laughter and playful cussing and other noises that you know you're not supposed to hear. Your wife doesn't know that you come here to read and that you like when the butler calls your name and fetches you from the middle of the hedge maze then scolds you for making him worry. But today you don't hear the butler's voice. Instead, your wife's lover says, "we'll kill him tomorrow, then we'll have all of this to ourselves."

She agrees with him, but her voice is uncertain. You listen a bit more and it's so easy to tell. How could you have missed it. He coerces her and she just wants to be loved. He has no love to give, only greed.

You wait until they're gone, then make your way back to the mansion. Your butler is surprised that he doesn't have to go out and fetch you. But he is glad and doesn't dwell on it for long. Stacks of paper tower over him and he reads through each one, signs some and puts others into envelopes. His eyes are brown and there are bags underneath them. You know this, because you see him everyday. You tell him to rest for the week. He doesn't need to be here when it happens. And you don't want to risk your wife's lover killing him for fear of witnesses.

The butler is astonished. He tells you no, these papers are important. Everything is important. He scolds you for not knowing anything about your businesses then apologizes for stepping out of line. But he is right. You wish that you could help him. Instead you slip into the kitchen and make little chocolate tarts, because you know they are his favorites, and in your infinite boredom you decided to learn this for him one day, and you did. You eat some of them with him and he feels guilty for scolding you still. But he thanks you and retires for the night.

You go to bed in your soft blankets and silk sheets. You wonder if your wife and her lover will come for you in the morning or in the afternoon, or perhaps in the night. You don't mind. Your fortune, everything you own, none of it matters. It was passed down to you and someone was bound to inherit it at some point. But then you are plagued with worry for your wife. Her lover will kill her next, no doubt.

You regret not watching over her, letting her fall prey to such a man. Perhaps you can bargain with her and make her see the truth. But does it matter? You don't have anything to live for, not even her. Not even...

The butler sleeps a few doors down. You remember his tired eyes. They are so clear to you. You could draw them from memory if you wanted. You could draw his hands smoothing down the edge of an envelope before applying your seal. The little smile that he does when he's divided the shares of the harvest and everyone's got enough for the winter. The frenzy of panic he'd go into whenever a worker was hurt. Today was the last good day for him too. Or maybe your wife will leave her lover and your butler will be safe. Maybe everything will be alright once you're dead. Your butler will no longer have to scold anyone for being late to dinner.

In the night you wish he came to fetch you one last time. You wish you could get him to rest until the bags under his eyes disappear, and that you knew enough to help him with the piles of work he does in your stead. You hope that if your wife's lover comes for him, he'd be smart enough to find an escape. He should be. You know he is. You've never trusted anyone more, after all.

In the morning you look into your coffee. Its color is nothing unusual, nor its taste. You drink it and nothing happens. Your butler is dressed the same as yesterday and the day before. His stack of paper hasn't gotten any smaller. You go to the hedge maze because your wife and her lover don't know that you spend your days there, and it may buy you time. You hear their voices eventually, then your wife's lover says, "we'll kill him tomorrow, then we'll have all of this to ourselves."

She agrees in the same uncertain tone, and you wonder about all of it. Have you hallucinated the entire thing? are you hallucinating now? You run back to the mansion and your butler is happy to see you come back early in the day, then worried when he sees your shaking hands. He tells you to sit down with the cats but you are restless. In the end you sit by his side and read through the letters he's writing, if only to have something to do.

His handwriting is neat and pretty but has quirks that you remember, the Rs look like the Ss sometimes, and you can tell when he's made a conscious effort to make them look different. You make him tarts like the night before and he accepts with a thanks. "Are you hiding something from me," he asks with a grin. He thinks you're apologizing for something. You laugh. You tell him again that he could take the week to rest and he waves you off all the same.

You go to sleep and try not to think about anything. Perhaps this is all a fever dream. Your wife has already poisoned your coffee this morning and you're bedridden and hallucinating. How nice it is that in your fever dream you sat at the butler's side and read his business letters. And that you went up to make him the chocolate tarts that he likes. Perhaps this is it. Or maybe your wife and her lover decided to wait another day, and they're coming for you tomorrow.

The day comes and again, your wife's lover tells her the same words in the hedge maze. Her voice is too low for you to hear. This time you wait till the butler comes to fetch you, and he does, he is exasperated but not angry. He is never angry with you, he is too fond of you to be upset. You have counted his lashes once, just for fun. You look at him and they're all there, every single one, and this couldn't be a dream. You are trapped into something beyond your understanding, repeating the same day. In the real world you must have already died, and this is the afterlife you are trapped into.

In the beginning you counted the days. Every morning you asked your butler what day it was, and he gave the same answer, April 1st. You lose track of your count because what does it matter anymore. Everyday is the same chilly air, the same rain falling at dawn. Everyday you barge into the study and pluck the butler from his precious paperwork, he is reluctant first but he says he'll indulge you today, and only today. You make him run with you in the fields then sit in the sun like cats. Maybe go for a swim, or sneak into the kitchen and make him try out all the new things you've learned to cook because he might like them.

Some days you almost have the courage to tell him how much he means to you. It's difficult to put into words. The world could burn and you wouldn't care as long as he is happy. But it is such that he needs the world. He is happiest when he's making sure your workers are looked after. His contentment comes from his work, so after the day loops around enough times for you to understand this, you let him be. You sit by his side and help him with his stacks of papers. He is astonished but teaches you what you need to learn. Ten loops later he is also astonished, at how much you know, which he doesn't remember teaching you.

The days loop around and maybe now they have meaning. You muse this as you take in the smell of paper and heated wax seals. Your butler took you to meet the managers at your factories and they were so human, so normal in ways you could never fathom, their lives so far away from yours yet so much more real. At the mansion your wife and her lover conspire in their bed and none of it matters, tomorrow repeats again.

You wish he would remember, but he never does. You got to know him so much, you told him secrets you've never told anyone, and every morning he wakes up a new man and you bear the burden alone. You gather your blankets and show up at his room in the night. You tell him you can't sleep, which is true, and he lets you snuggle up to him. You want so much more but you cannot ask. To him you are a benefactor, the one he serves. At most, if he was being generous, a childhood friend. It would be most shameful and unfair to ask him. You imagine how he would look at you, trapped, unable to say no, and unable to love you in return. You cannot subject him to such power imbalance. The days have meaning now indeed. The meaning is the pain you have to endure.

The morning after you do not approach him. He does not find this strange and of course he wouldn't, he remembers nothing while you suffer alone. You go to the hedge maze and decide that even if he calls for you, today you will not answer.

You expect your wife and her lover to have that same conversation where they plot your demise. You think about confronting them, perhaps they will kill you then and there and you would be free. Except that today only her lover's voice rings into the distance, calling out for her, so lovingly. A little after, the sound of running, then there's your wife bleeding from her arm. She is frozen in shock when she sees you, then walks over to you and takes your hand. She leads you to hide into an opening in the tree growth, and her lover passes by, unknowing. When he is gone and she leads you back to the mansion, what she says is enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

Her days have been looping the same as yours, and she is perpetually stuck in April 1st. She had known about your ordeal for sometime, but couldn't reach you. Everyday her lover tries to kill her and she runs from him. Whether he kills her or not, she wakes the next morning in the same day.

So, you and your wife are trapped. You stare at her, helpless, desperate for an answer. She then says, "it's all for the butler. It is him who must die."

You are stuck in a time loop, but you have no intention of ever breaking out of it. After literally millions of resets a new person appears in the loop and asks you why you are still in the loop.

[itsnesss]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢 𝐝𝐨 | lando norris × fem!reader

summary | you confront lando about his new girlfriend, accusing him of replacing you. he admits he still feels for you, but you demand he prove his love by choosing you fully, not as an option

warnings | emotional manipulation, angst, heartbreak, unresolved tension, rebound relationship dynamics, betrayal

word count | 2.2 k

🖇 sctw album 🖇 more ln4

You see it from afar.

His laugh, the way he runs a hand through his hair, that same sidelong glance that used to be yours.

And her...

She’s wearing your coat. Well, not literally, but it looks like it. Same cut, same worn-out beige tone, like she stalked your old photos and built a Pinterest mood board with your name on it.

"Y/N?" your friend whispers, nudging you. "You okay?"

You’re not. But you smile. Of course you are. You’ve had months to prepare for this. To see them together.

Lando and the watered-down version of you.

She laughs a little too hard at something he barely said. Her hands reach for his like she has something to prove, like she’s marking territory.

And the worst part...

Lando doesn’t even notice.

Or he does. And he likes it.

"You look incredible," he says later, when fate decides to put you face to face. Charity event, lots of familiar faces, lots of cameras.

"Thanks," you reply, smoothing your skirt with a grace you didn’t have when you were with him. You don’t try to be cool anymore. You just are.

She shows up two steps behind, with a rehearsed smile and a scripted comment:

"I love your shoes! I literally saw them at Zara the other day and thought, this is so Y/N."

You look at her.

It’s not just the shoes. It’s your perfume. Your hairstyle. Your way of saying “literally.”

It’s creepy. And honestly, kind of pathetic.

"Yeah?" you say with a thin smile. "Well, not everyone has their own style."

She laughs, like it’s a joke. Lando doesn’t. He frowns. Because he knows you.

And you know he knows.

"It was a joke," she clarifies, but the tremble in her voice betrays her.

"Sure," you reply. "I just didn’t find it funny."

Hours later, you're on the terrace, a glass of wine in hand and a faint song playing in the background. The breeze carries memories, ones you'd rather not invoke. But there they are.

Your fingers laced with his, a broken promise, a fight in Monaco, tears in an airport.

"You shouldn't have said that," his voice comes from behind.

"Which part? The style thing? Or the not everyone part?"

Lando sighs.

"She’s not you."

"No. But she tries to be."

You turn around. He’s closer than you expected.

"Does it bother you?" he asks.

"What bothers me," you say calmly, "is that you let it happen."

Silence.

"You let her step into my place. What did you expect? That she wouldn't try to fit the shape I left behind?"

Lando doesn’t answer. But his jaw tightens.

And for the first time in a long time, you see something in his eyes you didn’t see when you were together:

Doubt.

And that’s when you understand.

Maybe she’s copying you because he’s still looking for you everywhere.

Lando doesn’t speak at first. He just looks at you with that intense stare you once could read with your eyes closed. Now, it’s all noise.

"You don’t have the right to be mad," he finally says.

"And you had the right to replace me so quickly?"

"I’m not replacing you."

You laugh, dry.

"Right. It’s just a coincidence that she likes the same movies I do, drinks her coffee the same way, and has the same ringtone I used to have. What a coincidence."

Lando takes a step toward you.

"She’s not you, okay? No matter how hard she tries. And I’m not the same since you left."

Your eyes lock with his. You see it: the regret, the confusion, the restrained desire.

"I didn’t leave," you whisper. "You let me go. Don’t forget that."

Days later, the universe plays dirty again: a private event, a small guest list, and of course, she’s there. Like a shadow. Like an echo. Wearing a skirt you used to wear and a hairstyle he once complimented… on you.

But this time, you’re done playing nice.

"Can we talk?" she asks when Lando gets distracted.

You raise your brows.

"Now you want to talk to me?"

"It’s just that..." she bites her lip. "I didn’t know it bothered you so much."

"What? That you copy me or that you’re dating my ex?"

She stays silent.

"Look," you add, your tone unchanged. "I don’t care that you’re with him. What bothers me is that you think copying me is the only way to make him like you. That says a lot more about you than it does about me."

She blushes.

And you walk away. Because you don’t have time for imitations.

Later, as you’re picking up your bag at the coat check, Lando appears behind you. Again. Always him.

"What did you say to her?"

"The truth," you reply without turning around. "Isn’t that what you used to like about me?"

"I still do."

You freeze. Slowly, you turn.

He’s close. Too close. Same scent, same chaos.

"Don’t say that."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re nothing now."

"Then why are you still hurt? Why do you look at me like that every time we’re in the same room?"

Your breath catches.

"Why are you still looking for me in other people, Lando?"

And that’s all it takes.

The tension bursts into an unplanned kiss — fast, furious, full of unspoken words. No cameras, no witnesses. Just the two of you, trapped in a corner where you still exist.

His hands hold you like you’re still his. Your fingers cling to his jacket like no time has passed. It hurts. But it feels good. It feels real.

"This doesn’t change anything," you whisper against his lips.

"It changes everything," he replies.

And for the first time, you don’t know if that gives you hope… or scares you.

Lando doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you with that intensity of his the one you used to read with your eyes closed. Now, everything is noise.

"You don’t have the right to be angry," he says at last.

"And you had the right to replace me so quickly?"

"I’m not replacing her."

You laugh, dry.

"Right. It’s just a coincidence that she likes the same movies I do, that she now drinks her coffee the way I used to, and that she uses the same song as her ringtone. What a coincidence."

Lando takes a step toward you.

"She’s not you, okay? No matter how hard she tries. And I’m not the same since you left."

Your eyes lock onto his. You see it: the regret, the confusion, the restrained desire.

"I didn’t leave," you whisper. "You left me. Don’t forget that."

Days later, the universe plays dirty again: a private event, a small guest list, and of course, she’s there. Like a shadow. Like an echo. Wearing a skirt you used to wear and a hairstyle he once complimented… on you.

But this time, you’re not here to play nice.

"Can we talk?" she asks when Lando gets distracted.

You raise your eyebrows at her.

"Now you want to talk to me?"

"It’s just that…" she bites her lip. "I didn’t know it bothered you so much."

"What? That you copy me or that you’re dating my ex?"

She stays silent.

"Look," you add, your tone unchanged, "I don’t care that you’re with him. What bothers me is that you think copying me is the only way to make him like you. That says more about you than it does about me."

She flushes.

And you walk away. Because you don’t have time for imitations.

Later, while you're grabbing your purse at the coat check, Lando appears behind you. Again. Always him.

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth," you reply without turning around. "Isn’t that what you liked about me?"

"I still do."

You freeze. Slowly, you turn.

He’s close. Too close. Same scent, same chaos.

"Don’t say that."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re nothing now."

"Then why are you still hurt? Why do you look at me like that every time we’re in the same room?"

Your breath catches.

"Why are you still looking for me in other people, Lando?"

And that’s all it takes.

The tension erupts into an unplanned kiss—fast, furious, full of unspoken words. No cameras, no witnesses. Just the two of you, trapped in a corner where you still exist.

His hands hold you like you still belong to him. Your fingers cling to his jacket like time never passed. It hurts. But it feels good. It feels real.

"This doesn’t change anything," you whisper against his lips.

"It changes everything," he replies.

And for the first time, you don’t know if that gives you hope… or fear.

The hallway lights flicker. In the distance, you hear laughter, music muffled by the thick club walls. But you’re still there, caught between yesterday and now, with his lips still brushing yours.

"This shouldn’t be happening," you murmur, without conviction.

Lando looks at you with a storm in his eyes.

"But it is. It always happens when we’re close."

And then, as if the universe demands immediate revenge, she appears.

"Lando?"

Your body freezes. Guilt crashes over you like ice.

Lando takes a step back, his lips still red, his breath uneven.

She sees you. She doesn’t need an explanation. The pieces fall into place—your lips, his rumpled jacket, your guilty eyes. It says everything.

"Seriously?" her voice trembles. "Here? With her?"

No one replies. There are no excuses. What could you say? That he kissed you first, that it wasn’t your intention, that you’re confused too?

But you don’t.

Because you’re not confused.

And that makes it worse.

"Since when?" she asks. "Was it always like this? Since we started dating?"

"No," Lando says, still looking at you. "But I never stopped feeling it."

She laughs. A hollow, wounded sound.

"Of course. How could I compete with her ghost if you never let her go?"

You feel awful. Not for confronting her. But because deep down, you always knew this would happen. That he was with you in body, but with her in memory.

She turns to leave. And for a moment, you almost go after her.

But you don’t. Because he doesn’t move. He doesn’t run after her.

He’s still there. With you.

"You’re not going after her," you whisper, more surprised than angry.

"I can’t."

"Why?"

Lando swallows.

"Because she’s not you."

Hours later, you’re in his car. No destination, just familiar streets and the radio playing low. Not much talking just breathing the same air. But something has changed.

"So now what?" you ask.

"I don’t know," he admits. "But I know what I don’t want."

You glance at him sideways.

"What don’t you want?"

"To lose you again."

And that sentence… it stays with you like an invisible scar.

But the problem is, this time, you’re not the one who has to stay. He has to prove he’s changed.

You stay at his apartment that night, but not out of love. Not out of habit. Just because you don’t have the energy to run… yet.

The city sleeps, but you don’t.

You’re sitting at the edge of the couch, a blanket over your legs. Lando stands by the window with a glass of wine he hasn’t touched.

The silence is heavy. He’s waiting for you to say something. You decide it’s time.

"You know what hurt the most?" you ask, without looking at him.

He turns slightly.

"What?"

"That you made me feel replaceable."

You say it slowly, like each word is a punch.

"Like everything I was to you could be copied, shaped into someone else. Someone younger. Easier. Less complicated."

Lando closes his eyes.

"I didn’t go after her for that."

"It doesn’t matter why you did it. You did it. And not only that. You turned her into me. You gave her everything you used to give me… just without the love you had for me."

"Don’t say that," he replies, hurt.

"Why not? Does the truth bother you?"

You stand, the blanket falls. Now you look him in the eye.

"Or does it bother you to realize you were never honest with yourself?"

He puts the glass down. Walks toward you.

"Y/N… I loved you. I love you. I swear."

"Don’t swear it. I don’t want empty promises."

Your voice shakes, but you don’t.

"Do you know how hard it was to rebuild myself after you? You were in everything. My coffee, my playlist, my Sundays. And just when I started to breathe without feeling you, you decide to kiss me."

Lando swallows hard.

"I didn’t plan that."

"But you did it."

You pause. Swallow the lump in your throat.

"And she saw it. You know what’s worse? She hates me, when you’re the one who dragged her into this. Just like you dragged me."

Lando lowers his gaze.

"You’re right."

"Of course I am."

You inhale deeply.

"And that’s why I’m not falling again. Not unless you’re willing to do what you never did."

He looks up.

"What’s that?"

Your voice is firm. Steady.

"Choose me."

Silence.

"Not as an option, not as an escape, not as comfort. Choose me fully. With the consequences. With the ugly parts. With the real stuff."

He nods.

"Then give me the chance to prove it."

"No."

Your words hit him hard.

"No?"

"Prove it away from me. Change without me as your excuse. Be better without needing to kiss me to remember why you loved me."

You take a step back.

"And if after that you still choose me… then we’ll talk."

[enwoso]

weight of the world | part four

alessia russo x baby!reader (last part of this little mini series!)

-> based on this request | some upsetting themes throughout so read with caution

grumpy masterlist | part three here

it had been a couple of weeks since alessia had made the jump and called the line on the piece of paper which her mum had left on her fridge and they'd been helping, more than alessia maybe realised.

after each session, she felt lighter. like she didn't have the world on her shoulders afterwards.

"i don't think i ever gave myself permission to not cope," alessia said, her voice low, fingers knotting tightly in her lap. "it was like... the second i admitted i was struggling, i'd lose everything. lose control. or worse—lose her."

alessia's throat ached as she said it, like even speaking the fear aloud might make it real.

dr. finch or morgan as alessia learned to find out after their first couple of sessions. morgan didn't rush alessia. she never did. she just nodded gently, legs crossed, her pen still. listening.

"so you became everything for everyone," morgan said after a pause.

alessia nodded, blinking fast. "yeah."

alessia rubbed at the skin on her wrist, the words coming harder now. "i kept thinking... if i just did everything right—fed her at the right time, rocked her the right way, got back to training fast, kept my head down—then no one would question me. no one would think i couldn't handle it. because if someone thought that... then maybe they'd think i wasn't fit to be her mum."

morgan's voice was soft but unflinching. "that is a heavy burden. to be everything. all the time."

alessia laughed bitterly, wiping under her eye. "didn't feel like i had a choice."

"and what about now?" morgan asked gently. alessia sat with that question for a long moment, staring at the window, at the strip of sky just visible behind the blinds.

"i-i'm... learning," alessia said finally. "to share the load. a bit. my mum, ella, the team... they've stepped up. they've been kind."

a beat.

"and i'm starting to believe they'll stay. even if i'm not perfect."

morgan nodded slowly. "that's good, alessia. that is really good." a longer pause stretched between them before morgan spoke again—careful, measured. "can i ask something about y/n's father?"

alessia's jaw clenched. her shoulders stiffened slightly. "he's not in the picture," alessia said quickly, automatically—like she'd practiced the line a hundred times.

"i see," morgan said gently. "would you be open to sharing how that's felt for you? being left to carry this on your own?"

alessia didn't answer right away. her eyes glossed over. then: "i didn't plan to be a single mum. i didn't plan any of it."

alessia let out a long breath that trembled at the edges. "he said he wasn't ready. and i told him i wasn't either but i had this connection with her so i told him that i could do it without him if i had to. i wasn't giving up my baby. and i meant it." alessia swallowed hard.

"but there's a difference between doing it alone because you choose to... and doing it alone because you're left with no other option."

silence again, thick and aching.

"and the worst part?" alessia added, voice cracking. "sometimes i still catch myself missing him. not being with him but—just... the idea. of not being alone at 3am with a crying baby and a pounding headache. of someone else washing the bottles. of someone else looking at her and seeing me."

alessia's lips trembled. "and then i hate myself for that. because i do have people. i have my mum. i have ella. the girls. but it's not the same. and i feel selfish for even saying that."

"it's not selfish," morgan said softly. "it's you being honest. wanting help—wanting softness, support, safety—that's human, alessia. that's not weakness."

alessia let her head fall forward slightly, chin trembling, eyes closed. "it just gets so loud in my head sometimes," alessia whispered. "and i think, what if i ruin her? what if she grows up and sees how lost i was? what if she hates me for that?"

"she won't," morgan said calmly, but firmly. "you are showing her something so incredibly powerful—what it looks like to be brave and broken and still present. you're showing your little girl what it means to fight for your healing. that matters."

alessia didn't say anything for a long time. then she nodded, one tear sliding down her cheek. and whispered, "i want to be better for her."

"you're already becoming that," morgan said gently. "one step at a time."

⸻

the sun was already slipping through the sheer curtains when alessia woke, her body still curled protectively around your little body, as you were nestled against your mummy's chest, asleep with your fist tucked under her chin. your breath was soft and even, and for a moment, alessia just lay there, watching you.

"hey, my little love," alessia whispered with a small, tired smile. "we did it. another night."

you stirred but didn't wake. alessia pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and let her eyes drift to the window. the morning light filtered in, warm and gold. the kind that made things feel gentler. softer.

alessia stood slowly, carefully, and padded into the kitchen with you still in her arms. the whiteboard calendar her mum had left was now full—training days, therapy sessions, checkups, even a coffee date with ella scribbled in pink marker. it made her feel like her life had shape again. a purpose again.

the kitchen smelled like toast and the radio played softly. there were now signs of life everywhere now—a new plant on the windowsill, baby socks drying on the radiator, alessia's training boots by the door. the kind of mess that meant people lived here. tried. laughed. started again.

ella had started picking her up on tuesdays and thursdays. a quiet routine that never needed to be spoken aloud.

alessia strapped you into your bouncer with a kiss to your forehead, then laced up her shoes up. her training schedule was light still—modified drills, rehab, nothing too intense—but it felt good to be back. good to sweat. to her body belong to her again, even in fragments.

"you know," alessia murmured, brushing a hand down your leg, "i thought i'd break. i really did."

you cooed up at her, wide-eyed and curious. "but we're still here, aren't we?" alessia smiled, the kind that reached her eyes now—tentative, but real. "and i'm not perfect. god, not even close. but i'm trying."

then alessia's phone buzzed on the counter. a message from ella.

tooney | ‘you still on for a light session today at the ground? i've got snacks. and tooney hugs for my fave little russo.’

alessia laughed under her breath and typed back:

less | ‘wouldn't miss it. save me a banana bar.’

—

later that day, at carrington, alessia stood on the edge of the pitch, nerves buzzing beneath her skin. she was still on an individual programme—short sprints, ball control, bodyweight strength.

the team were doing full drills on the other side of the pitch, but she didn't feel separate anymore. just... finding her way back.

you were in the dugout dressed in warm clothes to match the coolness of the air that swarmed manchester, tucked safely in ella's arms, surrounded by a rotating cast of teammates who doted on you like she was the team mascot.

"look at that face," mary grinned, making ridiculous noises to earn a gurgling laugh from you.

"she's our lucky charm," leah galton said, gently fixing your little bobble hat so that it didn’t cover you big blue eyes.

alessia glanced over and smiled, heart full. the sight was surreal. her daughter—her daughter—being passed between some of the best players in the world, held like something precious. like something that belonged.

as alessia powered through her final sprint, lungs burning, legs screaming, she heard it: cheers.

"go mummy! go mummy!" ella started to chant as she lifted you in the air with your arms as little smiles came from you

"go on lessi!"

"smash it, mama!"

alessia reached the final cone, doubled over with a laugh and a breathless sob tangled together. ella jogged over, still holding you. "you alright?"

alessia looked up, eyes bright. "yeah," alessia panted. "actually... yeah. i think i am."

you babbled and kicked your feet like you understood exactly what was going on. ella grinned. "told you. you've got this."

alessia reached out and took you in her arms, sweat-slicked and flushed with effort. alessia kissed your forehead, breathing in the soft scent of baby shampoo and something sweeter—something like hope.

as healing wasn't about bouncing back straight away like a bouncy ball. it wasn't linear. it was showing up, again and again, even when it hurt. it was letting yourself be seen. letting others help carry you across the line.

and as the sun dipped low over the training ground, alessia russo—mother, footballer, fighter—held her baby in her arms and smiled like maybe, just maybe, she believed it now too.

alessia wasn't fixed. but she was standing. and that was enough.

[aeralux]

"undressed" - Rhaneyra Targaryen

𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧!𝐀𝐔 (𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠)𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: She was the sun. And the sun sets when she wants. But you were the moon. Some nights, you lit up the whole sky. Other nights, you disappeared without warning—left the world to figure itself out in the dark.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: slight angst; fluff; WLW yearning; eating out (both are absolute munches); soft fluff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5k

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: No description of the reader, no use of (y/n). English is not my first language. I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume. This made me horny af writing it 🤭.

𐔌 . ⋮ 𝒶𝑒𝓇𝒶 .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Loving Rhaenyra was easy. Too easy.

Loving Rhaenyra was like being kissed by a salty breeze near the ocean, cooling your skin on a burning summer day.

Like savouring a chilled beer while laughter flowed freely among friends, the world faded away in that perfect moment.

Her kisses tasted of her mint chapstick, because she hated the sweet berry flavours everyone else seemed to love. You could still taste the remnants of her last cigarette on her tongue as she leaned close and whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

You really couldn't imagine loving anyone else. Ever.

Rhaenyra was the type of girl who wore obscure band tees but blasted 2000s top hits and danced with you like no one was watching. She would wrap her arms around you from behind, holding you close as if she feared you'd vanish like smoke if she let go.

She scribbled poetry in her worn notebooks, filled with half-finished thoughts and feelings, but she always crossed out the lines before you could read them. When you pout in frustration, she'd lean in with a mischievous grin, planting a peck on your nose.

Why would you ever love another?

But loving Rhaenyra wasn’t always warm sun and lazy Sunday mornings.

Some days, it felt like drowning in glitter—beautiful, but suffocating all the same.

She had a way of disappearing mid-conversation, eyes drifting to somewhere you couldn’t follow. Of changing the song halfway through, just because the vibe felt off. Of smiling like she knew something you never would.

You once caught her crying on the fire escape at 3 a.m., mascara smudged like bruises under her eyes, cigarette ash falling onto her thigh. She laughed when she saw you and said something flippant about the moon being too close and too big tonight.

She never explained what that meant. You didn’t ask.

Loving Rhaenyra was easy.

But keeping her? Keeping her was like trying to hold light in your hands.

She was the sun.

Rhaenyra brightened the room with her warm smiles and sparkling eyes. She could lift your spirits and make even the gloomiest days feel better.

But when the clouds came, that’s when the trouble started.

Ignoring your questions and sad eyes.

Vanishing for hours, sometimes days, with no explanation. How she’d come to you barefoot, cheeks flushed from the night air, smelling like her Virginia Slims and cold wind. She wouldn’t lie, exactly—she wouldn’t answer.

You knew she couldn't be tamed. She was the sun.

And the sun sets when she wants.

You were her moon.

With your big, pretty eyes—the ones she said she loved the first time she saw you. You’d caught her attention just by sitting there, quiet and still at some stranger’s party, playing with the host’s black cat.

She felt drawn to you. Over and over again, her eyes found you.

Not loud. Not reckless. Just… patient. The kind of girl who knew how to wait someone out without ever chasing.

She was the sun, golden, loud, eyes burning when looking at her too long.

But you were the moon.

Slower, quieter. But no less unpredictable.

Some nights, you lit up the whole sky.

Other nights, you disappeared in your own mind without warning—left the world to figure itself out in the dark.

And sometimes, you pulled away too hard. Said the wrong thing with a voice too calm, too cold.

Left her waiting at a café with two untouched coffees, not answering your phone, not because you didn’t care, but because caring too much made your hands shake.

You hurt her without meaning to. The way people do when they don’t know how to be held.

And she—bright, burning Rhaenyra—took every silence like a storm.

“I don’t know how you do that,” she whispered. “The most intriguing girl at the party, not even saying a word.”

You didn’t answer then. Just smiled, soft and slow. Because you knew she’d come back. Not because she had to.

But because she wanted to.

But it wasn’t that simple.

There were weeks between then and now. Weeks of "coincidences", of seeing her across crosswalks and pretending not to notice when she doubled back.

Catching her eye in the corner store while picking up oat milk and trying not to stare when she smiled.

You saw her again outside the animal food shop on Main. She had a bag of cat treats under one arm and was arguing with the cashier about whether or not cats could be pescatarian.

You almost laughed. You didn’t.

But later, at home, you looked up the answer. Just in case she asked.

Another time, you passed her in the park. She was walking someone else's dog—big, unruly, leash looped twice around her wrist. You didn’t stop, didn’t say a word.

But her eyes met yours for half a second too long. And that half-second lasted the rest of your afternoon.

It was like that for a while.

Small moments. Half-glances. Tension that felt like an unfinished sentence between you.

She was the kind of girl who lit cigarettes she never finished. You were the kind who brought extra lighters just in case.

Eventually, it added up to something.

Something like a look across a party, a quiet smile.

And then—

She crawled into bed beside you, notebook in hand. “Don’t laugh,” she said, passing it over. “This one’s about you.”

You try to bite back a smile, brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "Is it the first one?" You asked quietly, not wanting to be too hopeful.

She hesitates, eyes flickering to the ceiling like the answer might be up there.

“No... But it’s the first one I didn’t cross out.”

You don’t say anything for a moment. Just take the notebook from her fingers and hold it gently, like it might burn if you’re not careful.

Rhaenyra watched as you carefully opened the notebook, her eyes following your fingers as they gently turned the pages. She had a habit of chewing on her bottom lip when she was nervous or anxious, and right now, that lip was caughtbetween her teeth.

As you read the words she had written, Rhaenyra's heart raced. She had never shown anyone her poetry before, not like this. It was a part of her soul, a piece of her that she kept hidden away from the world. But for some reason, she wanted to share it with you.

I’ve wondered why, the sun and the moon never meet only for such a fleeting moment do they hold each other

was it fate or was it a mistake when my eyes found yours the others looking away an eclipse

You looked up at her, your eyes meeting hers. In that moment, the rest of the world faded away. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the poem a palpable symbol of the connection between you.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice soft and sincere. "For sharing this with me."

Rhaenyra smiled, a genuine smile that lit up her eyes. "Don't make me regret it," she teased, but there was no real bite to her words.

"It's beautiful," you murmured, your voice low and soft. "You're beautiful."

Rhaenyra felt a warmth spread through her chest at your words, a gentle heat that had nothing to do with the beer she'd been sipping earlier. She leaned in closer, her minty breath ghosting over your cheek as she whispered back,

"Beautiful... I wouldn't go that far," she murmured, her thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Rhaenyra," you said, feeling a lump in your throat as you gazed up at her, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light around her. "This is... this is beautiful. I-... no one has ever," you breathed, struggling to find the right words, your heart racing with emotion, unable to finish your sentence.

Rhaenyra didn't say anything as her heart skipped a beat at seeing the glimmer of unshed tears in your pretty eyes.

Slowly, giving you time to pull back if you wanted to, she cupped your cheek, her palm warm and soft against your skin. Her thumb brushed away the tear that escaped, and she leaned closer until her forehead rested against yours.

"I don't want to make you cry."

She held you like that for a long moment, just breathing you in, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your chest against hers. Then, with a soft sigh, she pulled back just enough to look you in the eye.

She paused, searching your face, trying to gauge your reaction. Then she shrugged, a little self-consciously.

"But I wanted you to see this one. I wanted you to know..."

She trailed off, biting her lip again to find the right words. Finally, she just shook her head and laughed softly.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful... Sometimes I wonder if you're too good to be true."

With that, she closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of longing and want and something that felt dangerously like love. A kiss that made your heart race and your toes curl.

You kissed her back fiercely, your fingers tangling in her hair, holding her face close to yours. You couldn't let her pull away, not now, not when you needed her so desperately. You craved the softness of her lips, the warmth of her skin, the way her heartbeat raced against your own.

She kissed you back just as fiercely, her fingers gripping the hem of your shirt, anchoring herself to you. She poured all of her longing, all of her want, into that kiss. She wanted to devour you, to consume you, to make you a part of her.

"So pretty," you whispered against her mouth, a giddy laugh escaping your lips between kisses. Tears streamed down your cheeks, the saltiness mixing with the fresh taste of her minty lip balm. "I can't... I won't let you go... not tonight"

Your words were a breathless plea, a selfish demand. For once in your life, you wanted to be greedy. You wanted to keep her, to hold her, to make her yours. The world could wait, the future could fade away. In that moment, there was only her and you, lost in a tangle of limbs and racing hearts.

When you pulled back to whisper against her lips, your words sending shivers down her spine, Rhaenyra felt a fierce surge of emotion. She couldn't let you go either, not tonight. She refused to let this moment end.

"Then don't," she breathed, her voice low and rough with desire. "Keep me. Hold me."

Rhaenyra pushed you down onto the bed, hovering over you, her hair falling around you both like a curtain. She looked down at you with eyes that blazed with intensity, a fierce, almost feral look on her face.

"Tell me what you want," she demanded, her voice a low, breathless rasp. "Tell me how you want me, and I'll give it to you."

"I want you," you blurted out before you could stop yourself, the words spilling from your mouth like a secret longing you had held inside for too long.

The blushing glances and fleeting touches had been lovely, each one igniting a warmth in your chest. But now, as you lay there, you craved more. 

"I want you," you repeated, this time with a confidence that surprised even you. "Here. With me. Every night." Your voice shook slightly, a mix of hope and fear churning within you, ready for the possibility of rejection. The quiet space between you felt charged.

Rhaenyra's breath caught in her throat at your words, a fierce surge of emotion welling up inside her. She searched your face, her eyes roaming over your features as if trying to memorise every detail.

"Every night," she repeated softly, a hint of wonder in her voice. "You want me... here... with you."

She leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours, her lips just a hair's breadth away from your own. You could feel the heat of her breath, the racing of her heart.

"I want that too," she whispered, her voice raw and honest. "I want to wake up next to you, to fall asleep with you in my arms. I want to fight and make up with you and everything in between."

You chuckled softly, feeling a wave of relief wash over you as you gazed up at Rhaenyra, your eyes sparkling.

"Good," you whispered, your voice breathless and light. "I don't wanna get undressed for a new person all over again."

You reached up, gently tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering on the soft skin of her cheek.

"I don't wanna kiss someone else's neck and have to pretend it's yours..."

Your thumb brushed over her lower lip, tracing the soft, plump flesh, as you held her gaze captive with your own.

Rhaenyra shivered at your touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as your thumb brushed over her lip. When she opened them again, her gaze was intense, filled with a hunger that made your heart race.

"Then don't," she breathed, her voice low and rough. "Don't pretend with anyone else. I don't want to share you."

She leaned into your touch, her cheek soft and warm against your palm. Then, suddenly, she straddled your hips, pinning you beneath her.

"I want to be the only one who gets to see you like this," she murmured, her hands sliding up your sides, pushing your shirt up and off. "The only one who gets to touch you, to taste you."

She leaned down, her breasts pressing against yours as she nipped at your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. "I want to be the only one who gets to hear you moan my name in the dark, who gets to feel you shake in my arms."

You gazed up at Rhaenyra, your heart pounding in your chest as you slid your hands slowly up the sides of her body, relishing the feel of her soft, warm skin beneath your fingertips. With a gentle tug, you pulled her white tank top off, exposing the smooth, toned curves of her torso.

Your hands eagerly sought out the soft, supple mounds of her breasts, kneading and caressing the delicate flesh. You could feel her nipples hardening beneath your fingertips as you teased and circled the sensitive peaks, drawing breathy gasps from Rhaenyra's lips.

"You are the only one," you whispered, assuring her.

"Good," she breathed, her voice ragged with need. "You're the only one I want to touch me like this."

She rocked her hips against yours, the heat of her core searing through the fabric of her thin lace panties. Her hands slid down your sides, over your stomach.

"Lift your hips," she commanded, her voice low and demanding. As you complied, she pulled your panties off in one swift motion, leaving you bare and exposed beneath her.

She took a moment to drink in the sight of you, her eyes darkening with lust. Then, with a wicked grin, she shimmied out of her panties until she was just as bare as you.

"Now, let me show you how much I want you," she purred, before trailing kisses down your body, pausing to pay attention to your breasts, before moving lower, lower, until she was nestled between your thighs.

She looked up at you, her eyes glinting with mischief and desire. "I'm going to make you scream my name until you forget every other girl's name but mine," she promised, before diving in and putting her mouth on you.

"Oh god, Rhaenyra...!" you gasped, your back arching off the bed as her tongue delved between your slick folds.

Your fingers tangled desperately in her messy hair, gripping tight as jolts of electric pleasure coursed through your veins. You could feel your hole clenching around nothing as she teased your puffy clit.

"Gods, yesss, please don't stop...!" you begged shamelessly, too lost in sensation to care how desperate you sounded. Your eyelids fluttered shut, eyes rolling back as you surrendered to the intense, building ecstasy.

Rhaenyra growled against your slick flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. She spread your lower lips wide open with her thumbs, exposing your most intimate parts to her greedy mouth. Her tongue delved deep, fucking into your tight channel with long, hard strokes. She lapped up your dripping arousal, moaning at the taste of your essence on her tongue.

"Fuck, you taste so good," she panted against your sex, her breath hot and heavy. "I could eat this pretty pussy for hours." To prove her point, she sealed her lips around your clit and sucked hard, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of her tongue. Two fingers plunged knuckle-deep into your clenching hole, pumping in and out, curling to stroke that special spot inside that made your toes curl.

Rhaenyra was relentless, her tongue and fingers working in tandem to drive you to the brink of ecstasy. She could feel your walls fluttering around her invading digits, your arousal dripping down her chin as she feasted on your cunt like a woman starved.

"Mmm, you're so fucking wet," she purred, pulling back just enough to blow cool air over your soaked, throbbing sex. "I love how needy you are for me, how much your pretty little pussy is dripping."

She plunged back in, sucking your clit hard as she fucked you with three fingers now, curling them just right to hit that spongey spot inside that made you see stars. Her other hand slid up your body to pinch and roll your nipple between her fingers, sending sparks of pleasure-pain straight to your core.

"That's it, baby," she encouraged, her voice muffled against your sex.

"Holyfuckingshiitt," you whined desperately, your back arching sharply off the bed as her tongue delved deep into your dripping, aching core.

The obscene noises of her feasting on your pussy filled the room, mingling with your loud moans and gasps. She could feel your arousal dripping down her chin, coating her fingers as they pumped mercilessly in and out of your clenching, greedy hole.

Rhaenyra could feel your walls starting to flutter and clench around her fingers, your body tensing as your climax approached. She doubled her efforts, sucking hard on your clit as she fucked you with three fingers now, her thumb rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"So pretty, baby," she urged, her voice a low, rough growl against your sex. "Come on my tongue."

She could feel your body trembling, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She knew you were close. With a final, hard suck on your clit, she pushed you over the edge.

Your pussy clenched down hard on her fingers as your orgasm crashed over you, your juices gushing out to coat her hand and drip down her wrist. Rhaenyra moaned against your flesh, the sound vibrating through you as she worked you through your high, her fingers pumping slowly as your walls spasmed and fluttered around them.

Finally, as the aftershocks started to subside, she pulled back, her face glistening with your arousal. She licked her lips, savouring the taste of your release.

"Fuck, that was so hot," she panted, crawling up your body to capture your lips in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on her tongue, making your head spin.

You gazed up at Rhaenyra, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath after the intense orgasm she'd just given you. Your faces were both glistening with the evidence of your arousal.

"Rhaenyra," you breathed out, your voice hoarse and shaky. You reached up, gently cupping her cheek, your thumb brushing over her swollen lower lip, smearing the slickness there. "How can I possibly repay the favour?" You giggled breathlessly, smirking as you bit your lip.

Your eyes shone with devotion and desire as you looked up at her, a soft blush colouring your cheeks.

Rhaenyra smirked at your words, a wicked gleam in her eye. She nipped at your thumb, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

"Oh, I can think of a few ways," she purred, her voice low and full of promise.

She swung a leg over to straddle your face, her dripping pussy hovering just inches above your mouth. With one hand, she gripped the headboard for support, while the other slid down to spread her lower lips open, exposing her needy hole to you.

"Go on, baby," she breathed, her voice heavy with desire. "Put that pretty mouth of yours to work. I want to feel your tongue inside me, worshipping my cunt."

She rocked her hips, rubbing her slick folds against your lips, coating them with her arousal. The scent of her desire filled your nostrils, musky and intoxicating.

"Fuck," you breathed out, youe voice already rough with want. "Such a pretty pink pussy."

You leaned in, your tongue darting out to take a long, slow lick up her dripping slit. You moaned at the first taste of her, the flavour exploding on your tongue - tangy and sweet. You licked again, more firmly this time, your tongue parting her lower lips to delve inside, to lap up the slickness gathered there.

"Yes, just like that," Rhaenyra gasped, her grip on the headboard tightening. "Don't be shy, pretty girl."

You could only moan in response, the sound vibrating against her sensitive flesh as you obeyed her command. You licked and sucked, your tongue swirling around her clit before dipping back inside her hot, tight channel. You could feel her arousal dripping down your chin, coating your neck, and you loved every second of it. You wanted to be covered in her essence.

Your hands gripped her ass, pulling her harder against you, encouraging her to grind on your face, to take her pleasure from you. You wanted to feel her come undone above you, to hear your name falling from her lips like a prayer and a plea.

So you licked and sucked and worshipped her pussy with everything you had, your arousal building with each of her breathy moans and gasps.

Rhaenyra threw her head back, a low moan tearing from her throat as she ground her dripping cunt harder against your eager mouth. Her hips rolled in a sensual rhythm, smearing her slick arousal all over your lips and chin, your cheeks and nose, marking you with her essence.

"Yes, fuck yes, just like that," she panted, her voice ragged and desperate. "Lick my pussy, baby. Suck on my clit. Make me come all over your pretty face."

She reached down, tangling her fingers in your hair, holding you in place as she rutted against you. Her grip tightened, bordering on painful, as her pleasure increased. She could feel her climax building, the coil of heat in her belly winding tighter and tighter.

"That's it, don't stop," she urged, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "I'm gonna... fuck... I'm gonna come!"

With a final, hard grind of her hips, she came undone. Her pussy clenched and spasmed, gushing her release all over your face and into your mouth. She cried out your name, a ragged scream of ecstasy, as her orgasm crashed over her in intense waves.

You gazed up at Rhaenyra, your vision blurred by the tears of effort stinging your eyes and the slickness of her release coating your face. Strands of your hair clung to your skin, damp with sweat beads. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep your eyes on her.

You couldn't form any coherent words, too lost in the haze of lust and desire. All you could manage was a low, guttural moan against her sensitive flesh, the sound vibrating through her as you desperately licked and lapped up every drop of her sweet nectar. You couldn't get enough of her taste, her scent, the feel of her trembling body above you.

Your fingers dug into the firm globes of her ass, pulling her harder against your mouth, holding her in place as you worshipped her with your tongue. You wanted to be smothered by her, consumed by her pleasure, a willing sacrifice to the princess above you.

As her shudders began to subside, you looked up at her with hazy, half-lidded eyes, a drunk expression on your face. You opened your mouth to speak, but all that came out was a breathless, incoherent babble.

"Mmm... Rhaenyra... you... taste... so... good..." you managed to stammer out, your voice rough and wrecked.

With a low, almost feral growl, you sealed my lips around her clit once more, sucking gently as you slipped two fingers back inside her fluttering channel. Helping her ride out the final waves of her intense orgasm.

Rhaenyra collapsed against the headboard, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. She looked down at you with hooded, satisfied eyes, a lazy smirk playing on her kiss-swollen lips.

"Fuck, that was good," she panted, her voice hoarse from screaming your name. She reached down, gently cupping your cheek, her thumb brushing over your lower lip. You could feel the sticky evidence of her release smeared across your skin, and the taste of her arousal still lingered on your tongue.

She lifted her body off you, her hair a wild mess of damp blonde strands around her face. Her eyes were hazy and unfocused, the blue irises nearly swallowed up by the black of her pupils. She had a fucked-out, blissed-out look on her face, and you knew you were the cause.

Rhaenyra leaned in closer, until her forehead rested against yours. You could feel the heat radiating off her skin, the way her chest rose and fell with each shuddering breath.

"Look at you," she murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face, her fingers trailing over your cheek. "You're a fucking mess, and it's all because of me."

She leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, tasting herself on your mouth.

Pulling you with her so that you were tangled together, your limbs entwined, your bodies pressed close. She wrapped her arms around you, holding you tight against her as if she never wanted to let you go.

You giggled breathlessly as Rhaenyra pulled you on top of her, instinctively wrapping your leg around her waist. Nuzzling your face into the crook of her neck, you inhaled deeply, savouring the scent of her perfume mixed with the musky aroma of your lovemaking. A contented hum escaped your lips as you breathed in her comforting, familiar fragrance.

"Mmhh," you hummed, your voice still rough from the passionate cries that had spilt from your mouth moments before. You pressed soft, lingering kisses along the column of her throat, tasting the salt on her skin. Your fingers traced idle patterns on the smooth expanse of her back.

You could feel the steady thrum of her heartbeat against your chest, the rise and fall of her lungs as she caught her breath. In that moment, wrapped up in her arms, you felt a sense of contentment and belonging. As if you were exactly where you were meant to be, with the person you were always meant to be with.

Rhaenyra held you close, stroking your hair as you nuzzled into her neck. She could feel the soft, even breaths you took, the gentle kisses you pressed against her skin. A sense of peace and rightness settled over her, a feeling of coming home.

"You're so fucking pretty," she murmured, tilting your chin up to look at her. Her eyes searched yours, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I don't ever want to let you go."

"I won't go anywhere... not this time," you murmured, intertwining your fingers with hers. You gazed into her intense blue eyes, your own reflecting the same depth of feeling.

A small, shy smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you whispered, "I'll stay. If you do the same..."

You sealed your promise with a soft, lingering kiss, pouring all your devotion into it. "Just don't ever ask me to leave... because I won't."

Rhaenyra's heart clenched at your words, a fierce surge of emotion welling up inside her. She knew in that moment that she would move heaven and earth to keep you by her side. No matter what it took, she would make this work.

No more late nights spent outside without a word, leaving you in the dark. No more dead phone batteries, your concerned calls going unanswered.

"I won't," she vowed, her voice low and fierce. "You're mine now, and I don't share what's mine."

Rhaenyra returned your smile, her eyes shining with unshed tears of happiness. She squeezed your hand, reinforcing the promise you'd just made. She held you close, your naked bodies pressed skin to skin, heart to heart.

"Stay with me," she breathed against your mouth.

"I'll stay," you breathed out against her lips and smiled.

You won’t hold back anymore. You’ve made up your mind to stay, even when your feelings get too strong and when she shines so brightly that it feels like you might get hurt. Maybe there’s something good about being warm, about enjoying her attention, even if it makes you feel a little scared.

Rhaenyra smiled softly, her heart swelling with a warmth she had never known before. She pulled you closer, your naked bodies moulding together like two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place.

"Good," she murmured, nuzzling into your hair. "Because I don't think I could let you go, even if I wanted to."

[starshipsofstarlord]

lap girl (8) | daryl dixon

summary. daryl is frustrated, forced to rest in his and y/n’s tent on the greene farm after not finding sophia and andrea shooting him. his partner is also feeling his frustrations, and so they relieve them together (2.4k)

warnings. smut 18+ mdni, protected sex, fingering, teasing, swearing, mention of having children and pregnancy (they don’t though, and is no pregnancy), mentions of death, petnames, established relationship, angst and fluff, 3rd person

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

Y/N was obscenely furious, she could easily beat the living shit out of Andrea for her impulsive need to prove herself and kill walkers. For a shot had broke through the air, scathing the side of her target’s head, and rather than a single undead, her aim had been poised upon Daryl. Albeit he had been covered in blood and dirt, and anyone would have been fooled into thinking he was one of the undead from afar, but if she had just left well enough alone as she had been advised to, he never would have endured an injury.

She sat in the tent she shared with Daryl that they had upholstered on the Greene’s farmland, her eyes scanning her partner with worry. Hershel said he was going to be okay, which was an immediate relief, but Y/N could not help but be berated by a wave of rage, though she kept quiet about it, choosing instead to sit on Daryl’s lap as he lay resting. He was awake, blue eyes barely open as the sunlight cast shadows from outside on the inner walls of the tent.

His side was staked with an ache from where his own arrow had inserted itself into his flesh, but he had demanded that his girl take a seat atop of him. The bowman played with the belt loops of her jeans as he gazed mindlessly up at her, she was careful not to move, knowing just an inch in the wrong direction could provoke his injury to feel even worse. Daryl was patched up, and he was supposed to be resting, but he appeared restless despite his hooded lids.

He gnawed at his own bottom lip, a crease formed between his brows which Y/N was tentative to notice. She brushed her gentle fingertips against it, understanding the frustration that her man felt. Daryl had went out to search for Sophia, Carol’s daughter, and whilst he had not returned empty handed and had found her doll that had been lost from her grasp, the young girl was still missing.

It rattled him, that none of the others had even wanted to seek the whereabouts of the child, considering anything could happen to her out there. Y/N had tried to follow him, wanting to mount the horse and try to help locate the lost girl, however he had refused, wishing for his lover to remain safe, and his turbulent tumble and scrap with walkers had only made him glad he had not allowed her to come with him. The others all judged him, but it didn’t matter, he had been the only one of them with moral enough to act on his concerns.

A part of him was relieved that he and Y/N had never had children of their own prior to the outbreak, for the same thing could have happened but instead to their offspring. The bowman tried his damn best to protect his partner, although she was able to take care of herself in most situations, knowing that they would have had to tread lighter and more carefully throughout the world to secure the survival and future of their son or daughter.

Sophia could be dead out there, and the more time in being unable to find her, the chances of her being deceased increased. “Stop overthinking honey.” Y/N knew that it wasn’t something that Daryl could control, his mind was wrapped up in doing the right thing under the circumstances that had been dealt. But voicing against the internal feud that made his brain loud would help, it always had. It drew him back to reality, forcing him to slink away from his solitary thought, as though she was trying to exorcise them from haunting him. It was all easier said than done, and they both knew it.

“Jus’ can’t help i’ sunshine. Need somethin’ ta distract me.” Distract him from the pain that throbbed along his temple. Distract him from whatever the hell had happened to his brother. Distract him from the overpowering discrimination that some of their group judged him for. He had not lived in the same way most of them had, he and his girl had scraped by to afford to pay their rent, even helping Merle out with his ‘business’ to be able to do so.

It had never been the perfect lifestyle, but they had each other and that was what had gotten them through it. And it would be the same situation amidst this futile outbreak that was certainly not ending any time soon, or ever. “Yeah?” A smirk quirked at the corner of Y/N’s mouth as her eyes locked onto the way Daryl frustratedly chewed his lip. “What kind of distraction?”

“Ya could always jus’ sit on mah face.” He was drawing her attention away from her prowess that thrived to punish Andrea for her idiocy; it wasn’t that she didn’t like the woman, but the blond did not respect her, so she did not return such fervour. Y/N quirked her brow, cocking her head at her partner, before she leant down, brushing her lips against Daryl’s own, toying with his present lust that was throbbing past his skull like that darn bullet had, her lap pressing harsher against his own, drawing a groan out from the injured man.

“Not with that head injury.” Another groan, this time one of disappointment, but Y/N wasn’t stupid, Daryl needed to heal, and having her thighs wrapped around the sides of his head would not aid in such a predicament he had literally been shot into. “Sorry honey, not gonna hurt you anymore than you already are.” Her hands brushed along the expanse of his flannel covered chest, her eyes drifting to the exposed muscles of his arms. They glistened with a slight sheen of sweat from the heat of being confined within the tent, the sun boiling the material from the outside and cooking their bodies in the mild summer temperature.

“Ya gonna do anythin’ woman?” Daryl scoffed, drained from the pain that throbbed in his left temple, and just as irritated by the untouched throbbing of his cock that rested in his pants. He was wound up from being stuck in the tent, he resented remaining still, especially since Sophia still continued to be lost. With each passing day, hope for finding her dwindled, and Daryl felt responsible that he had failed to uncover her whereabouts. His pupils caressed Y/N’s form, tracing the features of her face and that damned smirk that made his brain dwell profoundly on what her lips could do, until they reached the swell of her chest.

Y/N noticed where his eye-line had drifted to, her cocky smirk only widening upon his gaze, feeling as though she was successful to cease the running of his mind. “Dunno.” Y/N drawled out, amused by the frustration that swindled normally calm demeanour with her. She couldn’t blame him, he had been practically through hell and back, and he was unable to proceed with normal habits of his, such as hunting and keeping a watchful eye out for walkers. “Don’ know if you deserve it…” Daryl’s eyes held a loving spite in them as he bit back, attempting to prompt her into doing something.

If he was forced to remain in the damning tent, then he wanted something out of it, preferably a seance of gratification, though of course he wouldn’t force her, even if it seemed as though she too was walking on the edge of arousal. “I jus’ took a bullet an’ an arrow woman, pretty fuckin’ sure I do.” Daryl retorted, causing a breathy laugh to flail from his lover who thrived off of his desperation to fuck her. “The least ya can do is jus’ slip it in.” This made Y/N laugh harder, and as Daryl had always known, he would never get tired of that sound.

“Wellll…” Y/N speculated the possibility, reaching into the pocket of her pants to pull out a packet that she had stolen from Glenn’s own personal stash, “ya won’t have to pull out this time.” The condom, although Daryl preferred feeling all of her, being inside her with no barrier between, brought him a comfort. There’d be a lesser threat of knocking her up, and they would not be under the same circumstance that had newly revealed itself to Lori. Daryl prized it from her hands, not letting go as he pulled her hand to him, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

Others would never speculate the often brooding archer as a romantic, and whilst he wasn’t in the common sense, he did love his girl and had his own way of showing it. Merle had often laughed at how easily his brother would become putty in Y/N’s hands, “pussy whipped’ as he would often referred to him as, but Daryl knew that was not the only reason why he was so contorted into adoration for the woman atop of him. She was a strong character, she never took any shit from anyone including him, and that was exactly what he needed. “Tha’s good.” Daryl murmured, knowing that he would feel immense guilt if he made her vulnerably carry another life in the way the world was now.

Y/N hummed in agreement, leaning down to kiss his lips, there was a hunger within the contact though it was not rushed, it was slow, as though they were feeding from each other’s souls. His free hand that did not hold the condom reached down to caress her ass through the denim, squeezing her flesh to cause her to breathe out a gasp into him, and he swallowed it down as if he were dying of thirst. “You feelin’ well enough to do this?” Her eyes drifted to the bandage over his wound, concerned that it would dissolve the little inkling of energy that he had slowly rebuilt.

“Course I am.” Daryl instantly answered, needing to do something other than just lay down, and that just so happened to be doing his girl. “Ya wanna take these off?” His fingertips traced around the seem of her trousers, and he groaned as she moved herself from atop of him, swiftly discarding both the layers that concealed her legs and flesh, leaving her bottom half bare. Y/N climbed back atop of him, running her hands down his throat until they rested on his chest over his heart, and Daryl smiled up at her, as though she was a goddess blessed upon him. “Tha’s your, ya know tha’ right?” He said in referral to his heart as it beat under her palm.

“I’ve known it for a long time honey.” Y/N gasped as his fingers traced her slit, feeling the rough pads of his them move through the arousal that had already accumulated on her sex. He watched her with dreary eyes, smitten above all else, still shocked that he was a lucky enough man to be with such a beautiful person. As he touched her, her body leant backwards from where she was seated on him, and she looked visceral, like a damned angel within the world of chaos. “Daryl.” She sharply moaned his name as he slid a digit within her, filling her knuckle deep.

He thrusted his finger nice and slow until he let another join it, his thumb reaching up to roll circles around her clit. “Fuuuck.” He loved it when she cursed, whenever she opened her mouth it was so contradictory to her beauty, though he always fell for her words as though they were a spell. Daryl kept moving his fingers until he was sure she was wet enough to take his length, and as he retracted them, he placed them in his own mouth, tasting them. “Really?” She giggled out as she undid his jeans and released his cock from its confining chamber of material.

“Wha’? Ya wouldn’t sit on ma face, it’s the next best thing.” Daryl allowed her to take the condom from him, ripping open the packet as she rolled it down on his flesh. He was hard and sensitive to her touch, and all of his pain and strife was forgotten as she sank down on him, taking him to the hilt. There was no medicine better than her touch, and whilst it was newly recognised, he was lulled into comfort from feeling her tight walls snuggly wrapped around him. “Shit.” A puff of air left his mouth as his hands wandered around her frame, his dwelling frustration dwindling in the simple act.

Y/N’s hand rested atop of his heart again, feeling it thump in a familiar beat, as she lifted herself, only to grind herself down on him, only to repeat her actions. Daryl moaned, sometimes her name, sometimes swears; they brought each other such pleasure that nothing or nobody else could compete with. It was as though they were soulmates, and whilst neither of them believed in that kind of thing, they felt the connection like a red string that entangled their fates. It was never just sex, even when they had to quickly bring each other to a release, there was always love between them.

“Y/N.” He said her name, as he felt his body rush with swindles of sparks - he was getting close, and so Y/N moved faster, chasing not only her own orgasm but his as well. They plummeted in a river of ecstasy together, Daryl filling up the condom with his liquid bliss. Y/N lifted herself a couple more times until she stayed still, riding them through their highs, Daryl’s hands gravitating to her thighs as he drew small circles upon her flesh with his fingers. “Ya okay sunshine?” She’d moulded him into a soft version of his person, and there was no greater comfort than that.

“Always am when I’m with you.” She pulled his cock out from her, discarding the condom in a corner as he tiresomely tucked his cock back into jeans, dressing her lower half in just her panties before she came to rest upon him, careful of his injured side. He closed his eyes, feeling not only well rested but spoilt with the love that his girl had for him. Y/N never made him feel like a failure even if sometimes he considered himself such, she always brightened his peripheral, even in these dark times that shrouded them with the consistent requirement of having to survive.

[anghraine]

The other thing about the Kirk-Uhura brotp that I have many feelings about:

Of all the ~430 positions filled by people on the Enterprise, I'd argue that there are none for which outwards composure is more important than for the communications officer and the commanding officer. Above all others on the ship, those two have to stay cool under pressure and retain the ability to keep talking (often to large numbers of people), while projecting unfaltering assurance and resolve.

As individuals, Kirk and Uhura have obviously put a lot of effort into developing that bedrock of composure, while also being pleasant or assertive as needed. Throughout TOS, they both come across as confident, charismatic, very skilled, eloquent professionals. Both of them can be lightly charming and easy to underestimate, or sharp-tongued and forceful, and both of them are clever and good liars.

But tbh, I think that TOS also gradually reveals both Kirk and Uhura to be incredibly high-strung people who are just really good at their jobs.

It's not that either is naturally easy-going and chill! As people, Kirk and Uhura have zero chill. They're just very controlled and very deliberate about projecting what's needed.

Neither are perfect at this by any means. Kirk lashes out now and then, and visibly fights off tension headaches or anxiously fiddles with his own hands. Uhura gets intensely nervous or upset every once in awhile. There are points in the show where one of them will just start losing their shit. But that's unusual, and mainly used to flag the circumstances as exceptional. And even in those cases, we repeatedly see them swapping the role of being a calm and reliable rock for the other one as he/she is about to snap. When Kirk's composure starts to crumble, we'll often see Uhura as this steadying, quietly supportive, or challenging presence as needed; when Uhura starts falling apart, we repeatedly see Kirk flip into a calm, affirming figure taking pains to remind her of her importance and capabilities.

I think this is a bit different from the way that, say, Spock works to keep an iron grip on his vulnerabilities and adheres to cool reason while doing Science, or McCoy might get snappish or plainly desperate but always has a clear enough head for Medicine. Kirk's and Uhura's roles, at least as they choose to approach them, require these constant performances of a sort of lightly emotive, personable steadiness that keeps the whole ship smoothly running even as they're doing the intellectual/practical work of their jobs.

Also, in addition to the explicit dialogue around their professional synergy and rapport, quite a bit is carried by physical acting from Nichols and Shatner as well. For instance, we'll see Uhura's expression shift without a word to dawning realization around some Scheme or Shenanigans that Kirk is carrying out while people around her are still visibly ?????????? Or you'll see these moments of solidarity or trust in how Kirk physically carries himself towards Uhura. It's also made really clear that there is zero sexual attraction or romantic interest between them—they're both charming, attractive, intelligent, and even close in age but it's just not there at all, even repressed or stifled.

In any case, Uhura is the only person other than Spock whom Kirk feels the need to name both times that he records potentially-posthumous special commendations in TOS.

Kind of-neurotic-but-hypercompetent platonic duo of my heart <3

[paramythas]

𝐍𝐄𝐎 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 but vague shapes and colors. Snatches of sound overlaid in them like a track being played underwater in another room. Her most notable, most realistic dreams are always, always memories. At first, shapes and colors are all this one is. Slowly, however, the dark becomes more navigable. Vague shadows become cases full of weapons. She sees no one in front of her, because the Blacksmith is beside her as she strides through her collection. She's only looking, of course- it had taken deliberation (and forcing herself past making a similar choice to Little Red) but in the end, giving up Hush simply wasn't feasible. The person she was is flawed and fragile, but she's someone that exists because of someone important. She can give up relying on his memory, but she can't quite give up the 'self' he'd help her grow into.

Even if now, she has to keep growing.

"You have choices. You always did. And in choosing to acknowledge their consequences, you have taken a step forward. Who you become... this too is a choice you'll have to learn to live with."

Whatever she decided to become would have been what the Blacksmith made of her. What she would have melted her down and reforged her into. Someone not her. Neither Trivia nor Neo. The choice had been left to her (had truly been only hers for the very first time) and Neo had realized, after peering through some of the weapons, that none of them felt right. None of them felt like her.

Behind her, the Blacksmith had waited, expectant.

Fire. Time. Fire. Choose, said God.

It had felt wrong, somehow. Her past selves had always been choices either made by others or to spite them. She knows now that as much as 'Neo' had felt like she'd finally become herself, in the end she hasn't fully reconciled with herself. Neo demanded what she thought she deserved. Trivia still wanted it to be given; without her needing to ask. Like she mattered to someone.

To have what they have...

It was special, what she'd had with Roman, no doubt about it. Neo had no qualms about admitting that without him, she wouldn't be who she is- who she was.

That, of course, was part of the problem.

"I want to become who I should be on my own," the voice she'd never thought she'd have exists in this place of could-bes and will-becomes. Lower than expected, but airy, light- could be as cutting as a shattered mirror's edge if she wanted it to be. She likes it. She'll miss it. "... but I won't be able to do it there. Isn't there anything...?"

Not for the first time, the Blacksmith smiles warmly. This time, however, there's a hint of mischief in her odd, mechanical smile.

"You really are a most clever young lady, Neopolitan."

"...My friends call me Neo."

The Blacksmith's smile widens just a touch.

"Neo then. Since you've decided, you should go." The portal is open then. Sudden. Swift. Shimmering.

"What? Don't I get to... decide-?"

"Trust me. It's better this way."

And strangely... she does.

Still, she hesitates, brings a hand to her throat and shakes her head. She's not broken. Not anymore. And before all of this, she hadn't been either. Squaring her shoulders, Neo twists her parasol up to rest on one and steps through with more confidence than she really feels.

When her eyes snap open, it's to the brilliant, searing phosphorescence of hospital lights. Squeezing her eyes shut once more, she reopens them slowly, adjusting incrementally to the brightness. For a moment, the vague thought of how badly she must have fucked up to be taken to an actual hospital crosses her mind but... the sounds are all wrong. There's none of the sterile silence or the static-esque hum of hospital machinery. Just the faint, distant sounds of a building going about its day- our night, given the time on the nearby clock- despite harboring a woman with an IV in her arm and a pulse monitor on her finger.

...and, it would seem, a somewhat less deathly-pale gravity user.

Curiosity fills her as she draws her knees up, curling her arms around them and leaning her head on her knees. While she observes him, she takes silent inventory of herself- Aura replenished, a bit of soreness here and there, a few scrapes from debris flying when he second Ability user had kicked up all that wind. But nothing her Aura wouldn't fix up in a few hours. Sooner if she got real food in her rather than just the IV.

Maybe she'll use whatever paycheck she gets from this for a fancy dinner.

That thought in mind, she realizes she doesn't know what happened after she passed out. And while Chuuya looks better, she remembers the injuries. How much they'd bled, how they'd gotten to muscle below the skin. He doesn't look like he's in pain, at least, but for all she knows they have him pumped full of the good stuff.

She doesn't really think about doing it- she simply sends the clone outward, bending over him to peer at him more closely.

It's strange to think of him actually resting- he seems like he's always doing something, from what she's managed to observe. One of those 'I'll sleep when I'm dead' types that she could never understand. Right now, that grumpy expression that seems permanently etched onto his face has disappeared, gone somewhat slack in his sleep. He looks... oddly peaceful, which makes her think that yeah. Maybe they did give him the good stuff. Satisfied, her clone leans in, brushes hair away from his face and the adhesive edges of the tape helping cover the injuries on it. Presses the back of an ungloved palm against his forehead, checking for fever.

From what she can tell, secondhand, there isn't any, and she withdraws the clone, pushing herself to the edge of the bed to get to her feet.

However long she's been out (two days, this is the second night) she needs to move. Needs to do something to stop feeling as though even her bones are full of static. Then maybe, if she's careful, she can sneak out of HQ- she can't imagine where else Chuuya would feel safe enough to pass out like that, except perhaps his own apartment- and to a convenience store to get something filling.

As if on cue, her stomach rumbles, and she frowns down at it, exasperated.

I'm working on it, okay?

For a few moments, Chuuya's attention slips away from Neo entirely to focus on himself and all of his subordinates buzzing around him and the room. Most of his weight is leaned against the structure immediately behind his back, doing an impressive but predictable job of looking as nonchalant as he can, but the blood loss is dizzying and he can't hide his paleness.

He remembers her again when she approaches and brushes his arm but its a small moment of panic as she stumbles and falls.

"Hey-!"

Luckily, his men all around him are quicker right now than he is, and keep her from hitting the floor. Injuries and collapses on the job aren't really all that uncommon, and despite being a crime organization, there's a certain sense of camaraderie and group cohesion that couldn't be found anywhere else, in his experience.

When he says "Make sure she's alright," its more of a formality. She fought alongside them and put in the work like anyone else, did the bulk of the fighting. That's worthy of respect for anyone.

The medic team aren't long in arriving, and Chuuya finally slides to sit so that his injuries can be tended without him likewise passing out, as best as they're able to here. Because Mori was a doctor first and foremost, competent medical personnel in the Port Mafia held a lot more prestige and importance than they might normally, but for good reason ; they were the lifeblood of an organization that can't go to regular hospitals because of all the crime that they were involved in, when regular doctors were mandated to report things like gunshot wounds to the authorities.

When they report that Neo's main problem is she collapsed from exhaustion and not any previously unaccounted wounds, its a relief, even if they don't know each other all that well yet, and it allows him to re-focus on the job that still has a few loose ends that need tying.

While a couple of doctors hover around him, patching up the wounds to his face and trying to somewhat put his arms back together and wrap them, he gets on the phone with Mori to give a short verbal report, which helps him stay conscious a little longer and maintain at least a little of his pride in a job gone not-as-well-as-it-could-have.

The enemy base was successfully located and sieged ; a few individuals might have escaped, but the bulk of their gang was either dead or in custody ; two Ability users, both dead ; two fatalities of their own ; he had gotten a little messed up (Mori would find out it was more than a little when he returned to headquarters, he'd deal with that bridge when he got to it) ; Neo had performed well ; there would be a more detailed report when he returned.

Much as he wanted to stride out on his own when he was done with the call and his wounds were all wrapped, he knew better than to try. Sheer stubbornness was the only thing that kept him awake this long, and it wouldn't be the first time someone had to carry him back to headquarters. It was just usually either after using Corruption or getting blackout drunk.

It's a small blessing then that Neo's about as unconscious as he's soon to be. They were shaping up to be decent allies, but she didn't need to know he could get that weak just yet.

He spends the entirety of the car ride back to Yokohama lightly snoring in the back seat, and has just enough energy returned from it to walk his way into the infirmary himself, because really, the rest of the organization didn't need to see him so beat up either. It's typically not good for morale when an Executive can't even limp in through the door on their own two feet.

Mori was, predictably, less than pleased by the state of him, but he's also a pragmatic and unemotional man when matters are serious, so his concern comes in tired sighs and clipped, half-hearted lectures about being more careful, even as he knows its a one-off and that Chuuya's not likely to take any more serious injuries like that any time soon.

Even more predictably, he puts Chuuya on medical leave from all duties for at least a week, orders an overnight stay for a day or two before he'll be discharged to go home, and that Mori would be conducting a nerve test once Chuuya's wounds completely heal to check for permanent damage in a week or two just to be on the safe side.

Neo's treatment is a lot more straightforward. Bed rest, monitoring vital signs, and an IV drip until she regains consciousness, and any further concerns about her health and collapse could be addressed when she was awake again.

With nothing left to do except follow the Boss' orders, Chuuya got as comfortable as he could in his infirmary bed and tried to sleep off the damage.

[hollyberrygarden]

Golden Cheese and Smoked Cheese are so fascinating to me

I think their dynamic—a ruler who rules with a unique take on greed and genuinely values her people over everything in the world, with said ruler's most trusted general who secretly finds her to be troublesome and immature and maybe doesn't know what's best for her kingdom but realizes when he gets even a bit of her power that she absolutely does—is so interesting. they work well together but simultaneously don't. they recognize when the other is faltering because they know one another more than anyone in the world. Smoked Cheese calms Golden Cheese during her first panic attack with what sounds like harshness ("give me your soul jam if you are to crumble this quickly" or something to that effect), followed by genuinely good advice about moving forward from anxiety and stress because he knows what it's like, to telling her to be the goddess she claims herself to be, all because he knows exactly what she needs to hear, no matter what. Golden Cheese chooses him to be released from the Soulcheese because she is so convinced he will work against her and flee because she knows he values his own life more than anything, but Smoked Cheese immediately fights alongside her because she was actually wrong about him. he gets humbled when he's only partially as strong as her and then promptly gets his ass beat by her. they're both incredibly smart, so smart that they can't help but butt heads. he is still openly defiant of her but so unfathomably loyal all the same. he is possibly the only Cookie who has ever seen her weak side. they would do anything for each other and the kingdom they hold so dear. I adore them

[raayllum]

Ezran spends basically every episode that features his perspective in 3/4 seasons of arc 2 doing one of three things:

Feeling responsible for his kingdom

Believing in the innate goodness of others

Trying to fix things and be a support for other people

I think points two and three are occasionally overlooked for a few reasons. The first is that Ezran has a mini arc in 4x01—4x03 (with the first two and possibly three being commonly regarded as weaker episodes) that do the heavy lifting work of establishing Ezran's post-timeskip characterization vs who he was at the beginning or ending of season 3. When we look at Ezran in 4x01 and 4x02, he's largely the same as he was post-3x02: he wants to create change, he believes that he can, and while balancing being king and being himself, he's walking the line fairly well. We see this in how jovial his initial council meeting is in 4x01: brightly lit, not too serious, Bait has a seat, jelly tarts, and the hopeful air; Zubeia's visit will change how people see dragons.

Then it doesn't. Ezran ignored Opeli's reservations (4x01, 4x03) and of others she presented anonymously. He thought they could just move past things, and he was wrong. But instead of responding with anger or force the way Soren does, Ezran switches gears, and we get his infamous speech that shows how he's changing since S3 ("if I just give people opportunities to do the right thing, they will") in comparison to S4: If I just acknowledge their feelings, they'll do the right thing, because everyone is inherently good and wants good things.

I had a speech planned for today. It was about peace and love and hope. But I think I left something out. I ignored something that was true. I denied something that is undeniable. We are angry! I am angry. I have been hurt. My Dad was killed when I was nine years old. My Mom was taken from me before I could even remember her. It hurts! I feel pain about this and I am angry! We all want peace and we all want love. [...] It’s not that easy or simple. Because people are still hurting and they are still angry. We can’t ignore that, or pretend it will go away. Somehow, we have to hold it all in our hearts at the same time. We have to acknowledge the weight of the pain and loss, but open up our eyes and allow ourselves to hope and maybe forgive and love again. We have to give today’s children a chance to inherit a future filled with peace. 

And it is a beautiful speech, but it is a very simple, well-meaning one at the same time. Not everyone, deep down, wants peace or thinks of it in the same way as you do ("You want to hate. You want to hurt someone else"); not everyone cares about their children's future (for both of these, Karim, I'm looking at you). But Ezran's initial transformation here is rewarded and reaffirmed by Zubeia.

So this is the mindset that Ezran carries on throughout arc 2, and in many ways he treats everyone the way he's treated Zubeia, someone who inflicted harm on him but did have her heart changed (circa 3x09) and who, upon having her genuine pain/grief acknowledged rather than swept under the rug (4x03), has been able to heal. Him seeing goodness in others, and working with them, has yielded results.

Therefore, at this point, Ezran believes wholeheartedly in the innate goodness of others.

People might inflict harm, but they have a good reason; they've been in pain. If I can just get through to Rex Igneous ("that's what you haven't had in forever, a surprise"), if I just explain to Akiyu and Finnegrin the stakes of what's going on, if I can barter with Karim and talk him down ("Then it's not too late, you can still choose love") then they'll see they don't have to do bad things anymore. They'll let go of their hate and choose love, just like how the crowd seemingly did in 4x03 after Ezran empathized with them through his own experiences.

And this ties into how much internalized responsibility Ezran takes on and his choices in arc 2, particularly in S4.

He spends all of 4x01 trying to give Callum a good birthday ("why aren't you celebrating?") but it doesn't work, because his brother is still in pain. He spends all of 4x03 trying to encourage good relations with Zubeia, but it doesn't work out either because people are still hurt/angry. He tries to get his brother to open up in 4x05 but is wrong, at first, about what Callum needs to open up about. He works to bring the group together in 4x06 when they're in shambles ("don't you remember who you are?") and this is his biggest success in the season thus far. He spends all of 4x08 & a chunk of 4x09 trying to reason and get through to Rex Igneous, only for it to end with him being slammed into a wall. He gets an actual dragon diplomatic success in early S5, but greatly misjudges Finnegrin; he makes a number of calls (keep the prison here, don't look for Zubeia) in 6x01 that he quickly realizes he has to go back on. In 6x07 he tries to reason with Karim, and it doesn't pan out. He fails, over and over again.

Katolis being burned down is just the last straw; it, and Ezran's efforts and failures in achieving peace, are stress points that have been building for seasons at this point.

So finally his worldview — that everyone has goodness inside them, that everyone wants peace ("You want Janai to attack!"), that everyone has good reasons for the harm they inflict — snaps.

This is before, I might add, the final vestiges of his True Heart leave him. He takes Aanya's advice of pursuing defences — pursuing weaponry ("We have to be strong enough") — before his brother's betrayal. He seeks to destroy Sol Regem and jails Runaan, who surrenders, before it, too. Part of this is because the first blow happened a long time ago. Runaan even confirms this indirectly himself, citing Ezran's eyes ("But the moment I saw your eyes" / "we each have innocent eyes to experience the world’s beauty in a simple way"): Ezran's eyes, his heart, have already been fundamentally altered, and he knows it.

EZRAN: Everything changed the day you came! You killed my father!

EZRAN: When you grow up, there are changes you don't expect, and you have to face things you're not ready for. Callum told me that. [...] But I can't run away from growing up. Now that I'm king, I have to go home.

Throughout arc 2, he's struggled more and more to retain what is left of his true heart. And this all culminates in Ezran deciding that maybe his own goodness isn't innate either. His loss of innocence — that people have good reasons for doing terrible things, that there are certain things they wouldn't do ("You're lying! Callum would never do [dark magic again]!") — mirrors Terry's crisis of faith (and his own actions) for a reason.

Ezran starts spiralling out. He feels like he's completely failed his kingdom after episodes of emphasis on just how much he cares about Katolis (4x04, 5x02, 6x01, 6x05). He no longer believes in others. He always had spades of self doubt, but we see him reach a pretty severe rock bottom out of desperation and despair because he can't even help take care of the people he loves anymore, either. All of his prior goals have crumbled around him. He's not a king ("king of what? King of ashes?"), he's not a friend, he's not a brother.

Alongside the loss of his true heart, he's not a child: "But only if you can move past your childish hesitation..." "I have never been one to hesitate" as he takes up the Nova Blade and intends to use it for — as far as he knows — permanent murder by his own direct hand.

Because the loss of your True Heart, for Ezran, is not so much about the world itself as it is the people in the world, and yourself by extension.

It upends your belief in your own moral certainty as well. Would you do something terrible for a 'good reason', and are you sure that you have one?

We are forced to make choices, compromises, sacrifices. And they change us forever.

When Ezran meets Aaravos, he's already decided that he's guilty and someone to judge; he decides that he has to kill him. That his "precision violence was preferable, necessary even, to prevent far greater bloodshed". But, of course, it isn't, not necessarily because Aaravos isn't terrible and dangerous... but because after seasons of sacrificing and compromising and making choices right alongside his friends, the Archdragons make one instead.

Just as Terry helps reaffirm to Ezran that people still care and can still change, the Archdragons help build him a more solid foundation. Not everyone wants peace and love and forgiveness. Not everybody can. Forgiveness and goodness are not automatically inherent in adulthood, but that doesn't mean they can't exist. That doesn't mean you stop trying.

It just means that you try despite it. They are not dreams. They're choices. Sacrifices. Compromises. They change us forever, and they're worth it.

[pancakeszs]

you over anything, always

♡pairing: iceskater!sunghoon x fem!reader

♡wc: 1.8k

♡contents: reader has a panic attack, fear of iceskating, guilt, fluff

♡synopsis: after multiple attempts of trying to get you to skate with him, you finally agree and step onto the rink with sunghoon despite your fear the of the ice. things go exactly as you expected and you're left hurt and embarassed.

♡a/n: not proofread! also my best friend requested this and i couldn't deny her. she always has the best ideas and i loved writing this! i hope you enjoy!

WRITTEN BY @pancakeszs (please do not copy, plagiarize, repost, translate, or edit)

you watched in awe as your boyfriend graced you with his beautiful ice skating skills. watching sunghoon on the ice always brought you peace. the way he spun and slid across the ice was so smooth and majestic. and the soft white glow from the rink made him look ethereal.

you didn’t mind at all, watching him skate from the sidelines. you had no interest in skating, in fact you were terrified of skating. no matter how hard sunghoon tried to convince you, you could never get the courage to lace up some ice skates and step onto the rink.

people would think you would be a natural at it, from how talented sunghoon was. but you knew if you ever tried you would look like a calf trying to stand up on its own legs for the first time, and not only was it the embarrassment that kept you from trying it. it was the fear of falling and hurting yourself, you had seen so many clips of skaters falling and injuring themselves, and you were too much of a chicken to even try.

suddenly you noticed sunghoon gliding towards you “it’s so lonely out here on the rink.” he sighed to himself, glancing sideways at you. you knew what he was implying, he always tried to convince you to get on the rink.

everytime you denied him you could feel the guilt naw at you. sunghoon was so passionate about skating, and you knew he would step out of his comfort zone for the things you enjoyed. even if sunghoon didn’t show it, you couldn’t help but feel like he was dissapointed by the fact you wouldn’t even try.

still, you couldn’t bring yourself to get onto the rink. just thing about it made a bit of anxiety bubble inside you. when sunghoon made it to the bleachers it brought you out of your own head.

you quickly remebered his words and sighed playfully, hiding your guilt. “i’m just over here, hoon. you don’t have to feel lonely.”

sunghoon leaned against the railing, “it’s still too far…i think you should come out onto the rink.” he raised his eyebrow at you, waiting for your response.

you looked into sunghoons eyes, each time he asked he had the same look in them. it was hope, hope that you would join him on the rink so he could share his passion with you.

you sighed and closed your eyes, your second biggest fear other than ice skating, was sunghoon getting tired of you. even after three years of dating, he was always patient with you, always asking for you to skate with him, but never pushing too far. that’s one of the things you loved about him, but at some point you knew he would find a girl who loved ice skating as much as him. and he would eventually choose her, the girl that can he can share his passions with, who won’t be too much of a coward to try.

“okay.” you say, opening your eyes to look at him.

his face morphs into something like excitment and shock. “actually?” he asks.

“yes..” you say, already regretting your descision.

he immediatley flew across the ice and off the rink to pull you into a hug. he squeezes you and you can practically feel the joy radiating off of him. for just a moment your worries melted away, but you knew it wouldn’t last for long.

sunghoon pulled away “let me get you some skates.” he quickly unlaced his own skates and ran to the locker room. you sat down on the bench, already feeling your chest tighten with anxiety. this will make him happy, it’ll be worth it. that’s what you kept repeating to yourself, trying to convince your brain that this was the right desicion.

you opened your eyes to see sunghoon walking towards you. he was grinning like a madman and knelt down before you “let me help you put them on.”

you smiled shyly “hoon, you don’t have to do that.”

“i want to, i know this is scary for you, but you’re doing this for me. it’s the least i can do.” he said as he slid off your shoes and helped you put on the skates.

you watch as his long fingers tied the laces together. he had a concentrated face on, double knotting them to make sure they were secure. “how do they feel? tight enough?” he asked, staring up at you.

you nodded “yes, thank you.”

he smiled at you and put his skates back on himself. he made quick work of it and when he was done he got up nd offered out his hand to you.

you took it and gripped onto the railing, while he slowly led you to the opening of the rink. finally you were at the opening, and sunghoon moved in front of you so he was on the ice.

“you got this, just one step.” he encouraged.

you smiled nervously and held your breath as you placed one foot on the rink. it felt slippery and you gasped gripping onto the railing tighter. you squeezed your eyes shut and sunghoon gently rubbed your hand.

“its okay, i won’t let you fall. just place your other foot onto the rink and it’ll be easier.”

cautiously you placed your other foot onto the rink and wobbled, almost sliding to the ground. fortunately sunghoon caught you just in time and helped you regain your balance.

“good job, now you just have to get used to feeling of moving on the ice.” you aprecciated sunghoons words but they went in one ear and out the other.

you couldn’t open your mouth to speak so you just gripped the railing and pushed yourself to slide farther down. you tried skating forwards but you felt off balance and squeezed your eyes shut.

“sunghoon i can’t do this.” you whimpered feeling like if you moved even an inch you would slide away and hurt yourself.

“y/n you can do this, trust me. i won’t let you get hurt.” sunghoon said confidently.

you trusted him, you really did. you just didn’t trust yourself.

“let go of the railing and hold my hands.” he instructed.

you took a deep breath and removed your other hand from the railing to grab onto his. the moment you let go of the railing a flood of anxiety hit your chest like a brick. in the few seconds where your hand wasnt holding onto anything you began to panic. you felt like you couldn’t breath, and your vision was getting blurry.

“sunghoon. sunghoon!” you repeated his name multiple times, reaching fro his hand and beginning to flail around in the midst of your panic.

you couldn’t see anything even though your eyes were open, your vision had gotten spotty and you were trying to reach for sunghoon but you couldn’t hear or see him.

you feel your eyes grow watery and you feel the tears roll down your cheeks. suddenly you feel a firm grip on your hand anchoring you to the moment. you were still crying but some of your panic had settled knowing sunghoon was holding you. still your chest ached from the heaviness that was weighing on you.

“i’m right here y/n. i’ve got you, you’re ok. i’m right here.” sunghoon was saying to you softly, repeating it like a chant.

your eyes were blurry with tears, but they were no longer spotted. you could see sunghoons figure infront of you. then you felt yourself being lifted up from the ground, you gasped in shock but then felt the warmth of sunghoon around you.

you wrapped your arms around his neck and hid your face in his shoulder, feeling a crash of embarassment come over you. there was no way you had just had a full meltdown over taking a few steps onto the ice rink, the thought of it just made you cry again.

sunghoon sat down on the bench and held you close to him. he could hear his heartbeat and you focused on it, using the stready rythm to calm you down. finally when you had calmed down you lifted your face from the crook of his neck. you stared into his eyes, trying to read his expression. you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that made you even more worried.

you let out a broken “i’m sorry.” and looked away from him, feeling dissapointed in yourself.

sunghoon immediately frowned and gently turned your face towards him. “look at me…you do not need to apolgize.”

you took a shaky breath “yes i do, i couldn’t even manage to take a few steps onto the rink before having a breakdown. i should’ve been stronger espeically when it came to something so important to you.”

sunghoon brushed a stray tear away with the pad of his thumb. “you were strong, you were so scared of the ice but you still had enough coruage to get on even for a few minutes just for me. you’re so brave, and if anything i should be the one apologizing. i shouldn’t have pressured you to go out on the rink with me, whenever you said no before i should’ve accepted it.”

you shook your head at him “you shouldn’t be apologzing either! this is something you’re passionate about, the least i could do was try to do this with you. i’ve been putting it off for too long…it was about time i tried. i didn’t want you getting tired of me.”

“what? tired of you? what do you mean.” sunghoon asked, caught off guard by your words.

you immediately regretted what you had said. “it’s nothing, i’m overreacting.” you tried to brush it off but sunghoon didn’t let you.

“if its something important to you, you’re not overreacting…tell me what you meant.”

you sighed deeply and looked away as you explained your worries. “i thought that if i kept denying you when you asked for me to skate with you, you’d get bored. i thought you’d realize that i’m not good enough for you, and you’d find someone else who could skate with you.”

“y/n…never. that would never happen. i could never get bored of you. if i had to choose your or skating it would be you withought a doubt. and i would never choose someone else over you, no matter how talented at skating they are. i love you for you, i love you for your fear of skating and how you try even if it terrifies you. i love for your laugh and how you encourage me in everything i do. if you never decided to step foot on a rink it would still be you who i choose every time. you are it for me y/n. nobody else. ever.”

sunghoons words melted away a piece of you that had been stuck to you ever since the first time he asked you to join him on the rink. you wrapped your arms around him and held him tightly. “thank you sunghoon, for understanding. i love you so much.” you say to him when you pull back.

he kisses both of your tear stained cheeks and then your puffy lips. “i love you too. no matter what.”

[whateverisbeautiful]

Hello! How do you think Shane and Michonne would interact and what would they think of eachother? If he had stuck around longer to see Michonne and Rick develop a relationship, do you think he'd be jealous? Sorry in advance if you already answered this before.

Hi! I don’t think I have answered this before, so thank you for asking, because whenever I think of two TWD characters I’d have been so curious to see interact that never crossed paths in the franchise, my answer is always Michonne and Shane. They were the two most impactful adults we saw in Rick’s life, with one bringing out the wounds in him and one bringing out the very best in him, so Michonne and Shane’s interaction would be quite fascinating to me. Wrote out the rest of my answer to the questions below ⬇️💗:

Michonne’s radar for knowing when someone is unhinged is very high, and I think she’d pick up on that in Shane even before he more blatantly crashed out. Michonne is never here for BS or the kind of stupidity that gets you killed, and Shane has both of those in droves and so Michonne would not think highly of Shane. She’d find Rick to be an infinitely more honorable man and would probably gently help Rick start assessing the volatile company he keeps, similar to how she got Nat and the caravan folks in TOWL Ep 2 to reassess their own community’s character of leaving people behind.

I think of the dynamics we did get to see Michonne have on the show, the closest one that could reflect how she’d be with Shane would be Merle. Like I don’t think she’d be as intense with her disdain of Shane as she was with the Governor, and she’d see that there’s some vulnerability buried beneath Shane’s bravado, but she’d still be skeptical of him and not afraid to hold her own if he was doing too much or trying to steamroll her.

Meanwhile, I think Shane would be intrigued, begrudgingly impressed, & intimidated by Michonne. All that posturing machismo he’d have with other women & bulldozing he’d do with the group, wouldn’t work on Michonne & he’d learn that quick. I could see Shane being frustrated that Michonne has a pull on Rick and that Rick starts turning to her more as his “partner in crime.” I think about how in season 2, Shane clearly felt a type of way that Rick chose to do something with Daryl over him, and so he’d be sensitive about Rick not deferring to him nearly as much because he has Michonne & starts to trust her sound judgment most

I could see Shane assuming that his louder alpha persona would be something Michonne would be drawn to more, and thinking Rick wouldn’t be enough of that for Michonne. But when Michonne so naturally gravitates toward Rick and thinks so much higher of him, and they develop a relationship, I do think Shane would feel envious. Not even because I think Shane would want Michonne for himself. He’s just always seemed to envy what Rick had, because his own life was so much more superficial.

Shane knew Rick and Lori weren’t each other’s person, and yet he still envied them, so I think seeing Rick find a solid, flourishing, as-real-as-can-be love with Michonne could stir up some negative feelings in Shane. Especially seeing Rick become a healthier, more confident, and assured version of himself with Michonne. He’d see Rick fully outgrow him and thrive with a love that has a depth Shane has never experienced, and I think Shane could resent that.

But I think what would have been quite therapeutic for Rick (and me lol) if Michonne and Shane crossed paths, is Rick getting to see how unquestioningly Michonne chooses Rick and is 100% loyal to him. Like she wouldn’t pay Shane no never mind, and I think Michonne's sincere & certain belief in Rick over Shane would mean a lot for Rick since he seemed to feel people, including his former wife, often had more belief in Shane than in him. Had Shane been around, Michonne would still make it so crystal clear that Rick is the only man she’d want to lead and the only man she’d want to love.

[rhube]

Existentialism and the Andor finale (and other French things)

[Contains spoilers]

Thinking about how the antiquities business Kleya and Luthen run was built up, not from rich people ransacking cultural heritage, but from two messed up vagabonds trading up scraps of things no one else valued, whose value they knew, finding the buyers who would appreciate them, and scraping enough together first to live off, and then to start a rebellion.

The contrast between those early trades and that disgustingly priceless wedding gift that should have been shared with the people it was stolen from.

Something about Luthen knowing what all these pieces are worth, but knowing that life and freedom is worth more than them anyway. How it's not that he's ignoring their value, it's that he would sacrifice everything, even his own life, to bring the Empire down.

It's like burning the Mona Lisa in Glass Onion. It doesn't mean the art isn't valuable. It just means that people are worth more.

And that last use of that knife. Which might be the most valuable thing in Luthen's collection. Or it might be worthless. In terms of money. But either way it still works as a knife.

Something something fear in a handful of dust.

Something about Sartre's distinction between living beings, for which existence precedes essence, and tools - he gives the example of a knife - where essence precedes existence. Because it was designed with a purpose in mind.

The knife wasn't designed to be a priceless item in a collection. Whatever value it has accrued on that basis remains deeply dubious because Luthen doesn't know its provenance.

It was designed to cut things.

Luthen believes it was designed for blood letting. Sacrifices. That is its essence. Not the cultural value that was projected onto it later.

But life? The life of a self-aware being? That is truly priceless, because a person exists before their essence is determined. They determine their own purposes.

The more I think about it, the more I think there is deliberate reference to Sartre's Existentialism is a Humanism, here.

It's not just the knife. It's not just about determining your own journey. Another of Sartre's examples in that paper is of a young man (Cassian) who wonders if he should join the French Resistance (the Rebellion) or stay home and care for his sick parent (Cassian's adoptive mum). The young man goes to Sartre (Luthen) for advice and Sartre tells him that he can't make that decision for him, but in choosing who to ask for advice, he was already making he own choice. We don't let others control us when we go to them for advice. We choose who we take advice from and in doing so make our decisions. The young man knows what he wants to do already; he just wants permission.

Existentialism is a philosophy that rose out of the existential threat of the World Wars. Just as the modernist 'fear in a handful of dust' is a response to the fear of cultural annihilation. Yeats' widening gyre of chaos and fear that the centre cannot hold. Luthen's growing sense throughout the season that there are too many threads for him to hold onto anymore. The new leaders of the rebellion knowing nothing of Luthen's contributions. Dedra's fear of the chaos of freedom, and her loyalty to order. An order that comes for her as well in the end. Because SHE requires more freedom than the Empire permits, and it doesn't bring the safety she believes is its reward.

I've seen Syril compared to Jean Val Jean, but I think Dedra is a better fit, in her dogged pursuit of Axis. She never forgets. She never gives up. She gets her man, but it is too late. Whereas Syril does forget. All he really wanted was recognition and a nice suit. He was happy on Ghorman, in the end. And Dedra fucked that up. The final pursuit of Cassian is an after thought. Cassian literally never thought about him at all. But Luthen knows Dedra is pursuing him. He plans for it. And her self-inflicted devastation is so much impactful to her than Syril's brief realization of his own insignificance before he dies.

I suppose they both mirror Jean Val Jean, but Dedra was always the more dedicated fascist. She BELIEVES in order. Syril just wanted the respect he never had from his mum.

I don't have a conclusion for this - I am sick as a dog, and the response to my last Andor post co firms that no one really reads what I have to say when I get philosophical - but I enjoy noticing these things, and I believe they are intentional, even if everyone else thinks I just talk bollocks.

[winteringdream]

009. monopoly night

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synopsis : you first meet maki when he sits next to you during a lab practical. despite your best efforts, though, it feels like no matter how hard you try, you can never seem to have any other classes scheduled with him. so, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Woonhak and Jihoon exchange knowing grins, their eyes darting between you and Maki like they’re watching a drama unfold live. 

“Y/n, Minji, Taesan. This is my roommate Jihoon,” Woonhak says, gesturing toward his friend. You all greet him politely, and Jihoon smiles as he waves back. 

“Thanks for letting us crash your dorm for Monopoly,” you add. 

“No worries,” Jihoon replies, still smiling. “Woonhak’s been meaning to bring his friends over anyway.” 

You unzip your bag and pull out an assortment of snacks. Spicy chips, cookies, a sleeve of Pocky, and two bottles of iced tea.

“Because we lost horribly last time,” you add, nudging Woonhak with your elbow.

“Catan was tragic.” Woonhak groans dramatically.  “We don’t talk about Catan night.”

“You two were so confident.” Minji grins. 

“I blame him,” you say immediately. “I told him we needed to build toward the wheat port and he said, 'Nah, we’re fine.' We were not fine.” 

Maki lets out a soft laugh. You glance at him instinctively, and for a brief second, he’s looking right at you. And then he looks away again, focusing on something else again. 

"This is my friend Maki," Jihoon says, dragging him by his shoulders and pushing him in front of him like he's holding a presentation about him. 

Maki awkwardly chuckles, and greets the four of you. His eyes shoot towards Woonhak, who he feels like you're the closest to. It's weird to feel jealous, but Maki can't help but feel a tiny bit jealous of Woonhak. 

“Okay, no teams tonight,” Minji declares, choosing the dog token and placing it in front of her. “Every person for themselves.” 

You go for the thimble. Woonhak immediately groans. “You always pick the weirdest piece.” “Worry about your own piece.” you say, rolling your eyes as he picks up the hat. 

You settle across Maki on the rug, pretending not to care where he sits, but your heart betrays you with every subtle glance.

“So, who’s first?” Maki asks, casual and calm, his fingers spinning one of the dice slowly between his knuckles. Your mouth goes dry for a second. You reach for the dice, brushing against his hand briefly as you do. 

“Me,” You say it a little too quickly, and immediately feel the heat crawl up your neck. The dice clatter in your hand as you give them a shake, pretending like you’re totally unbothered by how warm your face suddenly feels. It’s definitely not because of Maki.

“Seven,” Woonhak says. “Not bad. Go, go.”

You move your thimble seven spaces, landing on Chance. Taesan reads the card aloud.

Maki’s still spinning the extra die absently between his fingers. He catches you looking, then glances away quickly, scratching at his neck.

Jihoon nudges him. “You’re up.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, pretending to be very, very focused on your snack choices. 

Jihoon rolls next. Then Taesan. Then Minji, who immediately tries to buy everything she lands on just to mess with people.

The game picks up speed, the energy growing louder and more chaotic. Taesan spills a handful of play money onto the floor. Jihoon quietly keeps winning auctions. Woonhak keeps laughing at everything.

And in the middle of it, every time you look up, Maki’s already glancing away. Or maybe he was looking first?

The game drags on with loud accusations, wild trades and dramatic bankruptcies. At one point, Minji tries to auction off a property she doesn’t even own, and Woonhak insists Taesan owes him emotional damages for a deal gone wrong.

When you finally land on one of Maki’s hotels and hand over the last of your cash, he whispers softly, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you mutter, handing him your last twenty with a smile. 

You slump back, officially out of money. Woonhak goes down next, handing Maki the rest of his railroads dramatically and faceplants into a couch cushion.

Eventually, it���s just Minji and Maki left. 

“That’s it,” she groans. “Take it. Take all of it. I’m bankrupt.”

Maki blinks, like he didn’t expect to win. “Oh. Um… good game?”

You laugh, the sound slipping out before you can stop it. “Why are you so surprised to have won?”

“I didn’t know game night would go like this,” Maki says, and this time, he actually smiles, wide and a little dorky. It’s the first real, full smile you’ve seen from him all night.

You think it’s adorable the way he’s shy, but also happy to have won.

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[vettelsvee]

NOT LETTING YOU GO | Sebastian Vettel

⋆ PAIRING: Primary School Teacher!Sebastian Vettel x Primary School Teacher Girlfriend!Reader ↳ Teacher AU ⋆ Part of CLASSROOM GOSSIPS ⋆ SUMMARY: You had a parent-teacher meeting and you end up overthinking if you're good enough to be a teacher. Lucky you, Seb is there to help you calming down ⋆ WORD COUNT: 2870 ⋆ WARNING: Angst, curse words, descriptions of an anxiety attack, mentions of sex ⋆ TAGLIST: @koalapastries @blushmimi @herdetectivetheorist ⋆ VEE'S NOTES: First ever Teacher!Seb fic being an actual teacher + this is coming from something I've experienced today and I had to write it to, somehow, calm myself down ☺️ Hope you like it and, if so, remember you can comment, reblog and tell me your thoughts! Also... just 26 to go to 2k! ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

You were grateful, finally, for the silence, broken only by the occasional distant footsteps and the soft sounds of other teachers moving through the halls, likely in the same position as you.

You stood, waiting for the arrival of one of your favorite students’ mothers, Eloise’s. You picked up the eight-year-old's folder and flipped through the most recent notes you’d compiled about her over the past week. Not that you needed them: if there was one thing that defined you as a teacher, it was how deeply you knew your students, as if they were truly your own children.

At least, that’s what Seb always said whenever he had the chance, especially when he saw how anxious you got before a parent-teacher meeting, like it was happening now.

You weren’t as nervous as you had been in your first meetings, but the knot in your stomach was still there. Tight, alert, unrelenting.

You jumped slightly when you heard a knock at the door. Instinctively, you sat down at your desk, tidying things up (if that was even possible), inhaling deeply as you tried to brace yourself for whatever was about to unfold.

“Come in!”

The door opened. Eloise’s mother entered. Tall, impeccably dressed, with a sharp gaze that cut straight through the air. Her expression was cold, her mouth barely hinting at a smile. She didn’t return your greeting, simply walked confidently to the chair across from you, sat down, and scanned you from head to toe. Judging… not just because you were her daughter’s teacher, but maybe also because you looked far too young for what she considered a “real” educator.

“Miss,” she said curtly.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Dunham. Thank you for coming,” you replied, doing your best to keep your nerves in check.

You extended your hand, only for her to blatantly ignore it, turning her face away.

You sighed quietly, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’d had a bad day. Instead, you gestured toward the bottles of water to her right and the progress report you’d put together for Eloise, lying beside her.

A sticky note on the front read: Kind. Artistic. Brave. Words that described what made Eloise truly special. Qualities you hoped her mother would recognize long before even looking at her grades (which, by the way, were perfect).

Mrs. Dunham barely glanced at the report before tossing it back onto the desk with clear disdain. She crossed her arms and, at last, looked you directly in the eyes.

“I don’t want the sugar-coated version. I want the truth. What exactly is happening in your classroom that’s making my daughter cry herself to sleep every night? Why is she begging me not to bring her to school?”

You couldn’t see your own face, but you felt it drain of all color.

Words failed you. You stammered, caught off guard by the accusation.

“I… I’m so sorry to hear that Eloise is upset,” you said, choosing your words carefully, still trying to process what she was saying. “Eloise is an exceptional student. She’s a—”

“Invisible. That’s what she is to you.”

You froze.

“That’s what she told me, you know?” the mother continued, voice sharp. “She says she raises her hand and you ignore her. She finishes her work and gets no praise, nothing like what you give the other children. She spends all day watching louder classmates get your attention for misbehaving, while she, who works hard and follows every rule, never feels good enough for you. Is that it?”

“With all due respect, I—”

“No,” she cut in. “I trusted this school to see the potential my daughter has. And I believe it does. But you? You’re just some fresh graduate playing pretend at being a teacher. I’ve heard that Mr. Vettel, your partner if I believe correctly, is one of the best additions this school has ever made. Nothing like you.”

Those words hit you like a slap. Of course you knew Seb, your boyfriend, was an incredible teacher. You were endlessly proud of him. But hearing him praised like that, while your own efforts went unseen, unnoticed… it broke something inside you.

You tried to find something to say… anything honest, kind, something that captured how much you cared about Eloise, how much thought you put into her growth, but your throat was tight, your heartbeat pounding, and whatever calm you’d managed to hold onto had completely vanished.

“I truly do everything I can—”

“If you’re not getting results, maybe this just isn’t the right job for you.”

That was the final blow. Your anxiety, until now held barely in check, surged.

“Do you realize the impact you have on a child that age?” she continued. “Say one wrong thing, ignore her even once… it leaves a mark. I expected professionalism. You’re the teacher, not just another kid on the playground.”

You sat perfectly still. Lips pressed together, holding back the flood rising in your chest.

“Thank you for your honesty,” you said softly. “I’ll reflect on what you’ve shared.”

She didn’t say a word in response. No thank you. No goodbye. Just turned on her heel and left, the click of her heels fading down the hall until the classroom door slammed shut behind her with a jolt that made you flinch again.

And then, silence. Heavier than before.

You didn’t move.

Your thoughts spiraled. You replayed her words over and over, questioning everything. Wondering if maybe… she was right. Maybe teaching wasn’t for you. Maybe all your effort, all your heart… it wasn’t enough.

Tears welled up in your eyes. Your breathing turned shallow. It felt like you were moments from collapsing face-down on the desk, overwhelmed, broken.

“Hey, love. Are you in here?”

You hadn’t even heard the door open again, this time gently.

You straightened up in a rush, scrambling to pull yourself together. You turned your head slowly toward the door.

Sebastian was there. Smiling.

But the smile vanished the instant he saw your face.

"Love?"

You tried to answer, but your voice refused to come out. Instead, only a gasp escaped. Your shoulders tightened, and once again, the air seemed to vanish from your lungs. You were left relying on shallow, rapid breaths just to stay upright. Your hands clutched the edge of the desk, as if holding on could somehow make it all go away.

Seb rushed to your side, crouching down so he could meet your eyes. He wrapped one arm carefully around you, gently brushing your hair out of your face with the other.

The words you wanted to say never came. Tears took their place. You were hyperventilating even more now. Your chest rose and fell far too fast, and it wasn’t just your hands that were trembling —it was your whole body.

“It’s okay, love. Deep breaths. Hold my hand or do whatever you need, but just focus on breathing,” Seb said in that calming voice of his, the one that never wavered. “In through your nose... Come on, sweetheart. You're safe, you’re with me. I’m right here, and you’re okay. I’m not going anywhere… so right now, just breathe with me…”

You met his eyes, those ocean-blue eyes that always grounded you. They were steady, kind, reassuring. Everything you needed, even when your mind tried to convince you otherwise.

“There you go, love. One more breath…”

Your body finally began to unwind. Your breathing slowed, deepened.

You quickly wiped your cheeks and sat up a little straighter, embarrassment washing over you.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… God, I hate that I let that woman’s words get in my head like this…”

“It’s okay that they did. Really,” Seb said gently. “It doesn’t make you weak—it just means you care about your students.”

He pulled you into a hug, the kind of hug you could live in if you had the choice. You buried your face in his chest, soaking in the safety that this German man, who you’d been with for nearly four years, always seemed to bring.

“You’re one of the best teachers I’ve ever known,” Sebastian said, still holding you tightly. “I see the way the kids swarm you during recess, and how you never hesitate to kneel down to their level and talk about whatever wild thing they’re excited about just to keep them smiling. No matter what’s swirling in that head of yours,” he added, tapping it lightly before pressing a soft kiss there, “how you treat your students won’t suddenly vanish just because one parent had a bad day and took it out on you.”

“What if she’s right, though?” you whispered.

Seb sighed, letting out a small laugh.

“Love, Eloise is acting out because her baby brother was born, what, six months ago? Don’t you remember how you visited her mom, the same woman who just tore into you, at the hospital just because Eloise asked you to?” he reminded you, and you silently cursed yourself for forgetting. “It’s classic dethroned child syndrome. You have nothing to worry about.”

You sniffled, and despite yourself, a tiny smile tugged at your lips.

“Still… she called me unprofessional. Said you were a much better teacher and that I was nothing like you…”

“Oh, please, babe. I’m a mess, and you stay up past midnight color-coding lesson plans with glitter pens.”

“Seb, that’s not that unusual…”

“You pack extra snacks every single day” he emphasized each word “just in case one of the kids forgets their lunch. If that’s unprofessional, then I don’t ever want either of us to be professional.”

This time, your laugh burst out freely, echoing around the classroom.

Finally, Seb knew you were okay again, that he’d done what he came to do: stop one opinion from someone who didn’t understand your work, your classroom, or your devotion from tearing you down.

Seb stood up, gently taking your wrist and leading you toward your favorite corner of the classroom: the reading nook. It was filled with shelves of books you’d bought with your own money, some even from your parents’ house, and a few beanbags scattered around.

He sat down on one of them, tugging you down onto his lap.

“I mean it, love. You’re magical,” he said softly. He’d told you things like this before, but somehow they always made your cheeks go warm. “You’re the kind of teacher who makes kids believe in themselves. Sure, you teach German and math and all those boring things—but you also teach kindness, just by being you.”

“We should all be like that, Seb. You are too… you know that, right?” you reminded him. His students adored him, and now that they were about to head off to secondary school, they made that clear every chance they got.

“Well, that mother doesn’t know the full picture, but I do. And I’m telling you the truth: you’re changing lives. I hope you know that.”

You leaned in, pressing a brief but intense kiss to his lips. It caught him off guard, but he responded immediately, pulling you in closer by the waist.

Afterward, you let your eyes wander around the room. It was filled with crafts and chalk-drawn smiles on the walls. And there, despite the spelling mistakes, a massive chalkboard message surrounded by wobbly hearts read: “You’re the best teacher in the world, Miss!”

“Thanks for reminding me who I am,” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

“I always will, sweetheart.”

You nestled against his shoulder again, as his lips pressed into your hair and his fingers traced gentle, invisible patterns all over your body.

"Hey..."

"Hmmm?"

Seb propped himself up slightly, and you did the same. Now, you were sitting with your legs loosely wrapped around his waist, facing him directly.

"Do you know how I could make you happy right now?"

"Eating me out while fingering me?"

Seb shook his head, chuckling softly.

"God, babe, stop thinking with your hormones!" he said dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "Today’s been long and rough, and sure, I’ll help you unwind when we get home. But right now, under Article 4 of the Master Recovery Act… I am legally required to take you somewhere sacred."

"Seb, I’m not in the mood for guessing games. I'm exhausted, I just want to go home and—"

"You don't want to go somewhere overflowing with carbs, cheese, and generous pours of wine?"

Your face lit up instantly. You jumped to your feet, bouncing with excitement like you always did when Seb had a surprise planned or a spontaneous date night.

He couldn’t help but grin at your reaction, standing up and quickly gathering your things. In no time, he was heading for the door, eager to leave.

"Mario’s? Seriously?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer, jogging to catch up and practically dragging him out of the classroom.

"Of course, love. Tonight, you deserve to be pampered. And trust me, the pizza buffet I have in mind, plus the leftovers we’ll take home for you to eat cold for breakfast is just the beginning."

On the walk from the school to your car and then during the drive to the restaurant, you talked about everything except what had happened earlier. Seb told you about a surprise he was planning for his students for the end of term, and you couldn’t resist offering suggestions, along with ideas for how to teach your own little ones their next German lessons, which were proving to be a real struggle.

You also daydreamed about your upcoming vacation plans beyond Heppenheim, and whether you’d finally saved enough to buy that mini van you both wanted for your grand European road trips.

A few minutes later, Seb was parking in front of the restaurant. He quickly got out, rushing to open your door and offer his hand. You didn’t need help getting out, but he knew how much those little gestures meant to you, especially after a day like today.

He took your hand, and as he opened the door and let you in first, the familiar aroma of tomato sauce, melted mozzarella, and fresh oregano washed over you like a warm hug. It felt, as always, like home.

Behind the counter, Johanna, the waitress who knew you both so well, lit up when she saw you.

"Well, if it isn’t my favorite couple! Table 5, right?"

You and Seb exchanged bashful smiles and gave her a quiet "yes" as she led you, like she always did, to your usual spot.

As always, Seb took the seat with his back to the window, leaving you facing him, right beside the old jukebox that hadn’t worked in years. You noticed a small new doodle just beside where your initials and Seb’s were scratched into the wood.

You couldn’t help but smile as you traced the worn letters with your fingertips, thinking back on every date Seb had brought you here and, if you were being honest, even imagining bringing your future kids here someday if things kept going the way they were.

"Do you remember when you asked me to be your girlfriend right here?" you asked softly, locking eyes with him.

"Of course. I was sweating so much I tore the paper menu they gave us."

"I think you already know this, but that just made me fall even harder for you. You were so adorable."

Your food arrived almost instantly. Johanna knew your order so well you didn’t even have to ask. Two pizzas, one Margherita, one Carbonara, arrived with two Coke bottles packed with ice. No surprises there.

You ate slowly, lingering in your conversation from the car, which eventually turned to the mess with Eloise’s mother at the tutoring session earlier. You finally let yourself vent, opening up about your fears, your doubt about being good enough, or whether you really had what it took for a job like yours.

Seb listened intently, and when he responded, he did it with the same honesty. No one else could understand what you were going through quite like him.

Because yes, Sebastian Vettel also had moments of doubt, struggling with imposter syndrome as a teacher. And yes, you were always there for him when it was his turn to fall apart.

"You’re allowed to have horrible days, love," he said gently. "But you need to get it through that stubborn little head of yours, and I say this as someone who knows you better than you think, none of what happened today changes how I see you. Not as my girlfriend, not as a teacher. And it definitely doesn’t change how the kids see you."

Your eyes welled up again. This time, though, the tears weren’t from exhaustion or frustration, but from gratitude. From happiness. From the overwhelming luck of having someone like Sebastian in your life.

"I’m so lucky to have you," you whispered. "I wish every girl could have their own Sebastian Vettel."

"Well, I’m the lucky one, trust me," he said, reaching for your hand across the table. "I’m very lucky you said yes at this very table even if I was sweating as fuck and got your hands all clammy."

[ven0moir]

i'm BAFFLED at all the bychance hate on the tag right now because they're genuinely like

"Mike is Will's FOREVER. He said so and therefore he will continue to castrate himself over and over until Mike chooses him because that's TRUE LOVE!!!!!! Mike saying he loved El in front of him did NOTHING to weaken the powerful, endless loop of his love! also, he won't go for CHANCE because he is EVIL!!!! Will is above mortal temptations because of his neverending love for Mike!!! he would NEVEEERRRRRRR, the duffers would NEVER dare to give Will a chance at love that isn't Mike because Will isn't even gay, he's Mikesexual, that's the healthiest expression of true love possible for Will and that is EXACTLY what the duffers will give us!"

is this real life????????? Not the mileven-coded mentality 💀 i even thought they were satire for a second. with cypherheartnokey's recent post, and your bychance timeline, at this point anti-bychance bylers are the weakest link. Bottom of the barrel behavior. isn't that why we shit on mileven so much anyway? because of how obsessed they are with each other? Make it make sense!

i don't even care about bychance and am personally open to whatever happens as long as it feels right. But the Duffers said some people might not like the way things go in season 5, and for all we know, they were talking about bychance in that sentence. The truth is that they did whatever the hell THEY felt is right for their story, and nothing we do or say will change what they have already decided.

hi anon! omfg not the "mikesexual" mindset HELPP ...

and ty for bringing up the only expectation you have being that you just want things to be fair bc YES. SAME

i talked about the general idea that seems to be agreed upon amongst bylers: mike confessing to will last minute during a life or death situation... and ... sure, maybe the duffers manage to pull that off in a way that feels sincere, but tbh? as per how we left them in S4, they both deserve better.

will deserves an opportunity outside of mike to reclaim his agency and not be a bystander in his own love life, and Mike deserves the opportunity to step into his heart's true desire in a way that feels natural to him and not at the face of the world exploding if he doesn't confess. but bc he WANTS to.

the writers are walking a very fine line when depicting this bc they have to balance this with everything else going on, in the very limited time they have. ironically, that's why I think bychance is the fastest way to achieve both those things

agency for will, catalyst for mike. like, bychance could literally be done as a one-time thing and still serve a purpose. I'm talking legit within ONE episode kinda deal.

i say this bc, we talk about jealous mike, sure, but think about robin seeing vickie with a boy vs her hoping vickie liked boobies ,,, she didn't even expect vickie to like HER, the question robin and steve were trying to answer is if she had a chance with her at all.

same thing with mike. mike seeing will with a girl? will is straight. suffering, game over. re: robin seeing vickie with dan + will seeing mike reunite with el = no hope, it's done for.

robin's hope was restored when she heard that vickie had broken up with dan + her and steve's initial 'queer-coding' read of her via Fast Times was confirmed right.

mike seeing will with a BOY? ( a bully, granted, which gives the audience plausible deniability ) while having the upper hand in the situation by having El's letter AND Will's painting in his possession?

Mike's brain connecting the dots like ...

'El's letter + Will's painting/speech + Will likes guys confirmed = "Is Will ... a liar AND traitor or ... is he in love with me?" '

something along those lines bc yeah if bychance is only meant as a way to make mike jealous then eh ... but if its used to unpack that in one clean swoop and prepare them both for their eventual fight? yes. give it to me rachel.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

After reading your recent platonic Bee thing, it reminded me of a platonic idea I've had for a bit.

I was thinking a very distant and cold but not necessarily rude reader working at I.M.P. as a relatively new hire. Despite the others attempts at bonding, they always avoid any real attempts at bonding or getting to know one another. Reader likely has similar issues to Loona and Blitzo, feeling unlovable. Essentially reader finally starts to let them in towards the end, finally accepting their place in I.M.P.s little "family," maybe during Sinsmas?

Ideally reader would be a gn or male sinner, but of course it'd probably be pretty easy to simply leave ambiguous, I don't mind either way. Thanks for your time!

Blitzø collects new family members like Pokemon cards.

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

New hire

★ At your first day with the company, you established firm boundaries. No chatter, no emotions, just work. But you couldn't have known how Blitzø treats his employees. Like it or not, he's going to treat you like family.

★ Blitz ignored your wishes, and tried getting you to hangout outside of work. You refused to put up with him without getting paid. So he did just that. Giving you 50$ to watch movies with him. During a commercial break he orders pizza. Letting you choose the toppings you want.

★ Unlike her dad, Loona wasn't concerned about if you like her or not. The only way she acknowledged you was with a quick glance. Maybe a rare eyeroll if you asked her for help with something. “Yeah, whatever." Was the first thing she said to you.

★ Millie is always warm towards you. She brings you coffee in the morning, having memorized your go-to order. Allowing you to open up at your own pace. Even though you don't want anything other than a professional working relationship.

★ If you stay distant she accepts it, but that doesn’t mean she’ll treat you like a outsider. To her your part of the team. Whether you like it or not. Good luck convincing her otherwise.

★ Moxxie was more formal. And assumed that he needs to earn your respect. For awhile he referred to you with your full name only. At least until you told him to stop. Out of everyone, you worked with him the best.

★ He appreciates how you communicate things to him clearly. You’re efficient and focused. Making you one of the only reliable people in I.M.P. And Moxxie lets you know what he thinks of you. "At least someone around here knows how to do their job."

★ You still tried to keep your distance. This job will go to shit eventually. Like everything else you've been a part of. Blitz was a decent boss, sure. But that cant stop the world from ruining everything. It's just a matter of time.

★ The turning point for you was sinsmas. You actually showed to Blitzø's party. Without being bribed. At that moment you realize, damnit, you got attached. The group grew on you, like some kind of parasitic infection.