#Tornado Longing for Freedom

[0scarp1astr1]

 ˖ 𐔌 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥࿐ . ۫

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Lando Norris was known for his partying ways, his loud and exciting ways, at least by the media. So, it began to make those close to him wonder what attracted him to a single mother such as you. ||

ᯓ★ Lando Norris x Fem! (Single Mom) Reader

ᯓ★ 2x Genre: Angst, Fluff

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: This one is longer than the others, so please be aware but hopefully this holds you all over. Much love.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

Being a mother wasn’t something you had planned—at least, not this soon. You were in your twenties, the so-called “prime years,” the time for reckless freedom, house parties that turned into sunrise conversations, or spontaneous trips with friends that felt like the world belonged only to you. Your nights were supposed to be lit with fairy lights strung across living room ceilings, wine glasses clinking, and the endless chatter about relationships, careers, and everything in between.

But instead, your twenties became a symphony of lullabies, muffled cartoons, and the quiet creak of a baby monitor in the middle of the night. They were no longer about heels and lipstick but about stepping over rogue LEGO pieces that threatened to take you out with one misstep, about mopping up juice spills and wiping sticky fingers and tired tears. You were reading the same bedtime story three times in a row because your son loved the way you did the voices, checking under the bed for imaginary monsters with the same seriousness you once saved for final exams.

It wasn’t easy. Especially not when people you thought would be there for you—those who once claimed they'd be aunties and uncles in all but blood—began to drift away. Some didn’t understand. Others didn’t try to. The baby shower promises and “I’ll always be here” texts faded like echoes, and in their absence, you carried the weight of motherhood alone. It stung in the quietest way.

But then came Sebastian.

Your beautiful baby boy with soft curls and eyes that held the galaxy. He changed everything. From the moment he was placed in your arms, the chaos didn’t matter. The sleepless nights, the fear, the uncertainty—they all became worth it the second he smiled. He was three now. A tiny tornado of joy and curiosity, who gave your life a sense of grounding and wonder you never knew you needed. Raising him wasn’t always easy, but somewhere in the mix of tantrums and toothy grins, your confidence as a mother began to bloom. You figured things out, step by shaky step, and you were proud of who you were becoming—for him.

Still, late at night, when he was tucked into bed and the silence stretched long between the walls, you wondered if love would ever find you again. The kind that made your chest ache with excitement, the kind that whispered comfort into the hollow places. You had loved before—young love, teenage love, the firsts that shaped you—but now? Now you weren’t the same girl anymore. You were a woman, a mother, and that felt like a world apart from who you used to be. Who would want to step into this life mid-chapter?

But little did you know, love wasn’t far. In fact, it lived just behind the screen you scrolled through at night.

Lando Norris. His name echoed across social media like a song on repeat. A man whose life seemed impossibly full—speeding through cities, smiling on podiums, partying in places you only dreamed of. He was freedom personified. A life in fast motion, captured in highlight reels and championship circuits. To the world, he was laughter and youth and charm, adored by millions, a modern-day rockstar in a race car.

He was everything your life was not.

And yet—somehow, fate was quietly working behind the scenes.

Because what neither of you realized just yet...was that love was about to collide with your life. Not with fireworks or headlines—but with small moments. A conversation. A look. A gesture. Something real, in a world that often felt anything but.

Despite his young age, Sebastian had already found a passion that made his eyes glow with wonder: Formula 1. It started subtly—he’d pad across the floor in his little socks, dragging his blanket behind him, only to stop and stare at the TV whenever fast cars zipped across the screen. The vibrant colors, the roaring engines, the animated commentary—it all lit up something inside him.

You didn’t expect it. After all, he was just three years old. His world should’ve been centered on coloring books and stuffed animals, not tire strategies and pit stops. But every time you flipped past a Formula 1 broadcast, he’d make a sound, a pointed squeal, or a clumsy run toward the screen. It was obvious: he was captivated.

So, naturally, you followed his excitement. You became the mom who ordered F1 merch online late at night, building a miniature racing wardrobe for your son. T-shirts in all colors. Hats far too big for his little head. Plushie cars he’d vroom around the living room. Whatever he showed the slightest interest in—you got it. And soon enough, the drivers became household names not just to the world, but to him.

Sebastian would burst into laughter whenever Max Verstappen gave his famously direct interviews, his young mind not grasping the words but fully recognizing the face. And Yuki—now part of the Red Bull team—became his source of infectious glee. Every time Yuki’s voice rang through a press conference or onboard radio, Sebastian would shriek with laughter, his eyes twinkling. He didn’t need to understand Japanese humor to adore Yuki’s presence.

Charles Leclerc? Sebastian pointed him out like an old friend. Lewis Hamilton? He’d watch him like he was listening to a storybook read aloud. And George Russell, ever graceful in his silver Mercedes, was often mimicked when Sebastian ran around the apartment in circles, pretending he was on a flying lap.

But the real surprise came with Kimi Antonelli—Mercedes' youngest and most buzzed-about addition. Whenever Kimi’s name popped up onscreen, Sebastian’s full body seemed to light up. “Kimi!” he’d shout, over and over, jumping as if the two were best friends. He didn’t care that there was a more famous “Kimi” from before—this one was his. Young, daring, full of raw potential. Sebastian’s toddler heart was loyal in a way adults often forgot how to be.

Yet, through all the teams and drivers he loved—Red Bull, Ferrari, Mercedes—it was always McLaren that stole the biggest piece of his heart. He adored the bold papaya orange livery, the sleek cars, and most of all, the drivers. Every time Lando Norris appeared on screen, Sebastian would clap like he was watching fireworks. And when Oscar Piastri came on, he’d spin in a happy circle, unable to contain his joy.

“Lando! Look, mama, it’s Lando!” he’d shout, tugging your arm with his tiny fingers, eyes wide in awe like he was seeing a superhero. If Lando waved to the camera, Sebastian would wave back, completely convinced it was meant for him.

You watched all of this unfold with warmth blooming in your chest. Parenthood hadn't been something you planned for your twenties—but moments like this made it feel like life had rewritten itself for the better. Amid the mess of snacks on the carpet, bedtime stories, and tiny shoes always misplaced—you found beauty. In Sebastian’s passion, in his smile, in the way he pointed to his heroes like they were friends—you found your peace.

And somehow, in between your world of routines and his world of racing, you both found something else too: hope. Joy. And a shared love for the chaos and color of Formula 1.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The gentle steam curled from your mug as you sat at the kitchen table, your fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic, grounding yourself in the stillness of the morning. Across from you, your mother sat with the familiar calm she always brought—an anchor in your often-chaotic days. The soft hum of the TV filled the space between your conversations, and the distant clatter of plastic toys played backup to the soundtrack of your life as a mom.

Every so often, you'd rise from your seat to peek into the living room where Sebastian was busy pushing his toy cars across the rug, his tiny feet kicking in excitement, curls bouncing with each animated laugh. He was three years old, full of energy, and already fascinated by the world of Formula 1—a love you'd discovered through the way he lit up at the sight of the cars, the drivers, the roar of the engines on screen.

You returned to the table, a tired but content smile forming on your lips.

Your mother took a slow sip of her tea before looking up at you gently. “So… has his father called? Checked in at all?”

Your chest sank a little, and you exhaled a sigh that felt like it had been stored up for weeks. “No. Not once,” you said quietly. “He’s never really made the effort. And honestly? I’m done waiting for him to care. Sebastian doesn’t even notice. It’s just been me and him for so long, we’ve got our own rhythm.”

Your mom nodded solemnly, her eyes reflecting both pride and sorrow. “I’m sorry, honey. You deserve more support than that. But you’re doing an amazing job. I mean it.”

You gave a soft smile, one that came with both gratitude and a hint of weariness. Your gaze wandered again to the living room. Sebastian was sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, practically vibrating with excitement. The race had started, and you could hear his delighted squeals every time a car zoomed across the screen.

“He’s obsessed,” you chuckled. “Formula 1, of all things.”

“I noticed,” your mom said, a twinkle in her eye. “He talks about the cars like they’re superheroes.”

You smiled wider. “Yeah. He has a whole routine. Points at Charles and says, ‘Zoom!’ Every time he sees Kimi or George he claps like he’s at a concert. Don’t even get me started on how excited he gets over Lando and Oscar. It's... it’s kind of adorable.”

There was a pause, the soft kind that usually comes before something unexpected.

“Well,” your mom started, setting her mug down and reaching into her handbag slowly, “since he loves it so much… and since you could really use a little joy, I thought this might help.”

She slid a small envelope across the table toward you.

You blinked, confused, then slowly opened it.

Your heart skipped.

Inside were two glossy, official Formula 1 paddock passes—one adult, one child.

You looked up at her, stunned. “Mom… what is this?”

“It’s for the Grand Prix this weekend,” she said, her voice gentle. “I pulled a few strings. A friend from my old job still does hospitality for events like this. It’s not VIP, but it’s paddock access. You and Sebastian can go. See the cars, the drivers, the team garages… the whole thing. I thought he’d love it. And you, too.”

Tears stung your eyes, and you laughed, a bit breathless from the shock. “Are you serious? Mom… this is too much.”

“It’s not too much,” she said, smiling. “You give that boy the world every day with what little you have. I figured it was time the world gave something back. And who knows? Maybe this is the kind of moment he’ll remember forever.”

From the living room came the unmistakable shriek of joy—Sebastian jumping up and down, arms raised as a car zoomed across the screen. “Mama! It’s Lando!! Look! Orange car!!”

You turned, your heart softening at the sight.

You looked back at the passes, then to your mother, your eyes glossy. “Thank you,” you whispered. “He’s going to lose his little mind.”

She reached across and squeezed your hand. “That’s the plan.”

The two of you chatted between soft laughs and thoughtful silences—the kind that only exist in the presence of someone who has known you your whole life. It was one of those rare, warm moments of peace—something you didn’t get to feel often in your whirlwind life as a single mother.

The conversation drifted between topics: Sebastian’s latest fascination with “Zoom cars,” your job, the things you missed, and the things you learned to live without. It was soft. Safe. Your mother’s voice was a balm, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself believe that maybe everything really would be okay.

Meanwhile, halfway across the world, in a completely different atmosphere, Lando Norris groaned into his pillow.

The curtains of his penthouse suite were drawn tightly shut, but even the tiniest sliver of sunlight that slipped in felt like an attack. His head throbbed in waves, a dull pulsing at his temples that matched the beat of the club music still echoing in his brain. The drinks from the night before had tasted better going down than they did now, swirling in his stomach like regret. His mouth was dry, throat burning faintly from too much liquor and not enough water, and all he could remember was the wild chorus of bass drops, laughter, bodies dancing under neon lights, and a few blurry flashes of cameras aimed directly at him.

Another tabloid moment. Another night added to his growing online image—Lando Norris, the fun-loving party king of Formula 1.

He groaned again and shifted in bed, a pillow dragged over his face. "Never again," he muttered to himself.

“Right,” came a dry, amused voice from the doorway.

Lando peeked one eye open, lifting the pillow just enough to glare at Oscar Piastri, who stood just inside the room, arms crossed, and a disapproving smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You look dead, mate,” Oscar said, eyeing the chaos of clothes strewn across the floor, the abandoned shoes by the door, and Lando himself—still in last night’s wrinkled t-shirt, half-draped in his sheets like a child mid-tantrum.

Lando gave a weak thumbs-up, his voice hoarse. “I feel sick.”

Oscar snorted. “Yeah, I wonder why. Maybe the six tequila shots? Or was it the bottle service you insisted on ordering at two in the morning?”

“I was celebrating,” Lando groaned.

“Celebrating what exactly? A hangover?”

Lando flopped onto his back, wincing. “Shut up. I'm mourning my youth.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You’re twenty-five.”

“Exactly,” Lando muttered. “Quarter-life crisis.”

Oscar shook his head, making his way over to pull open the curtains—Lando hissed dramatically as sunlight flooded the room. Oscar rolled his eyes and tossed a bottle of water at him. “You’re lucky your schedule’s clear for once. I should make you go for a run.”

“Run?!” Lando looked offended. “Oscar. I’m dying.”

“You’re hungover. Same thing every time. You act like the world’s ending, and then you’re back on a yacht tomorrow.”

Lando took a long sip of water, the coldness soothing his throat and dulling the nausea just enough. He looked out the window at the skyline—vibrant, alive, and completely removed from any form of normalcy. The contrast between his life and the real world had never been sharper than now.

And though he lived for the thrill, the freedom, the glamor... somewhere, buried under the hangover and the jokes, a part of him wondered what it would be like to wake up in a quiet house.

To the world, Lando Norris lived a dream dipped in neon lights and champagne. He was the poster boy of F1’s nightlife—flashing cameras, velvet ropes, smoke-filled lounges, the glittering pulse of clubs across Monaco, London, Ibiza. His name often trended beside headlines of afterparties and appearances, linked to whispers of flings, mystery women, and flirtatious smirks caught on video.

The “party boy” image clung to him like cologne—loud, undeniable, and impossible to ignore.

At first, Lando had laughed it off. He gave the media their smiles, tossed fans a wink, and leaned into the persona. Why not? He was young, rich, successful. The parties were fun, the people lively, the noise almost enough to drown out the emptiness that sometimes followed when he returned home alone.

But the more the world assumed, the harder it became to shake the narrative. Social media only cemented it further—comments under photos speculating who he’d slept with, sarcastic tweets calling him the "Formula 1 Casanova," and fan threads dissecting his every interaction with a woman. At times, the world didn’t seem to believe he was capable of real love—only fleeting fun.

And that started to sting.

Behind the filters and club lights, Lando was still just a twenty-five-year-old guy who sometimes questioned where his life was going. Fame had given him everything, yet it also took so much. Privacy. Trust. Stability.

He'd see posts about Oscar and Lily—his teammate and his long-time girlfriend—and it would stir something unfamiliar in him. They had history. Quiet affection. A love that felt warm and grounding. The kind of relationship fans loved to root for. There was no gossip about Oscar’s loyalty, no speculation over his weekend choices. Instead, there were cute couple pictures, supportive tweets, and heartfelt comments.

The contrast couldn’t have been sharper.

Sometimes, in the silence after a night out, Lando would lie in bed, watching the ceiling fan spin, wondering if the path he was on led to something fulfilling—or if he’d just keep spinning in circles. He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him craved something deeper. Someone to laugh with on quiet mornings. Someone who didn’t just love him for the spotlight, but in the silence too.

And yet, he wasn’t sure how to find her. Or if he even knew what he was looking for.

His “type,” as people so confidently assumed—tall, stunning models with glossy hair and flawless smiles—was starting to feel like a shallow box he’d been stuffed into. He thought back to past flings—women who were beautiful, yes, but left him feeling emptier than before. Conversations that rarely went past the surface. Nights that blurred into mornings with no plans for the day after.

Was that really love? Was that really what he wanted?

Or was he just playing a role he no longer fit?

The world saw him one way—carefree, reckless, living in luxury. But beneath the surface, Lando was beginning to feel a quiet shift. A question forming in the back of his mind: What if I want more?

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

When you told Sebastian that he was going to see Formula 1 in person, it was as if the entire world stood still for him. His little face froze in pure, stunned disbelief—mouth parted, eyes wide, eyebrows lifted in that exaggerated toddler way that could only come from raw joy. Then, in a heartbeat, he was squealing, launching himself into your arms with such excitement that it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

“Tank you, Mommy! Tank you!” he repeated over and over, voice high with joy, arms wrapped tight around your neck. His mispronounced “thank you” was so pure and sincere that tears threatened to gather in your eyes.

This was it—this was the kind of moment that made every hard day worth it. Every sleepless night, every quiet cry when no one saw you, every sacrifice. Just to give him this joy.

He ran off seconds later, unable to contain his excitement, and started listing the drivers he hoped to meet, barely forming the names in between giddy jumps and giggles. “I gonna see Maxy! And Yuki! And Chawles! And Georgie!” he chanted as he spun around the living room, arms wide like airplane wings. “And Kimi too! And Ockar! Lan’dooo!”

You sat back on the couch, smiling through the wave of emotions. His joy was contagious, a kind of magic that settled deep in your chest.

The days leading up to the paddock visit were filled with a chaos that only love could fuel. You buried yourself in planning, not because you had to, but because you wanted it to be perfect. This wasn’t just a day out—this was a gift, a dream come true for a little boy who’d fallen in love with fast cars and faster drivers without even fully understanding the sport.

You spent evenings scrolling through online shops, adding team merch to your cart, checking sizes twice, and triple-checking the weather forecast. You mapped out packing lists, planned snacks, checked your camera storage space, and googled things like “best ear protection for toddlers at F1 races.”

But the biggest debate of all? Outfits.

You carefully laid out options on your bed—tiny team shirts, pint-sized hats, mini race suits, and soft fleece hoodies. You imagined how he'd look in each one, how his face might light up when he saw someone wearing matching colors.

“Which team should we wear first, Sebastian?” you asked one afternoon, crouching beside him as he built a racetrack out of magnetic tiles and blocks. He paused mid-play, finger on his chin in deep thought.

After a moment, he turned to you with absolute certainty.

“I wear McLah-win. All days,” he said, nodding to confirm his own decision.

“All three days?” you teased.

He nodded more firmly this time, curls bouncing. “Lan’do and Ockar are da best.”

So that was settled.

Day one: his bright papaya hoodie and matching cap—simple, bold, unmistakably McLaren. You paired it with black joggers and white sneakers, letting him choose his favorite little backpack with the lightning bolt keychain.

Day two: his mini Oscar Piastri race suit. It was perfectly tailored for a toddler, down to the stitched belt and sponsor logos. You’d even sewn his name—Sebastian—onto the chest in orange thread. When he saw it, his jaw dropped like he was holding the holy grail. “It me!” he shouted, tracing the letters.

Day three: Lando’s race suit replica. Slightly too big, but in his eyes, it made him look like a real driver. He practiced imaginary starts and finishes, sprinting across the hallway, mimicking Lando’s winning gestures, making vroom-vroom noises until bedtime.

Every night that week, he fell asleep clutching one of his toy cars, his beloved McLaren cap tucked beside his pillow. Some nights, you found him sleep-talking about drivers, whispering garbled names and “I so fast” with a tiny smile.

And you? You watched it all with a full heart.

You weren’t just preparing for a trip—you were making memories. You were giving your son something to remember long after his toddler years had passed. The joy in his eyes, the bounce in his steps, the way he counted down the days like it was Christmas. This wasn’t just about F1. This was about sharing something magical with your little boy.

And in the quiet moments, after Sebastian had fallen asleep, you'd sit in the living room, sometimes staring at the orange hoodie or listening to the faint hum of past races playing from your laptop. You didn’t have every piece of life figured out—but you had this. You had him.

You thought about how far you’d come. A single mom, navigating motherhood without the kind of support others had, building your own traditions, your own life. It hadn’t always been easy, but in these moments, the love made it feel more than enough.

Now, paddock passes in hand, suitcases packed, tiny shoes lined up at the door, it was almost time.

Three days. Three days of noise, excitement, laughter, and a front-row view to something your son loved deeply.

Airports were a world of their own—blaring announcements, rolling suitcases, the blend of perfume and coffee in the air, and the shuffle of people rushing from gate to gate. Among it all, you stood just past the security checkpoint, your carry-on slightly slipping from your shoulder, one hand firmly wrapped around the handle of Sebastian’s tiny suitcase—blue with orange race car stickers he insisted on putting on himself—and the other guiding your excitable three-year-old who was practically vibrating with anticipation.

It was Sebastian’s very first flight, and while you had spent days preparing, no number of travel blogs or TikToks could have truly braced you for the full-body energy your son was currently radiating.

He hopped along the polished tiles in his McLaren hoodie, a stuffed car plushie in one hand, backpack bouncing behind him. “Mommy! We goin’ in da sky! Da sky, da sky, da—!”

“Sebastian,” you called gently but firmly, your tone threading calmness into control. You reached for his shoulder and he paused, looking up at you with that sunshine-smile—one so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes. He didn’t speak, just beamed at you like he was keeping a little secret with the clouds he was so eager to meet.

You crouched beside him for a moment, brushing a curl from his forehead. “I know you’re excited, baby, but we have to stay close, okay? No running. There’s too many people here today.”

“Okay, Mommy,” he whispered, slightly breathless, like the airport was a magical maze he was being told not to touch.

You stood again and reached into your tote bag. “Here,” you offered, pulling out the snack bag you’d packed that morning with military precision. “Pick a snack, sit tight.”

Sebastian peeked in, his small fingers rifling through pouches of gummies, crackers, and his ultimate comfort choice—Goldfish. His eyes lit up. “De fishes!”

You tore the bag open and handed it to him, watching the way he cradled it carefully in both hands, like it was treasure. He sat down cross-legged near the window of your gate, Goldfish in hand, gaze drifting to the planes outside.

You took a breath, letting the buzz of the airport fade into the background for a beat. The weight of the moment hit you gently—not heavy, but meaningful. This wasn’t just a trip. This was a first. His first time flying, his first Formula 1 race, his first steps into something that felt big and unforgettable. And you got to be the one by his side, showing him all of it.

You sat next to him, watching him crunch quietly, the reflection of the airplanes gliding along the tarmac gleaming in the wide glass ahead. The clouds above were beginning to part, sun dappling in streaks across the runways.

“Do you think we gonna go super fast like the cars?” he asked, cheeks puffed with snacks.

You laughed softly. “Not quite that fast. But we’ll be up in the clouds soon.”

“Like... where birds go?”

“Exactly where birds go.”

He turned to you, and in a whisper, said, “I hope Lando go there too.”

You chuckled again, heart full. “Maybe not today. But we’ll see him soon.”

It was then that boarding was announced, and the line began to form. You packed up the snack bag, helped Sebastian to his feet, and adjusted his hoodie once more. As you grabbed his hand and headed toward the gate, you felt it again—that quiet sense of rightness.

Despite the chaos of travel, the work of planning, the worries of being enough as a mom—you were here. Together. On an adventure. And that was more than enough.

As you stepped into the jet bridge, your son looked up at you once again, eyes sparkling with wonder. “Mommy?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I gonna fly like Oscar.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The flight buzzed with a quiet hum, the occasional ding of seatbelt signs and the low chatter of passengers blending into a white noise symphony. Yet, in the middle of row 14, two seats near the window were alight with joy.

Sebastian was electric with energy, practically bouncing in his seat, his McLaren hoodie slightly oversized and his cheeks flushed from all the excitement. Every person who met his eyes—even if only in passing—was greeted with an enthusiastic, “Hi! I go see cars! I go see McLaren! I go see Lando!”

You smiled, half-apologetic to the flight attendants who offered polite, knowing chuckles. But none of them seemed to mind. In fact, they leaned into his excitement, letting him help “check” the snack basket, praising his race car backpack, and slipping him extra juice boxes like he was royalty on board.

“He’s adorable,” one attendant whispered to you as she passed, her smile soft. “Reminds me of my nephew.”

You thanked her quietly, watching as Sebastian munched on the little cookies she had offered him. He kicked his legs softly under the seat, recounting every topic under the sun: cartoons, new toys, dinosaurs, his favorite car toys, and somehow even Santa Claus—despite it being months away from Christmas.

You couldn't help but giggle when he whispered, “Santa gonna bring me new tires for my cars.”

“Really?” you played along.

“Yeah, da fast ones. So I can beat Max.”

His logic was flawless.

But all that energy had a price. After a flurry of words and crumbs, your little boy's lids grew heavier. He curled slightly into his seat, and you, ever the prepared mother, pulled out his checkered-flag throw blanket—one he insisted on packing himself. You tucked it around him, brushing a hand over his forehead.

The screen ahead played SpongeBob, flickering softly. His eyes were half-lidded, still trying to focus, but the gentle sway of the plane, the warmth of the blanket, and the comfort of being beside you finally coaxed him into rest.

His lashes fluttered, and then—sleep.

You leaned back into your seat, a peaceful exhale leaving your lips. Looking down at your sleeping son, his cheek resting softly against the seat, arms wrapped around his plushie, you couldn’t help but pull out your phone. One quick snap, the image so sweet and pure it made your chest tighten. You posted it to your story with a caption:

“First flight ever—and he’s already dreaming of podiums 🏁✨ #McLarenFuture #PiastriJunior?”

The replies would come fast. Friends gushing. A few mutuals tagging McLaren. A couple of comments about how cute he looked in the gear. You smiled, tucking the phone away and letting your head rest against the seat as well, your heart warm with pride.

Meanwhile, miles ahead and hours earlier, Lando was nestled in the calm before the chaos.

The drivers’ hospitality suite was abuzz with low conversation. It was one of those rare quiet moments before a race weekend—the lull before the storm of flashing cameras, screaming fans, microphones, and paddock chaos. Drivers lounged on couches, some eating, some gaming, others just catching up.

Lando leaned back in his chair, arms folded, nursing a bottle of water as Oscar settled beside him, hair still slightly tousled from the heat outside.

“You win in Australia and you’re gonna party?” Carlos asked, amused.

Lando smirked. “Hell yeah. Wouldn’t you?”

Charles chuckled. “I guess it’s deserved.”

“Party responsibly,” Lewis added with a half-smile, giving a small nod toward Max who was currently laughing with Yuki across the room.

Max’s voice drifted over: “At least I don’t party in public every other weekend.”

Lando laughed along with the others, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The banter continued—Lewis talked about Roscoe’s latest spa visit, Max mentioned Kelly and the girls, Carlos shared plans of flying back home to unwind. Everyone had someone. Someone who waited at home. Someone who traveled with them. Someone they could call when the helmets came off.

Lando had always told himself he didn’t need that—not yet. He was 25, living the dream. He had the cars, the spotlight, the money, the fans. But lately, the silence after the adrenaline wore off… it felt a little heavier.

Sure, he had his parents. He loved them deeply, was grateful for their unwavering support. But still, it wasn’t the same. His Instagram tags were flooded with girls fans assumed he was dating, models or influencers caught near him at clubs, the media labeling him “F1’s golden bachelor.”

And yet here he was, scrolling through his phone, staring blankly at filtered stories and half-hearted DMs, wondering what it would feel like to have someone to call after a long day—not just someone to party with, but someone to talk to.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Finally, the sweet relief of the hotel room washed over you like a warm wave. The plush bedding, the crisp air conditioning, and the gentle hum of the city beyond the windows made it feel like a well-earned moment of peace. The journey had been long, and while you were used to doing things alone, the toll of traveling with a toddler wasn't light—especially one who vibrated with joy the entire way here.

But the moment your shoes hit the carpet and the door clicked shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

Sebastian was already off exploring the room, the smallest adventurer you’d ever met. His tiny feet padded softly over the hotel floor as he opened closet doors and peeked under the table like he was on a treasure hunt.

You smiled, watching him tumble through the pile of travel bags you’d placed near the bed. With delight, he unearthed the small toys you had carefully packed—ones he insisted on bringing because, “I want to show Lando my cars, Mommy!”

The bed looked like heaven, and you longed to collapse into it. Tomorrow would be the first of the three-day Paddock adventure. You'd need to be up early, need time to get Sebastian dressed, fed, and possibly wrangled into his mini McLaren gear without incident. You were sure you’d be chasing him around with a juice box in one hand and sunscreen in the other.

Still, it was worth it. Every bit of effort, every dollar spent, every long hour on your feet… all of it was worth the look on your son’s face. The world hadn’t always been kind to you—but Sebastian was your reason to fight harder, smile bigger, and hope again.

You watched him laugh at nothing in particular, giggling as his cars zipped across the polished hotel floor.

How could anyone not want to be part of this?

That thought crept in again, quietly but painfully. You never said it out loud, but sometimes—when you tucked him in at night or watched him dance around to a cartoon theme song—you wondered how anyone could look at this child and choose not to stay.

But that aching thought was abruptly interrupted by the buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand.

You frowned when you saw the name on the screen. That name. That past. That man.

The one who chose absence over fatherhood.

You stepped away toward the corner of the room, throwing a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure Sebastian was still happily distracted with his toys. He was. You answered.

“Hello?” you said quietly.

There was a pause—then that voice. Tired, lazy, like it hadn’t changed a bit. “Y/n… hey. It’s been a while.”

A scoff built in your throat. You clenched your jaw, already done with the conversation before it truly began.

“‘A while’?” you repeated, voice low and sharp. “It’s been more than a while. It’s been two missed birthdays. It’s been holidays with no call. It’s been me raising a child while you send the occasional drunk text at 2 a.m. about how we should get back together. Which, by the way, is sick. Because let’s be honest—you hated me. And I hated you.”

Your voice trembled—part anger, part exhaustion—but you kept it contained, steady. Because you couldn’t let Sebastian hear this. You wouldn't let his joy be tainted by a man who only called when he remembered he used to be a father.

There was silence on the other end of the line. No apology. No excuse. Just silence. The kind that confirmed what you already knew.

You ended the call without another word, letting your finger hover over the red button for only a second before pressing it.

Then you turned back toward the bed, your chest tight but your expression softening the moment you looked at Sebastian—who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, making car noises and whispering to himself about which driver he was going to talk to first.

And just like that, the ache in your chest shifted. Not gone—but lighter. Because you had him. And he had you.

You walked over and knelt beside him, pulling him close into a warm hug, letting him nuzzle against your shoulder. “I love you, baby,” you whispered.

He looked up at you with that same big smile and messy curls, his arms wrapping around your neck.

“I wuv you too, Mommy.”

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The next morning felt like a whirlwind dressed as routine chaos — the kind that makes you question every decision leading up to it. It started far too early, in a hotel room that still smelled faintly like fresh linen and room service. The alarm blasted through the soft silence like a siren call from hell. You startled awake, jolting upright with a groggy huff and instinctively smacking the snooze button with more aggression than necessary. Sebastian, curled up under the covers beside you, let out a long, loud whine — the kind of exaggerated noise toddlers save for their biggest complaints — before burying his messy-haired head under the blanket.

You mumbled a curse under your breath — something just strong enough to release the frustration but quiet enough that your three-year-old wouldn't catch on. Or so you thought.

The first words he mumbled were, “Mommy… that noise hurt my ears.”

“I know, baby,” you said softly, brushing hair from his eyes. “Mine too.”

Breakfast came next, which turned into a full-on negotiation. You’d offered a simple, reasonable suggestion — cereal and sliced strawberries — something quick and clean, something you could manage while half-awake and still brushing your teeth. But Sebastian had other plans, declared with all the authority of a Michelin-star critic: “Waffles. Hotel ones. And fruit. And muffins. And orange juice. The big cup.”

You blinked. “All that?”

He nodded solemnly, lips pursed like this was a very serious matter.

You gave in, of course. You always did when he got that specific sparkle in his eyes — wide, hopeful, and full of such raw excitement that saying “no” felt like a crime. Soon, he had a plate overflowing with buttery waffles drizzled in syrup, a rainbow of cut fruit, two muffins (one chocolate chip, one blueberry), and a comically large glass of orange juice that he insisted on holding himself with both tiny hands. He looked far too proud of his breakfast, swinging his legs from the chair and beaming up at you between bites.

You had no idea how such a small person could eat like that. You didn’t even question it anymore.

Then came bath time — your battlefield. You’d hoped maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be too hard today. But the second the tub started filling, he was bouncing with energy, throwing plastic toy cars into the water like a pre-race ritual.

Getting him in wasn’t hard. Getting him to stay still? Impossible.

Water splashed everywhere — the floor, the walls, your shirt. When it came time to wash his hair, the protest began. His face twisted into a dramatic pout the second your fingers touched the shampoo bottle.

“Nooo, it goes in my eyes!”

You kept your tone soft, soothing. “I’ll be careful, sweetheart. Eyes closed like a superhero, okay?”

He whined. Then sniffled. Then let you do it — reluctantly, with some side-eye — as you hummed the theme song to Paw Patrol just to distract him.

After what felt like a small war, he was finally clean, dressed, and smelling faintly of baby lotion and sunblock. You helped him into his outfit for the day — his prized papaya-colored McLaren hoodie, proudly zipped up to his chin, paired with a matching McLaren cap that looked just a little too big and kept sliding down his forehead. His joggers were black, and his tiny white sneakers were spotless… for now.

He looked like a mini superfan ready to storm the paddock with purpose.

You turned to yourself next, slipping into the dress you’d carefully chosen — a soft milkmaid-style dress that flowed like poetry around your calves. The fabric was weightless and cool against your skin, white with delicate blue florals scattered like petals caught in a spring breeze. The bodice was gently structured, the sweetheart neckline adding a touch of softness and femininity that made you feel — for the first time in a while — pretty. Really pretty.

The wide-brimmed straw hat you packed sat perfectly atop your head, giving you just enough shade to guard against the harsh Australian sun you knew would be relentless later. It felt right — the dress, the hat, the moment.

Sebastian slung on his small backpack with the same dramatic flair he used for everything. You grabbed the paddock passes — laminated, bright, and full of promise — and with one last deep breath, you stepped out of the hotel room and into the day.

The paddock was a different world entirely.

The moment you arrived, it swallowed you whole — the sounds, the motion, the life. Fans pressed against barriers, shouting names, waving signs, laughing and crying and reaching. The scent of rubber and heat hung in the air, the low growl of distant engines thundering beneath it all like a heartbeat.

Sebastian’s hand stayed firmly in yours, but his eyes were everywhere. Wide, lit with a pure joy that was impossible to replicate or fake. He looked around like he’d walked into the gates of a dream — and in a way, he had.

Meanwhile, not too far from the chaos, Lando Norris stood in the middle of it all — a sea of movement around him. He was used to this part: the cameras, the fans, the autographs, the media questions that danced on the edge of personal and professional. He gave polite smiles, half-jokes, the occasional wink that sent fans squealing. He did his part, and he did it well.

But then, something — someone — caught his eye.

A woman in a blue and white dress moving slowly through the crowd, careful and calm, with a little boy in McLaren gear walking beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Lando’s heart stuttered.

Not because he knew you. He didn’t — not yet.

But in the way her dress moved with the breeze, in the way the little boy held her hand with absolute trust, in the way she looked down at her son with the kind of love that softened even the harshest corners of a place like this… something in Lando shifted.

He didn’t know why, but for the first time all morning, he wasn’t thinking about the race.

He was thinking about them.

Sebastian gasped—audibly and dramatically—the way only a toddler could. His small hands flew up with excitement as he pointed toward a nearby setup, where bright banners and colorful displays celebrated each team with proud fanfare. The McLaren signage, bold and unmistakable, had clearly captured his entire being.

You let out a soft chuckle, reaching down to gently rest a hand on his shoulder. “We’re gonna get ourselves a tour of the garages, okay?” you explained, crouching slightly to meet his excitement with calm. “We just have to wait for the tour guide.”

Sebastian nodded, eyes still gleaming as he rocked on his heels, the cap on his head slightly tilted from his animated movements. He didn’t say anything else, but his joy was bubbling over — it was in his posture, his wiggling fingers, and the bright way he scanned the paddock like it was an amusement park made just for him.

The buzz of chatter around you was constant — conversations blending into each other, fan voices raised in awe, the faint beat of music pulsing somewhere in the background. It was overwhelming, in that kind of magical way only big, exciting places could be.

And then… he appeared.

Lando Norris, threading his way through the crowd with casual familiarity, a soft “Excuse me,” here, a small nod there, eyes scanning ahead until they landed directly on the small boy in papaya orange. In mere moments, he was in front of Sebastian, lowering himself into a crouch, eyes kind and lit with recognition.

“Hey, little guy,” he greeted warmly, his voice soft in contrast to the buzz of the paddock. “Supporting McLaren today? You’re gonna be our mini driver, yeah?”

Sebastian went completely still.

Not just quiet — frozen. His jaw dropped slightly, arms limp at his sides, as if he had just spotted a dragon, a real one, casually crouched right in front of him. He blinked rapidly, eyes wide and unblinking, unsure whether to cry, run, or explode with happiness. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you — quiet, surprised, utterly endeared. Lando had that effect on fans, sure, but seeing it happen to your own child? Surreal. You fumbled into your small white purse, pulling out your phone and readying it as you approached gently.

“Sebastian?” you asked softly. “Are you gonna pose so I can take a photo of you two?”

Nothing.

He still stood there, stunned and starstruck.

Then — without warning — he let out a high-pitched scream of joy, the kind of shriek that made nearby heads turn, and yours nearly snap off your shoulders. You winced. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—!”

But Lando was already laughing, waving a hand with ease. “It’s okay,” he reassured, glancing up at you with a grin that softened you instantly. “He’s okay. Totally okay.”

His gaze lingered for just a second longer than expected — drawn to your face, your soft expression as you watched your son. Then to the way your dress moved ever so slightly with the breeze, the light catching the delicate floral pattern like a watercolor in motion. Your perfume drifted toward him, subtle and clean with something sweet woven in. It hit him harder than expected, that scent — or maybe it was everything about you, compacted into that single moment of wind and sunlight and childlike joy.

Sebastian flung his arms around Lando in a burst of affection, burying his face against the front of his McLaren zip-up. You watched with your heart in your throat as Lando returned the hug, wrapping his arms around Sebastian without hesitation, effortlessly soft in a way that came so naturally it stunned you.

“Okay!” you said through a smile, stepping back with your phone. “Let me get a cute photo of you two.”

Sebastian and Lando posed — or rather, Lando posed with Sebastian, crouching back down with one knee on the ground, chin resting gently on Sebastian’s small shoulder. Their cheeks touched, curly heads leaning into one another. Lando held up a single finger in a #1 pose, smiling like he meant it. It was perfect.

You snapped a few photos, and as you did, you couldn’t help but notice it — their hair. The curls. The way they framed both of their faces almost identically. You smiled to yourself. It wasn’t exactly a coincidence. After all, when Lando had kept his signature curly mullet look last season, Sebastian had seen a photo online and announced with unwavering confidence: “I want that hair.” He had pointed at Lando like it was gospel. And you? You’d booked the salon the next day.

As the hug ended, you stepped forward, slipping your phone back into your purse. “Thank you so much for taking a photo with him,” you said warmly, genuinely.

Lando stood, brushing the knees of his pants. “It’s no issue at all,” he replied, glancing down at Sebastian once more with fondness. “I think I’ve just met my teammate of the future.”

Sebastian beamed, still too shy to speak.

“You gonna drive for us one day?” Lando added, teasing, nudging the boy gently. “I’ll keep a seat warm for you.”

Your heart tugged at the sight — your son, so young and yet so full of love for a world like this. And Lando, surprisingly sweet and attentive, entirely present in a way that told you he wasn’t just putting on a show for the cameras or fans.

You smiled to yourself, glancing at the paddock around you, then back at them — Sebastian, the driver he idolized, and this unfolding moment you hadn’t expected.

"Come on, we have to let him go now," you said gently, wrapping your fingers around Sebastian’s small hand, trying to coax him away. The toddler let out a soft pout, his eyes still wide with admiration as he looked up at Lando like he was the sun itself. But even with his protest brewing, he gave in with a tiny sigh, slipping his hand into yours.

Lando chuckled, the kind that warmed the air around him. “He’s fine—he’s a cutie,” he replied, his voice light, fond even, as he glanced down at the boy once more.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be sweet with fans, especially kids. He’d always had a soft spot for the younger supporters—their joy was so pure, so unfiltered. But something about Sebastian tugged at a different thread inside him. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just Sebastian who had caught his attention.

His gaze lingered, just for a second longer than it should’ve. Not on the excited toddler now hugging his leg again, but on you.

The subtle curve of your smile as you looked at your son. The soft sweep of hair tucked behind your ear. That floral milkmaid dress—light, ethereal—danced a little in the breeze, brushing gently against your calves, the blue and white print making your skin glow beneath the sunlight. He caught the scent of your perfume again, something sweet but grounded, and it almost made him forget the paddock noise surrounding him.

But then reality nudged him.

He was Lando Norris. And with that name came the constant click of cameras, the headlines that twisted simple kindness into something scandalous, and the ongoing ache of knowing that privacy was a luxury he didn’t own. He couldn’t afford to let curiosity become anything more.

Still, he offered a smile. Genuine. “Thank you for letting us get a photo,” you said, your voice soft with gratitude, and maybe even a hint of admiration tucked behind it.

“It’s no issue at all,” he answered, his voice equally soft now, more personal somehow.

Just then, Sebastian broke free of your hold once more, bouncing with renewed energy. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Lando’s leg in one last goodbye hug. Your lips parted in mild surprise, but you couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped.

You already knew what was coming.

“He’s going to ask for Oscar now,” you said knowingly, an amused look on your face as you tucked your phone back into your purse.

Lando laughed, bending slightly so he could meet Sebastian’s gaze again. “Oscar, huh? Can’t blame him. We’ll have to make sure he gets that photo too.”

Your heart swelled at the kindness in his tone. And even if the moment had to end, it left an impression—gentle, fleeting, and maybe more meaningful than either of you could admit.

“We can find Oscar—he’s somewhere around here,” Lando said, crouching slightly to meet Sebastian’s eye again. His voice had that calm, charming tone kids seemed to respond to instinctively, and sure enough, Sebastian’s tiny hand found his with total trust.

You smiled, your heart quietly aching in the best way as you watched the two of them. There was something surreal about it—your son hand-in-hand with a driver he’d looked up to for months, someone whose posters decorated his bedroom walls, whose name he babbled about nonstop. And yet here they were, side by side, like they’d known each other longer than a few minutes.

You followed behind, just a few paces, letting the moment play out in front of you like a movie. The scene looked too perfect: Sebastian looking up, talking animatedly about his toy car collection, while Lando nodded and listened as if each word was of utmost importance.

But even as warmth filled your chest, something inside you whispered not to get carried away. This was Lando Norris. He was always kind to fans, especially to kids. This wasn’t special. It couldn’t be. It was just part of his image, part of the charm that made millions adore him.

And yet… he didn’t let go of Sebastian’s hand.

As the three of you walked deeper into the paddock, the vibrant atmosphere buzzed louder. You could hear the faint hum of tires being rolled out, radios crackling with chatter, distant bursts of laughter from fans lining the barricades. The scent of asphalt, heat, and oil mixed with the soft floral trace of your perfume, which the breeze occasionally carried toward Lando—who didn’t seem to mind at all.

When you finally reached the McLaren garage, it was like walking into the heart of something electric. Engineers paced with purpose, monitors lit up with telemetry, car parts glinted under sharp fluorescent lights. And standing a few feet inside, Oscar Piastri turned just as Sebastian caught sight of him.

There was a beat—a tiny, loaded moment—and then Sebastian let out the kind of squeal only a three-year-old could make, bursting from Lando’s side and sprinting to Oscar like he was reuniting with a long-lost friend.

Oscar laughed, catching him in a half-squat hug, lifting him off the ground a few inches. “Woah! Look who’s here!” he said, clearly charmed.

You stopped just at the threshold of the garage, your feet hesitating for the first time. Cameras lingered near the entrance—journalists, team photographers, random flashes—and for a second, insecurity tried to creep in. You didn’t belong here. This was their world. You were just visiting.

You adjusted your grip on your purse, suddenly more aware of your dress, your posture, your hair. But then Lando turned. He wasn’t looking at the cameras. He wasn’t scanning the room. His gaze found you—just you.

And in that second, something in his expression softened.

“This is the garage—McLaren, for all you little fans,” he teased, gesturing toward the bright orange and blue world surrounding you both.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms playfully. “Little fans? Excuse you—I’m not little.”

He laughed, quick and genuine. “Apologies—to you and your little McLaren fan.” His eyes dropped for a brief second, catching your smile.

You hummed, pretending to think. “Better.”

It was an innocent exchange, lighthearted and quick—but it buzzed in the air between you both like a hidden signal, an unspoken something neither of you could fully name. Not yet.

Then came the gentle tug at your heart again—Sebastian. He was still chatting to Oscar, waving his tiny arms, recounting something that involved race cars and dragons, by the sound of it. Your fingers itched for your phone again. These were the moments he’d remember forever. So would you.

And then, just as you reached to adjust the strap of your bag, Sebastian did something that caught you off guard: he ran back, arms wide, and wrapped himself tightly around Lando’s leg. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was safe.

You felt something twist inside your chest—something warm and unexpected.

Lando looked down, blinking in surprise, then softened, his hand gently resting on Sebastian’s back. “He’s got a strong grip,” he joked, chuckling.

“He gets attached easily,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry if he’s clingy.”

Lando shook his head. “He’s not. He’s just… cool.” His voice dropped slightly, sincere and quiet. “You’ve got a good kid.”

You smiled—small, but real. “I know.”

Conversation between you and Lando had started off light, naturally flowing like you’d known him longer than a morning. You stood beside him in the garage while Sebastian trailed Oscar, clinging to every word and gesture the older driver made as he proudly led him on his own version of a pit lane tour. From where you stood, you could still hear Sebastian’s tiny giggles echoing through the hum of machinery and distant radio chatter.

Lando leaned against one of the workstations, arms folded, a casual smirk on his lips as you shared a story about how Sebastian once raced his Hot Wheels down the hallway so fast he crashed into the front door and blamed "aerodynamics."

Your laughter blended with his, light and genuine, for a moment making you forget where you were and who you were talking to. For once, it didn’t feel like you were speaking to a world-famous athlete. It felt... easy.

But then, just as you caught your breath mid-laugh, a voice chimed in—clear, curious, and edged with mischief.

“Who are you?”

Your head turned, and your smile faltered just slightly as Carlos Sainz approached. He was dressed in his Williams team gear, looking effortlessly put-together, a water bottle dangling from one hand and a subtle smirk playing on his lips.

You stood a little straighter. “I’m just a fan,” you said lightly, offering a small smile. “With a very enthusiastic mini fan.”

You gestured toward Sebastian, who was now seated on a tire stack as Oscar showed him the wheel gun. He was clearly in heaven.

Carlos raised a brow at your answer, his gaze flicking toward Lando, who remained unusually silent beside you. You caught the way Lando gave the subtlest shake of his head in Carlos's direction—a quiet warning, or perhaps a signal that this wasn’t what it looked like.

Carlos’s lips twitched with amusement. “I see…”

He turned his eyes back to you, sharp yet unreadable. “Any chance that little one over there’s gonna like me too?”

You tilted your head thoughtfully, hiding a smirk. “Maybe. He’s got quite the open taste. He’s been known to cheer for at least five teams depending on how cool their cars look.”

Carlos grinned. “Smart kid.”

Without waiting for a reply, he gave you both a mock salute and walked off, passing between you and Lando with the same confident stride he probably used walking to the grid.

You rolled your eyes playfully as you turned back to Lando, who looked amused but a little irritated too. “Next thing you know,” you joked, “they’ll be fighting over who gets his love.”

That broke Lando’s brief tension. He laughed, a soft, low chuckle that felt more personal than anything you’d heard from him before.

“He better stay loyal to McLaren,” Lando joked, glancing toward Sebastian again, his voice tinted with a sort of pride that didn’t quite make sense—unless it wasn’t just about the team anymore.

You smiled, feeling a subtle shift in the air. The kind that left you a little warmer, a little more aware. Of him. Of the way his gaze lingered when he looked at you. Of how close he was standing now, a casual closeness that felt just slightly charged.

Still, you reminded yourself to stay grounded.

Because at the end of the day, this was still the paddock.

This was still Lando Norris.

And this was probably still just part of the charm.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Practice ran smoother than expected, the sound of engines roaring past and tires screeching against the asphalt forming the soundtrack of the afternoon. From the elevated view inside the pit building, where guests and team members could observe from above, you stood with Sebastian tucked securely in your arms. The vantage point gave you a perfect view over the track, the bustling pit lane, and the vibrant, living pulse of the paddock beneath.

The air buzzed with excitement, even as the sun began to dip slightly in the sky. A warm Australian breeze slipped through the open balcony space, tousling your hair and carrying the lingering scent of gasoline, rubber, and fresh grass. Your heart was full—soaking in the atmosphere, the hum of conversation around you, the thrill from the crowd cheering just meters away, and most of all, the joy radiating from your little boy.

Sebastian was a firecracker in your arms—restless, wide-eyed, and utterly consumed by the action. “Go, Lando!” he shouted, his tiny fist pumped in the air. “Oscar! Look, mama, Oscar’s goin’ fast!”

You laughed gently, holding him a little tighter. “I see him, baby,” you said, amused by his commentary. “They’re both doing so good today, huh?”

He was completely immersed, like a sponge absorbing every detail. His enthusiasm didn’t waver, not even as the session neared its end. He clapped wildly when the McLaren cars zoomed past, shouted out names like they were old friends—“George! Kimi! Max! Charles!”—and even pointed with giddy excitement when Lewis appeared on the screen.

“Yuki! Look, mama, Yuki funny!” he giggled, slapping his hand against your arm.

You couldn’t help but smile. Seeing the world through his eyes—full of color and awe—made the chaos of travel, the fatigue from the long day, and even the stress you carried feel a little bit lighter.

But as the final laps came to a close and the cars began trickling back into their garages, the adrenaline began to fade. You felt it first in the way Sebastian slumped slightly against you, his arms slowly wrapping around your neck, his cheek brushing your shoulder. The spark of excitement still lingered in his little heart, but the rest of him—well, it was giving in.

He fought sleep like a warrior.

His lashes fluttered, his eyes red and heavy, but still he insisted, “No nap, mama.”

“I know, I know,” you said softly, brushing your hand over his curls. “Just a break, right? Just rest your eyes for a minute.”

But he wasn’t done yet. With a sudden jolt of energy, he shifted in your arms and pointed toward the paddock area just below. “Kimi, mama! Me see Kimi!”

His voice cracked from all the yelling he’d done, but the determination in his tone was still strong. He wiggled, trying to slide down from your hold.

“Kimi’s probably doing interviews right now,” you murmured, trying not to laugh at his stubbornness. “We’ll find him later, okay? Maybe he’ll even say hi if we’re lucky.”

He squinted into the distance as if willing the Mercedes driver to materialize on command. “Him wave me. Kimi wave me!” he insisted, rubbing his eyes and stamping his little foot down as if that would summon Kimi by pure toddler force alone.

You took a breath, your heart full to bursting. This was everything to him—the drivers weren’t just names or faces. They were superheroes. They were friends. And in his world, seeing one more of them—just one—before the day ended felt like the most important mission ever.

You leaned down and kissed his temple. “I believe you,” you whispered. “And I promise, we’ll try to find him. But you need to be strong for me, okay? Can you be strong, just for a little while longer?”

He nodded with all the gravity a three-year-old could muster, despite the way his thumb crept into his mouth and he tucked his head under your chin.

You shifted your weight, gently rocking him side to side, taking in the fading light on the horizon. The practice was done. The paddock buzz was quieter now, people trickling away, laughter floating from somewhere below, mechanics wheeling tires and boxes past in a practiced rhythm. The day had been long, but good. There was a softness in the air that hadn’t been there this morning. A calm.

And as you stood there, swaying slowly with your child in your arms, you couldn’t help but feel like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. Right here, in this in-between moment, holding the person you loved most in a place he already adored.

Sebastian let out a soft sigh, curling closer into your chest. His voice, thick with exhaustion but still clinging to hope, came again in a sleepy murmur.

“Mama... Kimi come back?”

You kissed his cheek, tucking the blanket from your bag around his shoulders.

“We’ll see, baby. I promise. You rest now. I’ll keep watch.”

And with that, his tiny body finally relaxed, sleep pulling him into a peaceful slumber, the sounds of the paddock slowly fading into the background.

You didn’t want to wait much longer — the day had worn you down, and Sebastian had finally dozed off in your arms, his head resting against your shoulder, lips parted in soft snores. But despite your fatigue, a small flame of hope flickered inside you. Maybe, just maybe, if you held on a little longer, Kimi would appear. You knew how much it meant to Sebastian.

The paddock had finally begun to settle. The blinding flashes of cameras, the swarming fans, the echoing voices of reporters — all of it had died down to a hum. And somewhere in that calm, Lando spotted you again. For once, he wasn’t surrounded by media demands or tugged in different directions by obligations. It was just him now. And his eyes softened the moment they landed on you.

He approached with that familiar casual stride, a chuckle slipping from his lips as he glanced at the boy cradled in your arms. “He’s out,” he said gently, almost amused, as if the excitement had finally caught up to the little one.

You smiled in return, the kind of tired but warm smile only a parent could offer. With care, you took off Sebastian’s slightly tilted McLaren cap, brushing his curls away from his damp forehead. “He’s been holding out just to see Kimi,” you murmured, almost apologetically.

Lando nodded with sincerity. “I’ll make sure Kimi stops by. He won’t miss this,” he promised. There was something earnest in his voice — not performative, not the usual ‘fan-service’ charm — but genuine, like he wanted to make it happen for Sebastian. For you.

You shrugged a bit, not wanting to impose. “If not, it’s okay. We’ll be back tomorrow. Got ourselves the full three-day access.” You hadn’t meant for it to be anything special when you said it, but it lit something quietly inside Lando. You were coming back — that meant more chances to see you. Maybe talk. Maybe… something more.

“In the span of just a few hours,” you added with a faint chuckle, “he managed to get photos with Charles, Lewis, Carlos, Alex — even Liam and Isack. Now all that’s left on his dream list is Kimi, George, Yuki, and Max.”

Lando smiled at that. “He’s ambitious. I like it. And he’ll get them — I’ll make sure of it,” he said firmly. He wasn’t just saying it to be nice — he meant it. Maybe it was the way Sebastian lit up around them, or maybe it was how you looked at your son like he was your whole world. Either way, Lando found himself caring a little too much.

A lull in the conversation opened a new window — a chance to ask more. To know more. And he took it.

“So… earlier you were saying a bit about the little guy and yourself. Dad didn’t come along?” Lando’s voice softened, carefully treading that line between curiosity and respect.

You looked down at Sebastian’s sleeping face, brushing a hand gently along his back. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms,” you said, voice low. “We’re not together. Haven’t been in a while.” Your tone wasn’t bitter, just honest.

And then the words spilled — maybe because Lando was easy to talk to, or maybe because you were just so tired of keeping it all inside. You told him how your ex had missed both of Sebastian’s birthdays. How the only contact came in the form of late-night, drunken texts that always circled back to the same twisted narrative: “Let’s try again,” followed by declarations you’d long stopped believing in.

You didn’t notice, but Lando’s expression shifted — a quiet intensity in his gaze. It wasn’t pity, but something deeper. He hated it for you. Hated that someone had been foolish enough to walk away from a life with you and Sebastian. And worse, that someone had left you to handle it all on your own.

But then, that guilt crept up his spine — uninvited and sharp. He was Lando Norris. He didn’t do strings. His world was fast and fleeting. Privacy was a myth. Relationships were speculation fodder. And the idea of being involved with someone — someone who came as a package deal — was overwhelming. Terrifying, even.

Still… he couldn’t ignore how naturally it all felt just then. You, him, and Sebastian.

For a second, he wondered what it might be like if things were different.

And that scared him.

So, instead of speaking his thoughts, he simply nodded, offering the kind of half-smile that didn’t reach all the way to his eyes. “He’s lucky to have you,” he said quietly.

And even though he didn’t say more, even though he buried whatever stirring he felt, the way he looked at you lingered longer than it should’ve.

Just as you were preparing to gently excuse yourself from Lando and finally head out with Sebastian asleep in your arms, a small wave of movement caught your attention. You looked up — and sighed in sheer relief.

Kimi had appeared at last.

He strolled in with a calm, almost unreadable expression, still in his race suit, hair slightly tousled from removing his helmet, and a bottle of water in hand. He hadn’t even fully stepped into the area before his eyes landed on you and Lando. He tilted his head slightly, brows pulling together in mild confusion as if trying to place the scene — a woman holding a sleeping child, standing with Lando Norris.

“I am so sorry to bother you,” you began gently, stepping forward just enough without jostling Sebastian. You didn’t want to startle him awake. “But you’re here and— I know I don’t have anything Mercedes for you to sign, but… signing his backpack would mean a lot.”

You offered a small, hopeful smile, holding out a black marker and the tiny, well-loved backpack that was slung over your shoulder. Its fabric was soft from use, and one of the zipper pulls had a keychain shaped like a Formula 1 car.

Lando gave a small, encouraging nod, his expression warm. “They’ll be back tomorrow,” he added, his voice casual but his tone protective. “Kid’s been waiting just to see you.”

At that, Kimi's face softened. Something about the sincerity in your voice, and perhaps the tone Lando had taken on — almost like it was his job to make sure this moment happened — made Kimi nod without hesitation.

He reached forward and gently took the backpack from you, uncapping the marker in one hand and holding the fabric taut in the other. “How old is he?” Kimi asked, his voice quiet but curious, eyes glancing at Sebastian’s sleeping face.

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, Lando beat you to it — his voice calm and full of a surprising kind of certainty.

“He’s three. His name is Sebastian.”

Your gaze flicked to Lando, eyes softening as a small lump formed in your throat. The way he said it — like he’d memorized it — made your chest feel tight. You hadn’t expected him to remember. Not when he’d been bombarded by faces and questions all day, caught in flashes of cameras and interviews. You assumed you and Sebastian would be forgotten as quickly as you appeared — just another moment in a long blur of fan interactions.

But he hadn’t forgotten.

He remembered your son’s name. His age. The way he fought sleep just to see Kimi. And it wasn’t just that he remembered — it was the way he cared. Lando said it like it mattered.

Kimi hummed thoughtfully as he signed his name across the backpack in neat, bold letters. Then, handing it back, he gave a small nod toward you. “He’s got good taste in drivers.”

You chuckled quietly, adjusting Sebastian in your arms. “He thinks all of you are superheroes,” you replied, voice hushed with affection. “Each time he sees a car or hears a name, it’s like the whole world lights up for him.”

Kimi offered a rare, faint smile before giving a polite nod and stepping away, blending back into the quiet shuffle of drivers finishing up their day. You watched him go, grateful — but it was the man standing beside you that still held your attention.

You turned your gaze to Lando. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his race suit, curls still a little damp with sweat from earlier, eyes on you like he hadn’t stopped watching you since Kimi arrived. There was something calm in his face now. Thoughtful. Open.

You exhaled slowly, shifting Sebastian’s weight against your shoulder. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Lando tilted his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “For what?”

“For remembering,” you answered simply.

And for a moment, nothing else needed to be said.

There you stood — you, a tired mother clutching her dreaming son, and Lando Norris, not the F1 star, but the guy who remembered a little boy’s name and helped him chase down a dream. And as the last rays of sunlight poured in from behind the pit building, painting the garage windows in a honey-gold glow, you felt something warm settle in your chest.

Bidding Lando a bye, you carried Sebastian, his now signed backpack, and his McLaren hat to the car, with Lando on your mind and a busy day ahead tomorrow.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Day Two arrived with a quiet stillness, the kind that promised potential before the world fully woke up. You stirred before the soft alarm had a chance to sound, quickly silencing it so Sebastian could remain curled up, blissfully asleep in the warmth of the hotel bed. He was tangled in the covers, one arm flopped dramatically over the stuffed car he’d won yesterday, the other hand loosely holding a toy McLaren.

You stole a moment to just watch him—his chest rising in slow, peaceful breaths—and then slipped away for a shower. The water felt grounding, warm against your skin, helping you wash away the exhaustion of travel and the high emotions of yesterday. You reminded yourself that today was supposed to be simple: enjoy the second day, support Sebastian’s little dream, and keep things… uncomplicated.

But then, there was Lando.

You knew better than to entertain anything. Yet his laugh, the way he’d remembered Sebastian’s name, the ease in his voice when talking to you… it all lingered heavier than you expected.

Once dressed, you stood before the mirror. You’d chosen the outfit intentionally—something that felt bold, fun, and just the right amount of spirited McLaren energy. A vivid orange halter top hugged your figure with flattering ruching, tied delicately at the back of your neck in a neat bow. It matched Sebastian’s bright Oscar Piastri race suit with near-perfect coordination. Paired with light wash high-waisted jeans that sculpted your shape and ended in a relaxed straight leg, the look balanced sleek and casual effortlessly.

You slid on a pair of orange braided heels, the square toe giving it a modern edge, and completed the outfit with stacked bangles in shades of ivory and burnt orange. A McLaren cap sat nestled on the hotel dresser—Sebastian’s idea for you to wear it today. “So we match!” he’d squealed yesterday. And of course, you’d promised you would.

You turned to gently wake Sebastian, who stirred the moment you whispered his name. His tiny brows furrowed sleepily at first, but when you pulled out the miniature Oscar suit, he shot upright like a rocket. “Today is Ows-cah day!” he cheered, bouncing on the bed in his onesie.

You got him dressed with a bit of effort and a lot of giggles, and once his race suit was zipped, name stitched proudly over his chest in orange thread, he did a full spin in front of the mirror. “We look like twins!” he declared.

Meanwhile, Lando was stirring in a completely different world.

He sat upright in the plush, oversized bed of his penthouse suite, the muted morning light trickling in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. His room felt too pristine, too still. He rubbed a hand over his face, his curls messy, and let out a low breath. The first thing he did was grab his phone, swiping through headlines and Instagram notifications. Race prep, news alerts, tagged posts, and—

Rumors.

He knew they were coming. Media always got wind of the smallest things: a photo, a glance, a conversation held just a second too long. And yesterday had definitely given them fuel. A few posts had already surfaced—pictures of him crouched next to Sebastian, you laughing beside him, a blurred shot that captured the spark in your eye mid-conversation.

Oscar caught him just as he made his way into the hotel lobby. “Did you check the media?”

“Yeah,” Lando said flatly, already bracing.

Oscar raised a brow. “They’re spinning stuff already. You and that girl—”

“Her name is Y/n,” Lando snapped back, more sharply than he intended. “And I know. I’m just not dealing with it right now.”

Oscar held his hands up, not pushing it further. But the look in his eye said it all. There was something different in the way Lando spoke about you. He wasn’t denying it. He wasn’t even hiding it well.

And Lando knew it too.

Because while his eyes scrolled past the usual stream of bikini models and car edits, it wasn’t them he was thinking about this morning. It was the way you’d tucked Sebastian’s curls under his cap. The way your smile flickered with hesitation at first, but then warmed once Lando said your son’s name.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

But he was starting to.

And that… scared the hell out of him.

The paddock was alive, electrified with the kind of energy only sprint day could summon. The air buzzed with adrenaline, fan chants echoing between the walls of garages, reporters weaving through mechanics and engineers, and flags fluttering like excited hearts. Today was qualifying, high-stakes, no time to breathe—yet somehow, you found a pocket of peace.

Oscar stood beside you, grinning as Sebastian—dressed in his perfectly tailored mini Oscar Piastri race suit, complete with his name stitched proudly in orange thread—hugged his leg. You held up your phone to capture the moment, crouching just enough to get the perfect shot: the contrast of the little boy’s bright orange suit against the sharp navy of Oscar’s own, and the pure smile they shared.

A few fans and even paddock staff paused to admire the adorable sight, some snapping their own pictures, others simply smiling and whispering to one another. Sebastian basked in the attention like it was his own victory lap. The moment felt so light—so warm.

And the day only got better.

With the help of Lando, Oscar, and even a few kind PR team members, Sebastian managed to meet the last of his dream list—Yuki gave him a high five and posed with an exaggerated grin; Max knelt for a photo and ruffled his curls; George crouched beside him with a thumbs up; Kimi gave a rare soft smile while crouching to sign Sebastian’s cap, and Charles even pulled him into another hug for one more picture.

You couldn't stop smiling. Everything had fallen into place—Sebastian had met his heroes, and their kindness brought out a glow in him that made every early morning and long walk worth it.

Until it didn’t.

You had barely turned to look toward the walkway when the buzz of conversation around you shifted, energy twisting from joyful to alert. The media had spotted something—or someone—and they were closing in fast. You looked up, confused by the sudden interest. The camera flashes began before the questions did.

“Can I help?” you asked softly, arms instinctively wrapping tighter around Sebastian’s small form as he clung to your hip, sensing the change.

“I’m with Sky Sports,” the man said smoothly, flashing a press pass like a shield. “Just need you to confirm or deny some rumors—”

His gaze dropped from your face to Sebastian. That subtle implication in his eyes made your stomach turn. Was this about Lando? Your fingers curled protectively into Sebastian’s back.

“I’m just a guest. We’re fans, we’re not—” you began, but the man didn’t seem to hear. He stepped forward again, camera crew behind him, mics angled toward your face like accusations.

Before your heart could even pound harder, before you could form words to push back—he was there.

Lando.

He moved with sharpness, unhesitating, stepping between you and the cameras like a shield. His shoulders squared, his jaw clenched tight as his hand subtly moved back, nudging you behind him.

“We’re here to talk about qualifying and the race, not harass the fans,” Lando said, voice low but laced with command, a warning hidden beneath the smile he didn’t wear.

The reporter hesitated, startled. “I—I apologize,” he stammered, backing off slightly as Lando’s gaze stayed fixed.

The air shifted again—awkward tension bleeding out slowly as the media retreated, their interest deflated by the firm dismissal. You didn’t even realize your hand had clenched Lando’s sleeve until he turned slightly, checking on you and Sebastian.

You nodded, still stunned. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely carrying over the renewed hum of paddock life.

Lando’s expression softened when his eyes met yours. “Anytime,” he said simply. Then his eyes dropped to Sebastian, who was now blinking up at him from your arms.

“You okay, buddy?” Lando asked, letting a small smile return.

Sebastian gave a tiny nod before curling into your shoulder, thumb in his mouth—exhausted again, the rush of attention too much.

You looked back at Lando, still a little shaken, still trying to process the way he stepped in like that. It wasn’t just fan service.

It felt like care. Like protection. Like something more than it was supposed to be.

And that terrified you—because for the first time since this whole thing started, you weren’t sure you wanted it to be less.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

For the rest of the event, the tension that had rattled your nerves earlier melted away, replaced by an unexpected calm that settled around you like a warm blanket. You and Sebastian stayed nestled in the rhythm of McLaren’s world—cheering, watching, laughing, and sharing quiet moments behind the velvet ropes of paddock life. Despite the constant whirl of noise, camera clicks, and mechanics shouting over engine whines, you felt at peace.

And it wasn’t just you. Sebastian was glowing with energy, his little race suit slightly rumpled now from running about, his curls springing up with every bounce of excitement. He cheered loudly when the McLaren team passed, and when Oscar or Lando appeared on the screens, he clapped as though they were superheroes instead of real men in fireproof suits.

You didn’t realize it until the day had almost ended—but you felt like you belonged there.

You didn’t feel like an outsider anymore, not just some guest with a pass, not just a mother of a young fan. Somehow, between the knowing smiles from engineers, the high-fives from Oscar, and even the nods from other teams, it felt like you were part of something. Like you fit.

Lando felt it too. Though he’d never admit it out loud, the thought had slipped in more than once during the day, threading through his mind between practice runs and interviews. Every time he spotted you in the distance, chatting with a team member or crouching to fix Sebastian’s laces, it hit him harder—this felt right. Too right. Too fast.

Too soon, he told himself. And yet, he kept looking anyway.

After qualifying—an intense battle that left him finishing a proud P2—Lando was spent. His body ached from the push, his skin glistened with sweat under his race suit, but his thoughts weren’t on lap times or team briefings.

They were on you.

He barely waited until he was out of the post-race huddle before nodding to a McLaren staffer. “Can you bring them to the garage?”

Within minutes, you were walking in—Sebastian clinging to your hand, wide-eyed at the inner sanctum of the McLaren team. Lando saw you and immediately crouched, his face lighting up despite his exhaustion.

“Sebastian! Hey buddy!” he called with a grin.

The three-year-old didn’t hesitate, sprinting the short distance into Lando’s open arms, giggling as he was scooped up in a warm, sweaty hug. You followed behind, letting out a soft chuckle as you watched them.

Lando laughed as he pulled back just slightly, eyebrows lifting when he caught sight of the small smudges dotting Sebastian’s cheeks and the suspicious trail of crumbs on his suit.

“What is on your face?” he asked with mock horror, trying to bite back another grin.

Sebastian flashed a proud, sugar-fueled smile. Before he could respond, you chimed in with a hum, arms folded loosely as you leaned slightly on one foot.

“Cookie crumbs,” you said, amused. “One of the drivers—pretty sure it was Fernando—had a secret cookie stash. He gave him two, and now he’s on a full sugar rush.”

Lando looked at Sebastian with a mix of disbelief and adoration. “You bribed Alonso? I’ve been trying to get a cookie from him all season,” he teased.

Sebastian giggled, holding up three fingers instead of two. “Three cookies,” he corrected proudly.

You and Lando burst out laughing, and for a beat, the world outside the garage didn't matter. It didn’t matter what had been said or what rumors had started to swirl. It didn’t matter how complicated things might get.

Lando had barely caught his breath from qualifying, the adrenaline still running faintly through his veins when the words slipped from his mouth like they’d been waiting all day for a place to land.

“Do you and Sebastian want to… go to the aquarium?” he asked casually—though his tone was careful, soft in a way that didn’t quite match the high-energy buzz of the McLaren garage around you.

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Us?” you asked, your voice small, uncertain.

He nodded, brushing a loose curl from his damp forehead. “Yeah. I’ll head back to my hotel, clean up, and then I can swing by wherever you two are staying. We’ll head over together.”

Before you could process your reply, Sebastian practically burst with excitement, jumping in place. “YES! Fishies, Mama! Can we go see the sharks?!”

Lando chuckled, clearly entertained by the sheer enthusiasm bursting from the tiny human now bouncing beside him. Your eyes darted toward him again, cautious and conflicted.

Part of you wanted to go. God, you wanted to go.

But another part—the part that had learned how cruel the world could be when it noticed something good—whispered a thousand hesitations into your mind. The media. The cameras. The attention.

You looked away, chewing the inside of your cheek. “But the media…” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the chatter of the team still moving about the garage.

Lando tilted his head, as though hearing your fear and meeting it without judgment. He took a step closer, and his voice dropped lower, quieter.

“I’m human too,” he said with a shrug. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. My team will push back as much as they can. I promise.”

His eyes were sincere—none of the typical charm or cheeky arrogance people expected from Lando Norris. Just truth. Just softness.

“So?” he added, a flicker of hope curling around the question.

You stood still for a moment, unsure what to do with the comfort that suddenly wrapped around you like a familiar coat. It was crazy, impulsive, dangerous even—but above all… it felt safe. Safe with Lando.

And real.

You glanced down at Sebastian, who was now hugging your leg, looking up at you with those wide, eager eyes.

“Sure,” you said at last, and the word felt like stepping into sunlight.

“We’ll go.”

Sebastian squealed in delight, nearly tripping over himself as he ran in a circle. “YAY!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, loud enough to make a few heads turn and laugh nearby.

Lando grinned, flashing you a look that made your heart skip just a beat too fast. “I’ll text you when I’m on the way,” he said, reaching down to ruffle Sebastian’s hair gently. “Sharks beware—this kid’s coming for them.”

You laughed—full, open—and suddenly, the weight that had been pressing on your chest all day lifted just a little.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The aquarium was quiet—softly lit by the glow of gently moving water and illuminated tanks, casting a subtle shimmer onto the smooth floors. It was a far cry from the earlier frenzy of the paddock. Peaceful. Settling. A rare pocket of calm where, for a moment, life could breathe without pressure.

You walked alongside Lando, with Sebastian happily toddling between the two of you, his small hands occasionally brushing yours or Lando’s as he pointed with wide eyes at stingrays and reef sharks gliding overhead through the tunnel of glass.

You wore a warm brown, body-hugging one-shoulder dress that fell down to your ankles like liquid silk. A soft, beige duster cardigan hung off your arms like a gentle frame, catching the light as it swayed with each step. A sleek black crossbody bag rested snugly at your hip, golden hardware catching the occasional shimmer from the glowing tanks. Simple, elegant—but comfortable enough to chase after a toddler if needed. You hadn’t planned to end up on a spontaneous evening out, but somehow, the moment welcomed you.

Sebastian was a walking ball of color and softness. He wore a playful vintage cartoon T-shirt, vibrant with reds and blues, tucked slightly into wide-legged beige corduroy pants that made his tiny legs look even tinier as he waddled forward. A chunky, lavender knit cardigan was draped over his shoulders—one sleeve constantly slipping down as he chased after his thoughts. His shoes, little white sneakers, already scuffed from adventure, squeaked lightly with each step.

Lando, walking beside you, looked comfortably cool in an oversized navy and white striped rugby shirt with “Quad” embroidered across the chest. The sleeves were pushed halfway up his forearms, revealing a few friendship bracelets that danced slightly as he moved. His jeans were baggy, worn in the right ways, and his white sneakers were casual but clean. There was an effortlessness to him—a contrast to his usual track-ready look.

“So... is it true?” you asked, glancing up at him as the three of you strolled past a glowing blue jellyfish exhibit. “You’re a party boy?”

He looked down at you, one brow lifting in curiosity before he grinned. “Depends... how curious are you?” he teased.

You laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just wanted to know what I’m getting into.”

Lando chuckled, nodding slowly. “I am, yeah. Was. Still am sometimes. Comes with being twenty-five, I guess.”

You smiled softly. “Twenty-five and still going strong? God, I need your energy.”

He glanced over at you again, this time his gaze lingering a little longer. “It’s fun sometimes. But... it gets boring. All of it. It’s loud. Flashy. Temporary.”

You nodded in understanding. “Too much stimulation. No peace.”

That was all that needed to be said. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was comforting. A shared understanding that there was something quieter, something softer, in the simplicity of this moment.

You and Lando watched as Sebastian ran up to a floor-to-ceiling tank. His hands smacked against the glass, face lit up in awe as a school of colorful fish darted past. Lando instinctively crouched beside him, resting his arms on his knees.

“They look cool, huh?” he said softly.

Sebastian nodded furiously. “They’re swimming really fast!”

You slowly approached, ignoring the buzzing of your phone deep in your pocket. You didn’t need to check to know who it was—reality could wait. For now, you lowered yourself beside Lando, the soft fabric of your cardigan pooling on the ground. All three of you sat together, faces bathed in aquatic blue light. Lando smelled faintly of clean cologne and sun-drenched grass, while your perfume lingered lightly in the air between you.

No flashing lights. No rumors. No curated stories or whispered headlines.

Just you, Lando, and Sebastian—laughing gently over the shapes of fish and the stories Sebastian made up about them. For a second, it looked like a little family portrait frozen in time. You caught Lando’s gaze and looked away quickly, your cheeks warming. He didn’t say anything—but the way he looked at you, like you were already something more, said enough.

The rest of the evening moved like a lullaby—soft, smooth, and glowing with the quiet joy only shared moments could bring. Between the tanks and tunnels, you and Lando took turns capturing fleeting snapshots and short videos—Sebastian pointing excitedly, or giggling mid-run, or narrating his own marine documentary with impressive confidence for a three-year-old.

“Fish!” he shouted, his voice echoing gently in the cavernous tunnel as Lando lifted him up, effortlessly resting him on his hip so he could get a better look.

You stood close—closer than you realized—shoulder brushing his, warmth shared through fabric. Your head came to rest lightly on Lando’s shoulder, your laughter bubbling softly as you pointed at the glass.

“That would be a pufferfish,” you said, lips quirking as the spiny little creature floated past. “They get all bloated like a balloon, and their faces go—” You puffed out your cheeks dramatically and crossed your eyes.

Sebastian let out a full laugh, tilting backward slightly in Lando’s arms as he mirrored you with his tiny face puffed like a marshmallow. “You’re right, Mommy!”

Lando hummed in amusement. “She’s pretty smart, huh?” he said, casting you a sideways glance, playfully nudging you with his shoulder. “Should we give her some credit?”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed as he considered. “Hmm… Can I drive da car?”

Lando crinkled his nose and gasped like the question was dangerous. “Oof… You might need a few more years of training, mate.”

Sebastian huffed in disappointment, only for Lando to lean in. “But after that? Formula 1. Full speed. Number one racer in the world.”

Sebastian’s eyes went wide. “Really?!”

You smiled, your heart tugging as you watched them—how naturally Lando folded into these moments with him, not a trace of forced charm. It wasn’t performative. It was just… who he was. You looked ahead and noticed something through a wide arched entrance.

“They have a gift shop,” you said casually, pointing.

Sebastian’s head whipped toward you like you’d just offered him the moon. “Can we go?! Please, please, pleaaaase?”

You giggled, eyes still on the small sign and bright display lights beyond the glass tunnel. “Eventually.”

Lando nudged Sebastian with a knowing grin. “We will. But first,” he paused and pointed to another glowing section, “I have to take you to see the turtles.”

You gasped, perhaps louder than necessary, clasping your hands together in exaggerated excitement. “Turtles?! Oh no, I love turtles!”

Sebastian mimicked you perfectly—hands clapped, mouth agape. “Let’s goooo!”

With that, Lando gently set him down and took his hand, the two of them walking ahead with energy, you trailing close beside. When they reached the next room, the ceiling curved above like a dome, casting light down onto the huge, gentle creatures that moved with ancient grace through their tank.

Sebastian was mesmerized, standing completely still for a moment before he started talking. Asking questions. Making up names. Pretending one of the turtles winked at him.

You leaned quietly against the railing next to Lando, your arms folding across your chest, watching your son point and babble beside the glass.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” you said under your breath, just loud enough for Lando to hear. “If someone had told me a year ago I’d be at an aquarium in Australia... with Lando Norris and my three-year-old son... I’d have laughed in their face.”

Lando smiled, just slightly. “I think I would’ve laughed too.”

You stood there for a long while, close enough that you could feel the space between you buzz—something soft and thrilling that hadn’t quite found its voice yet.

Eventually, Sebastian—never one to hide his needs—rubbed at his eyes and laid his head against Lando’s shoulder.

“Hungry,” he murmured.

You and Lando both glanced down, and then up at each other, exchanging the same silent question and answer.

“Gift shop, then dinner?” you asked softly.

Sebastian nodded sleepily, already perking up again at the idea of shopping. You smiled and brushed a hand over his curls.

The gift shop was bright and playful, a sudden burst of color after the ambient blues of the aquarium. Sebastian was back to full energy, dashing toward shelves of plush animals and glittery keychains. His eyes sparkled at everything—but then, they stopped.

“That!” he shouted, pointing with such conviction you and Lando both turned to follow his finger.

A massive, soft, gray shark plush towered over the others, nearly the size of Sebastian himself. It was outrageously big, comical even—but the awe in his voice made it impossible to resist.

“I want that!”

Lando didn’t hesitate. He reached up, grabbed the plush by its fin, and brought it down into Sebastian’s arms, where it nearly swallowed him whole. Sebastian gave a muffled “yes!” and hugged it like it was the best gift he’d ever received.

You raised an eyebrow, smiling. “That thing is bigger than his carry-on.”

Lando laughed. “Yeah, well... he loves it. Besides,” he plucked a shark tooth necklace from a nearby display, handing it to you, “a souvenir for Mom too.”

You blinked. “Lando—”

“Don’t even,” he said gently, his voice calm and sure. “I want to.”

You didn’t argue. Maybe because you knew he meant it. Maybe because it felt nice to let someone else take care of things, just for a moment.

At the register, Sebastian was trying to hoist the shark up by himself, only for Lando to step in and help. You watched them—man and child, natural in step, smiles matching. And maybe, just maybe, your heart tugged in a way that scared you a little. Because it felt like something real.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

That evening, the three of you found your way into the quiet warmth of a refined little restaurant tucked beneath the pulse of the city—a place with dim lights that danced like soft candle flames against crystal glasses, white linen napkins folded like paper birds, and the gentle clink of silverware marking a chorus of elegant chatter. The ambiance was calm, inviting, the kind of place made for connection and quiet reflection.

You and Lando sat opposite one another, your chairs turned inward toward Sebastian, who had been nestled in the middle like the radiant center of your shared universe. A glass of chilled apple juice sat in front of him—his ‘grown-up’ drink—its amber tone glistening like gold under the glow of the table's candle. Earlier, he'd asked for "what Mommy and Lando are having," curious about the tall glasses of red wine swirling in both of your hands. Lando had leaned down, voice patient and warm, explaining that apple juice was the exact same thing, only better for superheroes like him. Sebastian had accepted that logic instantly, nodding proudly before lifting his glass and declaring a soft “cheers.”

Now, menu in hand, Sebastian squinted at the words like they were ancient texts.

“I want this,” he declared, pointing with conviction to a line near the middle of the kids’ section.

You leaned over and read the item aloud with a hum. “Chicken tenders… classic. And some fries to go with it?”

Sebastian nodded with all the confidence in the world. “Fancy dinner,” he grinned.

Lando chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass. “Feeling fancy tonight, huh?”

Sebastian nodded proudly. “Yup. Like you.”

When the waitress approached, Lando took the initiative, smoothly placing your orders. “Two pasta dishes—one with extra parmesan, please—and the chicken tenders and fries for the little gentleman. Oh, and we’ll take a side of roasted vegetables too,” he added, giving you a quick, almost playful glance.

You arched a brow knowingly. “The vegetables? Bold move.”

“We’ll see how it goes,” he said, smirking.

As the waitress disappeared with a promise that dinner would be quick, Sebastian received a coloring page and a small packet of crayons. Instantly absorbed in his artwork, his little brows furrowed in concentration, tongue peeking slightly from the corner of his mouth.

It gave you and Lando a moment. A bubble of stillness inside the restaurant’s soft symphony. A moment to just talk, without the world demanding too much.

“So…” Lando began, voice quiet and cautious. “Have you heard from his—”

He gestured slightly, not needing to say more. You knew who he meant. The shadow. The absentee. The person who helped create Sebastian but somehow forgot what it meant to stay.

You shook your head, your fingers tightening slightly around your wine glass. “Only when he feels it’ll benefit him,” you said, the bitterness hidden behind a composed tone. “Usually to ask for something. Or to argue about things that don’t matter.”

Lando leaned back slightly, frowning. “I don’t see how he can just… pretend you two don’t exist. Like, how do you walk away from someone like Sebastian?”

You looked down, exhaling softly. You didn’t have an answer. You never really had.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I’ve come to terms with it. I don’t think Sebastian’s missing anything by not having him around. He’s happy. He’s loved. And if I’m being honest… I’m at peace with it too.”

Lando studied you, his gaze holding something more complex than sympathy. Admiration, maybe. Or something even deeper. There was a strength in you that tugged at something tender in him—how fiercely you loved, how steady you were despite the storm life had thrown your way. It made him think about things. About you.

About settling down.

Why now? Why you? He didn’t know yet. But he felt it. Gnawing and blooming all at once. He took a sip of wine to distract himself.

“Tell me more about you two,” he said, tone lighter now, the weight shifting off both your shoulders.

You smiled, turning your chair just slightly toward him.

“Well, Sebastian’s a big fan of Formula 1… obviously,” you started, throwing him a playful glance. “But aside from that, he’s obsessed with SpongeBob, Paw Patrol, and lately, Tom and Jerry. I think the slapstick makes him feel like he’s getting away with something.”

Lando grinned. “Classic. I loved Tom and Jerry as a kid too.”

“Same,” you said. “And as for me? I’m into dramas, comedies, a little romance. Occasionally cartoons—especially when someone insists I join movie night in a blanket fort.”

Lando smiled at the mental image.

“He’s a waffle lover,” you continued, “but he’ll also go through phases of fruit and muffins in the morning. Grilled cheese sandwiches are his go-to lunch—sometimes crustless, depending on his mood—and for dinner, if it’s not pasta or chicken tenders, you’re in for a battle.”

Lando laughed, leaning forward on his elbows. “Veggies?”

“Oh, those are the enemy,” you confirmed, laughing softly. “We’ve tried dinosaurs made out of broccoli. Spaceships shaped from carrots. I think I once made a full-on zoo with cucumbers and celery. He’s not impressed.”

Lando’s laugh was a little louder this time, catching the attention of a nearby couple.

“He loves bath time, though,” you added, “but hates getting his hair washed. Kicks and squeals every time. Orange is his favorite color—if the McLaren merch didn’t give it away. He says he wants to drive one day, and I believe him.”

Your voice softened as you looked down at Sebastian, still happily scribbling blue stars onto his coloring sheet.

“And I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen for him,” you said. “If that means working extra jobs, if that means staying up late or missing sleep or giving up things I love… I’ll do it. No question.”

Lando’s heart twisted a little in his chest. The kind of twist that comes when something clicks. When you realize you’re watching someone love unconditionally. Fiercely. Gently. And without an ounce of bitterness.

He reached out, lightly brushing the back of your hand with his fingers. It was a small gesture—one that said more than he had words for just yet.

“You don’t have to do it all alone,” he said, voice quiet, sincere.

You looked at him, your eyes soft with both gratitude and caution. But in that moment, something unspoken passed between you.

Time moved differently at that table.

It melted between soft glances and shared laughter, weaving through your quiet conversations and the gentle jazz notes that glided in the background like a lullaby. It wasn't just the food or the ambiance. It was the feeling—a rare kind of comfort, like sitting at a table that had always been meant for the three of you.

Dinner had long become more than a meal. It was connection in the purest form.

Plates of steaming pasta were placed in front of you and Lando, the scents of garlic, basil, and cream-rich sauces curling upward in soft waves. Sebastian’s plate of golden, crispy chicken tenders and perfectly salted fries sat in front of him like a crown jewel. His little eyes sparkled with delight, his fork diving in immediately.

Lando, as cheeky as ever, held out a forkful of his pasta toward you. “Try it,” he said, wiggling the fork slightly with an encouraging smirk.

You leaned forward, taking the bite, eyes fluttering shut at the rich burst of flavor. “Mmm… that’s so good,” you hummed in satisfaction.

“Alright, your turn.” You scooped some of yours up and offered it to him.

Lando accepted, eyes on yours as he took the bite. He mirrored your hum, grinning as he swallowed. “Okay, yeah. That’s unreal. We should’ve split both from the beginning.”

Sebastian, never one to be left out, giggled and mimicked you both. “Try mine!” He held out a small piece of his chicken tender between his fingers.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Lando said, dramatically leaning in for the bite, followed by you, both of you giving the little boy a grand thumbs up after tasting it.

“This is so good, I might have to order it myself next time,” Lando said, acting genuinely impressed, making Sebastian beam with pride.

With your glasses empty and plates dusted with crumbs and sauces, dessert arrived—a decadent sundae set in a glass bowl, the kind made for sharing. The vanilla was creamy and cold, the chocolate thick and rich, with warm caramel drizzled across the top like golden ribbon. Bits of brownie and nuts rested like treasure at the bottom.

Three spoons. One sundae. One perfect ending.

Sebastian was the first to dive in. “So good!” he declared through a mouthful of ice cream, chocolate smudging at the corner of his lip.

You leaned over and gently wiped it away with a napkin, smiling at him. “You’ve got a little sweet mustache, sir.”

Lando chuckled beside you. “I don’t blame him—it’s amazing,” he said, scooping some for himself, then dramatically dabbing the spoon along his bottom lip. “Oops.”

You arched a brow at him, grinning. “You too?” you teased, reaching over with your napkin, your fingers brushing gently against the stubble at the corner of his mouth as you wiped the chocolate from his skin.

The touch lingered just long enough to feel something.

Something unsaid, soft and magnetic.

Laughter filled the silence that followed, but in those moments between the bites of shared sundae and easy conversation, something had shifted. It wasn't just dinner anymore. It was the idea of something whole. Something healing. Something that felt like it might just last.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Lando had offered to carry Sebastian, who had dozed off in the car almost immediately, his little hands still clutching his new, oversized grey shark plushie like it was a treasure chest. The plush, comically large in Lando’s other arm, bobbed gently with every step as they made their way through the lobby and toward the elevators.

You trailed just beside him, glancing at the way Lando carried your son—not with strain or awkwardness, but like he’d done it a thousand times before. One arm cradling the sleeping boy, the other balancing a plush shark nearly half his size. And somehow, it suited him. All of it did.

The elevator dinged softly as it opened, and the ride up was wordless, only the soft rise and fall of Sebastian’s breathing between you and Lando. When the doors parted again, it was just a short walk to the room. You fished out the keycard with one hand, the other gently brushing Sebastian’s back as Lando stood still, waiting.

Inside, the room welcomed you with that familiar dim hotel glow—soft lights above the bed casting a golden warmth over the tidy, lived-in space. The bed was unmade from earlier, pillows fluffed messily, blankets a bit rumpled, still marked by your shared laughter and rest from the afternoon.

“Here,” you whispered, stepping aside so Lando could carry him in.

Careful, like every movement held meaning, Lando walked over to the bed and gently laid Sebastian down, easing the shark plushie beside him so it tucked perfectly against the boy’s side. Sebastian stirred only slightly, lips parting with a sigh before his small hand instinctively reached for the shark, pulling it close in his sleep.

You knelt beside the bed, brushing back a few curls from his forehead. “Goodnight, baby,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

Lando stood back, watching in silence. He had never seen something so stilling. So complete.

After a moment, you rose, standing beside him in the quiet glow of the room. You both looked down at Sebastian, tucked in between hotel sheets and a plush shark almost as long as he was.

“He really knocked out,” Lando said quietly, his voice just above a whisper, as if anything louder might break the spell.

“He always does after a full day like this,” you murmured, wrapping your arms gently around yourself. “He gets so excited, burns through every ounce of energy, and then…” You smiled. “Out like a light.”

Lando chuckled softly, his gaze still fixed on the sleeping boy. “It’s kind of amazing. The way you just… have it all handled.”

You shrugged gently, your voice low and thoughtful. “I try. Some days feel easier than others. But when I see him like this… it’s worth everything.”

You looked up at Lando then, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you, really looked—like he was seeing every piece of you that had gone unnoticed for too long. Not the mother, not the friend, but the woman. The one who loved deeply, gave endlessly, and somehow still had space for more.

His voice broke the silence gently. “Can I stay? Just for a bit.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And so you sat together at the edge of the bed, shoulder to shoulder, the soft hum of the air conditioning the only sound filling the room. Sebastian’s breathing stayed steady. The shark plush sat like a sentry beside him. And for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe you weren’t carrying everything alone.

Both you and Lando held a conversation, quiet enough for just you two, getting to know him more, and you more.

And just like that, an hour struck back when Lando signaled he had to leave, he had to get up early for the grand prix tomorrow, something you and Sebastian would be able to witness thanks to your 3-day paddock club passes.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The morning sun had barely kissed the track, and already the paddock buzzed with energy—media personnel weaving through, mechanics checking and re-checking, fans beginning to trickle in with banners, merch, and wide-eyed anticipation. But all eyes briefly shifted when you and Sebastian stepped through the paddock gates.

You, dressed in a sleek, body-hugging white ruched dress that shimmered in the sunlight like liquid porcelain, turned more heads than you intended. The dress, simple yet impossibly elegant, contrasted playfully with the bold orange McLaren cap atop your head and the matching McLaren racing jacket draped effortlessly over your shoulders. The crispness of the white Air Force 1s on your feet gave the look a relaxed finish—fashion meeting fandom in perfect balance.

At your side, Sebastian practically radiated pride, striding confidently in his mini Lando Norris race suit. The suit clung just right to his tiny frame, complete with patches, sponsor logos, and even the little McLaren emblem on the chest. His messy curls poked out from beneath a pint-sized matching orange cap, and his face lit up anytime someone complimented him or gave a high-five.

He gripped your hand excitedly, his other arm wrapped tightly around the jumbo grey shark plushie he refused to leave behind. "I want Lando to see me like this," he said proudly, giving a small tug to your hand as he looked up at you with sparkling eyes. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

You looked down at him with a soft smile, brushing a curl off his forehead. “He’s going to love it, baby. You look like his number one fan.”

Sebastian beamed, his small boots clunking lightly as he walked. “That’s because I am!”

Your Christian Dior tote bag rested in the crook of your arm, holding all the little essentials a mother might need—snacks, wipes, sunscreen, and of course, a sharpie, just in case Sebastian wanted another autograph. The handmade beaded bracelets around your wrist—one reading "Norris", the other "Piastri"—were Sebastian's latest paddock project, and you wore them with pride.

The two of you made your way deeper into the paddock, receiving nods, warm smiles, and a few amused looks at the sight of your fashion-forward fit paired with your tiny race-suited shadow.

Cameras flashed subtly. Whispers of “That’s her—Lando’s…” didn’t faze you. If anything, they added a quiet confidence to your stride.

Sebastian looked up at you again, eyes wide with anticipation. “Do you think he’s here already?”

You smiled knowingly, tightening your grip on his hand. “I’ve got a feeling today’s going to be a really good one.”

The entrance to McLaren hospitality was buzzing with activity—team members moving briskly with radios clipped to their belts, PR assistants glancing over schedules, and cameras from F1TV floating by to capture glimpses of the drivers’ pre-race routines. You adjusted your cap slightly, offering a polite smile to someone who gave Sebastian a thumbs-up.

Before you could step inside, a familiar voice called out.

“Well, look who’s ready for race day,” Oscar Piastri said with a grin, walking toward you in full race kit, a McLaren water bottle in one hand and a relaxed ease in his walk. “That suit might be a little better than Lando’s, to be honest,” he added, squatting slightly to meet Sebastian’s eye level.

Sebastian beamed. “Thanks! I’m his biggest fan today. I brought Sharky too!” He held up the oversized plush with both arms, causing Oscar to laugh.

“Strong choice,” Oscar nodded approvingly. Then his eyes flicked to you. “And you—definitely win best-dressed in the paddock today. You sure you’re not the one about to race?”

You smiled, cheeks warming lightly. “If I were, I'd be aiming for champagne.”

Oscar smirked. “Spoken like a winner. Come in—Lando’s somewhere inside, probably eating his tenth pancake.”

You and Sebastian followed him into the hospitality suite, a wave of cool air greeting you as the bustle of the outside paddock melted into a more private space. The orange and black interiors were bright, clean, filled with quiet team chatter and the soft clinks of silverware from the breakfast spread.

And then—there he was.

Lando, standing near the buffet with his back partially turned, chatting with two engineers and a trainer. His hair still slightly tousled, arms crossed loosely over his chest, the relaxed smile on his face faltered slightly when he turned and spotted you.

You could see it—the brief flicker in his eyes, soft and surprised. And then, the warmest grin tugged at his lips.

“There he is!” Sebastian shouted, breaking into a run, nearly dragging Sharky behind him. Lando bent instantly, arms wide as Sebastian jumped into him, and Lando caught him with a practiced ease, spinning him in a playful half-circle before hugging him close.

“Well, if it isn’t my lucky charm!” he said into Sebastian’s ear, before glancing up at you. His gaze held for a moment too long—just enough to make your heart squeeze.

“You guys came,” he said, softer now.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” you replied, matching his smile even though something about the whole thing tugged deep under your skin.

Lando set Sebastian down, his hand gently ruffling the boy’s curls. Then, as a few team members came up behind him, he motioned toward the two of you casually.

“Oh—uh, this is my friend Y/N,” he said, glancing at you before adding, “and this is Sebastian.”

Friend. Just a word. Harmless. Simple. But it sank somewhere heavy inside your chest. Not because he was wrong—but because, for a moment, you forgot that this wasn't something more. And maybe you’d let yourself believe otherwise.

Still, you smiled, your voice gentle. “Hi, nice to meet you all.”

The team greeted you both warmly—one even joking with Sebastian about being the team’s new mascot. Lando, meanwhile, had knelt down to adjust the strap on Sebastian’s mini race suit, talking to him about pit strategies like he was part of the crew.

You stayed quiet, watching them. You could’ve let it sting longer. But you knew the truth—there were no promises made, no titles given. Just shared moments, private smiles, and one night at an aquarium that left your heart hoping.

So instead, you brushed it off. Like you always did.

Because if today was about supporting Lando, then you’d do just that.

Even if he only called you a friend.

The sun was beginning its descent, casting golden flares across the asphalt as the pre-race grid walk commenced. The tension in the air was thick with adrenaline—crew members moving swiftly around the cars, broadcasters weaving through interviews, and fans leaning against the barriers for a glimpse of their favorites.

You held Sebastian’s hand tightly, navigating the chaos beside one of the most recognizable orange cars on the grid. The roar of engines testing systems vibrated under your shoes, and the smell of hot tires and fuel clung to the air. It was a world unlike any other—and Sebastian's eyes were wide with wonder.

“There he is,” you murmured, pointing as Lando stood next to his car, helmet off for now, laughing with a mechanic as a camera hovered nearby.

Sebastian tugged at your hand. “Can I go say good luck?” His voice was almost shy, though you could tell he was trying to be brave.

You gave a small nod. “Go on, buddy. Just stay where I can see you.”

The moment Sebastian let go of your hand, he marched with purpose through the buzzing grid. His little race suit was slightly rumpled from the excitement of the day, the McLaren logo and "4" on his back catching Lando's eye just before he turned fully.

Lando’s expression instantly softened when he saw him.

“Hey, mate,” he said, crouching down as Sebastian reached him. “You look like you're about to start this race with me.”

Sebastian grinned wide. “I just wanted to tell you good luck.”

Lando’s eyes flicked up briefly to find you watching nearby. You gave him a gentle smile, mouthing go get ‘em.

Back down to Sebastian, Lando said, “Thank you, buddy. Means a lot. I’ve got you cheering for me, so I think we’ve already got the edge.”

Sebastian held up his palm for a high five, and Lando met it without hesitation, then pulled him in for a quick hug. “This one’s for you,” he whispered, gently tapping his forehead to Sebastian’s helmeted head.

As Lando stood back up, he nodded toward you, walking over with a slow exhale. You could tell his mind was starting to flip into race mode—but still, there was a softness in his eyes as they met yours.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, voice low beneath the noise around you. “Both of you.”

“We’re always rooting for you,” you replied, meaning it more than you could say.

He hesitated for a second—like he wanted to say something more—but instead just smiled and backed away as one of the engineers handed him his helmet. He slid it on, the reflective visor clicking into place like a final shield.

Sebastian gave a little wave as Lando turned toward his car, stepping into the cockpit like it was second nature.

You placed a hand over your chest, watching him settle into the machine, surrounded by people—but somehow, still feeling like the only one on the grid.

“Alright,” you whispered to yourself, hand finding Sebastian’s shoulder as the grid began to clear. “Let’s watch him fly.”

The lights would go out soon.

And whatever the outcome, you knew this moment—this quiet, private piece of his very public world—would stay with you forever.

The atmosphere in the grandstands was electric. Fans in every direction waved orange flags, their cheers rising in a crescendo as the lights above the grid turned red one by one. The engines screamed in perfect harmony—then silence.

Lights out.

Twenty cars exploded off the line, tires gripping the asphalt as smoke trailed behind them. You and Sebastian sat just above the pit wall in a McLaren viewing box, hearts pounding as you watched Lando’s car surge forward, fighting for position into Turn 1.

“He’s in second!” Sebastian shouted, clutching your arm as Lando tucked behind the leading Red Bull car, timing his move.

Lap after lap, the field spread, then compacted again like a slingshot. Strategy came into play. Rain clouds loomed for a moment before disappearing. Pit stops became a test of perfect precision. McLaren nailed it—Lando out in clean air on Lap 32, tires fresh and focused.

Radio: “Alright Lando, we’re racing for the win here. Let’s push.”

And push he did.

Lap 41: He was closing the gap—half a second behind P1, DRS enabled. You leaned forward, barely blinking as the tension crackled through your bones.

“He’s gonna do it, Mommy!” Sebastian whispered, wide-eyed.

Lap 45: On the main straight, Lando darted left, then right—then made a daring lunge down the inside at Turn 4. Rubber screeched. His rival tried to hold on, but Lando was relentless, using every inch of the track, claiming the corner with the precision of someone who wanted this more than anything.

He was through.

The grandstand erupted. McLaren crew members leapt to their feet. You stood too, hands over your mouth in disbelief as Lando flew ahead.

Lap 48. Lap 52. Lap 56.

Every second stretched like eternity. But Lando held his line, controlled the pace, fought the wind, the pressure, the world.

Final lap.

You and Sebastian were on your feet, cheering, voices hoarse with anticipation. The McLaren pit wall was already half-standing in wait. Lando rounded the final corner, and with the checkered flag waving wildly in the air—

He crossed the line.

P1. Lando Norris wins the Grand Prix.

Tears flooded your eyes without warning, the emotions crashing over you like waves. Sebastian jumped up and down, shouting, “HE DID IT! HE DID IT!”

“YES, HE DID!” you laughed through your tears, sweeping him into your arms.

Radio: “Lando, you are a Grand Prix winner! P1, mate. You did it!”

His voice cracked through the radio, raw and overwhelmed: “Oh my god, finally. Finally. Thank you, team. That one was for all of you... and for someone watching up there too.”

You knew that "someone" was closer than he realized.

In the cool-down lap, he swerved left and right, waving at fans, helmet still on—but you could feel his smile. He stopped on the grid, climbed onto his car, raised his fists into the air, and the world lost its mind.

Trophies, champagne, confetti—those moments came next.

But nothing compared to the instant he saw you and Sebastian outside the garage afterward.

Helmet off, eyes scanning through the haze of celebration, his gaze landed on you both—and that’s when it hit him.

The roar of the crowd had softened into the background now—cheering still echoed in waves, but inside the back corner of the McLaren motorhome, it felt like the world had slowed down for just a moment.

Lando had just showered and changed into a clean team polo, though his curls were still damp and tousled. His skin carried the subtle pink flush from the heat, and his eyes—god, his eyes—looked exhausted but alive. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he got out of the car.

You sat on the couch with Sebastian, who had finally calmed from all the excitement, his small head resting against your side as his fingers absentmindedly played with the lanyard still hanging from his neck. He looked up as Lando stepped in.

“Hi, Champ.” you smiled, soft and genuine.

Lando looked at you, his expression faltering for just a moment—relief, disbelief, emotion. His voice dropped, quieter now than all the shouting and applause from earlier.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, dropping down onto the seat beside you, careful not to crush Sebastian’s legs.

“You earned every bit of it,” you said. “It was yours from the start.”

Sebastian sat up, crawling into Lando’s lap, wrapping his arms around him. “You were so fast! Like zoooom,” he said, making a whooshing sound. Lando laughed, burying his face in Sebastian’s shoulder for a second.

“Thanks, buddy. I told you I’d win today if I saw your suit.”

Sebastian beamed, proud as ever. “I’m your lucky charm!”

“Yes, you are.”

The moment was warm, cozy. The three of you felt like a little island in the middle of all the chaos. But that peace only lasted a beat before Carlos barged in through the door without knocking, grinning from ear to ear, still sweaty and in his Ferrari kit.

“Landoooo!” Carlos called, pointing a finger at him. “You said—if you ever won—you’d party.”

Lando groaned playfully. “Carlos—”

“No excuses!” Carlos waved off the protest. “We’re going out tonight. Whole paddock’s buzzing. It’s your moment, hermano. You're not skipping this.”

You looked over at Lando, who glanced back at you as if waiting for your response.

“It’s okay,” you smiled. “Go celebrate. You deserve it.”

“But I wanted to spend time with you two,” he said quietly, eyes flicking to you and Sebastian again. “I don’t really care about—”

“Lando,” you interrupted softly, brushing your hand against his. “You can have this moment. We’ll still be here tomorrow. Go dance, drink, scream if you want to. You only get your first win once.”

He hesitated, then squeezed your hand.

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Promise. We’ll be in bed, watching SpongeBob reruns or something. Go.”

Carlos threw an arm around Lando and smacked the back of his head. “Come on, before she changes her mind!”

Lando finally cracked a grin, standing up with Sebastian still in his arms. He looked at you once more—an unspoken thank-you in his eyes—before gently setting Sebastian down on the couch.

“I’ll text you when I get in,” he said.

“I’ll be asleep,” you teased, “but I’ll read it in the morning.”

As Lando and Carlos disappeared down the hallway, laughter echoing behind them, you leaned back on the couch, Sebastian curling up at your side again.

And though Lando had gone to celebrate with the world, it still felt like his heart had never really left that room.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Somewhere in Australia, while the soft hum of the hotel’s AC wrapped you and Sebastian in a cocoon of sleep, a different world pulsed to life just down the city blocks.

The club was dimly lit but alive—bass thrumming through the floorboards, the strobe lights slicing the shadows like flashes of lightning. Music thundered. Laughter echoed. Bodies moved in rhythm with careless joy. It was the kind of chaos that made the air feel electric, where sweat mixed with spilled liquor and every fleeting moment felt like something worth chasing.

And there he was—Lando.

Shirt half-buttoned, the edges loose and dancing with the rhythm of the club’s fan. His curls were damp at the edges, the scent of his cologne clinging stubbornly to his skin, mingling with the sharp tang of whiskey and champagne that hung in the air. His cheeks were flushed pink from both alcohol and adrenaline, and his smile—crooked and disoriented—never quite left his lips.

The celebration was real. Electric. He had finally done it—P1. The first win. The first taste of it. And everyone wanted a piece of him.

Carlos was lost somewhere in the blur of bodies, likely dancing on some table and encouraging shots with people Lando couldn’t name. McLaren team members toasted, DJs hyped him up. Strangers—women—slid into his space like gravity pulled them toward him.

He leaned slightly against a girl, laughter bursting from his chest, and she reached up, fingers brushing his jaw as if she belonged there. Cameras snapped in a flurry—flashes of light capturing a moment out of context but full of implication. Lando didn’t even register the blinking of notifications piling up in his back pocket. His phone was the last thing on his mind.

He was smiling. Drunk. Buzzing. Floating.

And in that moment—between the glass in his hand, the warmth of touch that wasn’t yours, and the loud encouragement of friends and strangers alike—he didn’t see the cracks beginning to form.

Because back in a quiet hotel room, wrapped in cotton sheets and the soft light of the night lamp, Sebastian slept soundly beside you, one hand still holding onto the tail of the jumbo shark plush, the other curled into your side.

And you? You were asleep. Or trying to be. Somewhere in your subconscious, maybe something felt... off. A small shift. A ripple. Like a thread tugging just slightly, signaling something had come undone while you weren't looking.

But Lando didn’t know. Not yet. Not as laughter swallowed him. Not as hands rested where they shouldn't. Not as the night captured a version of him that he might not even remember in the morning.

And certainly not as the world watched, waiting to see how this celebration would cost him something he hadn't yet realized was priceless.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The sun was high in the sky when you stirred awake, Sebastian’s soft breaths nestled against your side, the morning light seeping in through the cracks of the curtains. It was peaceful—at least, it should have been.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, wiping the sleep from your eyes, not prepared for the barrage of notifications that had flooded in overnight. Headlines. Photos. Mentions.

A single image opened first—Lando, flushed and smiling in a dim-lit club, his shirt undone, a girl’s hand resting on his chest like she belonged there.

Your chest tightened, breath catching just slightly. You scrolled slowly. More photos. More angles. One of her whispering into his ear. His smile wide, his body comfortably close. He didn’t look forced. He looked... happy. Drunk, yes, but happy.

And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

You stared for a long while, heart sinking, and yet—you said nothing. No text. No confrontation. No storming call demanding answers. What would be the point? You weren’t his. He had introduced you and Sebastian as his friends, hadn’t he? Not even close to what you thought you might have been.

So instead, you placed the phone down, slid out of bed, and began to pack.

Lando hadn’t texted that morning. Nor that afternoon. You made the decision to leave it at that.

At the airport, Sebastian clutched his stuffed shark, happily babbling about the turtles and fish, unaware of anything heavier lingering in the air. You smiled at him, fixed his little McLaren hoodie, and carried on as if the last few days hadn’t cracked something quietly inside you.

Lando met you at the gate, out of breath and sheepish, wearing sunglasses and a hoodie. “Hey,” he panted, “I was hoping I could say goodbye before you left.”

You smiled faintly. “Of course.”

He crouched to give Sebastian a hug, the little boy clinging to him like always. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?” he said softly.

“Okay,” Sebastian beamed.

Then Lando looked up at you. “We’ll stay in touch?”

You nodded, keeping your voice calm and pleasant. “Definitely.”

But definitely started to feel more like barely.

Weeks passed. Conversations that once felt effortless turned into polite check-ins. Lando would text, and you would take hours—sometimes days—to reply. You became harder to reach, more brief, no longer offering the warmth he had grown used to.

He noticed.

And eventually, Oscar noticed too.

They were in the paddock weeks later, preparing for another Grand Prix when Oscar finally confronted him during a quiet moment in the garage.

“Do you even know what you did?” he asked, arms crossed.

Lando blinked, startled. “What are you talking about?”

Oscar scoffed. “You don’t get it, do you? She saw the photos, mate. The club. The girl. That night you celebrated like a legend. She never said a word about it, but that’s why she pulled back.”

Lando’s stomach dropped.

Oscar continued, “She cared about you. I mean, really cared. She didn’t have to come to your race. She brought her son. Wore your colors. Stood in your world. And you—”

“I didn’t know,” Lando muttered, jaw tightening.

“Yeah,” Oscar said, shaking his head. “That’s the problem.”

Months slipped by like sand through fingertips.

Your messages came less frequently. Then they stopped altogether. But your Instagram didn’t. Every few weeks, Lando would find himself opening the app, searching for your name. There you were, always glowing.

One photo showed you and Sebastian at a pumpkin patch, his little arms wrapped around that same grey shark. Another had you walking on the beach with him, your smile soft but distant.

In one, you were dressed up for a night out. No tag. No mention of who took the photo. That one he stared at for too long.

The digital distance cut sharper than any silence ever could.

And now, the only way Lando kept up with the life he once dipped his toes into—was through a screen.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Three Months Later Off-season Break, Quiet Day in Monaco

Lando was sprawled across the sofa in his apartment, TV playing something he wasn’t watching, phone in his hand as his thumb hovered over Instagram. It had become a routine now — checking your page, looking for any glimpse of your life, of Sebastian, of the family he let slip through his fingers.

And then he saw it.

A hand. A delicate ring sitting neatly on a manicured finger. Resting against a familiar sweater he swore he’d seen on you.

The caption? A simple heart emoji.

And the comments —

“Engaged?! Omg congrats!! 💍” “Wishing you all the love and happiness!” “You deserve this 🥹💖”

His stomach dropped.

He blinked. Read it again. Scrolled. His hands began to shake slightly as he locked his phone, but it didn’t stop the pounding in his chest.

He didn’t even realize Carlos and Oscar had entered the apartment until Carlos tossed a water bottle at him.

“Earth to Norris,” Carlos called out. “What’s with the face? You look like someone just stole your car.”

Lando didn’t answer.

Oscar flopped into a chair and frowned. “Lando?”

He finally sat up, holding his phone like it was evidence in a crime. “I think she’s engaged.”

Carlos blinked. “What?”

“She posted a picture. A hand. A ring. I don’t know if it’s hers but everyone’s congratulating her and—” he stood abruptly, pacing. “I knew I lost her. I just didn’t know it was already this far gone.”

Oscar leaned forward. “You haven’t talked to her in weeks, mate.”

“I didn’t know what to say!” Lando’s voice cracked. “I messed up. I let her walk away. And I’ve been watching her raise Sebastian like the strongest woman I’ve ever met while I sit here doing nothing.”

Carlos exchanged a glance with Oscar before stepping in front of Lando, voice firm. “So do something. Fly out there. Talk to her.”

Lando shook his head. “What if she doesn’t even want to see me?”

Oscar stood, crossing his arms. “Then at least you’ll know. But right now? You’re acting like a coward. You love her. Anyone with eyes could see it.”

Carlos nodded. “And that kid adored you. So either go tell her how you feel or spend the rest of the season wondering what might’ve been.”

Lando stood frozen for a moment — heart in his throat, chest tight — before he turned and grabbed his keys.

“Book me a flight,” he said, voice low. “Tonight.”

The next day Your doorstep – early evening

You weren’t expecting company, especially not when the sun had barely begun to dip behind the trees. So when the knock came, sudden and sharp, you wrapped a cardigan around yourself and padded over.

You opened the door slowly.

Lando stood there. Hoodie half-zipped, sneakers slightly dusty, hair messy like he’d run straight from the airport.

You froze.

He looked like hell. Beautiful, aching hell.

“Hi,” he breathed out. “I—I saw the ring post. I thought you were engaged. I thought you were gone.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. “Wait, what?”

He shook his head. “The picture. I thought it was your hand. I didn’t read the caption, didn’t check anything, I just... I panicked. I flew here without even thinking. I had to see you. Had to know.”

You let out a breath, eyes wide. “Lando, that’s my best friend. She got engaged. I was posting for her.”

Lando blinked like he was waking up. His shoulders dropped as he let out a strangled laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

You stood aside. “Come in.”

He walked in slowly, glancing around as though memorizing everything. Like the home you built with Sebastian was a life he’d only dreamed about.

He turned back to you and the laughter died.

“I thought I lost you,” he said again, voice cracking. “I’ve already been losing you. You’ve been slipping away since Australia, and I knew it. And I let it happen.”

You stayed quiet, waiting.

“I know I never said the right things. Or showed up in the right way. I messed up — at the club, and every day after when I said nothing.” He looked down. “But it was never because I didn’t care. I was scared. Scared that what I wanted was too much. That you’d realize you didn’t need me.”

“Lando—”

He stepped closer.

“I need you,” he whispered. “I love you. I love Sebastian. And it’s not some temporary, easy feeling. It’s deep, and messy, and real. I’ve felt like a ghost since I left. I check your Instagram just to feel something. Every time Sebastian smiles in a post I think, that used to be mine too.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He was trembling now, the weight of months of silence collapsing in on him.

“I want to be there. Not for show. For real. I want to be the one Sebastian tells his secrets to, the one who packs school lunches, the one who kisses you goodnight, and doesn’t run when things get hard.”

You stared at him — eyes glassy, chest tight.

“You left,” you whispered. “You let me think I didn’t matter.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “And if I have to prove otherwise for the rest of my life, I will.”

A small yawn echoed from down the hall.

“Mommy?” came the sleepy voice.

You turned just in time to see Sebastian peek out, hair messy, eyes wide. “Is Lando here?”

Lando crouched down gently. “Hey, buddy.”

Sebastian grinned. “You’re back.”

You looked between the two of them — the connection, the hope in Sebastian’s voice, and the pleading in Lando’s eyes.

And finally, your resolve cracked. You walked to him, wrapped your arms around him, and let yourself feel everything you’d pushed down.

“I’m scared too,” you whispered.

He pulled you closer. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Sebastian was five now — bright-eyed, sharp with his words, and carrying more energy in his little frame than the entire grid on race day. The flat you now called home was tucked into a hillside in Monaco, where the sea kissed the edges of marble balconies and every window glowed with golden sunset light. Fancy, yes — sleek and curated — but warm with laughter, scattered toys, and the fingerprints of a real life being lived inside.

The kitchen smelled of rosemary and lemon, the sauce simmering gently as you stirred with one hand, the other resting absentmindedly over the curve of your belly. The moonlight filtered in through the glass doors, casting silver across the tiled floor. Music drifted low and slow in the background — something jazzy and nostalgic.

Peace. You had found it, and better yet, you had chosen it.

The door opened with a click and a rush of laughter. Sebastian’s giggles filled the flat as he kicked off his shoes, running to his room with the thud of socks against hardwood. Lando followed, gear bag slung over his shoulder, curls tousled from the wind.

You turned, smile playing at your lips. “How’d he do?”

Lando leaned in, stealing a brief kiss before answering. “He’s good. Like, really good. We might be raising the next world champion.”

You chuckled. “He gets it from you.”

Lando’s gaze softened. His hand moved instinctively to your bump, resting over the swell of new life. “And how’s this one doing?”

“She finally stopped her karate routine,” you joked, glancing down. “I think the smell of dinner soothed her.”

“A girl after my own heart,” he said with a grin.

Dinner was cozy, full of overlapping conversation — Sebastian animatedly recounting how he overtook someone on the final lap, and Lando grinning proudly at every word. Between bites, he’d chime in about his own upcoming races and how Sebastian’s form was already better than his at that age. You caught your gaze wandering now and then to the photo in the corner — your wedding day — frozen in time with the sound of the waves and laughter behind you, your veil tangled in the wind as Lando looked at you like he was seeing color for the first time.

After the dishes, which Lando insisted on doing — “Can’t have both of my girls stressed,” he’d said with a wink — the house quieted. Sebastian had curled up in bed with his shark plush and a bedtime story. And now, the two of you were lying in your bed, blankets tangled at your feet, your heads close, voices low. This was the part you loved most — not the trips or photoshoots or champagne showers, but the calm. The pillow talk. The shared world no one else got to see.

You’d once been a single mom fighting your way through life with tired eyes and a hopeful heart, never sure what the next day would bring. But here you were — Mrs. Norris now. With a son who bore that name proudly, and a daughter soon to join the world who would never have to question her father’s love.

The phone buzzed once. Lando rolled to check it.

“Old mate wants to go out tonight. Some club in town,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to you — your belly, your soft smile, your fingers gently tracing patterns across the duvet.

He paused. And then the decision came without thought.

“I’ll be home with the wife and kids,” he said aloud, tapping his screen off. “But you boys have fun.”

He tossed the phone on the bedside table and rolled closer to you, one hand sliding to rest over your belly, the other entwining with yours. He kissed your knuckles and sighed like someone who had run every race just to arrive here, in this exact moment.

“I really did change everything, huh?” he asked softly.

You nodded, resting your forehead against his.

“No,” you whispered. “We did.”

And outside, Monaco slept under a velvet sky, but inside that home, love stayed awake — breathing, growing, anchoring everything that mattered.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

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[libbybee]

IN THE HEAT OF YEARNING — SA

◜pairing: astarion ⨯ fem!reader ◜rating: MDNI 18+ ┊ wc: 6K ◜cw: mentions of astarion's past, dependence, masturbation [M], anorgasmia [M], piv, cock riding, creampie.

▹ summary. after cazador's defeat, astarion faces something he thought lost to time; his heat. the unfamiliar sensation of longing and freedom makes him torn between the instinct to dominate and the desire to surrender to you.

A/N. english isn't my native language, sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

AO3 ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ PLAYLIST

‎

It had been weeks, perhaps months, since you helped him put an end to his master, Cazador. Even now, Astarion wasn’t sure how to feel or what to do.

The sensation of freedom hit him like a tornado tearing through his life, leaving him adrift and uncertain. Even the pronunciation of the words caught on his tongue, clinging to his throat whenever he tried to voice a trace of what he felt.

Declaring himself “unchained” sounded jarring to his ears, but, fortunately, there you were to help him adjust to these unfamiliar emotions that weighed on his shoulders. With everything that freedom entailed. Everything.

He hadn’t told you about this… personal problem of his. Truthfully, he couldn’t bring himself to do it, ashamed of what you might think or say if you found out.

After so many failed attempts, he stopped considering it altogether, only cursing himself for not telling you sooner.

Astarion knew it was foolish to feel so ashamed, especially considering the kind of person you were and how much better you treated him than the nightmares of his past—the loneliness that had surrounded him since he had begrudgingly accepted the curse of immortality. But, gods, just thinking about it made his throat tighten painfully and his hands tremble with cold sweat.

He tried his hardest to confess to you on those unique occasions you shared in private, when there was no one else around to overhear, but every time, he backed down.

Now, feeling this unbearable urge, he was determined not to say a word. Nothing in hell would make him… except his very self.

His lips whimpered pathetically, your name slipping through gasps muffled against the fabric of your panties. His eyelids squeezed shut, his other hand massaging the head of his cock tightly enough to hurt, desperately trying to mimic the sensation of your warm walls wrapped around him. Only to fail miserably.

His vampirism had awakened this cursed heat, a condition he loathed to the very core of his damned nature, yet he couldn’t prevent or fight against it. He had spent decades quelling his desires in solitude, without anyone to ease the craving when he needed it most.

The self-pity of it swelled his skin, feeling himself become so… damned “sweetly necessitous” and so lovesick for anyone who crossed his path in those times when he was still delivering prey to his master. But now he had you. And gods, you were going to be a problem. The faint traces of your arousal on the crushed fabric pressed to his nose were enough to drive him mad; you smelt so, so irresistibly good…

Fleeting memories of the first time he bit you flashed through his mind in a haze of desperation to reach his orgasm. The sweetness of your blood, like rich port wine on his tongue, was the finest thing he’d experienced in his entire existence.

He was quite clear just how thoroughly you’d unravelled his self-reliance. This inefficiency blazed brighter than ever in his mind each time he found himself dependent on you, and you weren’t there for him, just like now. Craving you in a way he hadn’t needed anyone in lifetimes.

The sheer sensation of having your naked body pressed up against his while he buried himself balls deep inside you. The feeling of the perfect, welcoming warmth from that exquisite pussy of yours, gripping him as if he were the most vital thing in your life… He’d give anything to feel you like that right now, having you to ease his agonising heat until his pain and loneliness were fully sated. But these thoughts only sent his urgency skyrocketing higher than ever.

The side of your shared bed still held your intoxicating scent. Pressing your panties to his sharp nose reminded him of how tightly your walls would clench around him every time he thrust in and out of your perfect cunt as he fucked it exactly how he knew to so well. An intense desperation took hold of him, slamming his clenched fist into his quivering pelvis to fuck his hand with a ferocity that echoed how he would fuck you again if you were here. By now, thick beads of his precum trickled from his swollen tip, sliding down his pale, agile fingers.

His silky white curls clung to his sweat-dampened forehead and nape, his teeth gritting in nothing but frustration at his inability to reach that elusive release. Each time he came close, the peak seemed to slip away, taunting him from just out of reach. But he couldn’t fully blame himself, because deep down, he knew he didn’t want to cum like this.

It wasn’t just the release he craved; it was you. Without you here, everything felt hollow; his touch was a pitiful substitute for the real thing. He wanted nothing more than to cum inside you, to hear the sweet, melodic sounds of your moans and gasps as his warm semen filled you, seeping out around the edges of his cock as he stayed buried deep within. He longed to watch you bask after your climax, knowing you were utterly his in that moment, both bound in bliss.

The fantasy gripped him, vivid and fierce—an impossible hope to leave something lasting within you, to fill you until he could almost imagine creating life together, even though he knew his cursed being would never allow such a thing. Yet the thought alone, however unattainable, only drove his need further, intensifying his urge to fuck you completely, as if every part of him belonged to you, even in ways that fate had denied him.

He tried once more to focus, though his body trembled atop the sheets with sheer need. He closed his eyes and fantasised about your pussy all reddened and swollen for him, glistening in your rich juices and so deliciously wet that you’d be dampening the sheets beneath you.

A deep flush spread from his cheeks to the very tips of his sensitive ears as he realised just how utterly charmed he was by you and how his mind overflowed with visions of you and only you. He could see it all so vividly: your gorgeous, tempting pussy, the soft contours of your breasts that fit his hands as though crafted just for him and his carnal lust, your lips swollen from his endless kisses, and your eyes glazed, pupils blown wide with pleasure.

Every detail of you was etched into his mind—an addicting vision he couldn't escape. You were the star of every lustful scene that played out in his imagination, the embodiment of his most desperate fantasies.

Astarion could almost feel the anxious pulse of your clit, just begging for his mouth and tongue. The thought of his lips grazing that sensitive bundle, tormenting it to the point of agony, filled his mind, and he could hardly help but drool. He could practically taste you, the luscious, toxicant sweetness of your arousal filling him as he’d lavish every inch of your cunt with his mouth, sucking and licking with ravenous need until you were drenched.

He let out a low, frustrated growl, swirling his closed fist just around his incarnate tip in a futile attempt to force his climax. But his mind betrayed him, flooding with vivid images of your sweaty body and the insatiable pussy he yearned so badly. However, he was pretty clear: nothing could replace you. Not his hand, not the fantasies that had become a poor substitute; nothing could come close to the reality he wanted.

In his mind, he saw you beneath him, legs spread-eagled, your lips calling his name in whispered moans that grew louder with each thrust. He could nearly feel your breath against his ear, filling him with the sweet sound of your whimpers, each one more desperate than the last. His hand felt pitifully inadequate compared to being buried deep inside you, his body pressed down against yours as he consumed every last piece of you.

He was completely lost, so absorbed that he didn't even hear the soft creak of the door or the faint shuffle of your footsteps.

In the quiet shadows of your bedroom, he trembled with the wrenching pain, torn between hunger and exasperation. His voice whispered out, barely audible, “My love… I need you.”

Astarion’s breathing came in ragged gasps as he chased a release that refused to reach him. Tightening his hand to increase his movement speed, he became almost frantic, as though sheer desperation could fill the emptiness of not having you. His head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut as he let out a strangled moan against your panties, your lovely name slipping from his lips like a mantra.

You’d woken in the night, drowsily reaching for him only to find the other side of the bed empty, letting your hand land on cool sheets instead of his skin. Concerned and bleary-eyed, you went looking for him, thinking that perhaps a nightmare had drawn him away.

But nothing could have prepared you for the sight before you.

In the dim light spilling from the cracked curtains of a window, his silhouette trembled, his hips bucking desperately into his hand as if he couldn’t stand another second of the ache inside him. His cheeks were flushed with a feverish red, and his lips parted to release soft, breathless whimpers. His grip on himself was almost punishing, fingers digging into his flesh as he stroked with an almost frenzied pace, trying to force himself to the relief he sought but clearly struggling.

You inched closer, entranced by the sight of his body arching and tensing, brow knit in frustration as he let out quiet, ragged curses under his breath. His voice, thick with desperation, cracked as he whispered your name as if the mere thought of you was both a balm and a torment. He was so lost, so utterly engrossed in his aching need, that he didn’t notice your presence.

Unable to resist, you let out a quiet voice calling his name while opening the door, just loud enough to break through his veil.

He snapped open his eyes; his red irises gleamed in the darkness as he finally became aware he wasn’t alone. Astarion froze, lips parting in shock as his gaze met yours, the flush in his cheeks deepening as he felt instantly embarrassed with your underwear under his nose. The rich fabric of his Victorian shirt clung to his chest, slightly askew from his restless movements.

“I was… I wasn’t expecting you…” He managed to speak with a low, rough voice, as if pulled straight from the depths of his body. He relaxed slightly in an attempt to regain his composure, though his cock gave a subtle, instinctual thump against his stomach as he failed to suppress his arousal. Then he swallowed hard, the exposed skin at his throat glistening in the dim light from his sweat, his expression a blur of yearning and bashfulness.

You took another step closer to your old bed. The intensity of his state made your breath quicken as you took in every detail of his parted lips, the flush trailing to his ears, the slight tremor in his fingers as he tried to maintain them steady…

“Come here…” He reached out, inviting you. His eyes gleamed with want, and, at that moment, he felt himself wholly yours to possess and do whatever you wanted, but you didn't know just yet.

“Couldn’t sleep, Astarion?” You asked with both curiosity and… somewhat understanding.

Astarion let out a sigh while a soft smile tugged at his lips. “It seems I have… trouble finding satisfaction without you, my dear.” He lowered the fabric of your underwear from his face to leave it on the nightstand, his eyes never leaving yours, although his vulnerable yet unabashedly captivated emotions.

His delicate fabric slightly loosened at the collar and sleeves, a bit untied, his hair tousled… This image of him awakened something inside you, drawing you deeper into his charming and cuddly spell.

You reached for his hand, marvelling at how adorable he looked at this moment. With a serene smile, you settled beside him on the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as you sat close enough to feel his body almost touching yours.

Astarion let out a long, shaky breath, his body finally relaxing as he leaned into you, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder. He was warm, and you could feel the faint tremor in his body as if something had unravelled his entire being. 

Then he let out a low, breathless giggle; the sound tinged with relief and a hint of humour. “You’re toying with me…” He murmured softly against your skin before placing a kiss on it with a touch of playful reproach. “Leaving me here all night… suffering by myself.” His words were light, but you could feel the weight behind them, the hollowness he rarely showed.

As his head rested heavily against your shoulder, Astarion’s fingers tangled in your hair, gently gripping it as if securing himself to you. His touch was both eager and tender as he instinctively snuggled closer to encircle your waist, seeking solace in your embrace. It was a stark contrast to that usually composed and confident vampire you knew, making him appear almost childlike as if he were looking for comfort after a nightmare.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer against you. The way he nestled into you made your soul melt in affection, but a flicker of concern crept into your mind as you wondered what had haunted him in the quiet solitude of the night. His sigh was soft, barely audible, and his grip on your hair tightened as if he feared losing you.

“What’s wrong, Astarion?” You asked softly while caressing his arm gently. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

He furrowed his brow slightly, the weakness in his demeanour becoming more pronounced. “I suppose… I thought I could manage. But it seems I could not.”

Before continuing, he took a deep breath to steel himself. “There’s something I haven’t told you… something I’ve been trying to suppress.” As he spoke, his eyes peered at your face, a mixture of uncertainty and yearning reflected in their blackness. The playful humour that often danced in his gaze was gone, replaced by a rawness that tugged at your heartstrings.

You searched his eyes to urge him to continue while your thoughts were already wondering what it could be. “What is it?”

Astarion swallowed hard, his brow furrowing as he wrestled with his emotions. “I… I’m in my heat…” He finally confessed. “After everything that happened with Cazador, I thought I could control it and push it away. But it’s relentless. This… need; it’s too much, and I’ve been fighting it alone for so long.”

You instinctively pulled him closer, the warmth of your body against his providing a gentle anchor in the storm of his turmoil. Feeling a surge of empathy, you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing softly over his cheek, hoping to erase any sense of his silly shame. “Astarion… You are not alone any more. I’m here… with you.”

He leaned into your touch, a faint shudder passing through him as he let out a soft sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly for your words. “I didn’t want to burden you with this, darling…”

“You could never be a burden to me, silly.”

A liberating glint passed through his eyes before they narrowed slightly, his expression gentling as he leaned his cheek into the warmth of your hand. “So tell me, my darling… what are you going to do with me now?” He asked sweetly, smiling with some curiosity, as though he were either coaxing you forward… or daring you to finish what he’d started.

You held his gaze for a few seconds longer before letting your eyes drop to his hard, aching length.

You slowly pull out of his embrace to rise from the bed, then with unhurried motions, you slip your fingers beneath the waistband of your pyjama trousers and your panties, sliding them down your legs. The fabric fell to the floor, quickly joined by your bra, leaving you bare before him. The chilly winter air grazed your skin, causing a shiver to dance along your back and harden your nipples instantly.

“I’m going to take care of you…” You saw how his eyes roamed over every inch of you with his usual intense, hungry gaze, caressing your body as though it were a precious treasure he could finally hold.

Astarion’s gaze returned to yours with a warm, wide smile, brimming with adoration and desire. “You’re…breathtaking…” He murmured, almost as though speaking the words out loud might shatter the moment.

Your heart swelled at the sight of him, so open, so vulnerable, and so utterly yours. You settled back onto the bed beside him, leaning close as you placed a soft, reassuring kiss against his cheek. Letting your hand drift from his thigh to his lap to wrap your fingers around his cock, feeling the hardness of it, respond immediately to your gentle touch by throbbing excitedly. You began to slowly stroke him, keeping a slow yet steady rhythm.

He moaned softly, his head fell back, and his eyes closed while a subtle shudder ran through him. His fingers instinctively clung to your arm; the look of pure need etched from his face only spurred you on. Your strokes grow firmer as each pass of your hand drew a new, delicious sound from his delicate lips. During that, you leaned closer to let your warm breath graze his neck before you started to spread soft kisses along it.

His usual composure had crumbled, giving way to a raw, unrestrained need—a desperation born of decades of unsatisfied feelings and the maddening ache of his heat. He tried so hard to find satisfaction, but nothing had ever been enough since he met you. Only you could soothe this torment and bring him the relief he required.

You pulled back slightly from his neck, meeting his eyes as you paused your attentions to gently nudge him onto the bed. He didn’t resist at all, allowing you to do whatever you wanted with him and looking at you with sparkling impatience across his darkened pupils.

You ran your hands along his thighs one more time, fingertips tracing over every taut line and curve, savouring the feel of his skin. As you settled on the mattress to straddle his hips, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his stomach, your lips grazing over the fabric stretched over his torso. Your hands travelled up, resting on his chest, where you could feel his muscles tense beneath his clothing. With a teasing smile, you left a gentle trail of kisses along his uncovered chest, up to his collarbone, and finally brushing your lips along his jaw.

His hands locked to your thighs, his breaths warm as he relaxed in your presence. He allowed himself to be vulnerable before you, and it was unlike anything you had seen in him before. He looked as though he might beg at any moment, desperate and undone. His fingers trembled slightly as he held you tighter, sliding his hands up to grip your hips.

“Is this what you want?” You asked, although you already knew the answer well, just to savour this moment, having him so needy for you.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his answer slipping out almost without thought. “Yes.” His voice was harsh, barely holding together as he looked up at you in admiration like he could hardly believe he was so close to the release that he’d been yearning for.

Astarion moved his hands from your hips to your waist, guiding you down as he suppressed a desperate groan, his head tipping back into your pillow, still infused with your intoxicating scent. “My darling…” He purred, calling out to you. “I need you, please…” The words spilt from him with urgency, though his seductive edge persevered. His hands gripped your hips again, uncertain where to grab, only knowing he wanted every part of you. “Pretty please…”

At the same time, your other hand slipped lower, cradling his sac and massaging softly in rhythm with each stroke. His sighs came faster, a soft groan escaping him as your fingers trailed along his sensitive skin.

The transformation in him was almost endearing, watching his pride melt in the face of his heat. You couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks warming as he let slip those velvety, magical words.

Reaching down, you let your fingers brush over the base of his cock, feeling the rigid heat of his arousal. You spit into your palm and took his hardened cock to slick him out, stroking him slowly up and down. You weren’t entirely wet yet, and you wanted this moment to be as perfect as possible for him.

You moved your focus to his swollen, pulsing glans now, slick with precum that had trickled down his length. You continued stroking with both hands now, smoothing the warm fluid mixed with your saliva to make sure he was well lubricated. Finally, positioning yourself, you let the head of his cock rub your clit and your entrance.

You closed your eyes, savouring the sensation until you heard him release a strangled moan, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips as if holding you could somehow ease his ache. Reopening your eyes, you saw his flushed cheeks and closed eyelids, and you felt captured by his vulnerability. Your heart pounded against your chest at seeing him so… exposed to you.

Although you were keenly aware of his need and, in a way, his impatience to bury himself inside you, you couldn’t deny that you wanted to draw out this special moment as long as possible.

Finally, you let the head of his cock kiss your entrance, beginning to lower your hips as you felt the delicious stretch of your slit as it let him through and of your interior accommodating him. You felt yourself tighten instinctively around his thick length, your walls gripping him as he slid deeper within.

Once he was fully seated within you until his tip was pushing against your cervix, you began to rise and fall slowly. Rolling your hips slightly forward and back, you felt the rigidity in his cock and every vein deliciously caressing your walls. His grip tightened as he released sweet, breathy sighs with each massage you gave his cock with your cavity, his eyes fixed on you, utterly enraptured as he felt himself dissolve beneath you.

“Just you…” His voice trembled with a tone you haven't heard from him. “I’ve needed this… needed you… for so long. I tried to resist… gods, I tried… but nothing, nothing else could…” His words trailed off in an involuntary moan as his pelvis lifted instinctively to feel every inch of your insides squeeze his painfully swollen cock.

A satisfied moan escaped your lips as you watched him giving in to pleasure, his expression lost in bliss. Spurred by his urge, you began to move with more eagerness, riding him harder and faster, your pelvis colliding with his in a wild rhythm. Every thrust sent jolts of pleasure through you both as your hips moved in perfect sync.

Bracing your hands on his chest, you leaned down to capture his lips, and he responded with a yearning whimper, returning the kiss with impatience. “I’ve never seen you like this, Astarion.” You murmured against his lips, admiring the flush across his cheeks. “It’s… adorable.”

He let out a soft, breathless laugh, though his voice was thick with longing. “I’m yours, my love…” He confessed in a low tone, holding your gaze with an unusual intensity, his eyes shining. “With you… I can’t help but lose myself…”

His hands slid up to grip your waist, attempting to guide at least your intensity and reclaim a hint of control, but you took his hands in yours. Sliding them over your torso to your breasts, letting him grab them and feel the softness of them. "Love, let me…” He raised his hips once more to penetrate you deeper. His need to bury himself inside you almost agonisingly, each motion making his tip hit your sensitive G-spot and coax gasps from your lips as he struck it with raw precision, just as your cervix.

You threw your head back, a strangled whimper escaping as the blend of pleasure and faint pain sent shocks through your womb.

“Astarion…” You called after recovering your breath just enough to let your lips brush his ear. One hand tangled into his silky hair while the other traced his chest, your fingers skimming over the fabric of his shirt. “Let me… I want to make you feel good, my love…" You whispered, letting your breath ghost over the sensitive skin of his neck, feeling him shiver beneath you because of how responsive he was to your closeness.

Astarion’s throat caught at the sensation of your warm lips on his neck from your sudden smooch, his fingers tightening around your breasts. A sly smile played on his lips, though his usual sharp wit softened because of his heat.

“Oh, my darling…” He rasped with his tone both a plea and a command as his fingers slid down to your hips, anchoring you closer. “You already do make me feel good… so exquisitely good.” His lips found the spot behind your ear to press a kiss against it. Descending to the curve of your jaw, and then lower, tracing a path full of delicate, heated kisses down to your neck.

Then he pulled you, rolling you onto the mattress in a sudden but gentle motion. His body hovered over yours as he took a moment to drink in the sight of you beneath him. “But I think it’s time I return the favour.” His voice dipped into a low growl, his thumb smoothing against your cheek as he cradled it. “Let’s see just how well I can repay you, love…” He whispered before diving to your lips with a ferocity that left no doubt of his intentions.

Every single touch and lingering kiss was a deliberate act of his devotion, focusing entirely on bringing you to the same heights of pleasure he so desperately craved.

Your lips crashed against his with a passion that mirrored his, a burning hunger in every kiss. You tangled your fingers into his silken, white hair to hold him close, refusing to let an inch of space between you. Your other hand gripped the fabric of his shirt in his waist, tugging it firmly, wanting nothing more than to feel his skin against yours.

Before drawing you into his embrace, he positioned his cock at your entrance to enter back inside you, joining his hips firmly against yours with a delicious thrust that made your clit kiss his bare pelvis. A guttural groan escaped his mouth as he responded eagerly to your touch, his hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you close. Each of his movements quickened, his hips surging forward with growing intensity, each thrust driving you both toward a shared frenzy. Impulsively, he broke the kiss to trail his lips along your neck, leaving a searing path of devouring kisses and grazing your skin with his fangs, sending a subtle shiver through you.

“Gods, you're… intoxicating.” He whimpered roughly between kisses. His hands slid to your hips, gripping you rigidly to guide your body in time with his as he fucked you. His lips stayed on your neck, savouring every moan you gave him, lost in the sensation of your bodies moving together with an urgency that none of you could contain.

Astarion’s hand grabbed firmly at your nape, his fingers threading through your hair as he held your head in place against his shoulder. Positioned snugly between your legs, his thighs lifted yours, angling you so that every inch of his cock entered your pussy, leaving no space unfilled.

He bobbed his hips forward with a ferocious, exhausting pace that drove him impossibly deeper into your cunt, his mouth returning in trailing hot kisses all over your skin. His grip on your nape tightened with each surge of his pelvis against yours, anchoring himself in the intensity of it, feeling how your walls massaged and vibrated around his cock. His other hand gripped your waist, drawing you closer to him as if he wanted to merge your bodies completely.

The rhythm had become urgent and desperate, his mouth leaving feverish kisses along your neck and shoulder as his pace grew erratic, driven by the overwhelming, raw desire consuming him. His hand tightened around your waist, pulling you more tightly as his thrusts grew harsher.

The fire in your body was exactly like his, a blazing need that surged with every stroke. Your hand slipped down to your swollen clit, fingers stroking it in synchrony with his pleasurable thrusts. Your actions only seemed to drive him further; a primal growl escaped his lips as his hips snapped forward with a force that stole your respiration.

“Look at you… so eager for more…” Astarion purred, his tone rasping and dripping with lust. His crimson eyes roamed down your body, pausing at the place where your fingers moved against yourself. He observed entranced how your fingers stroked your entire clitoris, slick and needy while meeting each of his thrusts. The sight seemed to inflame him, his pupils dilating as he devoured the scene before him. A wicked grin curled on his lips. “You’re utterly delicious… I can hardly resist the urge to devour you whole.”

His voice was thick with desire, and how his crimson eyes darkened further made your heart race. You could see the pure hunger burning within him, igniting an answering fire deep in your lower belly. As you continued to stimulate your clit, the tension grew unbearable, stretched so taut that one more push, one more touch, was all it would take to send you both over the edge.

He dipped his head, his breath hot against your skin. “I need to hear every delicious sound you make, every gasp and moan.” He murmured, the rasp in his voice thickening with each thrust.

As if in response, you moaned louder, the heat pooling between your legs intensifying as you clung to him. The urgency in his movements grew, his thrusts becoming a frantic tempo, pounding into you with a force that sent waves of ecstasy crashing inside your entire pussy. You could feel him nearing his peak, the way his cock hardened impossibly harder inside you, leaving copious amounts of precum between your walls. The quickening pace of his breath and the tightening grip on your hips only made it more evident.

“My love…” He purred, his voice a seductive growl that resonated deep within your pussy. “I want to feel you cum around me…”

“Please…” You pleaded in a whisper, not fully sure of what you were pleading.

Astarion surged forward, claiming you with a fervour that stole the breath from your lungs. Every thrust felt overwhelming, as though he were trying to mark you as his own, to leave a lasting imprint on your body and soul. Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, a primal dance that sent shockwaves through you both, pushing you closer to the precipice of bliss.

As the words sunk in, you felt your walls tighten further around his cock. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and the delicious pressure built higher and higher, threatening to spill over.

“Together…” You gasped, feeling the edge draw nearer. “I—” His lips crashed against yours in a fierce kiss, drowning out your words as his tongue rapidly tangled with yours. The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you entwined in this frenzied embrace. And then, as if replying to your unspoken plea, the dam broke.

Your climax hit you like a storm, pulsing through your core and leaving you spent as your arms tightened around him and your hips moved to fuck his cock as well. Astarion let out a shuddering moan that broke the kiss, his grip almost bruising you as he reached his own release, his body trembling and spasming as yours with the intensity of it. You felt his warm cum exploding inside you, each release sending a delicious sensation up your womb and cervix, prolonging the endless pleasure crashing through you. His hands held you against him as you both rode out ecstasy, lost in the shared, heady sensation of being completely intertwined as he kept buried inside you.

You clung to him, surrendering to the exquisite moment, feeling utterly consumed by the heat and the connection that bound you together. The aftermath left you gasping for air with your heart racing, both of you lost in the afterglow of passion.

As the lingering waves of your climax subsided after a while in each other's arms, you gazed at Astarion, a playful smile tugging at your lips. His tousled hair fell charmingly over his forehead, and a layer of sweat glistened on his skin, making him look beautiful and irresistibly enchanting.

“You know…” You started softly with a glimmer in your eyes, “You look absolutely adorable like this, all consumed by your heat.” Your heart fluttered as you watched his brows knit together in playful disbelief.

“Adorable?” One of his eyebrows went up. “I assure you, my dear, that’s the last thing on my mind right now.”

“Oh, come on!” You replied, laughter bubbling up like the sweetest melody for his ears. “Just look at you! You’ve never looked more charming—practically irresistible!”

He warmly chuckled, a rich sound that filled the air with joy. “My dear, I was merely indulging in what is quite natural for me. Thank you.”

You feigned a dramatic gasp, placing a hand over your heart in mock shock. “Darling! Just admit it! What an honour it is to see you in such a cute light! Who knew a fierce vampire could also be a cuddly little beast?”

Astarion rolled his eyes, but the smile that tugged at his lips was an undeniable admission of his enjoyment. “Cuddly? Now you’re pushing it, sweetie.”

“Maybe.” You said, leaning closer to him as your eyes sparkled while you batted your eyelashes playfully. “But honestly, there was something so sweet about you right now. You were so lost in the moment, like watching a passionate artist at work.”

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms with an exaggerated huff, his attempt to maintain composure failing delightfully. “I suppose I must allow you this little delusion, but do not mistake my passion for cuteness.”

“Whatever you say, my fierce little vampire.” You joked, inching even closer. “But I stand by my word. You’re absolutely adorable.”

With a soft, fluttering laugh, you reached up to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. The moment felt electric, charged with love and affection. Astarion’s lips curled against yours before reciprocating your kiss, and for a fleeting second, the heat of passion intertwined with the sweetness of the moment, turning the surrounding air into something truly magical.

As you pulled back, you found him looking at you, a soft smile gracing his features that melted your heart. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” He murmured in a playful voice mixed with exasperation and fondness.

“Only for you.” You replied, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “And I think you love it. A reason more to the list for being with me!”

“Don’t say it too loud.” He replied, the playful glint in his eyes betraying his bravado.

You laughed, his presence enveloping you as you revelled in the playful banter, your hearts intertwining in the sweetest ways. At that moment, every worry faded, leaving only the bliss of shared affection, laughter, and the delightful intimacy of you two.

‎

[almostfoxglove]

ONE NIGHT EARLY

a secret santa surprise for @talaok ! ✨ as part of @pedrostories' #pedrostoriesgift24 event ✨

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Joel Miller x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 2.2k | CW: Established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, brief reference to canon-typical violence / danger / the end of the world, but you're safe.

SUMMARY: You vow to find out where Joel hides his Christmas gifts while he's away on patrol.

read on ao3 | main masterlist | get notifs

It has to be here somewhere.

In the three years since you moved in with Joel—hell, even in the two years before that—you have never found your Christmas present before the day. The man’s determined, sworn to his secrecy. Takes great pride in catching you snooping around, digging, scurryin’, as he once muttered under his breath, shaking his head with that charm and smirk you can’t help but fall for. Every year, you swear you’ll find it, and Joel just crosses his arms with a shrug, cheek dimpled and eyes dark with affection, and tells you good luck, darlin’, confident you won’t.

This year, though. This year will be different because for the whole week leading up to Christmas, Joel is away with Tommy on patrol and you have the house to yourself. Seven days of freedom to pry and stick your nose where it probably doesn’t belong.

It takes you two days to tear the house apart. Every dish yanked from his cupboard, every shirt and worn pair of jeans thrown from the closet, every pocket turned out—you flip the mattress and unbundle his socks and rip the covers off all the couch cushions and find fuck all. One old, oxidized penny. Dust bunnies, dryer lint, wood shavings. Spent matches, a bullet case. A fossilized receipt robbed of its printed contents.

You spend two more going through everything again. The place is a dump; when Ellie swings by to borrow his guitar she lifts one eyebrow at you from the doorway, weary of the tornado you’ve left scattered across the first floor. Says, “Good to know four days is all it takes for you to lose your shit.”

“I’m not losing my shit,” you say, one hand waving dismissively as you climb the stairs. 

Quick on your heels she mutters, “Whatever you say, grandma,” just loud enough for you to hear. 

When she’s gone, you take a deep breath. The living room is a slaughter, more disastrous than the aftermath of any raiders or weather event. Couch cushions stand mountainous and stripped naked, the carpet’s rolled up against one wall, all the charcoal and half-spent logs have been scraped from the fireplace onto the floor. You’ll admit that might not have been strictly necessary, but you’ve looked everywhere, checked everything, and uncovered zilch. No gifts. And at the very least, Joel has—with his handsome, freckled, silvered face proud and smiling—conceded that his hiding spot is in the house. Doesn’t stash nothing at Tommy’s or in Ellie’s garage. It’s here. Somewhere. Driving you up the goddamn wall.

It’s not like you even know what you’re looking for, but you’ll know when you see it—of this you are sure.

Room by room, you reassemble the house, shuffling all the knick-knacks you’ve each cautiously assembled in this bizarre second chance at a life into their proper positions. His carvings are your favorites, and you rehome them on their shelves with care. You slide the few photographs each of you has into line on the mantle, behind the string lights. It ain’t the same as the world that for nearly thirty years has been dead and gone, but now and then you get flickers of that long-absent comfort. The day the Christmas lights go up in Jackson. The snowmen built by your neighbor’s kids in the street. Jars of homemade strawberry jam. 

Ellie and Joel playing guitar, his deep timbre humming along to her clumsy chords. 

The tight squeeze of your chest when his boots croak the porch and you know he’s finally home. 

The softness of his face first thing in the morning, scarred and weathered, kind. All the long tresses of his graying hair slumped out of place.

As you restore the house’s comfort and clutter over the shrinking days of his absence, you recheck and recheck and recheck and continue to come up empty. At night in the black veil of your shared bedroom, you sleep on his side of the bed with your face crushed in his pillow, breathing him in. 

On the 24th, you wake prepared to wave the white flag when he returns in the evening. You’re going to pout about it, but you’ll give in. Surrender to the superiority of his stupid, squirrelling mind, and admit once and for all that he’s bested you. You have no fucking clue where he hides his gifts. He wins. But you sulk as the day bleeds by, and more than once catch yourself affixed with a frown as you trudge through the crunch of Jackson’s snow-packed streets. As you groom the horses due for the next patrol shift and eat your dinner in the mess hall across from folks you’re only half listening to as they regale you with tales of their day, too distracted by the scrape of spoons against bowls and the emptiness of your hands.

Greedy, that’s what you’re being. Wanting all of him for yourself. You just miss him. You hate when patrol stretches this long, leaving you alone with your cloying worry.

After the sun has set and bowls have emptied, Jackson goes blue. All the snow piled to frame the gravel roads glitters with fresh frost and ice. On your way back to the house, you watch your shadow slide and flicker as you pass beneath the warmth of streetlamps. Someone down the road has a window open, letting the notes of their piano ribbon through the air. 

Even with all the lights and the chatter that tonight could bring fresh snow to the valley, you can’t help but feel a hollowness that you’ve only managed to shake when Joel’s around and the two of you are alone. It’s not all the time, but it happens—a magic you’d believed impossible before you stumbled across this Eden half-dead and were brought inside. Impossible until you met him, and everything latched into place. 

You’ve loved before. Almost got married once, in the world that’s gone. But there’s no comparing how it felt to fall slowly, clumsily into Joel. 

You’re not sure when he’s due to return tonight. Hopefully soon.

Shedding layers as you tread into the hollow house, you light a weakling’s fire in the hearth you know he’ll tease you for, then ascend to your bedroom to change, flicking the light on upstairs so he knows, whenever he gets back, that you’re home. Waiting for him, empty-handed but no less relieved. But as you cross the gold-lit bedroom, a floorboard near the foot of the bed wheezes strangely. This whole house croaks and groans just like everything in Jackson—that sure ain’t new—but this sound is different. You’re not sure you’ve heard it before. Not sure you’ve ever stepped in this exact place.

A grin slips sharp across your face at the smell of victory. You kick back the corner of the rug to bring your heel down hard against the board beneath it, and pop. Up comes the plank, perfect as a seesaw, revealing the black cavern beneath. 

In the shadowed hideaway, a small box lies in the dark beneath the floor.

There it is.

But all the world beyond this room, this box, disappears the moment you set it in your palm.

You don’t hear the porch steps’ announcement, nor the turn of the latch. You don’t hear the squealing door or how the heavy footsteps soften as he removes his boots to leave outside. Not even your name, often intoxicating on his tongue, reaches you in the bedroom—nor when he repeats it on the stairs. 

You’re too busy staring at what you’ve found after all you’re searching.

Then Joel’s in the doorway behind you, and you wake from what you’ve just now begun to believe must be some strange dream.

“Stubborn,” comes his voice, and at the sound you smack the box against your chest to hide it as you whirl around, still on your knees. Stupid you know. Useless. He can see the rug peeled back and the hole cut out of the floor, slender as a piano key. He knows you’ve won.

Broad in the door’s wooden frame, pink-cheeked and snug in his leather coat, Joel stands with the frosting of fresh snow clinging to his hair. He’s been growing it out, to your great pleasure, letting all his silver and curls go free. “I didn’t—” you start to say, but the words thin out and crumble. Your head’s not on quite straight, your heart not yet settled. Eyes still nickel round with shock.

You hadn’t considered how he might react if you succeeded. Maybe he’ll be mad. Take it back. 

But as you stare up at him, all bambi, Joel shakes his head and one snow-dotted curl slips out from the shell of his ear. As he rights it, his scarred hand rising, you see the dirt under his nails in the warm light. The stain on the knee of his jeans. You see too his lips, plush and touched by winter’s aridity, as they twitch in one corner, curling into his cheek. Curling up. Smiling as his eyes hold yours, not mad. Not shy. He’s been inside long enough now that there’s a fifty-fifty chance that the color in his cheeks might even be a blush. 

“Are you mad?” you ask, your voice soft enough to call a whisper.

He shakes his head again, steps over the threshold, and amber light from the lamp falls over him like Midas, turning him from man to gold. One step more and his mouth pulls wider, cuts that wink in his cheek you can’t help but stare at. “Course not,” he says gently. “Knew you were lookin’. Y’can have it one night early.”

It probably doesn’t mean what you think it means, but you’re surprised to discover you’re hoping as you swallow hard, blinking some of the shock from your eyes. He’s here; you ought to get up and hug him—welcome him home, your person here, safe and whole—but you’re too scared to move. Terrified that any flinch will make the box and its contents disappear. 

“Is this for me?”

Wry, he rolls his eyes. “Think you know it is.”

“I feel bad,” you say. “I got you a shirt.”

He’s generous enough to chuckle, and the low, earthy sound of it strikes flames along the column of your neck. “Could use a new shirt,” he says, smirking a little. “This one needs a wash.”

“Shut up,” you chide, but the words come out weak. He’s not allowed to joke right now because if you laugh, you might start to cry.

“Darlin’,” he says too softly. That’s the tone that makes honey of your insides, cruel in the gentle way it asks you to let him in.

Though your vision starts to puddle, you wrestle the feeling back. “S’pretty.”

The slightest nod. Then he unzips his coat to lay over the armchair in the corner of the room and you watch him, pinned to the floor despite the ache in your knees. “Was hopin’ you’d think so,” he admits with his back to you, the blades and muscles in his shoulders and back sliding gracefully beneath his flannel like waves on a lake. Antithetical to the thunder of your heart, Joel moves with a patience you can’t quite believe. In no rush at all, like you’re not holding what you’re holding in your shaking hands. Like some little band of metal doesn’t mean what it did before the world bit the dust and fell away.

The question sits like an icicle on your tongue, slowly melting, pooling behind your teeth. 

Joel lumbers back, the soreness of his body just barely visible in his bow-legged stride, to sit on the edge of the bed just behind you. The mattress squeaks. One hand cards through his hair. Slow is his next breath. Steady. But on the exhale, you swear you hear the tiniest shake, a tiny tremble. 

Realization strikes down at you like lightning: electric and tingling, zipping skull to spine to fingertips, blinding and white. He’s nervous. 

Which means the ring in your hand isn’t just a ring.

Lamblike, you force yourself to your feet and the mattress mouses as you sink against his side. Igneous is his body against yours—such a familiar warmth. Rigid and walled to all but a few. Open to you, in moments like these, when he lets you glimpse the whole of him in his eyes and you swear you might be capable of reading the thoughts straight from his mind. Joel nudges his arm harder to yours, and you see the question coming before it slips from his tongue. You see it brewing in the gilt of his eyes just as clearly as you hear your own answer ricochet in your head. 

You don’t cut him off, jump to yes. Instead you lower your hands from their hold against your chest at last, letting the box sit in your lap, open to his regard. Evening lamplight makes ice of the clear stone set squarely on its ring, and the heat of his breath kisses your cheek as he leans in to mumble,

“Y’gonna make me get down on one knee?”

dividers by @saradika-graphics!

NOTE: I am officially moving away from tag lists as they've gotten lengthy (thank you for that <3) so please follow @foxglovenotifs and turn on notifications to get alerts for future updates!

[violetsunburn]

The ghost war pr1

"Dear Justice leaders, I, King of the infinite realms, high King phantom. Has requested a meeting of the diplomatic level tonight at 6:00 p.m. My fright knights and I will meet you to discuss issues regarding my people please be prepared and await our arrival.""Long reign the king and may the infinite grant us peace and prosperity."

The Justice League was in an emergency meeting that was surprisingly called by John Constantine. Everyone in the League knew about the infinite realms and the terrifying king that ruled. But the knights? They were kept under wraps, they worked in the shadows of the realms.

Now that they know that the King of the infinite realm will be at the Watchtower in minutes? It's terrifying, and the leaguers had all hands on deck and they needed to know what was coming.

John started "there are four knights, but don't let the numbers fool you, one of them could replace an army. They are all undoubtedly loyal to the king and will do whatever he asks."

"The First one is the King's right hand, he is the Red knight. He is the Spirit of Sanctuary and he has Soul Shredder. To put it short when the Soul Shredder cuts someone, they are teleported to an alternate dimension where their greatest fears become real."

"The second one is Sir Wren Hallow, he is the fright knight, and he is the Spirit of Halloween. He used to serve the pariah dark but after king phantom took the crown he began to served him. He is the co-leader of the military and he is more calmed down but is still brutal."

"Then there's the King's sister the Spirit of Freedom. She is the other co-leader of the military, and despite wanting freedom she is ruthless. She is also the unspoken leader of the Fright Knights."

"Last one is The Spectre they are a divine entity representing vengeance on behalf of The Presence, considered God in the context of Abrahamic religion. They are the  Spirit of Retribution, and will put the punishment they see fit which 9 times out of 10 isn't bloody Sunshine and rainbows."

After John finished his speech and left the Leaguers speechless. These knights could probably go toe to toe with the league but even Batman had to admit with the king? The Justice League had no chance if it was a fair fight.

Superman was the one to break the silence "Do they have any weakness, or a way to give us a chance?"

Constantine sighed and put his hands in his hair, brushing it back. "No, they have no kryptonite, no rocks or gadgets that could even slow them down. The only thing I can think of is hope we can help the king."

The Justice Leaguers fell back into silence and they waited for about a minute. Then the Watchtower began to get colder and darkness began to swirl into a slow tornado. John eyed the other Leaders and gave them a look them screamed one thing "that's them".

[murdrdocs]

always has been, always will be

description. it was only a matter of time before you realized how hard you've fallen for your roommate.

includes. roommate!tyler owens, so much fluff, pining, appearance of reader's ex, protective tyler, sexual tension, copious amounts of pet names, minor display of anxiety, drinking,

wc. 3.5k+

a/n: before you ask, i am not opposed to a part two. no promises.

You’re jolted out of a deep, and much-needed, sleep by the sound of bowls crashing onto the floor. You lay there for a second, trying to listen for any other sound while calming your racing heart. When nothing else comes, you grab your phone from the nightstand and through squinty eyes start to check locations. 

Your parents are home, your best friend is at work, and there—Tyler Owens, 0 miles away. His contact, the cartoonish drawing of him usually seen on a tee shirt, hovers right above the blue dot that represents you. 

The giddiness that instantly floods your body is embarrassing. It pulls you out of bed, somehow being the only thing to convince you to wake up on your day off, and drags your feet into the kitchen. You don’t bother checking your appearance on the way out, Tyler has seen you through your worst since he nursed you back to health during flu season, and he’s seen you first thing in the morning many times before. 

But when he lifts his head from behind a cabinet at the sound of your slippers dragging against the floor, the shock on his face momentarily scares you. Do you look like absolute shit?

It’s not until Tyler grins, luckily a split second later, that you relax. 

“Sorry,” he says, looking back into the cabinet and closing it with three ingredients in his hand. “Butter fingers.”

You yawn, walking into the kitchen and sitting at the island. “‘s okay. When did you get back? I thought y’all were gonna be in Missouri for a few more days.”

Tyler brings the ingredients to the island, settling them down in front of you on the other side. It’s then that you realize what he’s making. Brioche bread that’s about to expire, sugar, eggs, milk, cinnamon, a tub of fruit that definitely wasn’t in your fridge. 

The memory of the taste of Tyler’s French toast makes itself familiar at the tip of your tongue without your permission. 

“We were, but then Boone got a tip that there would be some action happening right back here,” he cracks the egg into one of your mixing bowls, “so here we are.”

Home. Tyler’s back home for the first time in weeks. He won’t be here for long, but that’s okay. It’s the deal you initially wanted whenever you talked to Tyler with interest in him being your roommate. 

It was nearly a year ago now, right at the end of peak tornado season of last year. Tyler had been in Arkansas doing what he usually did, wrangling tornadoes with the others with him. You knew who he was, it was impossible not to, especially living right outside of his hometown. But you had never crossed paths, not until your sweet, but meddling, grandmother—bless her heart—told you that the grandson of her Bingo partner was looking for a place to stay. Permanently. Or, as permanent as a home for a storm chaser could be. 

You were desperate, struggling financially and emotionally with a still-fresh breakup weighing on your mind. So when Tyler Owens swooped in with a brunch recommendation, promises to pay his half of the rent on time, and explanations that he would rarely be home during summer months, you jumped on the deal. 

You should’ve known that you would’ve developed a small crush on him, but that’s all it is. A small crush on a guy who was sweet enough to make you breakfast since he dropped in. It would surely go away soon enough. 

“How long are you staying for?” You’re already preparing yourself for heartbreak when you ask the question. Initially, you liked the idea of having your house all to yourself. All of the freedom, half of the financial responsibility. 

But when you and Tyler grew closer, you started to hate the summer. 

“Um…” he hesitates, adding copious amounts of cinnamon into the mixture while he drags the word out. Is he stalling? “A couple days. Maybe three?”

You try to hide your disappointment but Tyler is already trying to make you feel better. 

He looks up, mouth broken into a wide smile that shows his white teeth. “But I’m here to make it worth your while. Breakfast, I’ll take you wrangling with us if you’d like, and then Betsy’s on me. Yeah?”

The promise of quality time and fattening barbecue was enough to brighten your mood. 

“Yeah.”

You knew you weren’t particularly fond of storm chasing, but you found yourself with the others anyway. And after an EF-0 where you prayed and clutched the harness strapped across your chest and Tyler’s hand across the console, you swore to yourself—and mostly Tyler—that you would never do it again. Even though the joy from the others was infectious and you found yourself giggling with Tyler when it was all over. 

Tyler quickly made it up to you, though. He called it a day earlier than you thought he would. You knew he did it on your behalf, but he pretended like it was a strategic decision. 

“Most of the action will be tomorrow anyway.” 

And he was probably telling the truth, but you saw the shock in Boone’s eyes as Tyler told the others that the two of you were going to split off for Betsy’s just when the day was getting started. He ditched the others for you, and it made your heart flutter. 

The two of you end up in a familiar place, seated in the back corner booth of Betsy’s. You’re nestled up against the window, wearing the sweatshirt you left in Tyler’s car months ago. You’re shocked he still had it, but he assured you that he would never give it away. And if he did, he would’ve given you a Tornado Wrangler one for free to make up for it. 

“Tell me what you’ve been up to while I was gone.”

You tear your eyes away from the window to look at Tyler. You shouldn’t be shocked that he was already looking at you, he was speaking to you, but something about the way he looks at you will always make your heartbeat a little extra hard for a moment. 

You hum, lifting your eyes and thinking. There’s nothing you’ve been doing other than trying to keep sane.

“There were a few weeks there where I almost bought a dog.”

Tyler’s eyebrows raise but he doesn’t seem opposed to the idea. “Really?” he asks. 

You nod, reaching out to take a sip from your drink. “Yeah. Someone in town had rescued a puppy and he was just calling my name.”

“What would you have named him?”

You hesitate, trying to keep the embarrassment from finding your face as you fix your lips to tell Tyler the truth. “...Wrangler.”

He grins and you’re already trying to do damage control. Tyler beats you to it. 

“You missed me that much? C’mon, sugar.”

The pet name almost slips by you in your haste. Almost. 

“That wouldn’t even have been why! You’re so full of yourself, Ty.”

“You make it so easy. Don’t blame me.”

Your laughter refuses to subside even when the waiter comes to check on you both. Tyler manages to tell her that everything’s fine, while also smoothly ordering your favorite slice of pie. You didn’t even have to ask for it. He just knew. 

By the time the order’s placed, you’ve calmed down a bit, taking small sips of water in an attempt to calm down the heat in your body. 

“A German shepherd…” He nods to himself. “Loyal. Intelligent. Good search and rescue dogs. I bet Wrangler would’ve been a good addition to the house. Someone to keep you company while I’m gone.”

You try to pretend that’s not the exact reason why you wanted a dog in the first place. “And I would’ve taught him to chew on the bottom of all your jeans.”

“Well, luckily I like the rugged look.” A second goes by. “What else were you doing?”

You shake your head, your way of telling him that’s it. 

“He didn’t come by again, did he?”

A painful kick meets your insides at the mention of your ex. You knew Tyler would’ve asked you about Beau since the breakup is what allowed Tyler to move in in the first place. He hadn’t ever mentioned him before, not until Beau showed up drunk one night and demanded you let him back in. It was a terrifying and embarrassing moment for you, but it also started the bond between you and Tyler. 

Unfortunately, if it weren’t for that night, you and Tyler would’ve never been as close as you are today. He wouldn’t have even known your pie order and you probably would’ve had a year-old dog for companionship by now. 

“No. I haven’t seen him since that night.”

Tyler nods, grinning up at the waiter as she brings your pie and Tyler’s banana pudding over. 

“That’s good. And the security system works well on the house, right?”

You nod in a response, sticking your fork into your pie. 

“I’ve been checking in periodically when I’m on the road. Testing the cameras. You’re giving the tomatoes too much water, by the way.”

You’re instantly on the defensive, abandoning the next perfect piece of pie that you’d just separated for yourself. Your eyes lift, settling on Tyler, but quickly you glance behind him, and shit. 

He’s here. 

Your face must drop or something because Tyler instantly sees that something is different. He quietly asks you what’s wrong, the same tone he uses whenever you’re sick smoothing over his words, but when you don’t answer, he turns around and looks for himself. 

He swears, already turning back around. “Do you wanna leave? If you go ahead out to the truck I can cover the check. Here, pull your hood up, and you can wear my hat—”

You shake your head, staring right back at Tyler and ignoring the pull that tries to get you to look at Beau. “No. Let’s finish our dessert.”

Tyler blinks, his lips parted. You can tell he wants to ask if you’re sure, but he doesn’t. He takes a second, staring at you, and then he sits back, clears his throat, and dips his spoon into his banana pudding. 

Your heart speeds up until it’s painful in your chest. You worry for a second, image after image of everything that could go wrong flooding your mind. Tears sting your eyes but you try to sniff them away, busying yourself with dividing your pie up into pieces that you don’t even attempt to eat. 

“Honey,” Tyler says, “eat your pie.”

You feed yourself a bite and are instantly reminded of you why like it so much. 

Tyler continues to talk to you about the garden, telling you that the conditions this summer weren’t really living up to last summer so the lackluster harvest from your tomatoes wasn’t necessarily you’re fault, but the entire time you’re simply praying that Beau will leave before he notices you. 

You glance his way multiple times, staring at the side of him as he stands at the bar, likely waiting on a to-go order. Briefly, you can’t help but miss him and the way he would always pick up dinner here on Sundays. 

It’s a Friday. 

You wonder what else about his routine has changed.

Tyler continues. “There might be better conditions leading into the Fall but truly, I doubt it. It might just be time to say goodbye to the garden for now…”

You nod, mindlessly eating pie while Beau grabs his bag and turns around. You should’ve looked down or at Tyler because as soon as he turns, he looks at you. 

He lingers for a second, staring, and you do the same. Beau smiles, tight and friendly, and lifts a hand in a wave. 

You do the exact same, not giving more energy even though something in you wants him to come over and speak to you. 

Quicker than you can realize, Tyler turns around and throws up two fingers in a wave to Beau. Beau leaves not long afterward, and you can’t help but wonder if he thinks you and Tyler are dating now. 

The idea is appealing. 

“Why does it always take you so long to get out of the car?”

“You don’t have to wait, just go inside.”

“Now that wouldn’t be very chivalrous, would it?”

“Thought chivalry was dead.”

Tyler scoffs as if you’ve offended him. “As long as I’m alive it sure ain’t.”

You purse your lips to fight off a smile. “You sound like Boone.”

“He’s my brother from another mother for a reason.”

Their twin-like synchronization will always be equal parts weird and admirable. 

Tyler watches you struggle to put your boot on, holding the door open for you the entire time. You really do feel bad that you’re taking so long, but midway through the drive your purse opened and spilled its contents out onto the floor. That, paired with your tendency to get really comfortable in Tyler’s truck, has you taking longer than usual to get out of the car. 

Tyler stood silently for the first minute, but after that, he’d—rightfully—grown frustrated. 

“Okay, almost done. Just looking for my lip gloss.”

You hear the tension in Tyler’s voice when he responds. “Just leave it. I’ll find it in the morning.”

You squint, searching under the seat through your spread legs. “You’ll forget.”

When you jump out of the car, he seems excited, until you bend over and peer under the seat with a better look. Tyler sighs but you ignore him. 

You swear you’ve almost found it but then it comes out of nowhere—a crack of thunder that resounds throughout the sky, immediately followed by rain pouring down. There are no warning drops, it comes out altogether, but Tyler acts quickly. 

He pushes you into the house, treating you like you’re in the military, yelling “Go! Go! Go!” against the sound of rain. 

By the time you get inside, you can feel the damage done to your hair. You’re already wincing, looking into the mirror in front of the door, turning your face this way and that. 

“If you weren’t taking so long—” Tyler doesn’t get to respond before you’re glaring at him through the mirror. He throws his hands up in surrender, but they soon drop to your waist instead. 

Just this casual touch warms your chest. 

“You look fine,” He reassures, even though your hair textures are different in multiple spots. But he says it like he means it, and not like he’s just trying to make you feel better. He stares at you through the mirror, his body right behind yours. 

You give up trying to fix it, besides there’s not much you can do without products and tools. Instead, you turn around, watching Tyler easily slip off his boots. You do the same with yours, placing them both together by the door. 

It looks right. It is right. 

Just as right as Tyler’s suggestion of popping open a bottle of wine and throwing on reruns. 

He tells you about the storms they’ve been chasing while you pass the bottle back and forth, occasionally stopping to criticize the actions of the characters on your TV as if this is the first time he’d seen this. 

It’s not until you’re three episodes in and trying to fight off the wine sleepiness (and horniness) that Tyler turns to face you. 

“Hey,” he says, resting his hand on your ankle that sits right beside his thigh. “You doing okay?”

At first, you don’t understand the point of the question. “Yep. Trying not to fall asleep.”

He smiles as if he shares the sentiment, but still shakes his head. “‘s not what I mean. After earlier, are you okay?”

“Oh. Yeah. ‘m fine, Ty. Thanks.”

He doesn’t press it anymore. 

“Sorry I’ve been gone.”

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s what we agreed on.”

“I know but it doesn’t feel right leaving you here all alone.” 

“I’m fine, Tyler. Seriously.”

“I know, I know. You can take care of yourself. But I like taking care of you, too. I like being here for you.” 

You turn to face Tyler, staring at the way the pink lights of a commercial illuminate the side of his face. He looks so honest as he usually does, but there’s something in his eyes that you haven’t seen before. Maybe it’s always been there, but you hadn’t been looking for it. 

Now, it’s plain and simple, sitting right there for you to do something with. 

Just as you’re about to do something, Tyler turns back to face the TV. You push away the dismal feeling that threatens to crawl up your throat. 

It fizzes away a bit whenever Tyler rubs his thumb over your ankle. 

You feel like you’re dreaming. Maybe you are. Maybe you dozed off on the couch to Tyler rubbing soothing circles over your ankle and the arch of your foot while you both mindlessly watched reality TV. You glance down at your hand, seeing only what you’re supposed to be seeing, and then you look back up at Tyler to see what you shouldn’t be seeing. 

You’ve lived in denial for a while. It’s been easy to pretend that you didn’t like Tyler because there’s no way he could like you too. He’s just a gentleman, raised right by his momma, and that had always been the explanation. Tyler’s upbringing explained why he was so eager to risk the flu just to help you out, why he drove an hour just to give you a jump when your battery died, why he taught you line dances until you were a puddle of sweat on your living room floor. Why he ditched his friends to hang out with you, why he briefly abandoned his one true love—tornado wrangling—to give you a day he thought you deserved. Why he punched your ex without any hesitation at the first sign of disrespect.

But Tyler’s upbringing didn’t put this look in his eyes. A look so defined that you cannot deny it anymore.

Both of you stand in front of your bedroom doors, backs turned to the wood in order to face the other. Tyler stares down at you, eyes lidded with bags beneath, but no less infatuated.  

He doesn’t say anything. He just looks. 

You speak first. 

“I missed having you home, Ty.”

This surprises him. He tilts his head, letting the surprise show on his face as his eyebrows raise and his eyes widen. “I knew you did, honey bun. But what happened to loving the place all to yourself?”

You shrug, trying to be nonchalant even though your feelings are anything but. “Turns out that’s boring and too quiet. I miss your chaos.”

“You miss my chaos?” He nods as he says it, astonishment on his face. “And that’s supposed to be a compliment?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, turning around, and reaching for your door. “You knew it was a compliment, asshole.”

He’s laughing through his apology. It’s as lighthearted as your chastising. 

He extends his arms, wrapping them around your body and hugging you from behind. You don’t mean to meld with his shape as quickly and easily as you do, but maybe that’s the thing. It’s natural for you to fit yourself right into Tyler, just like it was natural for him to fit himself right into your life.

He hums, resting his chin against your head. 

“I missed you, too, love bug.” Ugh, the nickname. He makes it sound like you’re in love with him. 

(Are you?)

You spin around in Tyler’s arms, doing so easily with the space he gives you, but then he’s right back on you, arms wrapped around your shoulders and your head resting on his chest. 

You have your arms wrapped around his waist, breathing in the soft scent of laundry detergent, outside, and his cologne all melding on the cotton of his shirt. 

You sigh, content with what life has given you. 

When you say, “I’m glad you made it home”, it comes out naturally. You feel it deep within you, glad that whatever divine intervention or luck was on your side to bring Tyler back safely. 

When he agrees with an earnest, “I’m glad I’m home”, he says it like he means it too, and you’re sure he does. 

A moment goes by and Tyler calls your name. You hum, waiting for him to say something as you lazily blink at him. 

“If I asked to kiss you, what would you say?”

Your answer is quick. “I would say yes.”

Tyler nods. “And if I asked you to come spend the night in my room, what would you say?”

You think about it for a second, trying to ignore the fluttering in your stomach and the way your heart has kickstarted. “I would say no.”

His face falls. You pick it back up. 

“My room’s better.”

Tyler smiles through his annoyance, already stepping towards your bedroom. You lead him in, one hand on the doorknob as you continue to face him. His hands find your waist, holding you steady and close to him as you both enter your bedroom. It’s not until you’re both standing in your room that he pushes his lips to yours. 

[ddejavvu]

for a Tyler request what about him and reader getting into a really bad argument and storming off and when he cools down he can’t find her and is panicking

Alive and Crazy - Tyler Owens x Reader

come participate in tyler owens night !

Perhaps it was cruel of you to pick such a secluded hiding spot, but after all, isn't that what hiding's all about? Perhaps then the cruel part was hiding at all. But you can't shake Tyler's vicious words, "Y'know, if you don't stop trying to hold me back, maybe I should just cut myself loose."

All this over a tornado? His lifestyle is... intense. You are of the opinion that Tyler's hobby is ridiculously dangerous, and while you're slightly comforted by the safety precautions he takes (especially the drills that anchor his truck into the ground), you're less than impressed with the way he shows off and makes those precautions almost useless. Really, does he need to lean out of the window to see how long he can handle it? You'd only been trying to find some middle ground, but Tyler apparently seems to think you're trying to chain him up in the basement to prevent him from ever having any fun.

There's a secluded cabinet in the back of your laundry room that's perfect for hiding - just big enough to fit in and with an outlet for easy phone charging. You're just about to hit your two hour mark huddled in the cabinet when you hear thundering footsteps nearing your location.

"Baby? Hey, baby, y'gotta tell me where you are. Come on, baby, just wanna know you're safe. You in here?"

That's the last thing you hear before daylight spills into your dark cabinet, and your phone's screen becomes instantly duller in comparison. You glare up unimpressed at Tyler but his face crumples in relief so fast that you can barely hold the expression.

"Shit darlin'." He heaves a sigh, and any sympathy you'd felt for him instantly disappears when he has the gall to scold you next, "Do you know how damn long I've been looking for you?"

"Oh I'm sorry," You bite up at him, rage reigniting in your eyes, "Does my need for space inconvenience you?"

"No!" He nearly shrieks, but he reins himself in, "No, no, that's not- I shouldn't have said it like that. I was just worried."

"Well I'm not sure why," You turn back to your phone, but there's no concentration present as you mindlessly scroll, "I'd have expected you to be out enjoying your freedom seeing as you're cutting yourself loose."

"I'm not cutting myself loose." He vows, and it's soft instead of his typical drawl. He crouches, then makes the terrible, horrible decision to attempt to fit into the crawlspace with you.

"No- no, Tyler, you can't fit!" You squeal as he shoulders his way in, pressed flush to his body as he settles in a space half his size.

"It's fine." He grunts, but it's labored and very much not fine, "I just wanna be near you."

"I don't wanna be near you." You sneer, but you make no move to get up, "The whole reason I'm squeezed into this cabinet is because I was trying to hide from you."

"Did a damn good job, too." He admits, head slumped against the wall instead of your shoulder, "I was runnin' around for almost half an hour."

"Serves you right." You grumble, "Don't say mean shit if you want people to like you."

"I know." He reaches out and sets a hand on your knee, chaste and reassuring, "I'm sorry, darlin'. I just- lost control, or something. I don't know. I've been doin' this my whole life, and when you try to tell me how to do it, it makes me feel like you don't think I can handle it myself."

"Tyler, no one can. Some of the things that you're doing-" You stop yourself short, "I'm not saying you can't have fun. I'm not saying you can't chase- er, wrangle tornadoes. I'm just saying you don't have to keep trying to outdo yourself. There has to be a limit, otherwise you'll get killed."

He's silent after your speech, perhaps mulling it over, perhaps drafting his counterargument. In the end, he tips his head from the wall to your shoulder, and murmurs close to your ear.

"Yeah. You're right. I think... I think I just don't know when to stop sometimes."

"I agree with that," You try to keep too much accusation from seeping into your tone, "But that's why I said something. I don't want you to stop, I just don't want it to stop you."

"Yeah. Alright. I understand." And he sounds like he does. He laces his fingers with yours like he does, and he cranes his neck to peck his lips against your cheek like he does.

"You're not holding me back," He promises, "What I said earlier... that was dumb. This is a partnership, not some sort of prison sentence. I love you, darlin'."

"I love you too," You sigh, leaning sideways into his embrace, "You promise no more hanging out of windows?"

"I promise I won't anymore. Can't promise nothin' for Boone."

"Boone's crazy," You laugh, "You're all crazy. I just want you alive and crazy."

"Deal." Tyler grins, holding out a pinky and letting you lock it with yours, "Alive and crazy, darlin'."

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Wildflower

Summary: Tyler Owens x Fe!Reader -> Finding yourself a little lost, through some conversations, laughter and a bunch of wildflowers, you find something more than just friendship in Tyler Owens.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff, little angst (kinda) reader doesn't have the best relationship with her family -- they're a lot. Found family vibes with Reader and the Wranglers. Tyler is mentioned to be an EMT and a weatherman. Not Proof Read.

The media always painted him as a heartthrob. New Tornado-Chasing, Thrill Seeking Heartthrob Tyler Owens spotted in the same town as…And he took it as a compliment. He’d been getting similar headlines and comments since he started on the rodeo circuit. 

What he didn’t like was when he was painted as a heartbreaker, pitted against people who he’d only really held a conversation with. No dates, no kisses, not even a hug come to think of it. Maybe a handshake at most. 

And it wasn’t like he dated much. Well, not at all really. 

Between chasing Tornadoes throughout the year, but mostly in the summer and spending the rest of his time working around research, data production, his channel, the few guest lectures he did at his old University campus and even the odd appearance as a local weatherman when he visited his folks, he didn’t have time to date. 

He also didn’t have the heart to do so. 

Something had always stopped him from taking a date further than a month. And it wasn’t commitment issues, he wasn’t afraid of relationships. In fact, he’d love to have one. To have a place to call home permanently, to have someone to come home to and talk about his day with, and hear about her’s…

In recent years, that life seemed to become more like a distant friend than a family member. 

Until you showed up. 

He’d been working all week in the shed, only really surfacing to eat or use the bathroom. Dexter had told him he should get some more sun before he withered away like some cowboy-vampire. Well, those were actually Lily’s words, but Dexter had told him to get some sun. 

And he promised he would, once all their recent data was logged into his laptop. It would save him the two weeks he’d be spending at the rodeo helping with the set-up and the running of it. 

Coming up the road, your tires crunching as they rolled over the gravel path, the breeze whipped in and out of your truck windows, surrounding you with the kind of freedom you hadn’t felt in years. 

From the house at the very top of the lane, you saw two people sitting on the porch, three others stood in the garden and from the barn emerged one man who joined Cathy in watching your truck pull up the lane. 

“Oh, my god! Y/n!”

As you switched your engine off and hopped out of your truck, you were almost sent flying onto your back by Kate as she came barreling towards you. 

“Hey- uff.” You smiled as Kate wrapped her arms around you tightly. “Missed you, too.”

“What are you doing here?” Kate pulled away long enough for you to answer. 

“Needed some space from home, so when Cathy called and said she needed help, I almost jumped down her throat at the chance.”

Kate laughed, looked around and hugged you again. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

The next twenty minutes were filled with introductions, questions, answers, updates on life and even more questions. 

“How long are you gonna stay?”

You shrugged before looking over at Cathy. “For as long as your mom needs my help.”

Cathy shook her head as she poured a pitcher of sweet tea. “You can stay as long as you’d like.”

You chuckled and thanked her for the drink. “Thanks, but it looks like you’ve got your hands full here already.”

Kate smiled. “The more the merrier.”

You and Kate had grown up almost like sisters. With your mom and Kate’s mom being in the same classes at school, and their ever-growing friendship, you and Kate had spent most afternoons and sleepovers gossiping and talking about everything you possibly ever could. 

And when she lost those she loved almost eight years ago in an EF-5, you had been the one to stay with her. You also stayed with her in New York for six months as she got settled into her new job and new apartment. 

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?”

You looked over your shoulder to Kate who was sitting up on your bed as you unpacked your bags. You shook your head and smiled. “For the millionth time, I’ve got everything I need, Kate.”

Kate looked around. “Extra towels?”

“Your mom already brought everything down.”

Kate sighed, a little defeated. “Fine. But you know you can always ask me-”

You nodded. “I know.”

Kate smiled and watched you for a few moments as you folded your t-shirts back up before laying them in one of the drawers. “You okay?”

“Yea, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you only leave home like this when something’s happened.”

Your shoulders dropped a little. “It’s just family stuff, that’s all. A few too many arguments over Easter and a crowded house filled with divided opinions. I needed a break and your mom needed a couple extra hands. It’s a win-win.”

“Okay, but if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you.”

You smiled and took hold of Kate’s hand. “I know. And you know I’m here when you want to finally tell me why you have a local weatherman hiding in your barn.”

Kate laughed. “Tyler?”

You nodded and got back to packing whilst listening to Kate tell you everything she could about how she came to meet Tyler Owens; cowboy vampire and weatherman. 

Over the course of a week, you came to know everyone a little better. During the days, you helped Cathy out, Kate joining every once in a while along with Dani and Dexter. During the early evenings, Kate would drag you into the barn where you could both sort out the feed bags and listen to Dexter tell his stories to the others. Boone usually gave you a small fright anytime you walked up into the rafters considering you’d just seen him sat next to Lily at one of the desks. 

Lily would show you some of the footage they’d gathered throughout the day when on a chase and you’d see the complete thrill in all of their faces. 

Even Kate’s. 

Both you and Cathy were happy to see it. 

“You should join us one of these days.” Lily said, casually. 

You shook your head just as Kate laughed. Tyler turned his head. “What?”

“It’s nothing, it’s just…”

Tyler raised an eyebrow and tried his best to suppress his laughter. “You're scared?”

“Not scared, per say-”

“I’d say. You barely opened your eyes when you joined me.”

You looked at Kate. “That’s because you were the one driving.”

“I thought you liked my driving.”

“Yeah, on a normal road. Not chasing an EF-3 on the hottest day of the year after a flat tire.” You turned back to the others. “As much as I’d love to, I think I still prefer to watch it from the comfort of a screen.”

Tyler held up his hands. “Well, the offer’ll stand. Don’t have to join us, you can always join Dexter and Dani in the van.”

“I’ll see.” 

Turning back to the pile of animal feed, you started filling the buckets. By the time you’d finished, you made your way into the main house where Cathy was dishing out plates with Tyler’s help in the kitchen as the others either got showered or started setting the table. 

“Hey, need some help?”

“No, I think we’ve got it covered,” Cathy told you. “But you can go and get Kate. I think she’s still in the barn.”

“I did try and drag her chair from her desk but I think she might be a witch. She started to hover, I’m pretty sure.” Boone called out from the living room. 

You nodded. “Noted. Back in a tick.”

Disappearing back outside, you rounded the house and headed towards the barn. “KATE! Are you alive?!”

“Back here!”

Pushing the barn door open, you walked inside and eventually found her tucked into the desk, ink stains across her fingers from handwriting her notes. 

“Your mom’s made food.”

“Yea, I’ll be there in a sec.”

You waited for a minute before sighing and walking behind her. You’d seen this many times before, and in over twenty years of friendship, you’d only found one method to work. Well, two; but the hose was attached to the house and didn’t reach into the barn. 

Grabbing the back of her chair, you waited for her to lift her pen off the page before you jerked it away. 

“Wha- Hey!”

“Come on. It’s dinner time.”

“But-”

You shook your head as you started to wheel her chair across the barn floor. She tried her best at spinning around, but you just kept making your way towards the barn door. 

“I promise you can finish later. Until then, we’re eating. Come on.”

Kate pouted and agreed. “Fine. But you’re wheeling me back.”

“Deal.”

Finally reaching the house, you and Kate made your way inside before joining everyone else at the table. Drawing straws, you and Tyler pulled the shortest. 

“Sorry, Kate.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay. I promised Lily she can push Boone back to the barn anyway.”

You smiled before picking up her plate and carrying it into the kitchen with the others. 

“You wash, I’ll dry?” 

You agreed. “Okay.”

And so you both began. With Cathy’s stereo on the window cill, a country music station playing like always, the music washed its way around the house and you and Tyler cleaned up. 

As you did so, you and Tyler found yourselves both dancing along to the music that floated around the room until everything was washed and all that was left was you and Tyler sharing laughter as you both tried your best to remember an old line dance. 

Then you were two-stepping around the kitchen, him spinning you out and around and back in until Boone and Kate walked back inside and in the spirit of things, joined in. Boone bowing to Kate as low as he could, he held out his hand. 

“Why, ma’ lady?”

“Why thank you, sir.”

Before you knew it, Dani and Lily had joined, and Cathy had pulled Dexter in for a small dance. 

The night drew in slowly, the moon’s beam gently settling across the land around the farm as the stars joined in. Everyone was sitting outside, either dancing by the fire or doing some kind of activity whether that was drawing or knitting. 

You were sitting in the corner of the porch, balancing on one of the beams when the phone rang out.

A few minutes later, Cathy came outside. “Honey, it’s your folks. They want to talk to you.”

You took a breath. “Okay.”

Hopping off the edge, you walked inside, unaware of the eyes trailing your movements. 

“Everything okay?” Tyler asked as Cathy joined him once more on the porch. But she just sighed. 

“I’ve known her mom since I was a kid. Y/n’s a strong kid, but sometimes she just needs a break. They can be…a lot.”

Tyler just nodded before his eyes looked through the kitchen window and he saw you, sat at the entrance between the kitchen and living room, the phone to your ear and your entire body language screaming for help. 

It was forty minutes before you were finally able to hang up the phone and when you finally emerged from the house, you walked out to find Boone mid handstand. 

“Hey, I’ll be back soon.” You told Cathy. 

“Everything okay?”

You forced a smile and nodded. “Everything’s fine. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“Okay. Call us if you need anything.”

You nodded before making your way towards your truck, Kate rushing over. “Where are you going?”

“Just going to the store. Do you need me to pick anything up?” Kate shook her head. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded. “I promise. Just going to the store.”

“Okay. Well, uhh, a couple pads?”

“Period or stationary?”

Kate shrugged. “Both.”

You smiled, hopping into your truck. “Okay. Text me if you need anything else.”

You were at least an hour away from any open store, so winding down your windows, you turned on the radio and let the solitude wash over you. 

Your family could be a lot. Even more so when they didn’t agree on anything. Despite finding a job in New York, you’d returned home because your grandparents were sick. Eventually, they passed and that left the small plot of land and the farm house to your parents. They’d been trying to make it into an Inn and so far were succeeding. 

Save for the new renovations being done to the left side of the house where they couldn’t decide which colours to pick, which led to an argument over the colours they’d picked for the other rooms, and then their choice of contractor to fix the old barn into an outhouse. Then it was one of your parents bitching to you about the other for so long, about the same thing. You could only take so much arguing, shouting, and aggressive debates. Then Easter had come and that brought in ten other family members, all of whom had elected to take sides. 

Which left you alone in the very middle of a dozen other adults who were acting like children. 

The call from Cathy couldn’t have come less than a blessing to you. 

You took your time going around the store, picking up a couple of different things including both kinds of pads before getting back into your truck and driving around for a while. 

Just as the clock on your dash passed one in the morning, you turned down your radio, letting the sound of crunching gravel filter through your windows. From the looks of it, everyone was asleep. 

Except for one. 

Turning your headlights off, you pulled the key out of the ignition and locked it up. With the brown paper bag in your arms, you slowly made your way up the steps of the porch where you found Tyler, still awake. 

“Hey.”

“You okay?”

You looked around you and then back at him. “Better than before.”

“Want to talk about it?”

You clicked your tongue. “I don’t think it’ll help.”

“You never know.”

You shrugged. “You don’t wanna know.”

Tyler sat up, leaning his forearms on his knees. “Try me.”

You looked down at the bag in your arms and sighed. “Let me put these inside.”

If he wanted to leave, if he didn’t want to hear about it, then you walking inside was his chance. It was his chance to think up an excuse about getting to bed before an early start, or that maybe it would be better to talk when people weren’t trying to sleep, or whatever other excuse he could come up with. 

Except, when you came back outside, you found him laying out a couple of blankets and turning the heater up a little. 

“Thought you might be cold.”

You couldn’t help but be in shock. “Thanks.”

“So…where do you want to start?”

You sat down. “Aren’t you the shrink? Shouldn’t you be telling me?”

Tyler cracked a smile. “Kate warned me you might be like this.”

“Did she now?”

Tyler nodded as he hummed. “She did.”

“Did you tell her you’d be moonlighting as my therapist tonight?”

He shook his head. “I just said I was gonna stay up. Didn’t say anymore than that.”

You hummed. “Usually don’t have to with Kate.”

“How long have you known Kate?”

“Is this the start of the session?” 

Tyler just gave you a look, hiding the smile he wanted to crack again. So you answered the question. 

“Since we were little. Cathy and my mom were friends. We spent most days together.”

After an hour of talking, Tyler had found out your parents had moved away from Supulpa when you were about to start college in order to be closer to your grandparents. He found out a little about your side of Kate’s story when she left for New York, about how you came back and everything that had happened since. 

“I do love them, it’s just that they can be a lot sometimes.” You answered honestly. “Loud, rowdy, argumentative. Someone always has to be more right than someone else. You’re also not allowed to have your own opinion, but you’re also not allowed to not have an opinion. Colour of a room, foundation of a building, choice of school, subjects, jobs, vacations. All of it. Someone always has to put in their two cents.”

“Kate mentioned something about Easter. What happened?”

You sighed. “I told them I had a new job, after one of my aunts mentioned that her neighbour hadn’t seen me in their offices for a while.”

“How long have you been at your new job?”

“Two years.” You admitted. 

“Two years?”

You nodded. “I know it was wrong, lying to them, but not telling them just…made everything a little more peaceful. And it’s not like it’s a different job. It’s the same work, just at a different company. I work from home two days of the week. I’ve acquired some time off; that’s why I’m here day to day. And it also means I’m moving away, back to my hometown.”

Tyler sat up. “You’re moving back here?”

You nodded slowly. “I’m still house hunting, and I haven’t told anyone yet. Not even Kate.”

“Why not?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I always planned on coming back, I think.”

“You think?”

You shrugged again. “When we’re kids, it seems like this huge thing; to be able to get out of the small town. And, I did. I’ve worked in New York and,” you hummed. “I liked it for a while. I think I liked freedom more than anything. Able to take an interview without my entire family wanting to know every single detail known to man. But Oklahoma…it’s my home. Kate is the closest thing I have to family that doesn’t drive me insane. And…” You sighed. “I want my family to see this place. To know Cathy, and Kate, and my old stomping grounds. I don’t want them to have a city life – not that there’s something wrong with city life. It’s just rushed. I want them to not only see the peace, but actually know it, you know?”

Tyler nodded with a soft smile on his face. “I know.”

“The phone call before; it was my folks. They wanted to know when I’d be coming home. It took me thirty minutes before I could get a word in. And when I said I wouldn’t be, it was just more yelling.”

“Yelling?”

“You know, ‘I’m selfish for moving back’, ‘I’m selfish for wanting a life away from my grandparent’s old home’, I’m selfish for wanting a life away from my family.”

Tyler shook his head. “You’re not selfish, Y/n. You’re allowed a choice in life. And that choice should be down to you, and you alone. Not to anyone else. I know they’re your family, but screw ‘em. You’ve done a lot for them, and they’re all fully grown adults. Have them figure it out on their own for once. And, if you want, once you’ve told Kate, we can go house hunting with you.”

A small smile broke across your lips. “Thanks, Tyler.”

He nodded and smiled. “You’re not selfish for wanting a life of your own, Y/n. We only get so much time on this earth, and it should be down to you how and where you want to spend it.”

You smiled again, feeling Tyler take your hand in his. You had no words, so you just squeezed his hand in a thank you. 

“Come on, it’s getting late. We should go to bed before Cathy comes and beats us with a dish towel again.”

As you stood, you looked at him. “Again?”

As he quietly walked you to your room, he explained how Cathy had chased all of them at least once with a dish towel because they either stayed up too late or because they’d walked into the kitchen too early on their birthday. 

“Tyler?”

He turned back down the hall. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for waiting up. And thank you for talking with me.”

With rosy cheeks, Tyler smiled and tipped his head. “Anytime, Sweetheart.”

You felt your own cheeks warm at his reply before you opened up your door and walked inside, the hallway light turning off as you clicked your door shut. Eventually, you heard Tyler’s door click shut, too. 

In a home like Cathy’s, you could hear every door open and shut, no matter how well oiled the handles were. 

In the morning, you woke early and found Cathy awake and sat at her dining table with a smirk behind her mug. 

“I heard you had a late night last night.”

“Jesus.” You held onto your chest. 

She just smirked. “No use praying to him, I want to know what happened.”

You poured yourself a coffee. “Nothing happened. We just talked.”

“And talked, and talked.”

You turned around. “You heard us?”

Cathy shook her head. “No, but I did hear your doors shut about the same time last night and Kate told me he was waiting up for you. So, anything you want to tell me?”

You let out a short sigh. No time like the present. 

“If you must know, I was telling him about my job.”

“And?”

“And how I’m moving back to Sapulpa.”

Cathy sat up. “Really?”

You nodded. “I haven’t told Kate yet.”

But it wasn’t long before you finally did. And two weeks later, Kate came running down the field with her phone where she met both you and Tyler. 

You’d been putting a new fence up around the ground, but you could only pull so many wires on your own without nearly knocking yourself out. So, Cathy had sent Tyler down. 

You’d been working for two hours or more when Kate came running down the field. 

“I think I’ve found one!”

“Found one what?”

Kate was smiling. “A house. It’s in budget, an hour out of your office building but town is only twenty minutes out. Nice view, open space. What do you think?”

You looked Kate over. She was still hiding something from you. 

“You’ve already called them haven’t you?”

She shifted on her feet. “Maybe.”

“Kate.”

She admitted defeat, though she seemed pretty happy about it. “Okay, I’ve got you a viewing tomorrow. But, please. Please go. We can go with you.”

You took a look at Kate before looking at the pictures on her phone. It did look cute. Wrap around and covered porch, big windows, shutters, bigger kitchen, spacious. It needed a lick of paint; or maybe two. 

You looked over your shoulder at Tyler who was looking at Kate’s phone, too. 

“What’d you think?”

“Can’t hurt to look.”

As the clock struck eleven the next morning, yourself, Tyler and Kate all arrived outside the house. The realtor met you outside and started giving you the facts; why it was being sold, who by, the history of the place. Tyler asked questions you’d probably think of at 3 am when you couldn’t sleep. Kate rushed around, looking in different rooms, taking pictures. 

There were four bedrooms, one office, two bathrooms – one up, one down. The master bedroom had an ensuite. 

“Now, it does need a little work. A couple of the shutters are loose around the back and one of the bathroom taps can be a little dodgy.” The realtor told you. “But all in all, it’s practically a steal.”

That much was true. 

And it wasn’t too far from Kate and Cathy. Maybe a thirty minute drive. Town was twenty minutes away, and most of that was on dirt roads. And from Kate’s constant announcements, signal was pretty decent in most rooms apart from the very back bedroom which you could use as a storage room anyway. 

The grass around the place was in desperate need of a cut, and the wildflowers that were tipping up around the place were begging for death in the hot sun. 

A tree had been planted a little ways from the house which would provide shade from the sun in the early afternoon. 

It also needed to be furnished, and have a couple of things replaced. But after a good clean up…you could see yourself living here. 

Standing on the back porch, you felt a familiar pair of boots stand beside you. 

“You look really happy here.” 

You looked up to Tyler with a relaxed smile. “I am. It’s…freedom. Two acres of land, a home.”

“All you’re missing are some chickens.”

You laughed, and so did Tyler before Kate came running outside. “Well, what do you think?”

You smiled. “I love it.”

“So you’re gonna go for it?”

Looking between the pair, and back up to the house, you nodded. “I think I am.”

Finally, after a month of going between helping Cathy, driving into the city and to deal with housing paperwork and taking walks around the new land that you owned, you moved into your new home. 

And everyone helped. 

Yourself and Kate got a head start on things, having slept over on the floor the night before in order to map out where everything would be going. And through tears of laughter, you both managed to get a sofa and bed frame brought through the doors before Tyler’s truck pulled up with the others. 

“Figured you could use some help.”

The next ten hours were spent laughing, fixing, setting up, painting and just all round having fun. An hour in and Dani had confiscated both Boone and Lily from using the drill to fix the shutters outside, Dexter had helped patch up some of the walls as well as paint over them. 

Kate kicked you out of the office space before dragging Dexter in with her. 

“You can’t come in. Tyler!”

He poked his head out from the master bedroom. “Yeah?”

“Make sure Y/n doesn’t come into this room until I say so.”

“Why?” You asked, whilst Tyler just agreed with a smile. He already knew what was going on. 

“I need your help here anyway.” Tyler told you as you walked away from outside your office. 

Tyler had been fixing your bed frame with Lily until he banned her from helping with that, too. Lily wasn’t the most patient when it came to making sure the bed frame was structurally sound. 

So you and Tyler got to work. 

“Okay, three, two, one. Go!”

Both yourself and Tyler stepped away from your bed at the same time. It had already fallen down twice. 

“Is it?”

Tyler hesitantly shook it and it moved as one, but didn’t collapse.

“No. We’re in the clear.”

You could have almost dropped to the floor. “Oh, thank god.”

“I probably should have asked this earlier but are you planning on painting this room?”

You looked around. “Not yet. I haven’t decided on a colour. But it doesn’t look too bad as it is for now.”

“So…mattress?”

“Mattress.”

From the back of your truck, yourself and Tyler managed to get it inside with minimal damage and once it was finally on the bed, you both flopped down. 

“Oh, thank god.”

“Do you think we can just fall asleep? Let the others do the rest?”

You turned your head and looked at him. “Considering Kate has kicked me out of my own office…maybe.”

“Guys!”

Both yourself and Tyler let out a small groan. 

“Nevermind.”

“Guys!” Boone came running down the hall. “Oh. Uh.”

You and Tyler sat up. “Everything okay?”

He smiled, if a little sheepishly. “Everything’s peachy, man. But, uh, Kate asked me to make sure Y/n stayed away from her office.”

Tyler smiled. “Already on it, Boone.”

“Great.” He gave a thumbs up. “Well, Cathy has asked for your help. Actually, both of your help, so…” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder before leaving the room. 

You and Tyler followed. 

By the time the sun was setting, you were mostly moved in. Dani fixed the dodgy tap, and some of the electrics with Lily’s help. Boone had replaced some of the wooden slats and repainted them to match before fixing the shutters back onto the windows upstairs. 

Everyone was thanked in drinks and pizza and you were finally allowed inside your office.

“Eyes closed.”

“Kate, you’re covering them.”

“Just keep ‘em closed anyway.”

She counted down before removing her hands and letting you open your eyes. What you were met with was a wall mural of Cathy’s farm land, barn, farmhouse and people included. You could have cried. You were crying. 

“Oh, my god.”

“It needs a few touch ups but it mostly finished, but if you hate it-”

You shook your head that quickly you might have given yourself whiplash. “No, no, no. No, Dex, I love it. I really, really, love it. Thank you.”

“It was Kate’s idea.”

“Thank you both. I love it.”

As the night drew in, the others slowly headed back home leaving you on your own. Kate and Tyler had asked if you wanted them to stay, but you said no. You had to get used to living alone, and you had cameras. 

So, waiting for you to lock the place up – both Kate and Tyler checking it after – they headed back home. However, one was quick to return in the morning. 

Tyler knocked on the door but there was no answer. He knew you’d be awake since it was nearly ten in the morning. From working with Cathy, you were up each morning around five; six at the latest. 

So he called out and felt a wave of relief wash over him when you answered. 

“Round the back!”

Walking around, Tyler found you almost drowning in grass and wildflowers. Your legs were dusted with soil, your fingernails and hands were practically drowning in it. 

“Want some help?”

“I’ve got an extra set of shears in my bag.” Tyler found it on the porch step before he joined you in the soil. 

“I didn’t want to kill them all off, so I’m trying to keep the wildflowers that will survive a few days.”

“How was your first night?”

You smiled. “Fun. A little quieter than usual, but fun. I’ve, uh, managed to fix the old coffee machine and plug in my house phone.”

“Does anyone even use them anymore?”

You shook your head. “Probably not, but I like the idea of still owning one. Also means I can keep up the tradition of being offended if someone calls me after nine o’clock.”

Tyler laughed. “Well there’s always that. Thought about chickens yet?”

You laughed. “Not yet. I need to clear out some of this field first.”

Tyler looked around and shrugged. “I’ve got a free day, plus Dexter’s been telling me I need to get some more sun.”

“Hope you’re wearing protection.”

Tyler chuckled a little. “Dani threw a bottle of SPF at me this morning, so I think I’m covered.”

The conversation continued to flow until eventually it was cut off by a sharp cut across your finger. 

“Oh, hey, okay. Come with me.”

Tyler helped you to your feet before helping you through your back door and towards your kitchen sink where turned on the cold tap. 

“You got a first aid kit?”

“Uhh, yea. Yeah, in my bathroom. Under the sink.”

Tyler rushed off in search of the bathroom before rushing back a few minutes later with it in hand. 

“Does it hurt?”

You shrugged. “A little. Stings mostly.”

In what felt like a minute, Tyler had examined your wound, mumbled words to himself and then started to bandage up your finger.

“How do you know what to do? Do you moonlight as an EMT or something?”

“Yes.” 

Tyler reached over the counter and pulled some tape away from the spool with one hand. You could only watch on in shock. His intense focus, his ability to do it so quickly. 

“Wait, what? Really?”

He looked at you and found himself smiling a little at your shock. “Yeah. I got my certification back in college. I worked on a couple of the rodeo circuits during the summer after I left bull riding.”

“Bull riding?! You were a bull rider? Wait-” You stopped yourself for a moment. “No, nevermind. I already knew that. Also, it doesn't surprise me…anymore.”

Tyler chuckled. “Why?”

“Thrill seeking? Adrenaline racing sport?”

“Well,” Tyler was finishing up on your cut. “You don’t face your fears, you ride ‘em.”

You watched him for a moment and found yourself admiring him. But then you snapped yourself back into reality. You’d gotten used to that snap-back over the last couple of weeks whilst being around Tyler. 

It had started, to your knowledge, when you both spent a night in the barn just talking. He’d been filing the last of the collected data into his laptop and you couldn’t sleep, so you stayed up and just talked. 

Considering you’d come from your shower and your hair was still damp, it wasn’t long before you got cold and being the gentleman he is, Tyler shrugged off his overshirt and gave it to you. 

You leaned back and smiled. “God, you really do have the whole cowboy thing going for you. Rides bulls, wears the boots because he earned them, same with the hat and he even has his own cowboy wisdom.”

Tyler chuckled at that, but tried his slight embarrassment. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

But you shook your head,“Don’t be embarrassed. That just makes you humble and extra sweet.” Then you gave him a genuine smile. “It’s a good look for you. It makes you, you. And I wouldn’t want you any other way.” You realised how that came out, and as much as you meant it, you didn’t want to send him running for the hills. “And neither would the others. You’re a good man, Tyler. Not too many would be brave enough to actually look at the blood pouring from my finger, nevermind know how to help.”

Tyler chuckled a little at that. He’d seen enough men faint outside an ambulance to know that much was true. 

However, in the few moments that followed the laughter, something seemed to capture both yourself and Tyler in a hold. With the soft sunlight making its way higher into the sky, seeping in through the kitchen window, Tyler felt something wash over him and it was both more exciting and terrifying than anything he did day-to-day for his work. 

“Is everything okay?”

He didn’t know why, and quite frankly, his future self would quite possibly punch him for asking, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. 

“Would you like to go on a date…with me?”

“What?”

“I-I’d usually have something better than this. Flowers, maybe a note or something and it wouldn’t be thrown on you like this but I-I just felt like asking, but if this is too weird feel free to say no. I-I know it’s a little weird but I-”

You stepped forward and he stopped talking the minute you placed a hand on his chest. “Tyler, slow down before you have a panic attack.”

What you said next could result in the same panic attack, so you had to be careful. Then an idea came to your head. 

“There’s flowers outside.”

It took him a moment or two, so you nudged your head towards your window. “You say you’d usually have flowers, there’s some perfectly good ones outside.”

“But they’re from your garden.” Tyler whispered, but you just shrugged. 

“You’ve helped pick some.”

With a small, understanding nod, Tyler slowly backed away and turned out of the door. When he returned he knocked on the backdoor and when you opened it, you were greeted with a slightly less soil stained Tyler, holding a bunch of wildflowers in his hand. 

“Hi,” he smiled. 

You smiled. “Hello.”

[hellfirenacht]

Anomaly Chapter 7

Fic Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson.

Chapter Summary: Eddie gets close to you, and you sacrifice your dignity.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, one-sided enemies to lovers, one-sided pining, miscommunication trope, anxious-ish!Reader, fem!Reader, Reader is not described, no use of y/n, Rise of Hellfire characters

Word Count: 4.2k words

Master List

Author Note: Okay, look. There's not a lot of Eddie in this chapter but this is setting up a LOT of things I have planned for this story. This is a load baring chapter.

Your wrist had ached all day, and you blamed the weather. What was originally promised to be a mild spring day had turned into a rather warm and stormy one. Normally, you loved this kind of weather (as long as there was no tornado warning), but with the pain in your cast it only annoyed you. 

In Ms. Benson’s class, your mood was dampened further as your tests were passed back. You didn’t need to look at it to know that it wasn’t going to help you with your grade in class. You tried to pay attention in class, you really did. But no matter how much you stared at the book you were all supposed to be reading, the more your mind drifted to other matters. How could you get Eddie to let you at least sit in on a Hellfire meeting? How could you thank Stacy for sacrificing her favorite makeup shop while you two let the heat die down? You really didn’t have an interest in Spring Day but you really wanted to spend more time with Eddie. 

You wrote down character ideas, occasionally glancing at Eddie. You ran through each class and race in your mind, trying to come up with different combinations. You were leaning towards elf or half-elf, and a more magical class but maybe you should try something with brute strength? Or maybe something more complicated to impress Eddie?

Okay, no, that was a bad idea. Stealing and learning the game was pathetic enough, you had to make sure you were at least doing part of this for yourself. And there was the problem, you were a little overwhelmed with choices on what kind of character you’d make if you were allowed in Hellfire. 

When the bell rang you had written out every single combination of the class and race list, marking the ones you thought would be most interesting. The rest of the page was filled with dumb joke characters. 

They were stupid, but it was important to get the stupid out. The harder you tried to think of what you might actually want to play (not that you could anyway) the more blank your mind became. Sometimes, having too much creative freedom was stifling. 

And so, Fighter Betty of the Crocker clan, the Wizard TAB, and Ziggy Stardust the Druid, were shoved into your backpack, between the pages of the handbook you were carrying around when the bell rang. If anything, they amused you and that’s all that would matter. 

You took your time when the bell rang, trying to figure out a way to talk to Eddie or say hi or make any sort of small talk. 

Why was it that you didn’t have this problem with anyone else in this stupid town?!

You were so focused on thinking about Eddie, that you completely missed that he was standing right in front of you.

“Uh- what?” you blinked, realizing now that words were coming out of those very pretty lips of his. 

“Do you need help with your books?” Eddie asked slower, pointing to your backpack. You couldn’t tell if he was talking slow because he thought you were an idiot, or because he smelled so subtly like weed. 

“Yes. Yeah, yes.” you tried to get your mouth to work. You tried to pretend he was Stacy or... shit, you didn’t have any other friends here. 

Eddie grabbed your bag and you followed him out the door to your locker again. What a strange sense of deja vu. 

“How’d you do on the test?” He asked as you opened your locker. 

You tensed and shrugged. “About as well as I thought I’d do. You?” 

Eddie shifted in his spot. “Yeah, about the same.” 

You glanced at him, seeing how uncomfortable he looked. Had you both failed? You shouldn’t be surprised, but you were. 

“I guess our not-detention is gonna be awkward. Hopefully, Benson’ll leave us alone to do whatever task she has for us.” You sighed as you swapped books and grabbed your lunch box. 

“Maybe we can sneak out again.” Eddie suggested. 

“If we do that there might not be a Spring Day. Shouldn’t this be the student council’s job anyway?” you asked. “I don’t see why she’s so bent on us making this happen. No offence.” 

“None taken.” Eddie held up his hands. “I have as much school spirit as a rock.” 

“You looked like you would have been anywhere else during the pep rally.”

“I tried to skip, but I got caught.” He ran his fingers through his hair with a world weary sigh. 

“Try breaking your wrist next time. It got me out of it.” you lifted your arm to show off your cast. 

“You broke your wrist trying to apologize, I wouldn’t apologize to anyone in this shithole.” Eddie said. 

You wanted to be offended, but you couldn’t blame him. If you were Stacy, or if he were anyone else, you might bat your lashes at him and ask if that also applied to you, but you couldn’t. You weren’t Stacy, and Eddie was still Eddie. 

“Not even your friends?” you settled on. 

“If I had an issue with one of my friends we’d talk about it.” Eddie looked at you, a sharpness in his eyes that made you want to shrink. Why was he looking at you like he was accusing you of something? You had apologized, right? And he’d accepted! Did he want you to apologize again? 

“Thank you for delivering my friend safely, Eddie.” Saved from the awkward encounter by arriving at the lunch table with Stacy. “Are you sure you won’t be joining us?” 

“Alas, I am still honor bound to my little gang of misfits.” Eddie sighed holding his hand over his heart.

“Fine, be a buzzkill.” Stacy replied. “Shoo.” 

You couldn’t decide which was worse, Stacy shooing the love of your life off or Eddie giving you that accusatory look. 

The look. That was worse. 

“One day he’ll either eat with us or ask us to join them.” Stacy said, trading her cookie with the pudding cup in your lunch bag. 

“You could go over there and sit with them, and they’d be too stunned to tell you to leave.” You laughed. “You’d be Queen of the Freaks by the end of the period.”

“I could, but that’s a title I’m saving for you.” Stacy said supportively. 

“Hey Stacy, were you a cheerleader?” You asked as you remembered your conversation with Eddie. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I didn’t tell you that? So embarrassing.” She shook her head. “I was on the squad for about two and a half years before I got kicked off.” 

“You got kicked off?” you looked at her in surprise. 

“Yeah, I got caught smoking. Turns out that’s a big no-no when you’re on the squad.” Stacy was saying this like it was just a bad date she had been on. 

“Smoking? Since when do you smoke?” This was also news to you. You had never seen her with a cigarette or even a lighter before. 

“Only socially.” Stacy said. “It’s not a big deal. I’m not exactly torn up about it. I was only on the team because mom made me, and because I didn’t want to get rusty in gymnastics.” 

You had known that Stacy had been very into gymnastics in her younger years, there were few medals and trophies scattered in her room. You glanced over at a table on the far side where a few jocks and cheerleaders were. 

“So, why aren’t you sitting with them? Are you not friends anymore...?” you couldn’t help it, you were a little nosey and wanted to know more about your best friend. 

“Of course.” Stacy looked confused. “Chrissy Cunningham is one of my dearest friends.” 

“Then why are you sitting with me and not them?” Any insecurity you might have had was overrun by confusion. 

“Because that’s not what we do here.” Stacy said, as if it were the most normal answer in the world. “You sit with the cheerleaders and jocks if you’re a cheerleader or a jock.” 

“But... you’re friends.” you said slowly. 

“Yes.” 

“....Are you sitting with me out of pity? Please be honest with me.” 

“No, dumbass, I’m sitting with you because we’re friends.” 

“I... I don’t get it.” you sighed. 

“Listen, I know things might have been different before you got to Hawkins, but this is just how things are. I’m sitting with you because you’re more interesting than the latest basketball or football game. Plus, with you I have more options.” 

“What?”

“Well, you’re an anomaly.” Stacy said. “You came in late, and so you don’t have an assigned group that you’ve been with since Kindergarten. You talk to whoever you want, and you haven’t made any enemies with anyone here. People like you, you know.” 

“You make it sound like I’m popular or something.” You said. 

“Not popular, but something else.” Stacy gave you an analytical look. “If you had really tried, I think you could be in any group you wanted.” 

“Any group except one.” you glanced longingly at Eddie’s table. He seemed to be in a good mood now, if the impromptu air-guitar solo he was performing was anything to go by. You didn’t know what song he was listening to through his headphones but he seemed really into it. His friends seemed less impressed as they talked amongst themselves.

“I can’t believe you’re really this intimidated by Eddie Munson.” Stacy rolled her eyes. 

“Why not? Everyone else seems to be. And stop distracting me! If you have other friends why aren’t you sitting with them? Or why are you sitting with me? Or why aren’t we sitting with them?” 

“You’re taking this so personally.” Stacy pat your shoulder. “I’m here because I want to be, I don’t sit with them because I don’t want to, and I don’t invite you to sit with them because you’d be miserable and they wouldn’t appreciate the drama that is your crush on the Freak.” 

You groaned and rubbed your face. “At my old school we just sat with the people we liked and called it a day.” 

“Good news, I like you so it’s not that different.” Stacy said. 

The rest of lunch was uninteresting, as you and Stacy talked non-stop about the worst gossip and her latest date. You stole glances at Eddie, wondering if what she had said was true. Could you have been part of that group if you hadn't had your head so far up your ass? You had tried so hard to not make friends this year. You just wanted to take your diploma and go. 

The storm was picking up when the final bell rang, and your wrist twinged in annoyance as you bumped it while grabbing the books you’d need for the homework that you weren’t sure you’d even do. Ms. Bensen wasn’t expecting you and Eddie for at least fifteen minutes, enough time for the school to clear out and the buses and cars to make their way out of school. 

Feeling restless, you made your way to the lesser used side parking lot that was reserved for teachers and any former alumni who knew that if you were picking someone up there’d be less traffic. Under the awning, you were taking just a moment to get some fresh air and enjoy the stronger gusts of wind after a day of stale school air. You doubt you and Eddie would be able to sneak off anywhere to hide inside the school, and you didn’t want to assume that he’d want to anyway. 

Amidst the sound of the rain, a faint sound of wheels on concrete drew your attention. Zack, the skater from your science class, was sitting by the payphone rolling his skateboard back and forth as he stared out into the parking lot. 

“Payphone eat your quarter again?” You asked, walking over and leaning against the wall next to him. 

Zack looked up, recognition crossing his face and he shook his dirty blond hair. “Nah, not this time. Just waiting for my older brother to come and pick me up. Can’t board in this storm.” 

“I think it’d be surfing at this point.” You nodded, watching deep puddles start to form in the parking lot. 

“Heh, no kidding.” 

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you for a moment before a car pulled up in front of you. Instead of Zack running to hop in, the driver hopped out and hurried under the awning while the car was idling. 

Zack’s older brother looked strikingly like him, but with much longer hair and thick glasses. Under his denim coat he was wearing an ADCD t-shirt and an old faded pair of jeans. He took off his glasses and used his shirt to wipe off the rain. 

“Dude, get back in the car I wanna go home.” Zack groaned. 

“In due time, young one.” His brother patted him on the head, condescendingly. “I have a side-quest that I must complete before we go.” 

Why was this guy talking like Eddie?

“You there, what is your name?” He said, looking at you. 

You stuttered out your name, not expecting to be acknowledged. 

“What is your quest?” 

Quest? Why did this sound familiar? And why did you feel like you were being tested? 

“To just- fuckin’ survive.” That was the only thing you could think of at the moment. 

He smirked and pushed up his glasses.

“And what is the airspeed velocity of a swallow?” 

Oh fucking hell, you were caught up now on what he was doing. 

“African or European?”

The smirk on his face morphed into a genuine smile, and he offered his hand. “Good answer. I’m Kenny, Zack’s brother.”

“Can you stop being weird around all my friends?” Zack groaned as you shook Kenny’s hand. You and Zack were friends?

“How else am I supposed to know you keep good company?” Kenny shrugged. 

“I do have a real question for you, because my brother is useless-” 

“Hey!”

“Do you know where I could find one Relgar, the half-orc?” 

“Could you please talk like a normal person, dude?” 

You had no idea who the fuck Kenny was talking about, but you could narrow it down. 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, but Hellfire Club meets on Fridays.” you said. 

Kenny seemed to light up more. “Excellent! It’s Tuesday so I have no reason to be here any longer. I wanted to drop something off if he was still around.”

“Thank god.” Zack muttered. 

“Which one is Relgar?” Curiosity killed the cat-

“Nowadays he is known as the most sadistic Dungeon Master that has ever dared to run a game in Hawkins.” Kenny said. “But in school he just goes by Eddie.” 

-But satisfaction brought it back. “Munson? I’m actually about to see him. I can deliver it.”

“Are you in Hellfire?” Kenny asked. 

“Not exactly, but I’m going to see Eddie in a second. We have extra credit we have to work on.” You said once again. 

“Extra credit? That doesn’t sound like Eddie.” He looked at you suspiciously. 

“Man, come on, just give her the damn thing so we can go home. You already said she’s cool, and she loaned me a quarter once so I could call you before.” Zack groaned. 

“Well, if Zack says I can trust you then I have no choice. Besides, MacGyver is almost on and I don’t want to miss it.” Kenny pulled a booklet out of his jacket that you recognized as a D&D module and handed it over. “Let’s go.” Zack groaned and hopped into the car, using his board as the worst umbrella in history.

“That better get to Eddie, or I’ll know about it.” Kenny said. 

And that’s when you had to run for your life because you had all of 30 seconds to get your ass to Benson’s classroom. You were panting when you finally dropped down into the desk next to Eddie. 

“Nice of you to join us.” Ms. Benson said dryly. She placed some papers between the two of you. “Look, I am trying to help you both out. You both know what you got on your last test. I’m giving you this chance to try again. Put your desks together, get your books out. You two can work together, it’s open book.” 

“That’s... generous.” you said, looking up at her. 

“I’m tired of seeing adults in high school.” 

“Ouch.” Eddie winced. “And here I thought we were finally getting along.” 

“We'll get along better once you’re gone.” Despite Ms. Benson’s flat tone, there was a hint of a smile on her thin lips. 

Eddie was close. Too close for your comfort, but also not nearly close enough. Eddie had grabbed your desk and pulled it over to his, so that you two were sitting very very close to each other. You had never been so close to him before, and you were sure you were going to get a worse grade now that you could see the details in his heavy rings. 

The space was crowded, and you tried so hard to keep to your own space. The two of you took turns reading the questions, and flipping through the textbook the two of you were sharing. You did everything you could to focus on the make up test. 

It was hard to tell if Eddie’s presence made the test easier or harder the second time around. On one hand, you wanted so badly to not look like a complete idiot in front of him; on the other hand you could feel your brain turn to mush every time his arm brushed against yours. 

Eddie was a leftie, you noticed. 

“At least the vocab section is easy.” Eddie leaned over to look at the glossary, and your brain was threatening nuclear meltdown with how near his voice was. 

You sucked it up, and over the course of the next 30 minutes the two of you managed to cobble together something that had to be a passing grade. 

“Eddie, your handwriting is awful.” you said without thinking, staring at the chicken scratch on his paper. “Even if everything’s right, you can’t pass if she can’t read it.” 

“She can read my writing.” Eddie said, waving you off. “Isn’t that right, Ms. B?”

Ms. Benson didn’t look up from her papers. “I’ve grown accustomed to reading hieroglyphics.” 

You looked over your papers, made Eddie re-write a few words on his test and the two of you finally turned in your tests. 

Ms. Benson put aside what she was working on and immediately graded the tests right in front of you both. She looked at the final grades, then her grade book, and then back at the tests. 

“Good enough.” she declared, and handed them back. There was a B written at the top in red marker. “You’re done here.” 

“Pleasure doing business with you.” said Eddie as he turned to leave the classroom. 

That was it? No Spring Day work? Fine, at least that was over. You followed Eddie, now having a full half hour before your mom was supposed to pick you up. Maybe you’d just hang out in the library until then- 

You lost Eddie. 

You were so lost in your own world that you blinked and the guy vanished from sight. Normally, this would not have been a big deal and you’d simply lament that he was no longer in your vision. However, you had something in your bag that you had promised to give him and you were hardly about to let this opportunity to talk to him again run you by. 

So you picked a direction and hoped that it was the right way. 

Your first instinct was to go to the parking lot where his van would be parked but it was still there. You stood outside for a few minutes, but gave up on waiting when some asshole leaving detention splashed you with his car, leaving your front drenched but your backpack was thankfully dry. 

Fuck everything, you had one job and you’ve already blown it. You did your best to dry yourself off in the bathroom before circling the school three times. You were so pissed, you were wet, your wrist hurt, you didn’t give Eddie his stupid D&D module, and you were ready to just give up.

You tried to tell yourself that there was always tomorrow, but that didn’t bring you much comfort.  

The telltale sound of someone getting slammed into a locker echoed through the hallway. 

Keep your head down, don’t make waves, and just get your diploma and go. Don’t get involved, don’t make friends. You aren’t gonna be here long enough. Besides, you already told yourself that you were giving up today. 

Your feet ignored your brain and you ran towards the sound.

When you turned the corner you found the standoff in one of the less frequented hallways. A basketball player looked like he was ready to throw down while Eddie was picking one of his freshmen up off the ground. You recognized the curly hair and brightly colored shirt, topped with a baseball cap but you didn’t know his name. 

You did know the basketball player, he was in your remedial math and was always talking louder than the teacher. You had no idea what the fuck was going on, and you should probably mind your own damn business but as usual your brain was ignored. 

“Holy shit, Danny! I’m so glad I found you!” you rushed over, putting yourself between him and Eddie. You hoped that being still wet from the rain made you look pathetic enough to distract him from whatever he was pissed out. 

Danny had not anticipated anyone to catch them and he looked at you dumbfounded. Then his eyes drifted down slightly and you resisted every urge to cover your chest. Why the hell did you wear a white shirt today?

Between him glancing down at your chest, and up towards your face in confusion it gave you enough time to think of a lie as to why you were interfering. 

“I- uh-” You faltered, and found yourself shaking. What the hell were you doing?! “I- I forgot the homework!” your voice sounded as if you were in pain. “Please tell me you wrote down the assignment. If I- if I don’t do it then my grade will drop to an F and my mom will actually kill me.” 

Danny opened his mouth a few times like a fish and looked behind you at Eddie and his freshmen. There was still a spark of fire in his eyes. 

“Look, give me a second and I’ll-” 

“Forget about the freaks, I need your help!” Your voice was loud and shrill, and so unfamiliar to you. Anxiety shot through you, and you hated that you had to resort to name calling. There was no way in hell that Eddie would ever want to sneak off with you now for any reason. 

Danny was shocked and just looked behind you, with a resigned expression. “I’ll deal with you later.” he said and ushered you towards his locker. 

Something hot slid down your face as you followed Danny. Oh, fuck it all you were crying. Frustration tears had welled up and were sliding down your face and you wiped them away with a wet sleeve. 

Fuck today. Breaking your wrist at the pep rally wasn’t as humiliating as this. 

Danny finally handed over a torn up piece of paper which had the page number and problems you were supposed to do tonight. 

“Here.” he said, looking at you with pity. 

“Thanks.” you managed to choke out. “I mean it. You’re saving my ass.” 

“Just let me copy your work tomorrow before school and we’ll call it even.” Danny shrugged. 

You had wanted to skip school tomorrow, but now you had no choice. Now you actually had to do these stupid problems as well. 

“Sure.” You stared at the floor in shame. “...What were you doing with those guys anyway?”

“Dipshit freshman pissed me off.” he said. “Had to teach him a lesson, but then the Freak showed up.” 

“Why are you picking a fight with a freshman so late in the year?” you asked. “If you got caught, all of you probably would have been in big trouble. I heard Mrs. Click stopped Patty Marshall from walking the stage at graduation because she got into a shouting match outside her classroom.” 

This was a big fat lie, but you were willing to do anything to get the basketball team to leave Eddie and his friends alone. 

Danny slammed his locker shut. “Whatever. He’s not worth the effort anyway. You better meet me tomorrow so I can copy your work.”

“Right, right.” you said. “Yeah, I’ll meet you.” 

You hurried out of school, pissed and cold and your stupid eyes were still leaking. Mom was already waiting out front for you as you got into the back seat.

From where you were, you couldn’t see that Eddie was watching you from his van as the storm picked up over Hawkins High.  

Author Notes: If there is one thing you should know about me, it's that any time we get even a tiny bit of Eddie lore I WILL use it in whatever I'm writing. Say hello to Kenny from Rise of Hellfire, the original DM! Next chapter we'll get more from his POV, and you'll have more time to hang out with Eddie very soon!

Tag List: 

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@amieinghigh @hazydespair @princesssunderworld

[roanofarcc]

TWISTERS FANFICTION + more

TYLER OWENS

WORTH MY WHILE. as the local weather woman, you shared an interesting rivalry with your hometown storm-chaser. while you always reported on the dangerous weather from a safe distance, tyler barreled into it head-first. but things change the night of the county fair when you find yourself in the middle of a storm rather than in the safely of a newsroom. 

A MISJUDGMENT. when kate drags you back to the midwest for a one-week stint to help out one of her old friends, you meet tyler owens. the uncouth cowboy and his reckless actions when dealing with something as dangerous as tornados almost instantly prick your nerves until you realize maybe there's more to the cowboy than meets the eye.

YOU, BRIGHT BLUE. between the moments of chaos of storm chasing, tyler finds the break in the storm when with you. 

A LITTLE LIFE. when a storm tyler is chasing changes course, putting you and your daughter in the direct line of danger, tyler drops everything to reach you. 

harding!reader

LIKE MOTHER LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER. you had made a name for yourself in the storm chasing game; it was in your genes, being the daughter of famous chasers jo and bill harding. tyler found your knacked for knowing just what the storm’s thinking a little infuriating and incredibly impressive.

GETTING EVEN. after tyler owens saved your ass, you return the favor.

boone sister!reader

THE ALCHEMY. the reunion of you and your high school sweetheart, years after your split, brings back all those long-lost feelings you tried to bury. (based off of taylor swift's "the alchemy")

FUNNY BUSINESS. boone was a laid-back guy who only really had one, long-standing rule: his sister was off-limits to the wranglers. But tyler had a bad habit of rule-breaking.

JAVI

IN YOUR ORBIT. a quiet moment between chasing storms makes you feel like you’re in college again, with your two best friends. you realize just how far you've all come since tragedy plagued your lives five years prior.

CHASE IT. Javi has a problem telling you how he feels until he almost loses you. 

A CRULE FATE. getting trapped as a tornado rages closer and closer dreges up all of the horrible memories for that day five years ago, but you’re determined not to lose any more friends. 

PINKY PROMIS.  trapped in a car as a horrifying 'fire-nado' rages towards you sends you into a panic and a fit of memories from the accident 5 years prior.

YOU NEVER LEFT ME. after the loss of three of your best friends, you found yourself pushing everyone away. it seemed easier that way. you had no intention of seeking out kate nor javi. you thought it was better that way. until, one day fate brings you all back together, and you have to deal with some long unspoken feelings. 

BOONE

A PIPE DREAM. storm chasing was all fun and games until you started crushing on one of your team members. and boone had a bad habit of falling hard. 

FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER. years spent in the a mediocre relationship with your “highschool sweetheart” comes to an abrupt end. instead of the heart break you thought would consume you, you feel free. and that freedom leads you right to boone’s front door. 

SCOTT

IS IT CASUAL NOW? what happened between you and scott was supposed to be strictly casual, but when you feelings got too involved, you decided to call it quits. But storms and close calls have a way to bringing out true feelings. 

KATE

A TRIP TO THE MIDWEST. you take a trip to visit your best friend.

[lyriane]

I KNOW that the signature for wind element is butterflies BUT— when you think of wind, don't you think of birds?

(aka me trying to justify my obsession with drawing wings)

> Rant & ramblings below cut, basically an info dump of my thought process/reasonings behind thy art.

OKAY SO. I REALLY like wings, drawing a bunch of them is even better.

Wind = Birds ; Birds = WINGS !!!

While I did draw this with just the intent of being able to draw wings on my baby boi.. I couldn't help but add in some lore(?) behind it too y'know.

In BBB, wind is associated with butterflies (Maripos has butterflies, Kuputeri has butterflies, Taufan angst has so much butterflies–) I had thought that, maybe, just maybe that the association of wind with butterflies is for Windara only. Then for Earth, the association of wind is with birds.

Because, really. What are the creatures that practically live in the skies? That soar through the wind? Birds. And what symbolism do we see birds as? Freedom. The wind is meant to be the embodiment of freedom.

(That does, make the underlying angst of butterflies = wind even worse/better. Butterflies fly lower than birds, butterflies die within 1-2 weeks. What a fleeting existence, only meant to taste freedom for mere moment.)

I thought it'd fit more for BBB's wind element to be associated with birds instead of butterflies. (Windara can have all of the butterflies, thank you very much). It would be a significant distinction between Kuputeri and BBB too, wouldn't it? Hence, the birth of this drawing.

I wanted BBB to already have wings since tier 1 as Angin though. However, I still wanted to keep the progressive evolution of Angin riding in small tornadoes, Taufan riding on his hoverboard, and only then on Beliung can he actually fly.

As such, I drew it so that Angin's wings are undeveloped, can't fly yet. The wings are specifically positioned on the lower back so it'd would even be harder for Angin to try and fly. Angin has these baby blue wings that he can't really use yet.

Then when he evolves into Taufan— the wings, of course, develops as well. There's now a gradient of white feathers to blue feathers, a new layer of feathers. Much larger than before, but still not enough. He has to use his hoverboard. Additionally, tiny wings also have sprouted at the back of his ears. Why? Because why not. Also, that new pair of wings is to show that he's in Tier 2.

One pair of wings = Tier 1

Two pairs of wings = Tier 2

There comes the big change for Beliung though. Beliung can now fly. The wings have now matured enough to be able to take flight. Of course, the elephant in the room is obvious the fact; Beliung now has, not just 3, but technically, 6 pairs of wings. Truly taking on the appearance of a Seraph.

For this one, technically it should be; Three pairs of wings & three pairs of ear wings = Tier 3

(I have also kept the scarf for Beliung, I can never draw him without it. To give the poor boi less of a hassle, I drew it so that his scarf is mostly wrapped around his neck rather than the long ends freely trailing behind him. It would be too hard to fly with that scarf, the risk of it tangling with his wings is high.)

Now, you my dear reader, has probably noticed the last drawing on the bottom portion. It's Beliung again, but this time, there's even. more. wings. For me, this one is a special case.

The wings itself aren't really truly wings though. Those wings are merely a byproduct of wind manifestation. The more wings that appears = the higher the power that can be used. (This is really just me making things up, but it's fun, so why not?)

Beliung has the ability to manifest as many wings as he wants.

The catch is that— BBB, he's human. These wings are basically limbs, parts of him. He can't handle too many appendages as once. At maximum he can only have 6 pairs of wings in total. Having more would result in overstimulation and loss of control.

Beliung though, Beliung himself– the wind element itself, or when in elemental split; He can handle many wings at once, as much as he wants too, and I would assume the personification of wind itself would love to have many wings.

That's basically it. My obsession with wings have resulted in this art of mine. Angin/Taufan/Beliung has become the Biblically Accurate Angel that I've always wanted to draw <3

If you've actually read it fully to this point, props to you and thank you for reading this info dump of mines!

[wanderingsoul6261]

Gif credit goes to scre6m

Tyler Owens x Reader

Synopsis: request fic done with "Blown Away" by Carrie Underwood on the brain. Reader is in an abusive marriage and Tyler finally comes to save her.

Warnings: mentions of abuse/degrading words, swearing, implied character death (not Y/N or Tyler) I think that's it. Let me know if I misses anything. I tried, so I'm sorry if it sucks.

Also not edited, so if there are mistakes, I'm sorry.

Y/N knew she wouldn't be able to hide it for long. She knew eventually that the wounds she wore, that spread across her body like vines, withering her soul away to nothing would give way to something. It was only a matter of time. Her excuses of being too clumsy would only hold up for so long. The split lips, black eyes, and bruises on her body would give way to a story in which people would shove their sympathies and self pity into her face. She didn't want it though. Y/N didn't want the attention, the spotlight. 

She could barely muster up the courage to be on the livestreams with the Wranglers, sitting in the back seat of the red beast that they rode into tornadoes often. Y/N almost grew envious of the truck, watching how well it was cared for and maintained, treated so well. She got barely half of that treatment at home. 

From her husband. 

Oh how doting he was when they first met, willing to bend over backward for her and give her the world. Love her as if she was the last one on Earth, looked at her as if no other woman existed. 

Then he ripped it out from underneath her, twisting a knife into her back at the same time. No matter how much she tried to reach for that knife, she couldn't reach it. She couldn't pull it out, no matter how badly she wanted to. 

But the only person who also seemingly caught on to how she felt was the very man that couldn't have her. 

One Mr. Tyler Owens. 

The man fell head over heels for her but while she was married, he couldn't do anything but watch from afar, appreciating her as a friend only because that was the only way he could have her. And for a while he was okay with that. 

Until he wasn’t.

He noticed the bruises. The split lips. The flinching whenever he or anyone else raised their hands above a certain threshold. Tyler was the one who broke down her door to get to her after finding out she was having a panic attack, the yelling outside the door from the variety of storm chasers overwhelming her. He held her while she slapped and clawed at him, begging him to let her go until she realized it wasn't her husband, and that she was okay. Tyler listened through the paper thin walls of the motel as her husband yelled at her through her phone speaker, calling her terrible names and treating her in a way that not ever, did a single person deserve. He listened as she had nightmares, wanting so desperately to help her, to hold her and reassure her. 

Tyler wanted to be the one to love her because he knew he could do it. 

Not her abusive husband. 

He wouldn't be a husband that kept constant tabs on her and limit her freedom, beating her when she disobeyed or tried to fight back. 

No. He would love her and care for her with every love sick bone in his body, because truly, all he lived for in this world, was her. 

Even if he couldn't have her. 

Even as he now raced towards her home, dead set in the path of EF4 Tornado, threatening to engulf every single thing in its path, including Tyler, Y/N and her abusive husband. He would save both of them, as much as he wished for him to be swept up by the storm and never seen again. 

Tyler had barely put the red beast he drove into park, before his boots hit the ground, his heart pounding in his throat as he called out. 

“Y/N! Y/H/N!” He raced towards the front entrance,hearing yelling and screaming coming from inside. Tyler held his breath, feet pounding up the steps to their home as he forced his way inside, the noises now louder as he tried to figure out where the sounds were coming from. The yelling and screaming echoed from the back of the house, completely forgetting the wind howling outside for a single moment. 

Then he saw her. 

Y/N came around the corner, trying to dodge something her husband threw. Tyler watched as whatever it was shattered against the wall, calling her name before he even realized what he was doing. Her head whipped in his direction, catching sight of him, and he watched as her eyes flooded with relief, before the booming voice of her husband filled the house. 

Y/N rushed towards Tyler, his hands capturing her tear soaked face in his hands, and oh how his heart broke for her. The redness on her cheek, likely from being slapped, along with a split lip. Bruises on her wrists where her husband forcibly held her. His calm resolve started to crumble as he continued to look at her, melting into anger. 

“Y/N. Get to your storm cellar now.” 

“What about you?” She asked. The wind outside grew louder, signaling their impending doom. 

“I'll be there. I promise.” as he spoke those words, her husband rounded the corner from the back of the house, catching sight of the two. 

“Who the hell are you? Have you been fucking my wife? Some fucking nerve to show up here.” He bellowed, advancing on the two. 

“Y/N! Go!” Tyler shoved her out of the way and towards the direction of her storm cellar. She hesitated for a split second, looking between the two men before she finally disappeared. 

“I always knew my wife was a whore. Fucking any man she seen.” Tyler watched as her husband closed the last few steps, the front screen door bursting open from the force of the winds outside. His eyes searched the room, finding an umbrella conveniently placed near the front door, and a split second he grabbed it, swinging it around and heard the destructive crack as he hit her husband upside the head. 

And he collapse to a heap, Tyler standing above him. His chest heaving with panic as he hesitated on what to do. Drag her husband down the stairs to the storm cellar, saving a life, or leave him, giving her a chance to be free from him, also effectively saving a life. 

“Tyler?!” Y/N's panicked cry came from below, spurring him to make a decision. He stepped over the crumpled body, dropping the umbrella and running through the house towards the storm cellar. Bursting his way inside, he made sure the door was sealed. Tyler made his way to her, his arms encasing her in a tight hold, his body covering hers as moments later the rumbling above them heightened, the noises outside growing impossibly louder as Y/N sobbed beneath him, tears soaking his shirt as she cried into his chest. 

Somehow, her crying was loudest, beating the storm that raged on above them. 

“It’s okay. I got you. You’re safe. It’s okay.” He repeated the words, the phrases becoming a mantra as the two of them spent the next several minutes in the cold and damp cellar, waiting out the raging tunnel of wind above them. And as he held her, whispering comforting words, his hand running through her hair in a soothing manner, he vowed that no one would find out about today. 

Her husband's death would be accidental, caught in the storm after he was unable to make it to safety. No one would ever find out that Tyler left him deliberately to die, to free them of his wrath and to save Y/N. 

She was safe, and maybe with time, Tyler could finally have her. 

Maybe he could finally have the chance to treat and love her the way that she deserved. 

[theeoriginals]

Sooo maybe Klaus kidnaps a young woman (in true Klaus fashion of course) who he knows is a powerful witch but all she knows is that she has this crazy magic and she can't control it. Also a little prompt/challenge with Klaus saying "you really are far more precious than I thought"! Can't wait to see what you come up with xx

extenuating circumstances | klaus mikaelson

pairing: klaus mikaelson x reader (no y/n!)

warnings: kidnapping (but it’s… lighthearted kidnapping), mentions of other violence, mentions of bad family members (vague neglect mentioned), klaus being an absolute menace (he’s just a girl), reader is pretty angsty/sarcastic but klaus thinks she’s great so somehow he’s become the sunshine of grumpy x sunshine, this is like pre-relationship like they just banter and are flirty

author’s note: i managed to write this at work so ignore this if it is bad or weird

The thing is, her powers have always been a curse. They have brought her family nothing but trouble, and in turn have pushed her out of the house, out of the love and comfort she once knew, because no one likes a monster they cannot control.

She wasn’t ever supposed to be this powerful. It was supposed to go to her brother. He was trained to one day lead their coven, and handle the burden that comes with that, but for some reason, she’d been chosen. She hadn’t even been paying attention at the ceremony because she knew her brother would be chosen and she wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. The next thing she knew, of course, was hitting the ground and waking up with her family all standing above her glaring at her like she’d done something wrong.

It didn’t take them long after that to determine that she was some sort of usurper and she needed to go. It didn’t take much to convince her to leave, either. She knew well enough where she wasn’t wanted and they hadn’t bothered to hide it.

It’s been months since then. Months since she was kicked out, escaped, whatever, and she still doesn’t know what to do with all of this— energy inside her. Energy isn’t the right word, necessarily. Perhaps tornado is better.

A tornado of power that could bring death, bring life, bring god knows what else, if she couldn’t keep the lid on it. She’d managed to do it so far, but really, she didn’t think she could do it much longer.

It’s not unfamiliar at this point to wake up randomly. Most people would call it “blacking out”. She isn’t sure what she’d call it other than, “scared to sleep because it seems like her powers want to torment her with nightmares so she stays awake as long as she physically can until she literally passes out from exhaustion.”

So, it’s not really a new occurrence for her to wake up without remembering when exactly she fell asleep. But this— this is definitely new.

There’s a blurry figure standing over her, and she can hear muffled voices, but she can’t quite make out the words they’re saying as she regains consciousness completely. She grimaces at the way her head pounds and squeezes her eyes shut, opening them again to significantly less blurriness and it’s then that she recognizes the person in front of her. Above her. Whatever.

“Klaus.”

“Oh, lovely, she’s awake. I was wondering if you were going to sleep another day away, or if you’d finally grace me with your presence,”

She blinks up at the Original a few times before her face flattens into a deadpan glare. “This is the 3rd time this month. When are you going to learn that no one cares enough about me to fight you for my freedom?”

He holds up a finger, giving her a wry smile. “That is where you’re wrong. Someone cares enough about you to give me what I want in exchange for your freedom and safety,”

“I don’t remember my safety being at risk in the first place,”

He rolls his eyes. “Your idiot friend has called me a dozen times in the past hour. I have repeatedly tried to explain to him that you’ve been dozing, treating my home like it’s some sort of resort to lounge in instead of being a good little hostage.”

Isaac.

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as she forces herself upright. “Isaac is harmless and you know it. He doesn’t have anything to offer you.”

Klaus steps away from her, taking a seat on the chair that’s been pulled up to the side of the bed. “Oh I’m well aware of all of his shortcomings. But I’m also aware that he has managed to remain in your family’s coven and harbor you like a little witch fugitive in his home since you were kicked out of the nest. Unfortunately for you, I need something from your coven and Isaac needs you in one piece, so he’s going to do as I say.”

She sighs again, exhausted and exasperated. “Your thought process doesn’t make sense to anyone but you,”

“I don’t need it to make sense to anyone else, as I always manage to get what I want.”

She mutters something unintelligible under her breath, pressing her hands into her eyes.

“You slept for quite some time,”

She stills for a second, pursing her lips. “How long?”

“18 hours.”

Her eyes widen and she can’t stop the shocked curse that slips from her lips. “There’s no way I slept for 18 hours, uninterrupted.”

“I take offense to that, I took great measures to keep it from being interrupted.”

She gives him a skeptical look, eyeing his relaxed posture in the chair beside the bed. “What, did you sit by my bed the whole time?”

“Yes, I did. Also, it’s my bed,”

She goes to quickly retort with something snarky, but clamps her mouth shut when his words register in her mind. “Wait, really?”

He shrugged, uncaring of her disbelief. “I tried to wake you up after I first brought you back here, but you didn’t seem to want to do much so I let you be. You seemed to need some rest.”

In an attempt to push away the sudden butterflies in her stomach, she looks away from him, eyeing the fabric of the blankets draped over her lap. “You should’ve woken me up.”

“I did just say I tried,”

“Obviously not that hard,”

“You know, one would think you’d be a bit nicer to me considering I let you sleep in my bed,”

She gives him an incredulous look. “Yes, let me just say thank you to my kidnapper,”

He points a finger at her, eyes narrowing with a teasing gleam in his eyes. “We are far past that stage of our relationship by now,”

“What would you consider our relationship to be if not one of kidnapper and hostage?”

Expecting another snappy response, she looks at him expectantly, but he just looks at her with something she can only identify as fondness in his eyes.

“You know, you really are far more precious than I thought,”

Her fingers twitch helplessly against the blankets and she huffs, looking to the ceiling to avoid his gaze. It’s making her feel far too human and she doesn’t know what to do with herself when someone looks at her like she’s anything but the tornado she now is.

“You’re ridiculous,” She mutters back, though there’s no heat in it. There hasn’t really been any heat in anything she’s said, but she is trying her best to ignore that. “Did I… I didn’t have any nightmares, did I?”

He sits up smoothly, standing. “Hard to say. If you’re still feeling tired, feel free to go back to sleep. Depending on how useless your friend is, you might be here a while.”

She stares at his back as he walks to the doors of the bedroom and drags her finger down a ripped stitch in the blanket. “Thank you for… you know,”

“That sounded like it physically hurt you,”

She smirks and presses her cheek into her knee where she’s pulled to her chest. “It did. Gravely.”

He hums, looking over his shoulder at her, that same look of fondness unwavering in his eyes.

“Don’t be mean to Isaac, he’s my friend.”

“What am I, if not your friend?”

Her smirk turns into a smile despite her effort to stifle it. “Kidnapper.”

[lumi-klovstad-games]

Why are the Helldivers 2 loading screens so good

This is a verr advanced tip. Not sure you rookies have the experience needed to really get this one.

I had no idea!

THOSE GIANT BONES CLEARLY CAME FROM A CREATURE THAT HATED FREEDOM AND THE UNIVERSE IS BETTER OFF WITHOUT IT, CADET

Really this is just solid advice for all of life's problems.

I AIN'T NO COWARD SARGE

The tenth turned out to be a goddamn COMMUNIST so we had him executed in the town square.

Heavy is the burden of Democracy Distribution.

'Nuff said!

Any man, woman, or child over 7 who panics will be shot so that the children under 6 will learn appropriate Super Earth-approved levels of courage.

Super Earth cares deeply for the mental well-being of ALL our citizens. Now back to the land of fire tornadoes filled with bugs the size of skyscrapers that spit metal and flesh eating acid.

Don't drink and dive, either.

I reported the ship's cook just this morning for not using enough cooking oil. He claimed it was because we were low on supply, but clearly he was an Automaton Sympathizer.

It can't be addictive if you don't live long enough to become an addict, right?

Would the Ministry of Truth lie to you? Of course not! Truth is literally in their name!

Gotta stay strong trooper. DEMOCRACY NEEDS YOU.

No permits needed for swallowing though.

Or as we vets in the service like to call it, "Colonial Diplomacy".

This tip written by Death Captain Steve "Three Fingers" Jameson.

[redroomroaving]

Paso Doble <3

I've been thinking about how the dance scene would play out between Wyll and Augustine.

Snippet under the cut.

"Can you dance?"

Wyll already knew the answer, of course; he'd seen how Augustine moved as he'd rallied the tieflings at the grove - the artful choreography of reaching hands and clasped fists drummed to his own chest.

The rhythm and flow that punctuated his words just as evocative as the fire that burned beneath them.

Augustine could dance. Wyll just wanted to see it.

He tilted his head, regarding Wyll across the quiet clearing. There was no music in this place, no joy, no stars - just hungry darkness around them. Perhaps that's why Wyll had found himself doing this, dancing, so that he could hold on to some life yet.

Augustine's lips curled into a smile, and then he moved.

He span towards Wyll; small, controlled spirals so precise and tightly wired it was like a coiling spring - but descending upon him with pace and fury - Wyll felt his heart race to see it.

Augustine moved like tornado of blades, dizzying and terrifying and beautiful as suddenly he was sprung upon him - firm hand upon the back of Wyll's neck, the other splayed across his chest as he turned him, dropping Wyll to the floor as he cornered around him.

Wyll had not expected him to be strong, despite the imposing figure the man struck; to be able to manoeuvre his body so effortlessly.

Within moments he'd pulled him back to his feet, but not for long.

"You can keep up, can't you?" He asked, eyes as bright as ever, and filled with the glitter of challenge. Their leader, for once, allowing himself a moment of freedom.

Wyll took his hand.

"If the race is worth the challenge," he said.

Augustine smiled.

Whatever Wyll had imagined, Augustine surprised him further; clasping his hand and driving him across the grove with strident, powerful steps. Augustine danced like a man who tamed beasts, exuding strength and poise even though his movements were graceful, stalking.

No, Wyll considered, feeling his chest burning and his muscles alight and singing as he matched Augustine's steps - he danced like a man who fought beasts. Who faced a roaring lion without fear.

As he turned Wyll, drawing him gracefully to the ground, astride him now and hovering above him, Wyll could feel the heat of his breath, the heaving of his chest.

He was inches away. His gaze burnt, and it was filled with something Wyll rarely saw, but knew; he felt it in his gut, too. Desire.

When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper.

"Does this answer your question?"

[ya9amicide]

Redamancy [BTS]

chapter three

♡ info ♡ k-pop masterlist ♡ previous chapter ♡ next chapter ♡

a/n: OMFG I'M SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING! Life has been like one raging tornado and has not slowed down in forever. My Wattpad was also deleted so I lost writing motivation for a long time too...But, I'm going to attempt to update this story more since I was so excited for it and I know you are too! Thank you to everyone who has left comments, I read them all and I really appreciate it! <3

summary: Hybrids were accepted in society to a certain degree. To some, they are for entertainment. Used as sex and money tools. To lock up and abuse whenever and however they please. Something to have control over. To others, they are companions. Just like regular animals are used for therapy or simply companionship, hybrids are too.

To the rest, they are just like everyone else. Someone with their own life who deserves the same freedoms as your everyday John or Jane Doe. Wren is one of these people. She hates the idea of owning a hybrid. She has nothing against those who own them for medical or companionship reasons. Just the rest.

But, when a ragtag pack of seven mismatched hybrids somehow ends up in the woods behind her home, she takes them in and does the one thing she never thought she would do. Own them. But, she also does something she didn't even think was possible. She fell in love with each and every one of them.

pairing(s): ot7 x ot7, ot7 x oc

warnings: none

taglist (crossed out = couldn't be tagged): @oopscoop || @writingwithmai || @osakis-gf || @hiefisch || @effielumiere || @singukieee || @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh || @littlrmills14-blog || @welcometomyworld13 || @chaimin || @demarie04 || @manic-atthe-disco || @blancflms || @ingyusart || @realrintaro || @braveangel777 || @ldysmfrst || @kpopmultistantrashsstuff || @vaishavi4w || @foreverddaeng

I decided to wake up early the next morning so that I could make breakfast for everyone. When I got downstairs, I noticed that it was still raining outside. Although it wasn’t as bad as last night, it still wasn’t anything that someone should be outside in.

Making breakfast was a challenge. This is the most food I’ve ever had to make at once. Not to mention that I have to make it as quiet as possible so as not to wake the hybrids with sensitive hearing.

About halfway through making breakfast, I heard light footsteps coming down the hall from the stairs. Turning towards the doorway of the kitchen, I see Seokjin peeking in. “Good morning,” I say and smile at him.

“Good morning,” his voice is still soft and quiet like it was last night. He fidgets in the doorway, watching as I move around the kitchen.

“Do you want to help?” I ask him.

He looks up at me, startled. “...Can I?”

“Of course. Do you know how to make pancakes?” He nods his head yes. “Great, then you can help me decide what kind to make. You know everyone’s preference better than I do so you’ll be a big help in making sure everyone eats happily.”

By the time the food was ready, we had made a wide variety of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, and had several bowls of mixed fruits as well. Being hybrids, especially those like the wolf and tiger, they will have big appetites. In general, they all will as grown men so I don’t have any doubt that all of the food will be eaten in no time.

“Seokjin?” I ask and he looks up at me with a hum from where he was helping set the table. “I can finish this if you want to go get everyone up please?” He nods and scampers to get the rest of his pack.

A few minutes later, loud shuffling is heard as all seven of them make their way toward me in the dining room. “Good morni–oof!” In the middle of greeting them, I was interrupted by a bundle of hyper, furry, warmth in the form of Jungkook. He rushed to me as soon as he saw me and wrapped me in his arms in a tight hug.

The others look at him in panic. “Jungkook!” Several of them shouted in worry.

I just laugh, gently patting him on the back, causing him to practically melt in my arms. “Well, good morning to you too, bunny. Did you sleep well?”

He pulls away from me and nods erratically. “Uh-huh! The bed was so warm and cozy. I haven’t slept this well in forever. I almost didn’t want to get up when Jin came to wake us up.” He smiles brightly showing me his adorable bunny teeth and I can hear his foot thumping happily against the floor again.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that.” I think I’m starting to understand the fond looks I’ve caught the others throwing at Jungkook when they think he isn’t looking. “You could have stayed in bed a bit longer if you wanted. Although, I’m not sure breakfast would taste as good warmed up in the microwave as opposed to fresh off the stove.”

His bunny ears perk up on top of his head at the mention of food and he quickly shuffles to the table. Everyone watches him go in silence before we all follow him, moods lifted due to his enthusiasm.

I turn to the others who still seem to be waiting for me to make the first move, despite Jungkook’s gung-ho attitude. “Well go ahead,” I tell them, gesturing to the table. “You don’t have to wait for me, help yourselves.”

Like the previous night, they all shuffled around the table, clumsily finding their seats. They kept the same configuration as before; the predators surrounding the prey and effectively cutting me off. I don’t mind though if that’s what it takes to keep them comfortable here.

With the risk of irritating them, I spoke up. “So I figured we should set some ground rules, you know, besides the few from last night.” They all shuffled nervously, slowing their eating. Namjoon and Yoongi particularly seemed bothered by this sentence as their eyes narrowed slightly at me in response.

Sensing their worry I work quickly to console them. “It’s nothing bad, I promise!” I wave my hands frantically.

Jimin peers at me curiously through his bangs. “What are the rules?” His voice was timid but it didn’t shake as he used it.

“Well, you guys are welcome to stay as long as you need to,” I say, smoothing the napkin down in my lap. “You can pretty much do whatever you’d like. The estate is big so there’s a lot to explore. I just ask that you be careful. This was my family’s home so lots of stuff in here has sentimental meaning.”

“I also ask that you maybe help around the house every so often…” I trail off as they all turn nervous and upset. “I’m not asking you to pick up a bunch of chores or anything like that! Maybe just help me keep tidy by cleaning up any messes you make. And Seokjin, I could tell you liked helping me with breakfast this morning.” The ferret hybrid turns slightly rosy with the attention now on him. “I would love your help every so often,” I say softly, chuckling under my breath. “Lord knows I’m not the best cook.”

They start to relax slightly but some tension remains, keeping the muscles in their bodies taught and hair on end.

They finished the rest of their breakfast in a slightly uncomfortable silence, the only sound heard was gentle chewing and the gentle scrape of forks against plates.

When morning pleasantries were done, they all stayed in their awkward huddle like the night before, waiting for me to give them instructions or dismiss them.

Jungkook shuffled in place and I could tell he wanted to say something. “What is it, Jungkook?” I asked, urging him to say what was on his mind.

“Umm…do you have any video games?” He asks shyly, bunny ears twitching nervously atop his head. The others look between the two of us timidly, as if waiting for me to snap at him for asking the question.

I chuckle softly, eyes lighting up. I’ve been waiting for someone who was enough of a challenge when it comes to gaming. “Of course I do!” I exclaim, ushering him to the spacious living room where my console sits. 

I’m learning very quickly that Jungkook is very animated in the way that his body seems to speak for him most of the time. His nose twitches in excitement as he bounds towards the large sofa, picking up a controller.

Jin slowly makes his way to the couch, taking up the space next to Jungkook. The other hybrids exchange a glance, trying to decide which predator will stay with their more docile counterparts. Taehyung squeezes his way between the two on the couch, making it clear to me that they are under his watch at the moment.

Not saying anything, I plop down in the recliner a few feet away and turn my attention to the remaining hybrids. “You’re more than welcome to stay and play with us. If not, there’s plenty else to do. There’s a small library, a home theater, an art studio, and of course your bedrooms and any other rooms you can find something to do as well.” As I list off things they can do, I notice some of their eyes light up about certain rooms.

Namjoon’s face seemed to brighten when I mentioned the library and Taehyung’s ears twitched slightly at the mention of the art room. Something to keep in mind later when he’s done staking claim over his pack mates.

With no further instructions needed, the rest of the hybrids dispersed, venturing to various places across the house while I settled in to play video games with the few that remained.

[yandere--stuck]

Yandere!TFP!Knock Out x Human!Reader Headcanons

❤️‍🩹 Knockout had become relatively well known in local street racing scenes. He had meant to keep a low profile, of course, but with a model as beautiful as his, he couldn't help but stand out. Simply the cost of beauty! What he didn't expect, however, was to get a fan. Sure, Knock Out noticed familiar faces at multiple races, but this was different. Someone who always complimented his skills and good looks after races. It wasn't long before he began to pick you out from a crowd. Hearing the whispers of your voice in the tornado of a crowd, yet somehow still distinct to Knock Out. The more he crossed paths, the more he indulged in talking with you and the longer he strayed from returning to the ship.

⛑️ He always kept his tinted windows up, much to your disappointment. Said he wanted to keep this side of him secret, but he did open up. At least, partially. You wouldn't get a real name, but could call him Knock Out, as a nickname. He told you he had recently transferred over for a position in medicine. That he practically lived at work and the conditions were terrible. The second he got a chance, he turned to the open road to feel some sense of freedom. When you responded with sympathy, Knock Out found himself surprised. He'd always considered humans… Primitive. Cute and squishy, but not exactly the most evolved bunch. Humans were supposed to be animals. But, you understood Knockout. You shared your own troubles and related to him. To watch the exhilaration of racing is to be stuck in the moment, to forget everything except where the rubber meets the road and how fast you can go. Despite himself, Knock Out began to grow fond of you.

❤️‍🩹 Whenever Knock Out was aboard The Nemesis, he only thought of you - which led to a few slip ups during surgeries. And whenever he gets a moment to himself, he's so wrapped in seeing you that even racing just feels like a preamble to talking to you! And he's been staying out so late… It isn't long before Megatron catches wind of this, going so far as to threaten his life if he didn't shape up. So, what he was about to do really wasn't his fault. It was for the best. He wouldn't focus if he didn't have you with him and when they win this war, you'll be lucky he took you in. Besides, you don't really think those other humans deserve you more than him, do you?

⛑️ It's late. He purposefully kept you from leaving long after the streets were deserted and the sun was swallowed up the horizon. He told you he wanted to show you the real him. You aren't expecting his door to open, and you definitely aren't expecting it to empty. Seatbelts shoot out to wrap around your body, pulling you in. You fly forward and crash face first against the seats, failing to catch your fall as you slide inside. You hear clicks as the belts secure you in, yelping as Knock Out rocketed forward, taking off into the night. 

❤️‍🩹 Knock Out, being more knowledgeable on humans than his fellow Decepticons, acquires everything you need to live comfortably. Nothing but the best for his favorite human! He understands that you're confused, angry, upset, betrayed, even. But that's okay! You'll see, Knock Out will show you this is for the best. You're probably feeling homesick, too, and love's the only medicine! He can't deny that somehow you've wormed your way into his spark.

⛑️ He's cautious around who he shows you off to, but when he does, he's incredibly boastful and proud of you, his human. The best human, even, because Knock Out deserved nothing but the best! Someone like Breakdown might not get it, and hey, as long as he's happy, right? But, at the same time, he can't help but notice how oddly affectionate and sentimental Knock Out is with you. Almost, dare he say it, like what one would do with a conjunx. Holding you cupped in his hands, holding you against his face plate (even sneaking the occasional peck), petting your head carefully with a claw.

❤️‍🩹 Knock Out doesn't care what the others think in regards to hiding you, just that he worries you may get hurt or used as a bargaining chip, and he couldn't live with himself if something happened to you. He felt… Connected to you. He loved having you by his station as he worked. You've even begun to start talking to him again! And it makes him feel so, so happy. His perfect little human. He doesn't care what anyone, even Megatron, thinks. He… He loves you. And he will never, ever let you go, no matter how much you stroke his ego and plead to go home, but the flattery is still appreciated all the same. Maybe one day you'll actually believe it.