#all he wants is to protect the people he loves

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Out of frame 3/4

Summary : Y/N and Lando Norris have been together for three years. Their relationship is real, steady, and full of quiet love but always behind the scenes. While fans know they’re a couple, Lando has never posted about her, avoids public displays of affection, and never mentions her in interviews. At first, Y/N understood. She believed it was about privacy, about protecting what they had. But over time, being constantly left out of frame has started to hurt.

Genre : angst, SMAU

Pairing : Lando Norris x reader

Faceclaim : @suanbeiii

Main Masterlist

Serie Masterlist

@your_username 📍Côte d’Azur

A very special photoshoot, thanks @your_photograph 🌸

@_user1 she’s literally the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. like??? how is this even real??

@_user2 Lando must be the dumbest man alive I fear 😭

@_user3 girl you’re glowing like someone who deleted his number ✨

@_user4 he said “which gf?” and she said “not me then.” ICONIC.

@_user5 this is exactly what peace looks like after you stop begging a man for the bare minimum

@_user6 no because if they break up for real, I’m shooting my shot 🫡

@_user7 soft girl era activated. and he’s nowhere in sight? suspicious 🧐

@_user8 I just know Lando’s watching this through his tears

@_user9 the flower, the pearls, the PINK , yeah no, he lost

@_user10 if he doesn’t come crawling back after this… I WILL. give me a chance queen 😭❤️

@_user11 she didn’t need to mention him to completely obliterate him

@_user12 you mean to tell me he left this to go party with his friends in Japan? okay clown

@_user13 this looks like a breakup shoot and a Vogue cover at the same time

@_user14 soooo when are you free for dinner? asking for literally all of us

Texts messages :

Lando I saw the photos You look… breathtaking

Lando I don’t even have the words How do you manage to look like that and I act like you’re not the most beautiful person in the world?

Lando Y/N please. You know I’m sorry I’ve been sorry since the second we started fighting

Lando I messed up, okay? I was defensive, I didn’t listen, I didn’t take in how much it mattered to you I thought I was protecting something private and sacred, but I see now I was just hiding

Lando I was scared. And I pushed you away because I didn’t know how to be vulnerable in front of everyone

Lando I see the comments I know what people are saying I know I look like the dumbest man alive Because I was.

Lando I’m not partying, I’m not happy, I’m not okay. I miss you. I miss your voice, your laugh, your constant humming when you cook, the way you curl your fingers in my sleeve when you’re cold

Lando I sent the flowers because I didn’t know what else to do And yeah, anyone can send flowers. But no one can love you the way I do

Lando I’m sorry. For every time I made you feel small, or hidden, or unloved You weren’t. Not even for a second You are everything

Lando Please talk to me. Please. Even if you’re mad. Yell at me. Swear at me. Just… don’t go silent on me

Lando I don’t want to lose you because I didn’t know how to show I was proud of you I am, I’m so proud. Of everything you are

Lando I love you. More than ever

Lando Please come back. Or let me come to you Just say something Anything ?

@_F1Gossip 📍Tokyo, Japan

Spotted: Lando Norris seen out partying in Tokyo after the Japan Grand Prix last night. No Y/N in sight.

@_user1 not him clubbing while she’s not here, be serious lando

@_user2 he’s out here drinking and dancing while the rest of us are grieving their relation??

@_user3 how are you gonna party when you clearly hurt your girl and she’s getting love letters in her comments?? GET IT TOGETHER.

@_user5 I’ve defended him for years but… I can’t do this anymore. she deserved better and we all know it.

@_user6 I know PR team is sweating.

@_user7 he parties like he didn’t just lose the most beautiful woman alive and humiliate her on live TV. delusion.

@_user8 idc what the drama is, I’m just waiting for Y/N to post again. SHE’S the star now

@_user9 literally everyone: “Lando please fix it” Lando: goes clubbing with his shirt unbuttoned

@_user10 “which girlfriend” got him feeling single I guess 😭

@your_usurname

Needed a drink and have the best friends ever for that🥂

@_user1 She’s in her IDGAF era and I’m here for it 🔥👑

@_user2 Oh she’s DONE done. 😮‍💨

@_user3 the crown. the girls. the middle finger. this is the official breakup tour

@_user4 Y/N said “cry about it, I’m busy glowing.”

@_user5 your glow-up is legally blinding. teach us your ways

@_user6 she’s heartbroken but make it sexy

@_user7 I know Lando’s watching this post on repeat 😭

@_user10 She’s too fine to be sad. Lando who???

@_user11 Not to be dramatic but I’d jump in front of a train for her

@_user12 Her friends deserve a raise. Crowned their queen and gave her the world tonight.

@_user13 this is what it looks like when the pretty girl realizes she deserves better 😭👏

@_user15 tell me your bf fumbled without telling me 💅🏽

3:02 AM Texts messages : Lando babe babeee bbabyyy i mean not baby i mean. ugh whatever why u so pretty huh?? like??? WHYYYY

Lando saw ur post n now i’m lying on the floor face down sad pathetic loser man vibes

Lando u look like a literal goddess like Aphro… aphroditty… aphrotiddy?? idk u know what i mean

Lando not even mad just confused hurting too mostly sad after seeing your post

Lando did ur friend give u that crown? tell her i said thanks for crowning the queen of my whole life also tell her to stop commenting “he fumbled” i knooooow

Lando i miss ur laugh ur hands ur eyes ur frown when i’m being annoying miss all of it even ur cold feet under the covers

Lando i shud have posted u every day every hooour every millimillisecond u soooo pretty i wanna scream

Lando come back plsss or lemme come back i’ll be so good. i’ll buy u flowers every hour i’ll post u. tag u

Lando can i call uuuu i wanna hear ur voice just wanna know ur real and not like. a hallucination from my own stupidity

Lando ok gonna go cry in the shower now

Lando iloveyou babyyyy answer plssss i'm not drunk just ok i'm drunk plssss answer fuck i miss u

@landonorris

Mmyyy loove

@_user1 wait… WHO is this girl??? where is Y/N??? 😭

@_user2 why this man do a post at 4 a.m, is he not in a club ??

@_user3 so let me get this straight. he couldn’t tag Y/N, never posted her, but now he’s posting mystery girl like this???

@_user4 he really said “which gf?” and then proved it 😐

@_user5 the audacity of this man is actually insane. like. Y/N was literally still watching his races

@_user6 did they break up and he already moved on?? and posting about it?? bold

@_user7 3 years of silence and now THIS. lando norris you will pay for your crimes

@_user8 hope Y/N is living her best life far away from this nonsense

@_user9 he’s just soft launching a whole new girl while Y/N gets silence. bro what

@_user10 if this is a new gf… he better never talk about privacy again cause this is messy 😵‍💫

@_user11 no way you were gifted the most elegant woman and fumbled her like this

@_user12 someone go check on Y/N cause this?? this is COLD.

5:02 AM Texts messages

Y/N who the fuck is she?

Y/N you seriously meet some random girl ?

Y/N you CHEATED on me??? you really cheated on me and then posted it for the world to see?

Y/N lando what the hell you disappear on me, ignore everything I said, and now THIS?

Y/N you couldn’t post me for THREE YEARS

Y/N is this why you didn’t tag me? because you still flirt with girls in clubs and you didn’t want me to find out?

Y/N you didn’t even have the decency to end things before doing this we weren’t okay, but I still loved you. I will have still showed up for you and this is how you repay me?

Y/N this is LOW. even for you.

Y/N say something SAY. SOMETHING. LANDO !!!!! Answer your phone I'm trying to call you rn

Y/N I swear to god, we’re DONE.

Taglist (closed) : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @hi26loveie, @bunnisplayground, @nina481, @reallifemermaidprincess, @cars-and-frogs, @delululeclerc, @txmhxllqnd, @lydia-demarek, @destinyg237, @rhaenyrasversion, @sarascabiosa, @readz4u, @tvdtw4ever, @mynameisangeloflife, @teti-menchon0604, @suns3treading, @op814kitty, @prettyboyroseberg, @willowsnook, @ariesandwolves, @clarksgf, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @pinklemonade34, @fat-meh, @tiaajosephin, @landosbabe4, @easy4, @jule239, @mercrussell, @skylandori, @ryuucollapse, @nickie-amore, @fairyjinn, @seonaw, @strawberrylov-er, @linnygirl09, @dilflover44, @bell1a, @f1fantasys, @sillyfreakfanparty, @janonymus0, @taetae-armyyyyy, @charlesgirl16, @angstynasty, @jules-bea2308, @afternoonarchive, @itsbieberxholland, @rexit-mo, @chlmtfilms, @vampgege, @mochimommy2002, @budgetcupid, @lemon-stvrrr, @bell1a, @taebearyoongs, @hazzasmunchkin, @sainz0fthetimes, @didaaa4, @madelyn2000, @il0vereadingstuff, @march32nd, @chlmtfilms, @literallysza, @cheapdocmartens, @wolfstarsimpxx, @pretzelcat4-blog, @larya810, @6-noir, @urfavftoomie, @ficr3ccs, @strawberrylov-er, @wosof1, @behindmygreyeyes, @justheretoreadthxxs, @pinklemonade34, @ninass-world, @landosbabe4, @leclercdream, @perfectsuitcasegardenpie, @flowersandalll, @sagestack, @angxedxtz, @fangirl125reader, @mimisweetz, @mattslovelygf, @taetae-armyyyyy, @guacala, @gothicwidowsworld, @chezmardybum, @virtualperfectioncat, @cherryhazee,@bubble012, @teti-menchon0604

[smileytiger28]

image descriptions: GIFset from the movie thunderbolts*, each GIF paired with a tumblr post about the movie.

yelena puts her head in her hands in embarrassment. the post is from onceuponadorkyworld writing: seeing yelena being embarrassed by her father picking her up in front of her new friends made me happy that she can still have pivotal childhood memories as an adult.

bucky takes off his sunglasses and aims his grenade launcher at alexei's car. post is from mellpenscorner writing: Bucky, trying to be a politician and realizing how inefficient it is at stopping bad guys quickly: Welp. I can’t debate, diplomat, or deposition my way out of this one. Bucky, loading his explosive disc launcher: Detonate it is.

new york city is slowly covered by a giant shadow. post is from windy-wooshes writing: No but to be serious guys i didnt expect that movie to be that kind of good. I expected great fights. I expected complicated morals. I did not expect that movie to say i know everything seems hopeless but you dont get a choice, you have to try. I did not expect that movie to say when we are up against an impossible, unjust threat the only way through is freely given kindness and forgiveness. I did not expext that movie to say the real way villans win is by preying on those we’ve already decided are hopeless. I did not expect that movie to say we all have to believe we can get better. Please believe me we can all get better. Oh my god.

in the bunker, bob, still in medical scrubs, giggles nervously. post is from rummikubcube writing: What if you were a METH ADDICT, who came from an ABUSIVE HOUSEHOLD, and then you decided that you wanted to TRY AND BE GOOD (OR/AND FIND NEW DRUGS), so you went to a shady lab in MALAYSIA, and then you kinda DIED, and then you RESUSCITATED with GODLIKE POWERS, and some shady Russian blonde presented you with ADOPTION PAPERS, and saved you from your crushing evil alter ego depression with the POWER OF FRIENDSHIP-

an elevator door opens, revealing the thunderbolts. post is from kudos-si-do writing: the power of friendship defeating depression is mcu canon now

cameras flash; bucky wears a suit and sits at a senate hearing. post is from risrambles writing: the concept of bucky texting sam updates about life during the events of thunderbolts* “having a great time doing congress shit! wish u were here!” fast forward to one hour later “fighting god, call u later?”

alexei, ava, john, and yelena are all tied up, and they look in shock at bucky. discokicks posts: so. who’s gonna do it. who’s gonna be the first to write the fic with bob and yelena crawling around in the vents and alexei eating pop tarts and walker and ava fighting about what they’re watching for movie night

bucky talks angrily at the aforementioned tied-up thunderbolts*. marvelouslymarly posts: I keep thinking about the fact that Bucky first met Bob as Sentry!Bob and then got … taken apart by him and then saw him as The Void but, later in the void-world, still decided that what he'd heard about him from Yelena and the others and what he had come to know about Bob was enough for him to become protective and save Bob from the void because thats exactly who Bucky is at his core! He will protect the ~tiny guy and he will be the grumpy old uncle and I love that we finally get to see him as such again!

john walker is squished in the middle seat of alexei's car. chachaafterdark posts: In my heart of hearts I know that every single thunderbolt's relationship with John Walker is 'Yeah, he's a bitchass... unfortunately he happens to be our bitchass so we kinda have to ride for him, prepare to die i guess' 🤷‍♀️

an exasperated bucky shakes his head. joshhcrtnett posts: ill be honest i think the post credits scene isnt even remotely as bad as people make it out to be theres no sambucky divorce thats just a married couple having an argument and bucky sleeping on the couch for a week.

Thunderbolts* (2025) + text posts

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Forty-Four

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, questionable timeline, timeskips, fluff central, motherhood.

Notes — I love you all so much. Please cherish this chapter the way I do. It's not the 'final' one but... in a way, it is. An epilogue will follow in the next few days, but for now, thank you so much for loving Amelia and Lando.

The baby monitor gave a soft ping — a steady green light blinking in the corner of the room, signalling that Ada’s breathing hadn’t changed. Slow. Sure. Safe.

Amelia didn’t look up.

She was cross-legged on the bed, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, the duvet a wrinkled mess around her knees. Her laptop glowed faintly in the dark, screen cluttered with tabs she hadn’t actually read in over an hour. Her peppermint tea sat untouched on the nightstand, long gone cold.

Lando lay beside her, one arm draped over his eyes, the other resting loosely over his chest.

She hadn’t said anything in a while, not since muttering something about WHO flight guidelines for babies and infant body heat differentials at altitude. But now, finally, her voice broke the silence — quiet and flat. “I don’t think I know how to be both.”

Lando turned his head, arm falling away to look at her properly.

“An engineer,” Amelia clarified, still staring at her screen. “And a mother. I thought I could. Not all at once, not perfectly — I never expected that. But I thought I’d at least know how to start. And I don’t.”

Lando pushed himself up onto one elbow. “Hey,” he said softly. “You don’t have to have that figured out yet.”

“I just…” She exhaled, rubbed at her eyes with the heel of one hand. “But I feel like I’m letting everyone down. The team. The strategy unit. I haven’t even opened Tom’s messages from last week. I missed Oscar’s debrief.”

Lando frowned. “Baby—”

“I know no one expects me to be there,” she rushed on. “I know I just had a baby. But it’s like the world kept moving, and I just— I stepped away for one second, and I’ve been left behind. And I feel like I’m letting Oscar down.”

She shut her laptop gently, sliding it onto the mattress beside her.

Lando shifted closer. “No,” he said, voice low but firm now. “Don’t say that. God, If Oscar heard you say that, he’d be pissed.”

That drew a weak smile from her — brief but real. “I just feel so… stranded,” she admitted. “Like I’m standing outside my own life. Stranded in the past.”

“You’re not stranded,” Lando said. “I’d never let you be stranded. If you get stuck on an island, I’m right there with you. Building shelter. Fighting off wild chickens.”

That earned him a tiny laugh, which faded quickly. She curled tighter into herself, one hand absently pressed to her chest.

“My nipples hurt,” she whispered. “Everything hurts. And sometimes she won’t latch, and I feel like I’m failing at the one thing I’m supposed to be able to do right now. I love her more than anything, and still… I feel like I’m falling short. Like I don’t know how to be in the world anymore. I just want to stay here a little longer. In this house. Just us. No paddock. No calls. No questions.”

Lando sat up fully now, folding one leg under him, facing her squarely. “Babe,” he said gently, “she’s a week old. You’re allowed to want to hide for the next five days, months, hell, years. You built a human. From scratch. You’re allowed to want to protect her. To protect yourself.”

Amelia looked down, blinking hard.

“And if you want to stay here, stay. We’ll make it work. If you want to go off-grid, I’ll build us a fence and figure out how to plant tomatoes. We’ll get a sheep. Raise Ada to be a weird little farm baby.”

“You’d hate that,” she said through a soft sniffle.

“I’d learn to love it,” he replied without hesitation. “If you’re there, if she’s there, it’s already enough. Whatever pace you need, I’ll meet it. We’ll move when you’re ready.”

She let out a long, unsteady breath, shoulders loosening as she leaned into his side, head tucked under his chin. His arm curled around her instinctively, grounding her.

Ada shifted in her sleep, a tiny sigh from the bassinet. They both froze. Waited. Relaxed when the room settled again.

“I just want more time,” Amelia whispered.

“Then take it,” Lando murmured. “Take all the time. There’s no clock on you.”

They sat in that stillness for a while — Lando’s hand tracing light, aimless shapes against her back, the kind of touch that didn’t ask anything from her except to be here.

And then, quietly, he added, “You don’t have to choose, you know. Between her and your work. You don’t have to sacrifice one love for the other.”

Amelia blinked against his chest. She was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah,” she said eventually, voice rough. “Yeah, okay. I needed to hear that.”

“You can love her with your whole heart,” he whispered. “And still love building things. Still love solving puzzles and fixing races no one else can fix. You don’t have to be either-or.”

“Okay,” she repeated, a little stronger this time. “Okay.”

—

The smell of coffee hit her first — freshly ground, dark roast, strong enough to drag her out of bed on scent alone.

Amelia stirred, blinking slowly. The morning light was thin and gentle through the curtains. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

The bassinet was empty.

She sat up fast, heart skipping—until she spotted the baby monitor still blinking green and heard a familiar hum down the hall: Lando, singing terribly under his breath. Somewhere between a lullaby and whatever was stuck in his head from TikTok.

Amelia exhaled. Stretched. Swung her legs out of bed, wincing slightly as she stood. Still sore. Still healing. But upright.

She shuffled into the hallway wearing one of Lando’s hoodies and her softest socks — and paused.

There, right outside the nursery, was the whiteboard.

The one from her office. The one she’d forced her dad to bring to her from MTC during a meltdown.

Mounted crookedly, obviously with command strips. Already covered in Lando’s handwriting.

Across the top, in thick black marker, he’d written:

THE NORRIS FAMILY MASTER PLAN

Underneath it was divided into three chaotic columns:

ADA

fed @ 5:12am (boob fed. mummy also pumped 2 bags that i put in the freezer asap)

burped and spit up only a tiny bit

changed: YES (twice since 6am)

currently napping on daddy’s chest (10/10 would recommend)

cuter than all other babies (objective fact)

AMELIA

sleep: as much as she can because she deserves it

coffee brewed and waiting

iPad fully charged in your office bby

do NOT check emails unless emotionally stable (love u)

LANDO

meeting @ MTC moved to Zoom

5k tempo run with Jon @7:50

Send Max (Verstappen) Ada pics

At the bottom, in bright red marker with two stars and a smiley face, he’d written:

Today’s Motto: Take your time. No one’s going anywhere. Love you. 💛

Amelia stared at it.

“Uh oh,” Lando called softly from inside the nursery. “We’ve been busted.”

She padded to the doorway and leaned on the frame.

Lando was in the rocking chair, Ada curled peacefully on his chest in her lemon-print onesie, her tiny fist tucked under her chin. He looked up at Amelia with a grin, his curls a mess and his hoodie covered in spit-up.

“Look who stayed up with me to review my race notes,” he said in a whisper. “She’s got some strong opinions about tyre compounds.”

Amelia laughed. “Of course she does. She’s my daughter.”

She stepped into the room, bent down to kiss his hair.

“I love you,” she murmured.

“I know.” He looked smug. “I made bullet points. Did you see them?”

“Yeah.” She kissed him on the lips that time. “I love them.”

—

Hungary came and went, and Amelia had never known a rage like it.

It should have been perfect.

Oscar’s first Grand Prix victory — a clean, commanding drive. Tactical, calm under pressure. The kind of win that would be replayed in highlight reels for years. The kind of drive that justified every ounce of faith the team had put in him.

And Amelia hadn’t been there.

Not on the pit wall. Not in the garage. Not even in the country.

She was home. Still recovering. Three weeks postpartum, her body aching in ways she didn’t have words for. Her days were measured in naps and nappies, not sector times. Ada curled against her chest, tiny and warm and completely unaware of what her Uncle Ducky had just achieved.

Amelia had done everything right. Listened to the doctors. Stayed off her feet. Trusted the team.

And they’d messed it up.

Not the race — not entirely. Oscar had won, after all. But the way it had happened. The pit strategy had been off. Lando was called in a lap early — not maliciously — just badly timed. A chain of misjudged calls. And it meant he jumped Oscar, unintentionally undercutting him. Then came the order.

Swap positions.

It hadn’t been a request.

Lando had obeyed, eventually. But anyone watching closely could see it: the tension in his posture, the tightness in his jaw, the way he barely glanced sideways on the podium. It was a team win — but the celebration had a limp to it.

Amelia hadn’t seen it live. She was still catching up. Replays on her phone. Data reports trickling in. Fragments of a race she hadn’t been part of — and yet, was still tangled in.

It hurt.

She was proud of Oscar. Fiercely so. But part of her wanted to scream. At the pit wall. At the timing. At herself, for not being there to catch it as it slipped.

Instead, she paced the kitchen with Ada strapped to her chest, whispering, “You’re going to have to be really cute when Daddy gets home, okay? Extra, extra cute.”

In the early hours of the next morning, Lando came home quiet. Kissed her forehead. Pressed a hand to Ada’s back like it was the only thing anchoring him. He didn’t say much. Just curled up beside them on the bed and held on.

Later, when Ada was asleep in her bassinet and the room was soft with the hum of the baby monitor, Amelia looked over at him and murmured, “Tell him to come here.”

Lando blinked. “Now?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was tired, but gentle. “I know you’re upset at the team. At the way it happened. But Oscar probably feels bad too. I want to see him. I want to tell him I’m proud of him.”

Lando nodded. “Okay, baby.” He whispered.

—

Oscar arrived two days later, sun-flushed, eyes a little wary as he stepped into their living room. He carried a stuffed kangaroo for Ada, which was ridiculous and perfect, and when Amelia took it, her hands trembled a little.

“Hi, ducky,” she said softly.

Oscar smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey.”

She opened her arms and he folded into a hug without hesitation. He smelled like airport and roasted peanuts and nerves.

“You did it,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” He pulled back, eyes flickering down to Ada. “Can I—“

She carefully unwrapped the baby and handed her to Oscar.

“Careful. She’s very picky about how she’s held,” Amelia said quietly.

That got a huff of laughter from him, but then a quiet settled between them.

After a moment, he said, “It didn’t feel right.”

Amelia tilted her head.

“The win,” Oscar clarified. “It felt… tainted. Because of the swap.”

“It wasn’t,” Lando said from the doorway, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “It was your win. I’m sorry, mate. It should’ve been a clean swap; but I was possed at the team. Didn't think about how that'd make you feel. Sorry for being an asshole about it.”

Oscar shook his head. “No. They shouldn’t have pitted you first. That’s where it went wrong. You were right to be pissed. I would’ve been, too.”

Amelia let out a slow breath, glancing between them. “You’re both right,” she said. “And none of it was your fault.”

Oscar swallowed, looking down at the little bundle in her arms. “You missed it. That’s what I hated the most.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “But don't let that win feel less than it is,” she told him.

Oscar blinked a few times too fast. Lando nudged his shoulder with a knuckle. “Next time,” he said, “we do it properly. 1–2. No drama. No pit wall fumbles.”

“No swaps,” Oscar added.

“No swaps,” Lando agreed.

“Unless…” Oscar started.

“We discuss it beforehand. Agree on it ourselves. Consult our boss lady.” Lando agreed.

Amelia smiled at them.

—

The weeks after Hungary unfold slowly — warm, drowsy, domestic. Amelia settles into motherhood with quiet intensity. Her days are structured around Ada’s rhythms: feeds, naps, stroller walks through the quiet lanes near their house, tiny onesies drying on the line.

She leans into it, fully, unapologetically. No guilt. No rush. Just her and her daughter.

But in the hours between — when Ada is sleeping against her chest in the sling, or curled in the bassinet beside her desk — Amelia begins to find a rhythm for something else too.

The 2025 car.

She doesn’t force it. She doesn’t try to be the same version of herself she was before. But she does open her laptop again. Starts responding to notes. Dialling into development calls. Reviewing aero updates during cluster feeds. Her whiteboard goes back up in the kitchen. The good markers. The post-its. New magnets are delivered by the Amazon delivery driver who knows her by name.

She's not back on the pit wall, not yet, but her fingerprints are all over the future. Steering concepts. Energy recovery models. Brake migration overlays. She sends long, annotated voice memos at 2AM with Ada fussing softly in the background.

And no one dares to tell her to stop.

—

The first time she goes back to the MTC, it feels surreal.

She wears Ada in a wrap and keeps her pressed tight against her chest, and when she walks through the doors of Mission Control, everything stills.

Not out of judgment — just awe.

The team has Ada’s name on the sign-in sheet. Someone from aero has knitted her a tiny beanie in papaya and black. Oscar has a onesie made with "Wind Tunnel Supervisor" printed on the back. Lando insists on giving her the grand tour like it’s her first time and not the place she helped build the car they’re still racing.

Amelia moves through it all with quiet, grateful command.

She doesn’t stay long. Just a few hours. But she plugs in, hands over feedback, draws up a few revised proposals for suspension stability in corner exit, and her dad comes to kiss his granddaughters head before they leave.

—

As the season continues, Amelia’s world becomes something new.

She’s still mostly at home. Still a mum first, always.

But she spends mornings on the phone with suppliers while Ada gums a teether in her lap. Sketches suspension mapping on the hood of the pram while they walk. Takes conference calls while pacing the garden with the baby monitor clipped to her hoodie.

She laughs more.

Cries sometimes, too. On the days Ada won’t sleep, or she misses Lando too much on a race weekend. But then Oscar texts her from the paddock �� “Ran your numbers. Braking delta’s holding. You’re a genius, etc.” — and it buoys her.

She’s found a strange, miraculous equilibrium.

Not full throttle. Not idle.

Just… steady.

—

Amelia’s not officially “back.” There’s no date marked on the calendar. No press release.

But the 2025 car knows her touch.

And so does her daughter.

And for now, that’s enough.

—

Amelia was sitting in the rocking chair by the nursery window, the late afternoon light casting warm golden streaks across the room. Ada was nestled against her chest, eyes fluttering as if trying to stay awake. Amelia’s heart felt like it might burst.

“Hey, baby,” she whispered, tracing tiny circles on Ada’s soft cheek. “Look at you, waking up on me.”

Suddenly, Ada’s lips curled—just a hint at first, barely there.

Amelia froze.

She leaned in closer, breath catching.

Ada’s eyes locked with hers, and the smile widened, pure and bright.

“Wow,” Amelia whispered. “Look at you, smart girl. What a pretty smile.”

—

Lando shuffled down the hallway, a warm bottle in hand, careful not to wake Amelia. Ada had been restless all evening, and now she was stirring again.

He slipped into the nursery, sat on the rocking chair, and gently lifted her from her bassinet. She wiggled, a tiny fist reaching for his face.

“Hey, sweet pea,” he murmured, brushing a finger across her cheek. “Time to eat. Say ‘thank you mummy’.”

Ada latched on to the bottle, her eyelids drooped halfway, a little coo escaping.

Lando smiled, heart full.

“You’re a little nightmare,” he whispered. “But you’re cute, so you’re forgiven.”

—

The crisp autumn air filled Amelia’s lungs as she pushed Ada’s stroller down the quiet path near their home. Ada was bundled up, bundled tighter than necessary, but Amelia wasn’t taking chances. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot was a gentle backdrop.

Ada’s eyes were wide and curious, tracking every movement, the soft rustle of the wind, the distant chirping of birds.

Amelia smiled to herself. “Is that a birdie?”

Ada let out a tiny giggle, more a breath than a laugh, but to Amelia, it was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.

—

The nursery was quiet. Ada lay sleeping in her crib, her little chest rising and falling steadily. Amelia’s heart ached as she kissed her forehead one last time before stepping out.

“I’ll be back soon,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Just a quick meeting. You’re safe, baby. I promise.”

In the kitchen, Lando was waiting with a reassuring smile.

“You’ve got this,” he said softly.

Amelia nodded, inhaling deeply, trying to quell the swirl of nerves and guilt.

“It’s just the first time,” she reminded herself. “It’s okay.”

And with that, she stepped out — a tiny step back into the world she’d missed, but one she was determined to balance with the one she’d found at home.

—

The late November afternoon was cool, but the garden behind Amelia and Lando’s house was alive with laughter and the hum of friendly voices. Fairy lights twinkled above, strung between the trees, casting a soft glow as the sun dipped low.

Amelia moved gracefully through the crowd, baby Ada snug in her arms, wrapped in a soft knitted blanket. At five months old, Ada’s immune system was strong enough for her first proper gathering — and today was all about celebrating Lando’s birthday and introducing their daughter to their friends.

Max stole Ada gently, whispering something to her in a low, playful tone that made the baby giggle.

Amelia smiled as she watched them.

Oscar, standing close by, was beaming too — in full uncle mode, happily showing her a little toy car, which Ada seemed to regard with wide-eyed curiosity.

A ripple of excitement moved through the group when Lewis arrived, a rare softness in his usually intense gaze. “So, this is the famous Ada,” Lewis said, kneeling slightly to get closer, careful not to overwhelm her. “She’s gorgeous.”

Amelia smiled. “Five months. Growing fast.”

Lewis reached out gently, letting Ada’s tiny hand wrap around his finger. “Hey there, little one,” he murmured. Ada’s eyes locked onto his face, and she gave a tentative coo.

Fernando was next. He approached slowly, cautious.

Oscar glanced at Amelia for approval before handing Ada over to him.

Fernando cradled Ada carefully, the baby turning her head toward him. Then, much to everyone’s surprise, she broke into a toothless smile.

“Look at her,” Amelia said, nudging Lando, who was watching nearby with a proud grin. “She’s more sociable than me already.”

Fernando’s laugh was soft. “Hello, tiny Nina. What a beautiful girl you are.”

—

The house was quiet now, the party’s laughter and music a distant echo behind closed doors. In the softly lit nursery, Ada lay asleep in her crib, her chest rising and falling in gentle rhythm. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air.

Amelia and Lando slipped quietly into the living room, hands entwined, eyes searching for each other in the warm, dim light. No words were needed; the day had been full, full of joy and new memories, and now all that mattered was the space between them.

Lando brushed a loose strand of hair from Amelia’s face, his touch tender, reverent. She leaned into his palm, her breath catching in that familiar way — the way she’d come to love, even in the whirlwind of new motherhood.

Their kisses were slow, deliberate, the kind that spoke of comfort and deep connection. No hurry. No expectations beyond the simple closeness of being together.

Amelia’s fingers traced the line of Lando’s jaw, memorising the curve, the warmth, the promise in his gaze.

“This,” Lando murmured against her lips, “this is home.”

She smiled, her heart swelling with a love that felt endless. “Yeah.”

They moved together gently, the world outside fading until there was nothing but the quiet harmony of their shared breath, the softness of skin against skin, and the peaceful presence of their sleeping daughter nearby.

Later, wrapped in each other’s arms, Amelia rested her head on Lando’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Perfect,” she whispered.

“Like you,” he replied.

—

Amelia triple-checked the list.

Then checked it again.

The suitcase bag was full to bursting. Sterilised bottles lined one side, alongside pre-portioned formula packets just in case. Four dummies carefully tucked in. Fifteen muslins folded and stacked. Eight sleep-suits laid out with precision. Noise-cancelling baby headphones rested on top, alongside two packs of sensitive skin wipes. The giraffe toy Ada had recently started to favour was nestled between a small bottle of lavender oil and the emergency bottle warmer. A digital thermometer peeked from a side pocket, and ten labelled, frozen breastmilk storage bags were packed in a cooler — backup, in case her supply dipped mid-flight or Ada reacted badly to the travel and refused to latch.

Amelia exhaled sharply, brushing a hand through her hair, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves. The stakes felt so much bigger this time.

Her mum stood calmly by the front door, suitcase already packed, reading glasses perched on her head. “Love, she’s a baby, not an international diplomat. You’ve done brilliantly.”

“I know, I know.” Amelia didn’t stop pacing. “I just— It’s a pressurised cabin. What if her ears hurt on takeoff? Or she gets overstimulated? Or the recycled air triggers something?”

Her mum smiled knowingly. “Then you feed her on takeoff. It helps with the pressure.”

“I’ve pumped, too,” Amelia said quickly, nodding toward the cooler bag. “Enough for the whole flight. And spares. And formula, in case everything goes wrong.”

“You are, without question, the most prepared mother I’ve ever met,” her mum said, smiling.

From upstairs, Ada let out a soft, sleepy grunt.

Lando appeared a moment later, cradling her carefully, still dressed in her footed onesie with the tiny embroidered rocket ships. “She’s out,” he whispered, stepping into the room softly.

He crossed over, handing Ada to Amelia like something sacred.

“Okay,” Amelia murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her daughter’s soft head. “We’re doing this.”

Lando ran a hand over her back. “You’ve got this. And your mum’s with us. Literal nanny power.”

Her mum grinned. “Nanny and pack mule, apparently.”

Amelia hummed but didn’t argue. Her arms tightened around Ada, and she inhaled the lavender-sweet scent. “I’m going to cry a few times, I think,” she warned them both.

“Okay,” Lando said, looping the baby’s wrap over Amelia’s shoulder with practiced ease. “You’ll be alright.”

“And if anything goes wrong—”

“It won’t.”

She nodded once. “Right. Okay.”

At that moment, Oscar stepped into the hallway, dressed in casual clothes. He looked at Ada sleeping peacefully in Amelia’s arms and smiled softly. “Ready for the big finale?”

Amelia looked up, her nerves settling just a little. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

As they stepped outside, the night air was crisp but calm. Max’s jet was waiting on the tarmac an hour away, gleaming under the runway lights.

Amelia’s heart fluttered with nerves and excitement.

They were going to clinch the constructors championship.

And she wasn’t going to miss it for the world.

—

The roar of engines had barely faded before the crowd erupted into cheers. Lando’s helmet lifted from the cockpit, his face breaking into the widest grin — a victorious, exhausted smile that had been years in the making.

Amelia stood on the edge of the McLaren hospitality, arms wrapped tightly around Ada. The baby’s wide eyes scanned the world around her, curious and calm amid the chaos.

A large screen nearby switched from the race replay to live shots of the celebrations. The broadcast caught sight of Amelia standing there, bathed in the golden Abu Dhabi sunset, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she held her daughter.

Then the caption appeared on screen, simple but profound.

Amelia Norris — engineer, mother, wife of Lando Norris.

The words lingered on the screen, echoing everything she’d fought for. The late nights in the factory, the endless zoom calls between feeds and naps, the quiet moments of doubt, and the fierce determination that never wavered.

She glanced down at Ada, whose tiny hand curled around one of her fingers, and felt a swell of something fierce and whole inside her chest.

Lando caught her eye, his smile softening when he saw the way she looked — not just as the mother holding their child, but as the woman who had carved her place alongside him in this whirlwind world.

Together, they’d made it. Not just to this moment, but to everything it represented.

As the cheers around them rose again, Amelia allowed herself a small, steady breath.

This was just the beginning.

—

The entire team gathered together, smiles bright and energy buzzing after a hard-fought victory. Cameras flashed as they lined up for the official photo — engineers, mechanics, strategists, and drivers, all shoulder to shoulder.

At the centre stood Lando, cradling Ada like a precious trophy. The baby, nestled safely in his arms, gazed up with wide eyes at the sea of familiar faces around her. She was the smallest member of the team and yet she looked like she’d quickly become the heart of it all.

Amelia approached with a grin, her steps quickening as the countdown to the champagne pop began.

“Okay, sweet pea,” she said softly, slipping her hands under Ada. “Let’s get you out of the splash zone.”

Lando handed Ada over, the baby wrapped in her blanket as Amelia lifted her effortlessly away from the front row.

The bottle popped. Foam exploded into the air, sparkling like tiny fireworks in the sunlight.

Laughter erupted, the spray glittering across helmets and overalls. Champagne arced in golden loops through the air, soaking suits and sneakers, the scent of victory clinging to everything.

Amelia stood just beyond the splash zone, Ada bundled securely against her chest. The baby blinked sleepily, her noise-cancelling headphones firmly in place, one hand curled into Amelia’s shirt.

She watched her boys — Lando and Oscar — grin at each other, knock shoulders, ruffle each other’s hair with the casual affection that came only from seasons of shared pressure and quiet loyalty. Teammates. Friends. Brothers in every way that mattered.

Next year, Amelia thought, they’d have the best car on the grid.

Next year, they’d be fighting for not only the Constructors’ Championship again, but the Drivers’ as well.

And she would be there — to support them both. Her husband. Her Ducky.

Because she believed in both of them with every scrap of her soul.

Ada would be there too. Five months old now and already stamped into the heart of the team. Next year, she’d travel more than most people did in their entire lives. Planes and paddocks. Hotel bassinets. Garage naps wrapped in team-issued ear defenders. The scent of rubber and champagne and jet fuel quietly imprinting itself onto her earliest memories.

It wouldn’t be easy.

But it would be theirs.

They’d make it work. They always had.

And when the cameras snapped another picture — the final team photo of the season, confetti still clinging to Lando’s curls — Amelia caught his eye across the crowd and smiled.

“Home?” He mouthed.

Monaco. England.

It didn’t matter.

“Home.”  She agreed. 

[chiara-hotel]

When they’re Jealous/Someone tries to approach you

Characters: Blade, Mydei, Anaxa, Phainon, Dan Heng, Aventurine, The Herta

✧ Blade gets so possessive of you when he's jealous

✧ Part of him knows you won't go anywhere, but he's also worried that you'll find someone better than him, and he knows he's not the best person

✧ That, and also, he doesn't want this unwanted person hurting you or causing you any trouble

✧ So if he sees anyone hitting on you, he walks over and glares at them. If they continue, he doesn't hesitate to grab your wrist and walk away

✧ Especially if you're uncomfortable, he gets the hint from you, and he may or may not threaten the person with his blade

✧ He knows how dangerous some people can get, even if you can handle yourself, he also loves showing his own strength in front of you

✧ And he does expect some cuddles after (if you're up for them)

✧ Mydei has complete trust in who you speak with and hang out with; he lets you tell the person you aren't interested in on your own

✧ He's secure enough in his own relationship, plus he knows you wouldn't cheat on him; it's not a part of your nature to do so

✧ Unless you're uncomfortable, then he'll calmly tell the person that you are both together and to leave you alone

✧ Since he's a Chrysos Heir, many people already know the fact that you both are dating and also that Mydei is so strong that they wouldn't want him on their bad side, so usually people don't approach you for romantic reasons

✧ If you're alone when someone unwanted approaches you, he'd prefer that you mention his name so that the unwanted person knows who'll show up at their house tonight if they don't stop

✧ Another Chrysos Heir, who everyone in the grove knows about

✧ Since he's famous, many people already know that you're both dating and wouldn't approach you romantically, and he doesn't have any reason to be jealous

✧ If anyone ever tried to, he doesn't interfere at all, it's simply a waste of his time since you're with him, and they should understand that + you wouldn't leave him for someone you just met

✧ Not to mention, he's so much smarter than them, and he knows it, being jealous is very rare for him

✧ The only time he appears is when the person seems too pushy and can't take 'no' for an answer; in that case, he approaches you both and tells the guy to kindly fuck off

✧ After that, he'll ask if you're alright, and he'll walk you over to where he was working and tell you to stay for a bit

✧ Phainon isn't worried at all about someone approaching you, he doesn't get jealous at all

✧ If someone does while you both are together, he'll calmly mention how you both are dating

✧ Although he also trusts you to decline the person on his own, since that's what he would do if he got hit on by someone random

✧ If someone is pushy, he also isn't afraid to tell the guy to stop, and he might even mention the fact he's a Chryosis Heir and knows Aglaea, so they will put him in bars

✧ If you weren't with him but were with someone else, such as Mydei, Castorice or Aglaea, he doesn't mind them stepping in to protect you

✧ As long as you let him know about what happened (plus he'd find out from his fellow Chryosis heir), he's completely fine with it

✧ He also understands how people are afraid of Aglaea or Mydei so he feels comfortable leaving you in their hands

✧ I believe Dan Heng wouldn't notice the person has romantic intentions and would (at least like) to believe that the person only wants to become your friend

✧ He'll always step in for you in case you ever need any assistance, but he knows you, and he doesn't want to be very controlling

✧ He also believes you're strong enough to defend yourself, although again, if you need it, he's always willing to help you

✧ He doesn't like to escalate things, but he will to defend you

✧ Dan Heng overall has his moments where he can get a little jealous, he just needs a little reassurance

✧ After he is jealous he likes to hold you and cuddle you all night

✧ Aventurine steps in as soon as the person starts hitting on you

✧ He'll calmly walk over and mention in the first sentence how the two of you are dating, and how he's a senior member of the IPC

✧ That way, the person hitting on you knows that you're not only taken, but you're taken by someone who has lots of power and could potentially harm him if things go south (he won't, it's always just a threat)

✧ After the guy leaves, he'll buy you more gifts for the next few days and get a little more clingy

✧ He never says he's jealous, but it's very obvious from his demeanor, he just needs a few days, and then he'll be back to normal, though (but in the meantime enjoy the extra cuddles

✧ Similar to Aventurine, the Herta approaches you and the person as soon as possible

✧ If they didn't know Herta already just from her appearance, she might go off a little on the person, since most people at the space station (or wherever you are) know about her

✧ After the person gets insulted by Herta and leaves, she will become more clingy and complain that the person decided to hit on you in front of her

--------

HSR Masterlist

[marzghost]

Ok so I know my two cents in the situation concerning skizz may not matter since I'm not trans but I still wanted to get this out there because if I'm being honest I hate how everything is going down right now. I am genderfluid so I can't say that him not saying trans rights didn't hurt a bit at the time but I got over it fairly quickly maybe because I feel like he's right in that he's shown that he supports the LGBTQ+ community time and time again by his actions or maybe because he'd worked so hard to create a place where people could be kind to each other and forget the harsh realities of our world and society. As much as we want our existence not to be "political" or "polarizing" the truth of the matter is that it is when it sure as fuck shouldn't be. I'm a hispanic afab genderfluid pansexual living in the USA south and the truth of the matter is that most 40+ year olds that support us don't even go as far to show their support like Skizz does. The fact that some of the fandom is calling to boycott him is just absolutely insane to me because why are you going to go out of your way to hurt someone who is a disabled ally, and yes he is disabled since he suffers from MS, and has expressed his fear over and over again about not making enough money for his family if he went full time content creator? He recently became a full-time content creator and just hit 200k subs on his main channel. You have a right to be mad, we all do, but to try and use tactics that are meant to be used on big time companies and such on someone like Skizzleman is absurd. By that logic Scar and other bigger more popular hermits should be boycotted because they love Disney and talk about Harry Potter. You can't pick and choose who you turn a blind eye too just because they're more popular or less known. If I'm not wrong Skizz lives in a red state so yeah he's a cis white male giving him more wiggle room than most but you guys have to realize he does have a family he has to protect and provide for. Skizz does not care what people think of him. He says this on multiple occasions but he sure as hell cares about his family and like it or not people have been killed for saying they support us.

As for the situation with his mods, we have to understand that those types of things take time. He's had those mods for a while with one being on his team for five years if I remember correctly, please correct me if I'm wrong, and can't be replaced overnight not to mention by now they're probably somewhat seen as friends. I don't think they've ever brought up their beliefs inside of streams or videos so maybe I'm crazy but I don't think that should be held against Skizz. He haired them to do a job and they did it pretty well despite their whack ass political beliefs. Yeah obviously he should fire them but damn give it a month or something don't go straight too killing the man before he can learn!

[jupiterpiss]

I’m in distraught. Holy shit I love their dynamic. The fact that they were pulled away from each other, yanked by the fine line between life and death.

They both ended up with the people they wanted, the women they were willing to sacrifice a lot for.. but were also yanked apart from each other. They both had people waiting on the other side.. but those sides were completely different. Stack is forever in limbo, just as he was born stuck in his mother. Smoke reaches the end, is brought to that other side, but he fights before getting there. Doesn’t let himself rest until all his business is finished with.

He dies trying and not giving up.. and I’ve seen the theory where stack was still inside the juke joint, waiting out with Mary. If that’s true.. man he was quite literally giving his all, his own fucking life just to make sure his baby (identical) brother would remain safe.

Even if that theory isn’t true, Nonetheless, smoke still dies like the solider he is. Protecting the one thing he loves, the juke joint, the very place that held all the people he loved at one point.

But stack dies by letting his guard down, not checking himself. He literally did not HAVE HIS OWN BACK.

Someone please shoot me. Thank you!!

you ever think about the intricacies of smoke & stack's dynamic and go fucking crazy?

their abusive father zeroing in on stack as the outlet for his beatings, smoke killing their daddy, half way done burying him by the time stack came to - smoke being the BIG BROTHER from the start, keeping stack safe - stack becoming who he is - bit reckless, full of charisma and whimsy because of smoke, in a way, shielding him from the world ("doesn't know how to watch his own back").

thinking of smoke saying how stack is the best thing about him, how stack talks a big game but how it's smoke who kills the snake, smoke who shoots two men for stealing out of his truck, smoke who pulls a gun on sammie and pearline. does he ever think he got more of their daddy in him than stack? where stack can connect with people in a way smoke can't quite follow. stack laying out clothes for him, doing his hair, rolling his cigarettes- giving smoke back some of what the war took.

but I also can't help but think that there is this slight ....almost paternalistic element at times - the way stack looks around for smoke when he's with mary, worried he'll be caught, worried he'll displease him and yet that thing he says when he's turned "don't let that witch come between us again" - there's no doubt that stack loves annie and is clearly DISTRAUGHT when smoke kills her but ...was there ever resentment? did he ever feel betrayed? was it ever only meant to be the two of them against the world?

"he was the best thing about me" "i ain't doing it without you there ain't no me without you" "sorry for not keeping you safe - you always did" the way stack is just that one person smoke can't kill, the way the only time he wavers in his resolve is when his vampire brother talks with him.

(this is borderline incoherent but I have a lot of thoughts)

[nekonaps0]

I will always be next to you...

✦characters: House warden

✦ gn!reader

✦TW: abandonment issues, hurt comfort

Riddle Rosehearts

At first, he doesn’t understand.

You flinch when he raises his voice. You panic when he’s late. You apologize for things that aren’t your fault, begging him not to “get tired of you.”

Riddle is silent for a long time when it finally clicks.

“…So that’s why you’ve been walking on eggshells,” he murmurs, the realization hitting like a brick.

He takes your hands, carefully like you’re the most fragile thing in his hands.

“I don’t intend to leave you, ever. You don’t need to prove your worth to me. You're… already enough my rose.”

He may not always say the right thing, but after that day, he works hard to keep his schedule in check. He will leaving notes, waiting patiently, and showing up when he says he will.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona’s reaction is frustration. Not at you, but at the world that made you feel disposable.

“So that’s what this is about,” he mutters when you pull away from him after a small disagreement, your voice trembling as you say, “I just don’t want to be left again.”

He scoffs under his breath. “Tch… You think I’d just toss you aside like that?” He pulls you into a loose, lazy hug, but his grip is firm. Protective.

“I’m not perfect, I far from that, but I’m not a heartless asshole. If you think I’d just go and leave you…” He exhales deeply. “Guess I’ve gotta do a better job showing you otherwise. Because there is no place I rather be than by your side”

He’s not always good with words, but he’ll fight tooth and nail to be your anchor. Even if he grumbles about it, he stays. He would always choose you and stay.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul’s mask cracks the second he realizes.

You’re not clingy. You’re scared.

He remembers all too well what it’s like to be left behind, mocked, ignored, unloved. His voice wavers a bit when he says, “Have you… always felt this way?”

You nod. Quietly.

He takes a trembling breath and gently brushes your hair back.

“Then… we’ll make a new kind of contract. One where I promise I won’t go anywhere. No loopholes. No conditions. Just me… staying. For you. Always there for you.”

He makes sure to check in more after that emotionally, not just with gifts or gestures. He holds your hand longer. Answers every text, even when he’s busy. You’ll never question whether he cares again.

Kalim Al-Asim

“Oh…”

Kalim’s expression drops the moment he hears it. There’s no confusion. No delay. Just pure, immediate empathy.

“You’ve been scared I’ll leave? That I’ll stop loving you?”

You nod, tears welling, and he just pulls you in. No hesitation.

“I would never, ever do that!” he says fiercely, his voice trembling. “You’re stuck with me! I mean it! Even if you pushed me away, I’d still come back! I’m not going anywhere!”

Kalim becomes even more affectionate checking in on you, hugging you constantly, sending little messages saying things like “Just thinking about you!”

He treats your heart so gently so caring because it’s the precious thing to him. And he promises over and over, that you’re not alone.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is quiet when you finally tell him. He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t argue. He simply listens, his gaze sharp but not cold.

“…So all this time, you were terrified I’d just… disappear,” he says slowly. “Like you weren’t worth staying for.”

He exhales. It’s not exasperation. It’s heartbreak.

He cups your face with both hands and presses your forehead to his.

“You are not a passing thing in my life,” he whispers. “You are not disposable. I chose you because you shine in ways most people never will. And I will not walk away. You saw the ugliest side of me and you stayed. No matter what I will always there with you no matter what”

He becomes more verbal about his feelings, more transparent because he knows how much the silence hurts you.

And when he says, “I love you,” it’s clear he means forever.

Idia Shroud

Idia panics. Literally.

You confess your abandonment issues during a vulnerable moment, and Idia just freezes.

“H-huh?! Like… wait, like really? You think that I could?— wait, I mean—!”

He stops when he sees the pain in your eyes, and his shoulders fall. “…Crap. I made it worse, didn’t I?”

But then, in a small, shaky voice, he says:

“I know what it’s like… to feel like you’ll always be alone. I didn’t think anyone would ever stay for me either.”

And slowly, awkwardly, he reaches out. His fingers brush yours.

“I might not be good at this boyfriend stuff… but I’m not leaving. Ever. Not unless you tell me to. And even if you do I don’t think I could”

After that he even makes a digital avatar of you in one of his games, just so you’ll “exist in a place where I can always find you.”

Malleus Draconia

He understands immediately.

When you whisper your fears to him, expecting him to laugh or dismiss them, Malleus just tilts his head.

“You fear being abandoned… and yet you still opened your heart to me.”

There’s something ancient and soft in his voice, like he’s cradling your very soul.

“I know that kind of loneliness. Mine lasted centuries.”

His fingers are cood, but gentle when he takes your hand. “I do not love you lightly. If I have given you my heart, then it is yours completely, and I won’t allow you to return it… it’s all yours. I will not disappear. Even time itself would not keep me from you.”

His hand moves to your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks “I would find you in every universe, every lifetime and I will always choose you, over and over again”

After that, Malleus makes a quiet habit of always appearing when you need him, sometimes even before you realize you do. He stays. He always stays.

..............................................................................................................................

[yumeka-sxf]

Today's new chapter reveals why Hemlock resents Yor so much: as I suspected, it's the fact that, from his perspective at least, she's "lost her edge" which made him angry to the point of wanting to wipe her out of Garden completely.

We haven't seen Yor do a Garden mission since the cruise arc, but we know from there that she definitely hasn't lost her edge. Even though she messed up a bit at first, it was only because she was trying to understand why she's continuing to fight as Thorn Princess. And once she realized what that reason was, a renewed strength welled up inside her that allowed her to overcome very strong adversity.

In this sense, having a family has actually made her stronger. Originally she was fighting solely to cleanse the country of "bad guys," and that reason hasn't gone away, it's only been amplified by her other reason for fighting, which is to create a peaceful world that her loved ones can thrive in.

Unfortunately, Hemlock interprets Yor's happiness about her family and lack of the "robotic" aura she used to exude, as a degradation for Thorn Princess.

He's also extremely resentful because he sacrificed so much to reach the level of skill he thought Thorn Princess had - isolating himself for who knows how long just to keep honing his assassination skills, despite suffering true loneliness.

And now he thinks Yor has thrown all her skills away because she'd rather be a housewife than an assassin. He not only sees this as a betrayal to Shopkeeper and Garden, but a slap in the face to someone like him who had to work so hard for skills that she's now seemingly tossing aside.

Hemlock also sees Yor's hesitance to fight him as a weakness, but I think it's an indication of how she stays true to her principle of only fighting "bad guys" she's ordered to fight by Shopkeeper (or anyone who threatens her loved ones or the innocent). It's hard to say if the past Yor that Hemlock admired would have immediately fought back, but regardless, he interprets this as just another sign of how she's lost her touch when it comes to being an assassin.

But once he decides to threaten her family, a threat to the people Yor desires to protect the most, that's more than enough to ignite the will to fight in her, even against a fellow Garden member. I've mentioned in past posts that Yor doesn't have many personal desires for herself, which is something that likely came about from her upbringing as a "mindless soldier" for Garden. She also tends not to fight back if she herself is being threatened, insulted, or berated, which again could stem from whatever was instilled in her from Garden. However, when others are being harmed, especially those most important to her, she doesn't hold back at all.

And fight she definitely does - in the end, Hemlock is brought to his knees just by the intense aura of Yor almost stabbing him.

This scene reminded me of how Fiona reacted after she lost the tennis match with Yor. Yor is quite good at devastating her rivals just by displaying her skills, she doesn't even have to injure them!

Another person Yor has left her mark on 😂

Even though the chapter ended on a lighter note, with Hemlock in total shock at his defeat, it's hard to say if he's had a total change of heart or not. Is he now going to accept that Yor is stronger than him despite her passion for her family, or will he continue to be hostile to her? We'll have to wait and see.

I'll end this post by pointing out the fact that in the Japanese version of the below panel, Hemlock uses the phrase "icha icha" when describing Yor's "making out," which is the same word that Anya uses whenever she says "Papa and Mama are flirting" 😅

[hedwig221b]

Hello

I hope you're having an amazing day/evening

Thank you for all your hard work, just finished rereading Incandescent ❤️

Do you know of any fics where Sterek are mates, established or newly discovered, and they have to be apart for a while and the separation causes anxiety, unease or physical pain until they're together again?

I hope that makes sense. Have a lovely day, thank you

You're welcome! As I was finishing this rec list, I remembered that several of my other fics fit this separation trope, bc I'm such a sucker for it, so I added a few in the end 💕

yours was a good heart for me by stilinskisparkles

Stiles was right about the end of the world, and Derek needing something to remember him by just in case.

thank god your heart is too close by hoars

There's a boy, ("Fuck you, dude. I'm seventeen. Not fifteen." Stiles laughs in his memory) waiting for him back home.

Let your unfaithful weaving go by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Every night Stiles goes into the feasting hall to work on the shroud he is making for his husband, knowing that the alphas circle him like sharks until he is inevitably forced to choose one to stand as his alpha and Eli's regent. It's been four years and he doesn't know how much longer he can do this. This is based on the story of Penelope and her suitors, with Stiles in the role of Penelope, the wife of Odysseus

An Alpha's Misunderstandings by Dexterous_Sinistrous

And Derek was there, as if it was a simple twist of fate. There were so many ways Stiles wanted to forgive Derek, but then he came to his senses. He wouldn’t risk Charlotte’s safety for that hope–never again. ~*~ Stiles and Derek are parted by war and misunderstandings, only to find each other again.

A Princely Knight by Dexterous_Sinistrous

He would stand by Stiles’ side, a constant shadow of protection until his death. A life for a life, one worth much more than an orphan turned thief turned royal guard could comprehend. In truth, Derek saw the one person he would gladly give his life for, because Stiles made this world better. ~*~ Or, Stiles is a prince and Derek is his knight.

of gods & monsters by Dexterous_Sinistrous

"I’m not the best at conversation. I’ve been told I have no finesse for it.” Stiles took a step closer to Derek, pushing the billowing silk out of the way. “And what would you say if you looked at me now?” Derek looked up, startled for a moment when he realized he was now looking at Stiles’ unveiled face. He was silent for a beat, taking in Stiles’ features for the first time, convinced he would never see such beauty unveiled for him alone.

sustain by bleep0bleep

Yes, there’s another person in the lab with them, someone who’s heart is beating steadily, sounding achingly familiar somehow, their blood sweet and cloying. Stiles drops the empty bag and rushes forward, because it can’t possibly be— that scent— who he thinks it is—

all stories deserve an end by bleep0bleep

No one hardly ever comes up to this area of the forest, especially with the rumors of the “mad wizard.” Stiles encourages the rumor, because it means people leave him alone. It’s a good, solitary existence as long as Stiles pretends the aching loneliness in his heart isn’t there.

Space Pirate Samba by Wrenegade (orphan_account)

That awkward moment when your fiance comes back from the dead as a space pirate trying to rob you and your sister's ship.

you're the only north star (dear god)

"I will go to the ends of the known universe, I will dive through a fucking black hole, I will walk unarmed with my hands tied into the Nemeton if it means getting him back," Derek says lowly. "But I can't do that if I haven't slept for eight days, and I can't sleep without Stiles."

I Still Believe by IAmAVeronica

War is hell. Falling in love with enemy solider Derek Hale, secretly mating him, and then accidentally being left behind by him when the war suddenly and violently ends is a special kind of hell apparently reserved for one human omega Stiles Stilinski. But Stiles is determined to find his mate again, because Derek left more than just Stiles in a war-ravaged and werewolf-hating country - and with danger at every turn and nothing but Derek's gun and his own wits for protection, hell hath no fury like Stiles now.

Recover, Reclaim, Retain by elisera

Derek stumbles through the camp half-blind, head feeling like cotton and knees trembling, the spell on him making sure he can’t fight the warlock leading him by a chain and he can’t--, can’t even fucking smell--. “No, no, no!” a voice suddenly says next to Derek and there is a hand fisting in Derek’s shirt, jerking him to a stop. “This one’s mine.”

I love this one as well, if you don't mind destiel, and I love sterek here:

Flesh and Bone by theinspiredginger

Dean's trapped in Purgatory looking for his angel when a not so subtle kid in a red sweatshirt asks to team up. Dean takes Little Red Riding Hoodie underneath his wing as they try to escape. Or the one where Stiles bargains with a witch to get sent to purgatory to save Derek and finds Dean instead. They work together to find a way out of Purgatory as they each look for their "person".

Also I LOVE their separation period in this fic, and the reunion is so delicious and beautifully written, my heart aches so good every time, AHHH, I adore it with my entire heart:

Actions Speak Louder than Words by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"I apologize.” The cop finally looked back up at his face, seeming thrilled. “It’s just—it’s been so long. And we finally have you.” That was a bad word. Not found. Have. Stiles wrenched his hand free and took a step back, but before he could even think up a gameplan, he felt a prick in his neck and jerked away, reaching up to slap one hand against it and twisting in the same moment. One of the others had come up behind him while he hadn’t been paying attention, and his vision began to swim even as his eyes caught sight of the half-empty syringe the guy was holding.

Incandescent

"You are trying to court our alpha,” sang Lydia. “Surely you realize that he does not reciprocate.” “He doesn’t stop it.” There was no point in lying. Paige was courting Derek. She would be a fool not to. “He doesn’t care to.” Lydia arched her thin eyebrow. “Why do you think he’s still searching for his mate, hmm? Why didn’t he stop once you were here? You think you can annoy him into sleeping with you?” Lydia laughed. “He is a born wolf, darling. He will not fuck you if you are not his.”

Angel, Ignited

He was a fool to tell himself he wasn’t thinking of Derek. How could the moon not think of its sun? How, when the light of it — the sight of him — made him yearn to live? Stiles loved him before. Between their shared breath, upon their touch, after the tender words and giddy smiles, Stiles thought he knew what love was. He was a fool. This was love. This was how it felt. Annihilative. Mournful. Take all the air from his throat, he would still ask for Derek first.

Predators

He was born for this. Nature itself whispered into his ear where he should put his hands, how to twirl his tongue just right and when to bite. Stiles knew well enough that his saliva was currently working its magic on this unfortunate man, making him hungry, lustful, and insatiable. Soon, all his thoughts would be consumed by Stiles. And, just this once, Stiles would allow Derek to consume him.

The Happiest of All

"It’s every wolf’s dream. To find a perfect mate, to procreate. It’s a necessity, it’s healthy. It’s in our blood; akin to the moon in the sky, a wolf belongs to their mate. And humans don’t have the capacity to become a mate.” “But I love him,” Stiles whispered, begged. Talia stayed silent for a couple of minutes. “That’s why you should understand it’s not healthy for him to be with you,” her words were simple and clear, like a piece of glass, but sharp all the same. “He will not find true happiness with you. You’re wasting his time. Preventing him from having a future he deserves.”

Full and Void

Stiles could be meek, sure. In Derek’s arms, softened under the touch, pinned under his weight. He allowed himself to relax only in Derek’s sole presence. Stiles could also look meek. Small, scared. Let the enemies think he was hiding in his mate’s shadow. After all, no one would stop to think that the shadow could ever be dangerous.

[masterlist link]

[szarina]

What would happen if the mc find out what Zayne did to y/n? Like the mc manager to get her hands on her diary, maybe she find it by accident or she was hoping to learn a trick that she use to make Zayne completely madly in love with her and distant himself away from her. And as she read it what would she do? Would she be denial about it? Or would try to save her in a way? Would get help from the other lads guys? Or would she be fuck up about it and be like yeah I still want Zayne! and still try to find a way for him and her to be together?

❆ ₊⋆ content warnings. angst + confrontations + implied dark stuff + implied emotional cheating

“Surprising, isn't it? Zayne out of all people...”

The chatter and the clinking of cups along with the busybodies clacking on their laptops drowned in the background. Sitting across from you is the girl who you used to be jealous of. She wasn't in her hunter uniform but in casual clothes.

She looks at you dumbstruck. The eyes belonging to her widens at your lax expression not even surprised at her findings. You weren't even disturbed despite the accusations towards your husband.

It was a confrontation. To reveal all the dark secrets and to shed the light in your almost perfect marriage to Zayne and somewhat break the two of you cause knowing Zayne does not fall in love overnight and suddenly marry a girl he hardly gave time to.

You can see how her grip tightens at the plastic cup of her boba tea. Droplets of condensation drips and leaving a damp spot in the table from her cup.

“You must not have gotten over him, if you're snooping around him, us.”

“I didn't mean to.” Is what she reasoned for she was taken aback by your reaction. Her throat suddenly dry and she can't take a sip of her drink. It's a lousy defense for herself and she knows it.

She merely wanted to know the truth at the sudden fallout between her and Zayne. And the truth comes in the appearance of his wife. Sitting right in front of her. You had gotten prettier and Zayne has been taking care of you well despite having kids and what really occured.

“I don't blame you. Zayne leaving you all of a sudden and marries his plain fiancée. That must have hurt a lot for you.” You say. Looking at the passerbys outside. You turned your head to look at her. “You're not used to rejections, aren't you?”

You offered her a small wistful smile. The corner of your eyes crinkling. It hardly made a line. You hardly smile but when you did — you were also a beauty. Similar to the flower wisteria. Endured a love that wasn't meant for you but you received it at the end. Leaving her with nothing but the coldness.

“After all, you got all the good qualities. Almost perfect.” There was a smile in your face. It was not contempt nor hatred. Just a girl who was once jealous towards her and the same time adored her.

Looking at the cup of your drink. You didn't look at her before continuing.

“A hunter who protects people and fight wanderers. You're also good with the patients in the hospital especially kids. You're pretty — beautiful. I'm sure you also get along easily with your peers. It was no wonder Zayne fell for you at first sight. ”

She keeps her gaze fixated at you. Her hands turning into a fist at your words. It was true. What all you said. She was perfect. Almost. That's what people had told her. She was the kindest. The prettiest. Special.

Yet, Zayne had chosen you instead of her.

The words were true. It pierces her heart and the thorns of your words had burrowed inside her. She was hurt when Zayne had gone cold towards her. It wasn't straight up ignoring her for you but it builds and slowly, the distance grew wider and before she realizes it, Zayne was already out of reach.

Then she finds out the reason of the rift between them. You happened. You got involved in a life-threatening accident. Starting after that — was Zayne's descent towards his obsession towards you. It was madness and when the madness came — chaos followed. The aftermath of it was you and his children.

She was speechless.

“And you're fine with what happened? What he did to you?” She reasoned. Reaching out to hold your hand but stopped midair before retreating. Stunned at your words.

“Can you change anything about it? Stop it?” The look in your eyes turned sharp. You were starting to get irritated at her. If only it was that easy. You had given Zayne to her but your husband won't let you and had forced you to a life that was supposed to be theirs.

She stopped when she caught a glimpse of that look in your eyes before it returned into its usual shine but it was glossed with regret and grief.

You look at her straight in the eyes and she can see the tears pooling at the corners.

“I guess not. He didn't even thought of you while he did that to me. He was driven to make me stay and had me carry his name.” She can hear the sorrow in your voice. Defeated and accepted your fate.

The silver band wrapped around your ring finger glints in the light. She also saw a ring similar to yours — matching to Zayne's. It was a reminder that no matter how much she chased after him, it was already sealed.

You can see the hurt painted on her face but you can't lie to in order to comfort her. She knows, Zayne was engaged to you and all. She didn't even distanced herself nor acted professional. She didn't see their relationship as patient-doctor. It was something more.

“If Zayne did truly loved you, he should have broke things off with me or have accepted me breaking up before all of this. Cancelled our engagement and devote his life to you but let's be clear, he didn't. He got plenty of years to end things with me. I even begged him.” You added.

“Guilt can be mistaken for love from how he runs things. He's compensating.” It was vague and she knows what it means.

That was true from the both of you. Zayne harmed her for something he can't control — he was riddled with guilt and to you he had intentionally harmed you to make you stay and he was eaten with guilt. You saw it.

Zayne had already made up with his guilt towards her by being her primary physician before referring her to a another one. Your husband was slowly accepting his and was doing everything in his power to be your husband and a father to your kids. His way of making up for you.

She had no reasons to push you more but something insides her wants to fights more for it was her right. She looks at you who was already preparing to leave.

“A friendly advice — stop whatever you're doing. You won't like Zayne when he's angered. He won't show it but know it's going to come.” You warned her but the look on her face — defiance. Stubbornness for a fool and you had done your part. She's a hunter, after all. It was her choice wether to heed your advice or not.

“You're not worried that Zayne may change his mind?” She asks you. Hoping. Waiting.

“I don't really care.”

You stand up before walking away but you stopped before you can take another step. You briefly glanced at her.

“This is goodbye. I hope this will be the last time we'll see each other.”

And with that you left. Her gaze not leaving yours until you disappeared in the streets and she can only hear the bell ringing of the café.

[caffieneaddictt18]

Imagine... you're pulling up to the gas station/petrol station. You (somehow) convince them that it's okay for you to pump your own gas/petrol. You get out, you pay at the pump, get the nozzle in the hole, and now you gotta wait... but you're bored and you've noticed that your windshield looks a little dirty, so you pick up the windshield cleaner and start cleaning all your windows because the pollen this year has been terrible. As you are cleaning your back windshield, a car passes by and you get catcalled... here's how I think the 141 boys would react:

Simon hears this and smirks a little. He knows he got a baddie. He knows you are hot as shit. But you are also his. And only his.

So he puts on a mask. Not a surgical mask like he usually wears, not just the balaclava... the mask. The one he doesn't like wearing when he's at home. He doesn't wanna scare his bird. But he puts it on and gets out before you can stop him.

Some "Simon, darling, this is really not necessary-" "Luv, stop." type ahh shit. This hulking monster in a hot ass outfit that looks vaguely military-esque but not his fatigues and lacking the usual gear, but just as initimidating, gets out and stares at the boys in the car as they slowly pass, as if them driving slower will somehow keep them from Simon's hard stare. The same stare that sends his enemies running for the hills… if they aren’t dead yet.

This man is using your car as an arm rest, leaning forward. You know when your mom/dad/parent or whoever get's really mad and puts there hands together and lean forward like 'Now listen here, Jimothy-'. Same vibe. SAME. VIBE. I AM NOT STUTTERING.

And he just stares at them as they pass before hurriedly (definitely speeding) away.

"Simon, darling, you didn't have to do that." You wrap your arms around his waist and hug him from the side.

"I gotta make sure everyone knows your mine. Everyone, pretty bird." And he smacks your ass lightly as a pat for you to get back in the car, passenger seat, where you belong.

(a.k.a. Simon didn't like it and now you never pump your own gas again.)

Johnny has the same reaction as Simon. Initially, at least. He knows you’re a hottie and he’s happy that other people know it too.

Johnny does realize something though… You are pumping gas… by yourself. While he stays in the ca- Yeah, that won’t do, not even a little bit.

So he gets out of the vehicle in his tight jeans that accentuate his thighs and wonderful ass, and a too-tight t-shirt that strains against his pecs and is tight around the arms, and he immediately takes the pump from you. Gently! He doesn’t want to waste petrol… He sets it locked so it continues to pump until the meter notices and automatically stops the flow.

Then… he spins you around, pressing you against the car and kisses you. Not gently, like a Nicholas Sparks movie. More like he’s trying to eat your face off. One of his hands is caressing the back of your head to make sure it doesn’t hit on the car while the other holds you by the back of the neck, keeping you close.

When you part, he is the first to speak, “I would say I’m sorry, bonnie, but I think we both know that’d be a lie.”

You don’t even catch the tail end of the boys’ car. But Soap does. And while at home, he may be ‘Johnny’, to protect his girl, he’ll be Soap too. And Soap remembers their license plate, and make and model of said car.

“Now get in there, where you belong, lass.” Johnny directs you to the passenger seat he was occupying, a hand in your back pocket. Don’t worry… you get an ass-pat too.

Kyle is immediately worried. He is upset for your sake, but he understands that his anger may not be what you need right now. So he gets out and wordlessly takes the pump from you, gently.

“How about I finish pumping the petrol, love?” His request was more rhetorical than his captain giving him an order posed like a question. He locks the petrol pump in place before gently guiding you to the passenger seat of the car, where you don’t have to worry about paying for your own petrol, pumping it, or any more filthy boys.

His ideal is coming to life: a woman that is protected and loved thoroughly by him.

He does promise a private show when you get home, a shirtless Kyle cleaning the car (ohshitimdrooling-)

That doesn't mean he hasn't already texted his captain about some 'plans' for the night... he might need help if it's more than one boy.

Now... John... I have no idea how you managed to convince him to let you pump the petrol. But you do. Somehow. Maybe it was the puppy eyes, maybe it was the pouty lip, maybe it was the promise of giving him head when you get home. The world may never know.

But you can bet your ass that as soon as he hears that first note, he gets out, slamming the car door shut, and takes the cleaning stick away from you.

"Love, I just remembered that you pumped the petrol last time." Lie. "How about I do it?" He gently guides you back to the passenger seat, and opens the door for you, letting you slide in, and closing the door behind you (maybe a bit more forcefully than he has to). He walks to the dip station and puts the cleaning stick in the solution, catching the plate number of the car.

Cause no one treats his pretty baby like that and gets away with it.

"Simon. You busy tonight?"

Hey guys! I'm sorry Kyle's is so short. I just felt like his would be so straightforward and dealt with, you'd barely recognize that he did anything at all. Anywho- GAZ LOVE! PEW

[flvvffy]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

toji was always a lonely man. he preferred to do things on his own. it was more efficient since the results were exactly what he wanted. 'if you want it done right, do it yourself' was his moto.

he hated working with people, scared of emotional attachment, scared of disappointing anyone...scared of someone living him...again. the world had already taken away something or rather someone he cherished with all his heart and he was not ready for that to happen again.

but that was all before he met you. he didn't know why, and he didn't know how, but he knew...he knew he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life.

toji tried to ignore his feelings at first, trying to protect you form him. he was a dangerous man in a dangerous line of work, he didn't want your innocent self involved. but he just couldn't stop thinking about you, fantasizing and absent mindedly smiling when you walked past and in the end, he folded. confessing to you in the most romantic way possible, after he nearly lost his life, because he realized that he only had one chance. one chance and that's it.

he was beyond overjoyed that you reciprocated his feelings. everything in his life went right from then on. you reunited him with his son, megumi. the very son he abandoned as a mere five year old. the first meeting was awkward, but with time, they reconnected.

toji was a but a simple man. coming back into his empty house after a gruesome day of work and filling his growling stomach with cheap, ramen and a coke. that was his everyday routine. so what he found in his house one fortunate day was shocking to him.

toji walked through the front door and noticed something odd. the lights were on. they were never on because he lived alone. he did hand you and megumi spare keys, but because of his tight schedule it was rare for you to visit.

"must have forgot to turn them off", he shrugs it off as he takes off his shoes. he walks to the living room when a delightful smell invades his nostrils making his mouth water. odd.

he followed the scent to his small dining where he found you taking pictures of the meal prepped on the old wooden table, occasionally swatting megumi's hand away when he tried to steal some.

"gumi, stop! wait until your dad's here", you lightly scold him and he crosses his arms over his chest.

"he's already here anyways", you turn quickly to find toji staring at you with his brows raised.

"welcome home, toji!",you chirp excitedly. quickly you go to hug him and he wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss on your forehead, megumi letting out an uncomfortable grunt.

"what is all this?", he asks when you let go and pats megumi's back.

"well...we thought that since you always come home late and never have time to eat an actual home cooked meal, we thought we could surprise you with one", you point to the various foods on the table. "megumi helped a little too", you added and now toji feels weird.

he doesn't know what else to say. his favourite foods made by you and his son, together for him, all set at the dining table. the same dining table he used to sit at and eat cup noodles alone, and now for the first time in a long time, he gets to share a meal with the two people he loves the most. his heart is fluttering, his cheeks feels warm and...wet?!?!

"huh...?", he touches his cheeks not realizing that you're panicking as megumi stares at his a bit surprised. he wipes his tears with the back of his hands but they just won't stop.

"are you okay, toji?", your worried voice fills his ears and he doesn't even know when you were at his side already. megumi's now standing, a hand on his fathers back and then he pulls the both of you into a tight hug and smiling widely, kissing the tops of your head.

"this...this is the greatest i've felt ever...thank you all so much..."

and now toji realizes, he's not alone anymore, he has people who rely on him as much as he relies on them, and he wouldn't have it any other way...

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝐅𝐋𝐕𝐕𝐅𝐅𝐘

[callikari]

MOON RIVER ★ P.SH

PRECIS 。 two drifters off to see the world, there's such a crazy word to see. moon river, wider than a smile.

박성훈 x fem!reader 66O fluff angst soft romance ─ emotional intimacy comfort crying heavy emotions skinship kissing

REBLOG FOR A KiSS

the rooftop is warm with summer air, the stars blinking shyly above the quiet hum of the city.

the party downstairs is still going, but neither of you care. not when the sky looks like this. not when you’re beside each other like this. not when the night feels like a secret shared between two hearts that never really stopped beating for one another.

you sit next to sunghoon, shoulder to shoulder. his hoodie sleeves are pulled down over his hands like always, and he’s got that distant look again. the one that makes you ache a little.

you glance over at him. “what are you thinking about?”

he blinks slowly. then, “do you think there’s a version of us… somewhere out there, that never lost each other?”

your breath catches. “sunghoon…”

he doesn’t look at you.

you reach for his hand under the fabric, threading your fingers through. “i think there’s a version of us right now that’s still here. still trying.”

that’s when he finally turns.

his eyes are glassy. lower lashes wet. he tries to blink it away, but a tear slips down anyway.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles, voice cracking. “i don’t—i didn’t mean to ruin tonight—”

“hey,” you whisper, heart clenching. “you didn’t ruin anything.”

he shakes his head, but the tears come anyway—thick and quiet and heartbreaking. he hides his face in his hands like he’s ashamed of it.

you move closer instantly, gently pulling his hands away from his face. your thumbs stroke his knuckles as you cup his cheeks with both hands.

“sunghoon,” you say softly. “look at me, baby.”

his lashes flutter, red-rimmed eyes blinking up at you. and god, he looks so young like this. like a boy who’s been brave for too long. like someone who just needs to be held.

“i’m so tired,” he chokes out. “i don’t know why it hit me now. i just… i miss when things were easy. when it was just us. i—i wanted to protect this. protect you.”

you hush him gently, thumbs brushing his damp cheeks. “you don’t have to protect me from your feelings. you’re allowed to cry. you’re allowed to fall apart with me.”

he leans into your palms like they’re the only steady thing in his world. his lip trembles a little. “i hate crying in front of people.”

you smile softly, brushing a tear from under his eye. “i’m not people. i’m yours.”

his breath hitches at that, a broken little sound in the back of his throat.

so you scoot even closer, tucking his head into the crook of your shoulder. your arms wrap around him completely now, warm and tight, and you kiss the crown of his head once. then again. and again.

“you’re okay,” you whisper into his hair. “you’re safe. i’ve got you, baby. i’ll always have you.”

he holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, but you don’t. you just keep rocking him gently, like the world outside doesn’t matter. like he’s your whole universe.

and in a way, he is.

after a while, the sobs slow down. the hiccups turn to quiet breathing. and his fingers curl into the hem of your shirt like a child clinging to something soft in the dark.

“thank you,” he whispers hoarsely.

you kiss his forehead this time. “anytime. always.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, face still puffy but calmer now. “you make everything feel okay.”

you grin. “that’s because we’re two drifters, remember? off to see the world.”

he sniffles. “moon river?”

you nod. “you and me.”

and he smiles, all teary-eyed and soft. “i love you.”

your hands slide back up to cradle his face again, and you kiss his nose, then the corner of his lips.

“i love you more.”

he closes his eyes and lets himself melt into you completely.

and beneath the moonlight, two tired hearts rest against each other. not broken. not lost.

just finally safe.

vi says :: i absolutely love frank ocean oh my gosh

enhypen taglist :: @nocturnebite @cheruphic @chrrific @jungwonbropls @manariees @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ijustreallylike2read @nicholasluvbot

© CALLIKARI 

[kingkat12]

... chased a guy (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: piv sex, vampire sex, blood, blood play (?), light gore, smoking, Olivia Godfrey deserves her own warning tag

summary: now that you and Roman are broken up, you suddenly find clarity in the situation that used to haunt you-- are you actually scared of upirs? it seems not.

word count: 8,588

never have I ever: ← previous chapter

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*book 1 masterlist

a/n: I know this chapter took a crazy amount of time to finish, but exams have been biting my ass with big mouthfuls, so EEK WE R FINALLY BACK<33 thank you for all the love, enjoy!!<333 credits to @godfreysteel for the gifs!!

"At least she's not... crying,"

"Not yet," I muttered, lighting my cigarette. "Give it a minute."

Peter turned to me, glaring as he flicked ash off his own. He wasn't even smoking it-- he was just letting it burn down like a fuse. "And how often do you stand around watching Letha be miserable, exactly?"

I shrugged; "It's my favorite morning spectacle. I keep debating whether I should bring tomatoes and toss them at her,"

Something told me Peter knew he wasn't in the position to scold me, even though I saw how much he was itching to-- it was obvious with the way his jaw ticked. "You're really enjoying this, huh?"

"I'm enjoying the karmic symmetry. Sue me,"

Seriously. Karma had never felt this good.

Everything had changed-- the events of the night Brooke died had had a huge impact on everyone, in their own way. However, the most brutal change to watch was how Letha's biggest fears had become real. After all her plotting, after all her doomsday-planning, her ultimate nightmare had come true; she had been dethroned by the public. It was like a coup of democracy, with the way everyone had cast her off her high chair when they found out about her hypocrisy-- her relationship with Peter ended up having the effect on her life that she had dreaded most.

And I stood there, half-hidden by the corner of the art building next to Peter, watching the girl who had once ruled this place get picked apart by whispers and glances and that sick kind of fake smile that burns more than a slap. Believe me when I say I didn't invite him to join me, by the way-- he had found me here somehow, like he always did when I wanted to see him least.

Letha sat on the concrete ledge a little further away, her shoulders hunched as she picked at her nail polish like she could peel her way out of this reality. Her nails, which were usually gelled to perfection, were in a state of visible despair, but her hair remained perfect as ever. Maybe that was how it always was? Did she wake up with the Godfrey beauty protecting her? There was something about the way she sat all curled in on herself that made her look small, like someone else entirely-- it felt like one of those horror shows you don't want to watch but can't take your eyes off.

The girls she used to walk arm-in-arm with passed her like she was air. No, wait, not air-- like something rotting. Rotting, and dying. One of them muttered something under her breath as they passed, and I couldn't hear it from afar, but I saw the way Letha's jaw clenched, the way her mouth twitched, like she was fighting the urge to cry or claw back.

Someone laughed, but not at a joke-- at her.

Finally, she knew how that had felt for me. People weren't afraid of her anymore; instead, they only smelled blood in the water.

I inhaled another round of smoke as Peter continued watching Letha with those big, sad eyes of his. Something told me that the sight of her like this pained him the same way it pained me to be away from Roman, and it filled me with a certain sense of evil satisfaction. If I was going to be in agony, then I was going to drag him down with me.

Peter sighed, the smoke from his mouth accompanying his next words; "Are you always this heartless before second period?"

"Yes, actually. I don't owe her any pity," I mumbled. "And are you always this spineless after screwing things up?"

His mouth twitched-- half smirk, half flinch. "I didn't screw everything up by myself,"

"Oh, right, because it was all her," I said, nodding to Letha. "You were just getting your dick wet! You have no fault in this."

He rolled his eyes; "You don't get it,"

"And you're a piece of shit,"

"... Thanks," Peter looked back at Letha, then down at the ground like it might offer answers. "But I can't talk to her, you know this. It's over between her and me. The guilt of it all just... broke me."

"And as I keep telling you, dickwad, it doesn't help anyone that you're ravaged with guilt, or whatever! Roman and I have split up, and he doesn't want to see you anymore, so you've done all the damage you could do," I took another drag, letting the smoke coil out of my nostrils slow and deliberate, like a dragon halfway through a nervous breakdown. "Go be evil together, seriously. Maybe make a game out of seeing who else you can break up, that'd probably be fun, no?"

Peter didn't respond right away. He just stood there, gnawing at the inside of his cheek like he might bite through it; "You're awful. It's not funny," he finally said, voice low. "You think I don't feel like shit about this?" 

"I think you feel like shit the same way a raccoon feels bad for tipping over a trash can," I muttered, flicking ash off the end of my cigarette with a snap. "You're not sorry. You're just caught."

"I am sorry," Peter said. "I lost my girl, and I lost my best friend. If you think I'm feeling good about any of this, I suggest you think again." He shoved his free hand into his jacket, pacing a slow, aggravated half-step. "How is Roman, by the way? How's the murder mystery going?"

I shrugged, taking a short, annoyed drag-- I hated the way all my feelings about the matter felt like wet cement in my chest. "No idea," I mumbled. "Roman isn't answering me either."

Peter blinked; "Seriously?"

"Dead serious," I said, letting the smoke curl lazily from my mouth as I tilted my head, smirking just slightly. "Knock, knock, by the way."

 Peter blinked, wary. "Uh... Who's there?"

I exhaled through my nose; "The consequences of your actions,"

"Oh, fuck off," Peter groaned, rolling his eyes. "You act like I planned it this way, and you keep acting like you had no fault in this yourself, and!-- ugh, all I ever wanted was for everyone to be happy!"

I took one last drag, let it hang in my chest, and exhaled directly at Peter in hopes of making him cough, of making him hurt. My eyes bore into his, feeling my anger at his stupidity simmer with my words; "And how did that work out for you?"

Peter didn't answer. He just stared at me like I had crossed some invisible line, one even he wouldn't dare to overstep. The wind cut between us, stirring the smoke that drifted around my face like a veil. With one last, final glance at Letha, Peter's cutting gaze landed on me as he threw his cigarette down to the floor, smushing it with his heel. "I can take a lot of shit from you, but you need to cool off. Being a bitch doesn't suit you. I commence this meeting of the dirty mistress club over,"

I would've probably laughed had I not been so dead and bitter inside, but I smiled, slow and mean; "Done? Great. Go waste someone else's time,"

Peter hesitated like he might say something else, but with a sigh, he turned away, the silence between us still crackling like static, like a slap to the face.

As Peter stormed off, no longer caring to bicker with me, I hated the pang of guilt that expanded in my chest. As it started to snowball, it worsened when I turned to look at Letha one last time. Over and over, I told myself I didn't feel sorry for her. I wondered whether Letha ever felt this way when looking at me, all that time ago-- I stayed longer than I meant to, allowing myself to gaze at the girl who had never failed to hold my hair back when I felt sick. There was a sadness in the exile of Letha Godfrey, yet not one I cared to sit with.

To distract myself, I occupied my mind with thoughts of the other Godfrey. The love of my life, the one I hadn't seen physically at school, but the one who hadn't failed to show up in every dream I'd had since the night of the murder. It was the same dream again and again, one I couldn't decipher, one I couldn't make sense of-- was I simply ovulating, or was I going insane?

Every girl had questioned that once or twice, surely.

The dream was the same every time; I'd tell Roman I loved him. Then, he'd ask if someone like him could ever be loved. Then, I'd ask him who he was to decide who could be loved or not, and then... he'd bite me.

He'd bite into my chest, sink his teeth into my heart, and... fucking hell.

I swallowed hard-- just thinking about it made me feel uncomfortably warm. It was horrifyingly embarrassing to think about, and as I turned away from the pathetic sight of Letha, I allowed my cheeks to go rosy. 

In my dreams, Roman would bite me, drink my blood, and every fucking time, without fail, I'd...

I'd cum.

Shivering, I wafted the image of the dream away. I tried to explain it as my brain trying to cope with the image of Brooke's body scattered all over the playground, and that it was my mind trying to make the sight of the blood a little less scary. Why did it have to mix in with Roman being a upir, though?

Then again, the more I thought about the fact that he was one, now that Letha wasn't involved and telling me how dangerous he was, the more I realized... I might not be so afraid as I had initially been. Maybe my body was telling me I was starting to embrace him fully? I had no idea. I couldn't make sense of it. 

Still, I knew what I had to do; I needed to find Roman and speak to him. Maybe I could clear my head about it if I saw him again? Maybe the fear would return, maybe I could make up my mind about it?

Yeah... I was definitely going insane. ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

This was a stupid plan. A really, really stupid plan, but it was the only one I could come up with.

I remembered the code to the gate around Roman's house (or should I say mansion?), and I parked my car in front of the massive entryway in the roundabout before the door. It was odd to be back, but it was necessary-- however, in my quest to talk to my murder-solving ex-boyfriend, I had forgotten about the main obstacle in the house.

The door creaked open, and a woman opened the door. Her annoyance with my presence was overshadowed by confusion as she racked her brain for how I could've gotten to her doorstep without being stopped by security. "Yes?" she asked, irritated, as she cocked a brow and scanned me from top to bottom.

It was then and there that I realized where Roman had learned that move from.

Olivia Godfrey was intimidating as ever with her long, black hair falling at around her hip-- she was exactly as I had imagined she'd be after seeing her face on several magazines while shopping at the stores around Hemlock Grove.

Putting on my nicest smile, I straightened up before I spoke; "Sorry to intrude, ma'am, but is Roman home?"

Olivia's upper lip quirked as she spotted my car parked in the roundabout driveway. It was clear that she found me misplaced. "May I ask who's calling?" 

I felt my smile turn tighter after I spoke my name, hoping it would ring some sort of bell in her head and that she'd recognise me-- Roman must've told her about me, no?

After hearing my name, Olivia's grip on the door loosened as her eyes gained a wicked twinkle, like she had trapped me and enjoyed poking me with a stick. "Oh..." First poke. "How odd..." Second poke. "Roman has never mentioned you." Third poke. And for the fourth, the finale, the last poke that'd impale me and turn me into a shish kebab-- "Are you one of his pom-poms?"

Pom-poms?

Cheerleaders?!

"They usually never come to the house..." Olivia continued with a grin on her face, her voice deep and warm like a dangerous purr. Something about her tone almost carried pity for me, like it was pathetic of me to sink so low as to come to their house for an easy lay. "Is it something urgent?"

The corners of my mouth twitched as I forced myself to keep smiling, to keep my composure. This woman felt like the equivalent of talking to a rattlesnake. "I'm not a cheerleader, no,"

"No?"

"Certainly not," I said, hoping to gain some of my dignity back. 

Olivia now seemed rather confused-- "So this is in regards to...?" 

Your son, who is also my ex-boyfriend, is looking for a murderer, and I need to make sure he's not lying dead in a ditch somewhere. "Study group, ma'am," I lied. "English lit."

This seemed to liven her up; in an instant, Olivia was back to smiling again, and she fully let go of the door and leaned towards me like she was about to tell me the juiciest gossip of the town; "Wuthering Heights, then, is it? So tell me, darling, the gypsy orphan Heathcliff-- was he a Byronic hero or proto-Marxist class warrior?"

What the fuck did any of that even mean? I stared at Olivia, my smile unwavering as my brain racked through the last time I ever picked up that book. That must've been last semester, when I ended up not reading it and looked up a summary on the internet. "Sorry ma'am," I tried. "I'm only on chapter two. Haven't gotten very far, you see."

With a disappointed sigh, Olivia's glee retreated as well as her steps, and she scanned me once more with that displeased look in her dark eyes. "Yes... I suppose you haven't," And then, in a different snake-like tone, she continued with a pitied warning; "It really does not end well for him."

"Pardon?"

"For Heathcliff, dear,"

"... Oh,"

What was that supposed to mean? Meeting this woman felt like a psychological exercise, and I began to understand why Roman had been so reluctant for me to meet her.

"Anywho," Olivia huffed, returning to her polite smile. She was switching out her expressions like masks in a theatre. "I'm afraid Roman isn't home at the moment, so I will tell him you stopped by. What was your name, again, darling?"

As I spoke my name with a composed breath, I turned to Roman's red jag, which was parked in front of mine. I wouldn't have approached the door if I hadn't seen it when I came-- he was obviously home. I wanted to say something, maybe even something a little sharp, but as I turned back to face Olivia Godfrey, the alarm in my head went off; upirism is hereditary. She could very well be the one Roman had inherited it all from, and there was no way I was about to piss her off.

With a sigh, Olivia's voice chimed in sweet as honey, yet keen to get me off her doormat. "It was nice to meet you, darling, but--"

No, wait! "He hasn't been to school,"

Fuck it. If I could fuck a upir, I could go up against another one. Was I maybe not so scared, after all?

I nodded towards his car. "Roman hasn't been to school," I repeated, standing my ground. "I haven't seen him all week since the murder in town, and I'm just getting a little worried so-- so if it's not a bother, could you at least tell me how he's doing?"

Caught off guard, Olivia's brows quirked in surprise. "Oh my," she purred, amused. For a moment there, I was sure she even laughed a little. Was it that pathetic that I had bothered to come? Was it blatantly obvious that it was a stupid decision? Everything about this woman made me want to dig a hole and die in it.

It took Olivia a few seconds to recover from the sight of yet another girl pining for her son, and some more to contain her humour, until she suddenly looked like she had sensed someone behind her. Then, she looked down at me with a newfound nonchalance (or was it annoyance?) and stepped away from the door. "Ask him yourself," she sighed. 

Olivia let the door swing open fully, revealing Roman a few feet behind her, arms folded over his chest, glaring at me with scathing wrath. 

I nearly shivered-- composing myself, I swallowed hard and allowed my heart to abuse the inner linings of my ribs with its excitement. Even now, with his hair undone and with dark circles around his eyes, he looked breathtakingly gorgeous. 

Roman's glare never faltered, not even as Olivia rounded the corner and left us alone. His jaw was clenched, and his forearms were flexed, revealing that his hidden hands were balled into fists. "Yeah?" he eventually said, not allowing my stunned silence to go on any longer than necessary.

... Was that all he had to say to me?

I straightened my skirt, my anxiety seeping into the tips of my fingers and burning into my blood. "You disappeared," I breathed. "You haven't been to school all week, you haven't answered any of my messages... I got worried."

Roman didn't flinch, didn't move-- nothing. "I think that's something you should talk about with your guidance counsellor,"

Fucker.

I cocked my head to the side, sending him a look he knew too well. "Seriously, Roman?"

"Dead serious,"

"Can we talk?"

He shrugged, and just as I thought he was about to tell me to fuck off, he pushed away from the wall with an annoyed groan. "Fine," Roman stepped forward with not as much as a trace of a smile, and held out his hand. 

Within a second, my hope skyrocketed. I felt myself blush as I raised my hand too, about to put it in his like in the good old times, but he scoffed and dodged me. "Jacket," he hissed, cold.

"Oh," With a heavy heart, I handed Roman my jacket-- things really had changed. We had broken up. We truly weren't together anymore. "Thanks..." I breathed, too flushed and embarrassed to look at him anymore.

This was unbearable-- it was torture.

Yet... it wasn't scary.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The last time Roman and I had been alone in a library together, I had let him fuck my brains out-- that was certainly not going to happen this time.

But now, as Roman scoured through the Godfrey library, having scattered tons of books on the floor, opened on specific, marked pages, I could only think about how it was to have his hands around me on the floor of the restricted section at the school library. Even though he was now wafting through books that were so old, they should be sent to some sort of archive for preservation, I couldn't stop thinking about how he had used those exact same fingers to fuck his cum deeper into me. Christ.

That day would've probably been the turning point for us, had it not been for Letha telling me he was dangerous over and over. When you get fed one line of information, told with such confidence and fervour, how do you convince yourself it's not true? I suppose it was my brain trying to tie itself down to normalcy instead of going against the stream. As I stood here now, leaning against some gorgeous old shelf in Roman's family library, I once again reinstated the thought that I had fucked us up by trusting Letha.

God, how I had fucked up. 

Anyway-- it was really damn inappropriate for me to be thinking about the way Roman had fucked me that time in the restricted section, especially as he finally started rambling about what he had been up to all week. 

"--So, since the police found Brooke's legs a little further away, they're not saying it's a mauling... Have you caught that on the news?" he asked, climbing down the set of library stairs with another book in hand. "Those stupid idiots are looking for a human. I told you they wouldn't look in the right places."

It felt wrong to encourage Roman's obsession with the murder and the idea that it wasn't a normal animal, yet I did what I could to stay close to him. The crime scene had looked odd, after all-- I could get behind that. "Okay, yeah... I hear you,"

"They think it's some sicko serial killer dude running around," Roman huffed, flipping through the pages of the new book to find a page he had previously read. "That it's someone's mark. I listened in on the police intercom a few days ago to hear what they were saying, and they're trying to connect it to some killer dude in Iowa--"

"Hold on!" I flailed my arms as I stepped away from the shelf, hoping to get his attention. "You hacked into the police intercom?!"

Roman fixed his gaze on me, visibly annoyed to have to stop scouring the pages of the book. "Not technically. Since when would I have had the brains for that? I just know the password to their system,"

"Password?!"

"How many times do I have to tell you that my family basically is the police? It was easy to get," With a roll of his eyes, Roman returned to his search. "Anyway, this serial killer guy from Iowa would've carved something into her abdomen, some satanic symbol, and Brooke didn't have that when we saw her. I'm waiting for the police to make that connection, but she's getting buried soon and they're all talking about how the morgue is giving them shit for wanting to delay the funeral so they can inspect the body again... It's all unnecessarily complicated." Finally, he put down the book next to the others on the floor, stepping away to look at them all together as though it were an art installation he had to decipher. "It's not some dude from Iowa who is responsible for this. I'm sure of it."

Slowly, I dared to step forward towards the carefully laid out books spread out across the hardwood floor. When I got closer, I caught a glimpse of the look in Roman's eyes, how big his pupils were, how disoriented he seemed-- he almost looked like he was in the middle of a manic episode, or like he was about to audition for the role of the new Doctor Who. "So... you've been home from school to figure out who could've done it?" 

"Yeah," he breathed, not blinking. "But there are many possibilities, too many. I'm getting in over my head here, and I've got too much information on my hands... This fucking library is huge. My great grandpa wasn't fucking around about knowledge, and he made sure all this stuff was preserved."

I sighed-- if Roman and I had still been together, I would've known how to soothe him better. Now, all my methods would've been deemed highly inappropriate or simply too intimate. "That's why I'm here to help," I tried. "I told you that I'm not letting you do this alone."

In the midst of his daze, Roman didn't care to turn to look at me, but I knew he saw me through the corner of his eye. It made me feel like I was some spider on the wall that he was deciding whether to squish to death or not. "Your heart's not in it though," he said, monotone.

"It... is?"

"It's not. You don't care about the murder,"

"I do!"

"Not like me," he argued. "Your heart's not in it."

If only Roman knew how much of my heart was actually in it, in the palm of his hands. With a sigh, I dared to speak; "My heart is wherever you are, Rome,"

Silence.

Deafening silence.

Finally, he turned to face me, but it wasn't relief that softened his expression-- it was something more devastating; regret. Maybe even fear? "Don't say shit like that," he said, his tone raw in a way that broke me bit by bit. "You're making it worse."

My heart twisted into my lungs. "But I mean it," I breathed. 

Roman groaned; "That's the problem," he snapped, suddenly sharp. "You mean it, and I-- I can't--" He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair as though trying to scrub the words from his skull. Roman did his best to erase it from his memory, now pressing his palm to his forehead as he closed his eyes and pushed it all away. "I've cornered it down to at least three things it could be."

"... What?"

"The killer,"

"Oh," Swallowing hard, I nodded and forced myself to turn away from him to look down at the books. Was Roman maybe going insane? Was I enabling a manic episode? I wasn't so sure. All I knew, was that I had promised to stay by him no matter what this time, and I was going to stick to that.

There were many gorgeous illustrations of different animals, all made with something calligraphy pen-like. Heaps of information had been written down on the pages with much less precision than the drawings, and the more I looked at them all, I realized they didn't look like books-- they looked like diaries. 

"Roman?" I breathed. "Were these all made by your great grandfather?"

He was still rubbing his temples, eyes closed, when he hummed. "He had a lot of money, so he travelled a lot," 

Okay... This went much deeper than this generation of Godfreys. "I see," I tried, bending down to get a closer look at one of the many beautiful illustrations. "He writes that he saw these things?"

"Yeah," Roman opened his eyes to see which book I was checking out. "He drew everything to remember them."

Jesus Christ. "Was your great grandfather perhaps... schizophrenic?"

Roman let out a short, humorless snort, the sound edged with just enough irritation to sting. "Thanks," he muttered, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm. "Real supportive. You're doing a great job so far."

I turned to glance at him, caught between an apology and an awkward half-smile. "I didn't mean--"

"No, it's fine," His jaw tensed as he leaned back against the shelves, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he was praying for patience. "Let's just entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, my dead great grandfather wasn't completely out of his goddamn mind... just for fun."

Fine. I shut up.

Roman sighed, grabbing the nearest diary and flipping through it without care, like he knew exactly what page he wanted. "He saw things," he continued, tone flatter now. "Things that match what we saw at the playground."

I stepped closer and frowned at the page he'd stopped on. It was some kind of creature that looked like a wolf if it had been dragged through hell and then stitched back together. Bone-thin limbs, eyes like pits, a mouth full of teeth that curved wrong. Was Roman's great grandfather maybe tripping on shrooms back in the day? "Is this the...?"

"Vargulf," Roman nodded. "First suspect. It makes sense, sort of. They kill their prey without eating it, and they're not connected to the full moon, like usual werewolves. This is basically a werewolf that's gone crazy, and it just... rips bodies apart out of insanity, or something. I really, really don't want it to be this thing."

I swallowed, suddenly cold at the memory of Brooke's torn body. "And the others?"

Roman ticked them off with his fingers, not bothering to look at me. "Some French thing called the beast of... however the fuck you pronounce it. It was some wolf-lion hybrid that killed tons of people back in France. And these Welsh death hounds that I also can't fathom how to pronounce, but they were dogs that hunted souls.... And these things were all animals, all real, if you believe half the shit in these books,"

"And you do?"

He glanced at me a little sideways. "I believe what he saw. This guy was legit. These aren't fairytales made by some drunkard,"

"But... I'm sorry, that's what this sounds like,"

Roman closed the diary with a sudden boom, almost like he was trying to wake himself up or scare me half to death. "Fairytales don't leave bodies," He dropped the book to the floor with a loud thud-- he could've just as easily dropped a mic. 

"Okay..." I mumbled, trying my best not to sound so skeptical-- no, this was crazy. "But I doubt that French wolf-lions would be roaming around the Pennsylvanian countryside, and I don't know how these Welsh hounds could've made their way all the way across the ocean, so that sort of leaves us with the--"

"Vargulf," Roman found another book which seemed to have more details about the beast. "I agree that it makes the most sense. They can appear all over the world, and they have the biggest chance of being real."

"Being real? So now we're doubting your great grandpa again?"

Roman straightened up, realizing he had walked directly into that one. Clearing his throat, he raised his gaze from the book to stare back at me, blinking; "This is a guy that drew mythical creatures. We've got to be a little realistic,"

I snorted before I could stop myself.

Roman rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched, just barely. "All I'm saying is, if a supernatural creature is running around eating girls in our town, I'd really prefer not to be the guy who shrugged it off because it sounded a little French,"

"Right..." He had a point, albeit a crazy one. I still had hope this was some serial killer from Iowa after all, even though that was no less dark. "But Roman?"

"Yes?"

"When..." I almost didn't dare to ask the question, but the more I looked at him, the less I saw of that usual spark in his green eyes, and the more I worried. His cheeks were sunken in, the circles around his eyes were concerning, and he almost looked a bit paler than usual (although I wasn't sure that was even possible). I took a deep breath; "When was the last time you ate?"

Roman froze, the question hanging in the air like a heavy fog. His expression tightened, the usual charm replaced by something sharp and distant. "You're still asking that?"

I couldn't help it-- the thought had been gnawing at me for a good few minutes now. Maybe even days, if I allowed myself to admit it. "I worry about you," I breathed. "I'll always ask that."

He dropped the book he'd been holding onto a table nearby with a soft thud, taking his time to answer. It was clear that it was overwhelming, confusing, and distracting to hear those words from me. "Look, I'm not your boyfriend anymore, alright? You don't need to check in on me,"

My heart dropped. "Roman, I'm--"

"I knew this would happen," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he turned to me. It was only then that I saw how seriously this was affecting him-- his green eyes had rounded out, and his breath came out in choppy motions. "If you're going to keep saying stuff like that, then we can't investigate this together. I can't handle the push and pull that comes with being around you, so if you want to be of any help, if you still want to solve this case with me, then I suggest you stop."

"But I'm not trying to!--"

"Yes, you are!" Roman barked. "Either you're solving a murder, or you're trying to get me back! Pick one, because you can't choose both!"

My fists balled-- I hated what we had turned into. "And if I want you?"

Roman's jaw clenched at my words, but his eyes didn't soften. There was that wall again, and it felt higher than ever before. "You can't," he said, his voice lower now, almost like he was trying to convince himself more than me. "You can't. Not with what we've been through. Not with how you reacted to what I am."

"That's unfair! I was scared!--"

"And you said you'd love me through everything! You promised!" 

The words echoed in the library, and they hit my heart with shattering pain. I could feel my heart splitting in my chest, the ache gnawing at me as I tried to steady myself. "Roman," I whispered, my throat tight. I couldn't look at him. I didn't want to see the pain in his eyes. "What makes you think I don't still love you?"

That seemed to be the breaking point for Roman. Not his great grandfather's mythical creatures, not the vargulf, not the murders-- it was the thought that someone could maybe love him for what he was. He wasn't looking at me anymore when he picked up a few books and started putting them back where they belonged, letting the silence comfort him like a warm blanket. "Leave," he breathed, pained by the words. "Just leave."

His words hit me like a slap, but I swallowed the sting and nodded slowly. I deserved that-- I knew that deep in my gut. Deciding not to add to his turmoil any longer, I stepped away from Roman and started walking towards the door, taking in the sheer height of it. Everything had to be accommodated for the giants in this house, after all. 

But then, I heard the creak of wood-- Roman had paused and taken a step back from the bookshelf, yet he still held one book up, frozen. He didn't turn to me, the tension in the air almost suffocating, but he sighed as though he was forcing the words out; "It's the same guy, y'know,"

With my hand now on the knob of the door, I glanced at Roman-- with his arm stretched out like that, I could see the vein running up his arm, and it immediately made my mind buzz. Being in a library with this guy was ridiculously dangerous for my mental state. "Sorry?"

"My great grandfather was the one I inherited those vials from," he breathed. "The ones you and I shared."

The ones that were lying safely on top of my nightstand-- the ones he didn't know I still had both of. The night I found out Roman was a upir, I had told him that I threw away his vial when I stole it off of him, yet his blood was next to mine in my bedroom, just like our human forms had once been. At least some parts of us could enjoy the closeness, although not sentient. 

My heart lurched in my chest, dying to let him know I had kept it after all this time-- I concluded that today wasn't the day. If Roman was taking small steps like these, I needed to match his tempo. This time, it was me chasing him, after all. "I'd have loved to meet this guy," I said, allowing myself a faint smile. "You Godfreys are one hell of a bunch."

Roman shrugged, finally moving again. "Hell, indeed,"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When is a monster not a monster?

Oh, when you love it.

Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep.

I could feel it clear as night-- the dream I had been having every night since the murder was back, and I knew it because of how soft Roman's hair felt against my fingertips. I gently held him in my arms and pressed my lips to his temple as softly as the first snowflake falls onto land. Roman's skin was smooth, cold to the touch; I wanted to warm him. Wanted to keep him forever, wanted to get us both to the temperature of warm glass so that we could melt into one another and become encased in the restraints of our love. 

When he moved, when his soft lips met mine, I could feel them against my mouth-- the sharp edges of his teeth. They were small for now, so small that no one would notice something was off unless they knew. Cute little fangs, like milk teeth for a baby upir, still waiting for the real deal to come in when he'd grow into the creature he was meant to be.

They grazed against my bottom lip, careful not to nick skin. Roman's breath was warm, a contrast to the rest of him, and my breath hitched, a small moan leaving me as he filled me up over and over-- I pulled him closer, and he let me. How could he ever deny me? In my dreams, he'd certainly never. I arched up against him, whimpering with the pleasure I had so dearly missed.

Roman groaned like it hurt to hold back what he wanted to do to me, his hips stuttering against mine as his hand interlocked my hair, forcing me to expose more of my neck with the first rough pull of the night. No longer holding back any of his desires, Roman's cock dragged into me over and over with the sweetest of rhythms, the tip pressing against the spot he knew made my jaw quiver against him, and his tongue licked a wet line above the thrumming of my heartbeat along my neck. 

My fingers pulled into a fist in his hair, whimpering beneath him-- "I love you," I breathed, kissing the top of his head, anywhere where I could reach.

Roman hummed against my throat, his upir fangs dragging a little harder over my pulse. "Why would anyone love a monster?" he whispered, a sliver of restraint coating his voice.

It was hard to answer now that my legs pulled around his waist, dragging him deeper into me, and I caused myself further ruin, all for the pleasure. Getting filled up by Roman, my love, was all I ever wanted in life. "Who are you to decide who-- a-ah, who's worthy of love?"

At that, he slowly raised his head, lips parted, eyes narrowed like he was scanning me for lies, like he was waiting for me to say something contradictory, to say something that would hurt him beyond everything I had already done. Roman's green eyes met mine-- there was something ancient there. Maybe every Godfrey had looked at someone like this, with the tiny fragment of hope their generational curse hadn't manage to strip them of?

Roman didn't answer-- his forehead pressed to mine, and for a moment, we just breathed. Our chests moved together, hearts pounding in sync, and the sweat cooling on our skin only made his coldness feel sharper; evidence of what he was, of what I had embraced. 

He kissed me again, slower now. Devotional.

Every kiss a thrumming repetition of I'm yours, I'm yours, you're mine.

I'm yours, I'm yours, you're mine.

His thrusts deepened, burying his cock in me to the hilt, and I could only clench around him. I had missed the stretch, missed the sting, missed the dizzying pleasure. So when Roman's kisses burned into my skin for all of eternity, he started travelling lower, like he was ready to mark the whole of me so that hell would know who I belonged to when I walked through the gates of damnation. 

I shivered as his lips trailed across my collarbone, each kiss paired with a rough snap of his cock, growing desperate. My hands slid through his hair, urging him on without a word; what could I possibly say? I had said enough. I didn't need to guide him-- he already knew where he was going.

Down.

Over the swell of my breast, just enough pressure to make me sigh and arch against him again.

Down.

To the center of my chest with purpose, with reverence.

Roman paused over my sternum. His hand came up to rest on the left side of my chest, right over my heart. He could feel it there-- thrumming like a caged bird against his palm. My breath hitched as his lips brushed the spot, featherlight.

A pair of dangerous green eyes flicked up to mine; dark and wide, pupils blown, lips parted. In the moonlight, I could spot the small shine of the moonlight against his fangs. And then, the words slipped my mind before I could stop them; 

"It's okay," I breathed. "Drink me where I love you most."

Roman's hips stilled, yet the twitch of his cock inside me gave away his instant excitement. I could see the way he melted at my bid. He didn't ask for confirmation, not wanting to deny himself the feed, before he kissed the skin above my heart one last time. I closed my eyes, feeling myself tremble beneath him as his mouth opened, followed by the scrape of his fangs.

"I love you," Roman whispered. "Forever."

And then he bit down.

It was a deep, brutal puncture-- the sound of the crack of bones would haunt me until the day I ceased to exist. His teeth dug straight through my skin, ripping through the layers of my body to get to my beating heart.

And it hurt, God how it hurt, but not in the way I expected it to. My veins were on fire as the blood drained from my system, and it burned as I could only sob and scream-- my soul had been cracked open and was pouring into him. My blood, my love, my fear, my rage, my want; all of it.

I cried like I had lost all that was dearest to me, cried like it was my first cry all over again as I clutched onto Roman's broad shoulders, digging my fingers into his skin like it'd do him the same harm, like it'd do my pain justice. But suddenly, something clicked-- it must've been death. It must've been the sweet lull of death turning this agony into pleasure. Because suddenly, I was writhing beneath Roman's body, pushing myself further down on his cock as he drank me, whimpering like I wanted him to keep fucking me to death.

With a groan, Roman's cock went deeper at my pleading request, harder, until every thrust drove me into peaceful silence. 

I wasn't crying from the pain anymore-- I was crying from the relief.

But when I awoke from this dream, I cried out with a shriek.

Drenched in sweat, I sat up in bed, heaving for air. My thighs were clenched together for relief, because even in my awake state, I felt like I was still getting fucked-- it was the oddest feeling. If I really focused, then I could still feel the pressure of Roman's mouth over my chest, and to relieve the burn that followed, I hammered my fist over my heart to battle the pain.

Grabbing my pillow, I let out a yell of pure and utter frustration into it-- I wasn't scared.

My Brooke-PTSD had somehow turned Roman's upirism into...

Something hot?

I knew I was fucked when I grabbed the vial of his blood by my nightstand and pressed it to my chest, right where he had bit me in my dream, and it worked. It stilled the erratic beating of my heart, it made the pain subside, yet, as I continued to rub my thighs together, feeling myself pulse in my soaked underwear, my breath refused to calm down. 

Tonight was different-- something in me shifted. I couldn't go on like this. I promised I'd give it more time, but I couldn't do it anymore.

With trembling hands, I let the vials lie against my chest as I reached for my phone. I searched through my contacts for the old name I used to have in my contacts, Romy Schneider, before I remembered the time I had changed it to Roman when we broke up the first time.

Was I about to do this? Was I about to call my ex in the middle of the night?--

Yes.

Yes, I was.

With a shaky breath, I dared to finally press the button I had wanted to press ever since the night Brooke died; it was time. I wasn't sure whether Roman was up at this hour of the night or not, whether he would answer, or--

My phone stopped beeping. He had answered. 

To my absolute horror, I was completely tongue-tied. I lay in bed, mouth wide open in shock that Roman was literally on the other side of the call; a stillness bloomed in the silence, fragile and waiting, like the air itself had braced for the weight of this call. It was long enough to hear the faint rustle of sheets on his end. 

"... Hello?" His voice was coated in sleep and something else I couldn't quite name, something that sounded like dread.

Okay, okay-- it was now or never. "The vials," I blurted out, curling further into myself on the bed, pressing the phone tighter to my ear like it could anchor me. "I mean-- hi, good night, or evening, or... whatever? Sorry for calling you so late, but you mentioned them earlier today, and I just-- I didn't get rid of yours, Roman. I lied."

The quiet on the other end stretched longer now. I could picture him sitting up, rubbing his face, trying to shake off the dream he was probably still half in, trying to decide whether to indulge my pathetic rant or not. "You're calling me... at three in the morning," he finally said, slow and deliberate, like he needed the words to catch up to his thoughts. "To talk about this?"

"... Yes,"

Another pause. A sharper inhale this time. "You're impossible," 

"I'm sorry," I pressed the vials to my chest, fingers trembling. I didn't know why I was saying any of this out loud. I hadn't planned it, but after the nightmare, after waking up soaked and breathless, heart hammering and thighs clenched like I'd been touched in real time, I couldn't hold it in anymore. "I saw you tonight," I breathed. "In my dreams. I dream of you every night, and I... I hate that that's the only place I see you." And just as I thought I couldn't get any more pathetic, it slipped past my lips-- "Do you ever dream of me too?"

Roman's response was strained, fragile around the edges; "Seriously, you have to stop this. Do you not hear me telling you that? You can't say shit like that to me right now,"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know if this is real," he snapped, groaning. "Because I'm half-asleep and you're... you're calling me about our blood and your dreams and... what do you want me to do with this? Are you trying to make me upset?"

"No! I-- I just needed you to know!"

Roman let out a shaky breath, shifting in his bed. Something told me he wasn't trying to suppress his annoyance anymore; "You're not letting me move on. When you call me like this, you're making it really fucking impossible for me, are you aware of that? Do you do this on purpose? We ended it, then you show up at my house today, and I think it's only fair that you!--"

"I still love you, Roman,"

Another pause. A ragged breath from him, like he had run a mile just lying in bed. "Stop it,"

"Hang up, then," I said, voice barely above a whisper.

His breath stilled-- that told me enough.

I sank deeper into the mattress, every nerve alive. My fingers tightened around the vials resting on my chest. The glass felt cool against my skin, grounding; at least he was here with me, in some form or another. "I know that I reacted... wrongly when I found out what you were, and I'm sorry," I said. "If I could take it all back, I would. Do you believe me when I say that?"

Roman's answer was immediate-- "No,"

I was crying before I realized it. Silent, hot tears spilling into my hair as I stared up into the dark. The vials trembled against my skin. "You once told me that you wouldn't be satisfied until I woke up and saw that I'm supposed to be with you and no one else. Do you remember that?"

"... You're really damn persistent, are you aware of that?--"

"Then you know what I feel for you," Saying that out loud felt like a huge exhale, and I continued; "I've chased you before, Roman, I can do it again. Don't you think we deserve another chance?"

I heard the mattress shift again on his end-- he was pacing, maybe. Standing in the dark, forehead pressed to a window somewhere in that too-big house of his. "You've ruined me," he breathed. "You've left me in ruins."

"I love you,"

"I have no chances to give,"

"I love you,"

"You've fucking ruined me,"

I squeezed my eyes shut. "We've both made mistakes," I whispered, wiping my tears to no avail. "But I think I'll love you forever."

Forever.

Roman didn't respond right away. I could hear him breathing, shallow and uneven, like he was trying not to scream. This was the kind of silence that only comes when someone is holding themselves together by the thinnest thread. I held the phone tighter, wishing it could bridge the distance, wishing I could crawl through the receiver and be with him.

"I wish you hadn't called," Roman finally said. "Everything just hurts."

"Then let me help you feel better," I tried, broken and desperate. "Come over, Rome."

"... What?" Roman let out a bitter, breathy laugh, one that held no humor; "You're unbelievable. Do you even know what you're asking?"

"No, no, it's-- I didn't mean sex!--"

"Right... Should've known,"

"Rome, come on, it's not! I swear, I just... I just want to hold you," I said. "I can't breathe when you're not near, and I-- I miss your eyes. Your gorgeous, green eyes, and your soft hair against my fingers, and how peaceful you look in your sleep... I miss you. I miss sleeping next to you."

The silence that ensued was so quiet that I thought Roman had hung up, until he finally said; "Not tonight,"

A fresh wave of emotions rose in my throat. "Please," I whispered, allowing my breath to hitch as my tears doubled. "Please, Roman-- please."

"I can't,"

"I love you,"

"I need time," he breathed. "I need you to give me time."

Something in my chest shifted-- it was like he had lifted a ton off my shoulders. To hear Roman giving me a sliver of hope after this dreadful week felt like a blessing from all the Gods I didn't believe in. "I have all the time in the world,"

I heard a faint rustle, maybe him wiping his face. Was he not going to say anything? The silence buzzed, and I grasped the moment; "... Will you at least come to school tomorrow?" I asked, barely louder than a whisper. "Please?"

He let out a bitter, tired breath. "God, you don't give up, do you?"

"I just want to see you. I know we're broken up, but... this is agony,"

"So you're going back to staring at me from afar?"

... Yes. "I'll settle for that for now," I had forgotten that Roman knew about how obsessed I was with him before we got together. I had forgotten it too, to be honest-- repressed it, probably.

"For now?"

"For now," 

"What does that mean?"

"That this isn't temporary," I mumbled. "When this murder business is over, you'll see."

"... Christ," I could hear the rustle of him pulling the phone away, maybe checking the time again. I heard him curse under his breath before he spoke again, quiet, resigned, and wrecked; "Fine, I'll come to school."

I blinked up at the ceiling through the tears that still clung to my lashes. "Thank you," I whispered, trying not to sound too relieved. 

Roman didn't reply, but the silence felt less sharp now. Warmer, somehow. I imagined him sitting down at the edge of his bed with one hand over his eyes, exhausted by everything, yet still choosing to say; "And I do, by the way,"

"... Do what?"

Roman sighed, sniffling; "Dream of you. Always,"

(a/n: EEK THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS FARRRRR MWAH MWAH<3333 ILY)

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[ly0nstea]

Azula didn't hallucinate Ursa for no reason btw, she hadn't seen the woman in years, if she was looking for someone to lash out at, or to lash out at her, she would have hallucinated Mai or Zuko or her father before her mother, if she was looking for someone to insult her or belittle her she would also probably sooner go to her father because he is more of an authority to her and matters more in influencing her actions.

Sure, from a Doylist perspective Ursa being there makes it most obvious to the viewer that what Azula's seeing isn't real and is all in her head because any of the other people (other than Ozai I suppose) could have actually been there and you risk confusing the viewer or wasting time in an already 4 part finale explaining it so everyone gets it

But from a Watsonian perspective, Azula hallucinated her mother because what she wanted was a mother, she wanted someone to protect her and comfort her and no one else in Azula's life fits that description, so she had to default to the person who was supposed to fulfill that duty but ultimately failed in doing so.

We see this because all Ursa does when she appears is try to comfort Azula, but Azula (as we see in the beach) fundamentally doesn't believe herself deserving of love or comfort so she rejects the attempt by her subconscious to soothe her and reflexively plunges herself deeper into self-destruction as a punishment for her percieved failure

[marinhosh]

There's a lot of talk about protective Mike, but what about protective Will?

here Ross implies that Will becomes more confident in S5. Will has always been a selfless person who puts other people's safety first, I imagine he always wanted to protect those he loves, but he never managed to do so being the weakest and most shy of them all.

I can only imagine Will in S5 being able to protect his friends and family ♥️

(remembering, I think Will's and Mike's forms of protection are totally different) I just don't know how to explain it, I was never good at writing lol