#i say all of this with affection to clarify

[pinkjmdreamcast]

Gonna try to do some fanfic one shots!!

Toriel visits Asgore and has a heart to heart with him about the past and future.

———

Life on the surface was different, but good. After years spent underground, seeing the sun every day, feeling the wind on their fur, and breathing air that wasn't laden with the scent of rock and magic was a joy for every monster. Thanks to Frisk, the barrier was broken, and a new life had begun.

—

Frisk, a cheerful child, lived with Toriel in a cozy house right in the heart of the city. Their home was often filled with laughter and the aroma of butterscotch-cinnamon pie. Papyrus, ever boisterous, was always there, along with his brother, Sans. Alphys and Undyne lived inside the city in their cozy apartment but were always welcomed in their home to hang out. Even Flowey, though still a little prickly, had found a reluctant place in their strange, happy family – a testament to Frisk’s boundless compassion.

But while the world outside was full of new beginnings, some old wounds still felt fresh, especially for Toriel. She had built a wonderful life, full of the light Frisk had brought her, and a quiet, growing warmth from Sans’s wry humor and gentle affection. Yet, a shadow remained, tied to the past and to the one monster who wasn’t part of their bustling household.

—

Asgore lived a solitary, peaceful life in a small cottage on the outskirts of the city. He spent his days in his vast, blossoming garden, a sea of vibrant petals and green leaves. He tended to his plants with a quiet dedication, perhaps finding solace in the cycle of growth and renewal.

One particularly sunny afternoon, as Toriel was stirring a pot of soup, Sans ambled into the kitchen. He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, a familiar, lazy grin on his face.

"hey, tori," he began, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "got a minute?"

Toriel paused, spatula in hand. "Of course, dear. What is it?"

"just… thinking," Sans said, shifting his weight. "you know, about asgore."

Toriel’s brow twitched slightly. She didn’t want to talk about Asgore. The hurt was still too raw, the betrayal too deep. "What about him, Sans?" Her voice was colder than she intended.

Sans didn’t flinch. He just observed her, his sockets holding a knowing glint. "it’s been a while, hasn't it? since… well, since anyone really talked to him, formally anyway. i mean, he’s out there, doing his thing. and we’re in here, doing ours."

Toriel stirred her soup more vigorously. "He made his choices, Sans. Choices that hurt so many, including… them." Her voice trembled on the last word, the memory of the fallen children a constant ache in her soul.

"yeah, he did," Sans agreed, his tone unusually serious. "and you made yours. and i made mine. everyone’s got their baggage, toots. but… we’re on the surface now. new world, new rules. a new future, right?" He pushed off the doorframe, taking a step closer. "you said you wanted to let the past not affect the new future. doesn't that include everyone?"

Toriel sighed, a long, weary sound. "It is not so simple, Sans. Some things cannot be easily forgotten, nor should they be."

"no one’s saying forget," Sans clarified gently. "just… compromise. for frisk, if nothing else. they're happy we're here, all of us. and asgore… he’s still part of their story. a big part. and he's not a bad guy, tori. just… a complicated one. like us. all of us." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "it's about clearing the air, you know? getting some closure. for you. for him. for everyone."

Toriel looked at him, really looked at him. Sans, with his easygoing demeanor, often hid a profound wisdom. He wasn't asking her to forgive and forget instantly, but to open a dialogue, to acknowledge the passage of time and the shift in their reality. It wasn’t just about Asgore; it was about her own peace, about fully stepping into this new future without the lingering weight of past grievances.

"Just a talk, Toriel," Sans continued, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "no pressure. just… see where it goes. for the sake of the new path we're all walking."

She considered his words, the warmth of his presence beside her. The logical part of her knew he was right. The emotional part still recoiled. But Frisk… Frisk deserved a future unburdened by the echoes of their parents’ past. And perhaps, Asgore deserved some chance, however small, to bridge the chasm that had formed between them.

"Very well," Toriel said finally, her voice still laced with reluctance. "I will go. But do not expect miracles, Sans. I will not forget."

Sans’s smile widened, a genuine, relieved expression. "wouldn't dream of it, tori. just… talk. that's all." He gave her a surprisingly warm, light hug on the side before shuffling out of the kitchen, whistling a tuneless melody.

—

The next morning, Toriel dressed carefully, opting for a simple, dignified dress. The journey to Asgore’s cottage was short, yet each step felt heavy, laden with years of unspoken words and simmering resentment. The city slowly gave way to suburban stretches, then to rolling fields and finally, the quiet country lane leading to Asgore’s home.

As she walked, her mind drifted back to the underground. To the children. All of them. Each one a precious, innocent life she had tried, and failed, to protect. She remembered their hopeful faces, their small hands in hers, their bright eyes full of courage before they ventured into the darkness. And then, the crushing silence when they did not return. Asgore’s actions had caused immense pain, yes, but she, too, felt the deep ache of failure. She should have gone with them. She should have fought harder. She should have… done something more.

It was Frisk, small and determined, who had finally brought the light. Frisk, who had chosen mercy, who had held onto hope, who had broken the cycle of despair. Frisk, who had pulled her, and all of them, out of that dark, echoing void. Her heart swelled with gratitude for them, a fierce, protective love that transcended all else.

She reached the familiar wooden gate, now weathered by the surface sun. The cottage itself was charming, nestled amongst an explosion of colorful flowers that spilled from every window box and garden bed. Asgore’s love for gardening was evident in every vibrant bloom. He was there, of course, tending to a patch of golden buttercups, his imposing figure softened by the delicate task.

He looked up as she approached, his large, kind eyes widening in surprise. A small watering can slipped from his grasp, splashing water onto his boots. "Toriel?" His voice was a low, rumbling question, laced with disbelief and a tremor of hope.

Toriel stood stiffly, clutching her purse. "Hello, Asgore." Her voice was steady, but cool.

Asgore quickly wiped his hands on his apron, clearly flustered. "I… I did not expect you. Please, come in. Or, would you prefer to sit in the garden? It is quite lovely today." He gestured vaguely at the riot of color around them.

"The garden will suffice," Toriel replied, walking towards a small wrought-iron bench nestled under a weeping willow. Asgore hurried to dust it off, even though it was already clean.

They settled onto the bench, an uncomfortable silence stretching between them. The only sounds were the distant chirping of birds and the gentle rustle of leaves. Toriel clasped her hands in her lap, gathering her resolve.

"I came because Sans… suggested it," she began, not looking at him directly. "He believes it is time to… clear the air. To ensure the past does not entirely eclipse the new future we have been given."

Asgore nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on her. "Sans is… wise. He always has been. I am glad you came, Toriel. Truly. I… I never thought I would speak with you again like this." His voice was soft, laced with a familiar melancholy.

Toriel finally looked at him, her eyes sharp. "Do not mistake my presence for full reconciliation, Asgore. I am here to talk, yes. But I will never forget what happened. The children… their deaths… that is a burden I carry every single day. And your role in it… it cannot be erased, cannot be simply wished away by a change of scenery."

Asgore flinched, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I know, Toriel. I carry it too. Every day. The weight of my actions… it is a heavy crown, even without a kingdom. There are no words sufficient to express my remorse for the pain I caused, for the lives lost, for the trust I shattered. Especially yours." He looked at her, his eyes filled with genuine sorrow. "I understand if you can never fully forgive me. I truly do."

Toriel took a deep breath, the anger still a hot ember in her chest, but something else was stirring too – a raw honesty she hadn’t expected to share. "And yet, Asgore," she said, her voice dropping, "I, too, made mistakes. Grave ones. I stood by the door in the Ruins, believing I was protecting them, the children who fell. But I failed. Every single one of them. I should have gone with them. I should have been there, fighting alongside them, or… or simply being there to hold their hand until the very end." Her voice cracked with the old, familiar pain. "I thought I was keeping them safe, but all I did was… prolong their journey to you. I did not truly protect them."

Asgore’s expression softened further, a pained sympathy in his gaze. "Toriel, you tried your best. You gave them a chance, a respite. You offered them kindness in a world that had betrayed them. No one could have asked for more from you."

"But I asked more of myself!" she retorted, her voice rising slightly. "And I failed! Over and over. Until Frisk." Her eyes glistened. "Frisk… they were the light. They walked through all the darkness, all the traps, all the despair, and they chose mercy. They saved us all, Asgore. They brought me out of my self-imposed exile, out of that dark, lonely place. They showed me that hope was not lost, that forgiveness was possible, even for me."

She paused, taking another shaky breath. The act of voicing her own deep-seated guilt, her own failures, was strangely cathartic. It didn't diminish Asgore's past actions, but it acknowledged the shared burden of the past, the collective responsibility for what had transpired.

"And Frisk… they deserve everything good this new world has to offer," Toriel continued, her gaze firm, meeting his directly. "They have so much love in our home, with Sans, Papyrus, and even Flowey. But they also deserve… a proper family. A complete one, in a sense. Not just me." She hesitated, then plunged forward. "If… if you would like to, Asgore… I would not object to you co-parenting Frisk. Being part of their life. Formally, I mean. Helping to guide them, offering your wisdom, your… your love."

Asgore’s eyes widened, then filled with tears. His large frame trembled, and he swallowed hard. "Toriel… are you serious?" His voice was a choked whisper.

"I am," she confirmed, a small, almost imperceptible softening in her own expression. "Frisk cares for you. They always have. And I… I believe it would be beneficial for them. And for you."

A wide, genuine smile, one Toriel hadn’t seen in centuries, slowly spread across Asgore’s face. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but they were tears of profound joy. "Oh, Toriel," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "That would… that would mean the world to me. More than you could ever know. To be a part of their life again… to help raise them… It is all I have ever wanted." His shoulders seemed to lighten, as if a great weight had been lifted from them. "Thank you. Thank you, Toriel."

The tension that had hung between them for so long began to dissipate, replaced by a fragile, new understanding. Asgore was genuinely, overwhelmingly happy. He had accepted her conditions, her anger, and her willingness to extend an olive branch.

Then, a mischievous glint entered Asgore’s eyes, a playful twinkle that had been absent for so long. "So," he began, a small, teasing smile touching his lips. "Sans, you say? I hear he's quite… charming. Always has a joke ready. And a smile. I’ve seen him around the city, sometimes with you, sometimes with Frisk. He seems very… devoted."

Toriel felt a blush creep up her neck, a warmth spreading through her cheeks. She instinctively bristled. "Asgore! That is none of your concern!" she retorted, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. She crossed her arms, trying to maintain her dignified composure.

Asgore chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "Oh, isn't it? My former wife, the queen, gallivanting with a skeleton comedian? It sounds like excellent gossip for my buttercups." He winked.

Toriel huffed, but a small smile played on her lips despite herself. "He is not 'gallivanting,' he is… a dear friend. And he is very kind. And thoughtful." And yes, she admitted silently, to herself, she loved him. Loved his quiet strength, his unwavering support, his terrible puns. She loved him so much.

"Of course," Asgore said, still smiling, a genuine happiness radiating from him that had nothing to do with their past, but rather with the present. "He seems to make you very happy, Toriel. And that… that makes me happy too. Truly. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy."

That unexpected sincerity pierced through Toriel’s remaining defenses. She realized he meant it. He wasn't possessive; he was relieved she had found joy again.

They fell into a comfortable rhythm after that, the raw edges of their initial conversation smoothed over by this newfound acceptance. They talked about Frisk, their intelligence, their kindness, their burgeoning curiosity about the world. They discussed the future of monsterkind on the surface, the challenges and the opportunities. Asgore spoke of his hopes for a peaceful coexistence, for monsters to contribute meaningfully to this new society. Toriel shared her concerns about education, about ensuring monster children received the best possible upbringing.

They even touched upon the past, not with acrimony, but with a quiet understanding. Asgore spoke of his isolation, his regret, his desperate hope that one day, he might be forgiven. Toriel spoke of her own journey through grief and anger, and how Frisk had slowly, patiently, guided her towards a new path.

"So, co-parenting Frisk?" Toriel finally said, confirming the offer, her voice softer than it had been all morning. "Are you truly ready for that, Asgore? It is a great responsibility."

Asgore looked at her, his eyes warm and earnest. "I am. More than ready. I promise, Toriel, I will do everything in my power to be the father Frisk deserves. And to respect your wishes, your decisions. Always."

Toriel nodded slowly. "Good. We will figure out the specifics, of course. Visits, holidays, school conferences… there are many details to consider."

"Of course, of course," Asgore eagerly agreed. "Whatever you deem appropriate. I am just… so grateful for this chance. For this conversation, Toriel. Thank you for coming."

As Toriel stood to leave, the setting sun casting long shadows across Asgore’s vibrant garden, she felt a lightness she hadn't experienced in years. The weight hadn't entirely lifted; the scars of the past remained. But they no longer felt like open wounds. They were healing, slowly, gently. The future, once so uncertain, now held the promise of shared responsibility, of renewed purpose, and of a fragile, yet enduring, friendship.

She looked at Asgore, truly looked at him – not as the king who had failed, nor the husband who had hurt her, but as a fellow parent, a survivor, a monster who, like her, was trying to find his way in a brand new world. And for the first time in a very long time, Toriel smiled at him, a genuine, if still slightly reserved, smile.

"Goodbye, Asgore," she said. "I will be in touch about Frisk."

"Goodbye, Toriel," he replied, his voice filled with gratitude. "And… thank you. For everything."

As she walked away, the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers filled the air. She thought of Sans, his quiet wisdom, his gentle nudge. He had been right. It was a new future, and perhaps, just perhaps, they could all truly build it together, one difficult, honest conversation at a time. And she knew, with a certainty that warmed her soul, that no matter how complicated the past had been, the present, with Frisk, Sans, Papyrus and even the grumpy Flowey, was exactly where she was meant to be.

[puff-hugs]

This is everything you need to know

I had an idea, and so I made some low effort memes. Happy Dragons Rising everybody

That is all

[visions--of--collisions]

one of these days i'm gonna solidify my thoughts on hobie actively interrupting the narrative device to deny the audience (read: miles) a face reveal until he's good and ready for it and I'm. i'm gonna be Annoying about it (because i suspect it says as much about miles as it does him, honestly)

[demontisms]

my controversial spn take is that had rowena looked, like, 5-7 years younger than she did, samwena would be a more popular ship than saileen and the only real reason saileen is more popular is bc for all the talk of loving milfs in digital spaces, even (and sometimes especially) queer digital spaces, as a society we still have it deeply ingrained into us that women over the age of 35/40 are undesirable and because of this alone, consciously or unconsciously, i feel like a good portion of people see eileen as a much better love interest for sam.

[crehador]

the current state of the one with the clones is me whispering to clone!ichiro you have got to fuck him faster than this and him hissing back i am fucking trying?? because this 4p clone sex pwp is now

and there's still. there's still no fucking p.

[hasperkalttunen]

despite his appearance jack hughes somehow has negative rizz

[burningsolarsystem]

Why does my brother seem to care more about tik tok than his family?

[musical-chick-13]

Genuinely I cannot take the phrase "de-centering men" seriously anymore.

[vaultedvagabond]

Not gonna mention names but seeing a trans woman on here make a take that does have a good point about a very specific situation and seeing people drasticly warp what she said to imply she was saying misandry is real and shes siding with the fucking trans/andro truthers is like.

Thats another form of a trans woman saying something and having it take out of context and getting her dogpiled. Like this happens to trans women all the time and why is someone saying something not related to this topic at all getting way more attention and vague posts than actual tme people makinf actual transmisoginistic posts.

[moonstruckme]

hi!! can u write a fic with poly maurauders x shy reader where she looses like her comfort stuffed animal and freaks out? thanks!

Thanks for requesting @whotfisgiana <3

poly!marauders x shy!reader ♡ 1.4k words

You don’t think your bedroom has ever been so messy. Pillows on the floor, sheets and comforter all askew, most everything you own moved this way or that so you could see around or behind or underneath it. You’re halfway to a panic when a knock sounds on your door. 

You ignore it. It’s likely a postman leaving a package or someone who will leave a flyer taped to the door, and you have more pressing concerns to deal with. But the knock comes again, louder this time. 

You push out a sigh as you stand from where you’d been peering under your bed, trying to shake some of your unease out of your fingertips as you go to answer it. On the other side you find your roguishly handsome boyfriend, looking expectant. 

“Hey, beautiful,” says Sirius, grinning as he leans in. He takes your waist in hand, and you kiss him back somewhat slowly, caught offguard by his easy affection at the best of times but even more so when you weren’t anticipating it. 

“Hey,” you echo as he pulls back. 

“You look surprised to see me,” he observes. “Did you not remember our date?” 

You blink. Oh. Oh. God, you’re the worst. You’re supposed to be going to see a film with your boyfriends at noon—but in your frenzy, you’d completely forgotten. Is it really that late already?

“It’s alright.” Sirius seems to sense your nerves, giving you a kind squeeze. “We’ve got time, lovely, James is picking up Remus from across town and I told them we’d take the bus, is that alright? Do you need to do anything before we go?” 

Your first thought is that you can’t go—but that’s not very fair, is it? You had plans, you can’t just abandon your boyfriends because something else has come up. Something completely non-urgent, too. It will still be just as lost whether you’re at the cinema or not. You can keep looking when you get home. 

“Yeah,” you say, stepping back from the door. Sirius comes in, and you shut it behind him. “Sorry, I’m still in my pajamas. I can change fast.” 

“Don’t hurry,” he says easily. “You know how James drives. We’ll beat them there no matter what.” 

“Thanks.” You hurry into your room, Sirius trailing casually behind. “Sorry, just a second.” 

He tsks, teasing. “Stop that.” 

“Sorry,” you say instinctively, then feel your face heat when he shoots you a mock stern look. You grab some clothes and go into your bathroom, shutting the door to change. 

“Whoa,” says Sirius as he enters your room. “What happened in here?” 

You forcibly stifle another apology, laughing at yourself. “I know, it’s so bad.”

“Are you redecorating or something?” 

“No, just looking for something.” 

You step out of the bathroom in jeans and a jumper, and Sirius grins at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re ready for him this time. When he steps forward, you let him put his hands on your face and kiss him back sweetly. 

“What’s the matter?” he asks. 

“Hm?” 

“You seem upset. What is it?” 

“I’m not upset.” You want for it to be true. You wish this wasn’t something that rattled you so badly. 

“Liar.” Sirius says it in the same way he calls James pest, with a fond bent to his voice. He puts a couple of inches between you, keeping your face in his hands as he traps you beneath his stare. “What is it?” 

Your shoulders climb up towards your ears. “I’m okay,” you say meekly. Sirius only looks at you, as if to say go on. “I just can’t find my rabbit.” 

His brow furrows. “Your rabbit.” 

“My stuffed rabbit,” you clarify.

“Oh.” Sirius glances to your bed, the covers half torn off from where you’ve disheveled them in your search and now trailing onto the floor. He lets his grip slip down your arms. “How did I not know about this? Seems rather important to you.” 

“I don’t need to sleep with him every night or anything,” you say, embarrassed. “I’ve just always had him, so he’s sort of…sentimental. Anyway, it’s fine. I’ll find it later.” 

“I’m not going to drag you to the cinema when you’re upset about your rabbit,” Sirius says, like the mere idea is offensive. 

“You’re not dragging me,” you argue feebly, “and I’m not upset.” 

“I’m not escorting you while you’re worried, then.” He rolls his eyes, taking out his phone. 

“Sirius,” you plead, but he only shushes you. 

“Hi,” he says a moment later. “Hey, has James gotten to you yet?” 

Remus’ voice, too quiet to make out, crackles through the line. 

Sirius hums. “Well, I’m impressed by him. Actually, though, we may have a change of plans.” 

You cover your face with your hands, mortified. Sirius puts an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder like there, there. 

“It seems our girl has misplaced her stuffed rabbit.” 

You’re close enough now to hear James say, genuine alarm in his tone, “Moo Moo?” 

There’s a pause, and you peek through your fingers to find Sirius looking at you. You nod in confirmation. 

“It’s called Moo Moo?” he asks. 

You hum quietly. 

“Why would you name your rabbit after a sound a cow makes?” 

“I don’t know,” you say sheepishly. “I was a baby.” 

Sirius rolls his eyes, kissing you on your head. “You’re fucking precious, do you know that?” 

It’s decided quickly after that. James and Remus change course, heading for your apartment while you and Sirius recommence the search. None of them will hear your protests, least of all Sirius, who threatens to decommission you from the rescue party if you continue to spend your energy arguing rather than looking. 

With two of you, you clear the bedroom quickly, moving into the formerly unconsidered parts of your home. Sirius asks you questions like a police interrogator: Where did you last see him? How big is he? How many nights has it been since you’re sure you slept with him? Did he go on holiday with you last weekend?

Your laundry bin is upturned, couch cushions removed, mementos you’ve not seen for years discovered and then quickly lost again in the rubble. 

When your boyfriends arrive, Remus takes one look at you and shepherds you away while James joins the search. He makes you tea and gives you enough of his soft, compassionate looks to melt you down to the bone. 

“I didn’t mean to make us all miss the film,” you tell him, steam warming your chin as you sit on the kitchen counter. “I was going to go, but Sirius…” 

You realize you sound like you’re tattling and stop. Remus only smiles at you indulgently, his brown eyes flickering with humor. 

“We didn’t think it was you who made that call,” he says. “But, sweetheart, no one is upset that we’re here. We wouldn’t want you to have to sit through a film while you’re upset.” 

“I’m not upset.” Your voice has the quiet weariness of a broken record. 

Remus studies you. You sip your tea to avoid it, trying not to squirm under his gaze. “You seem like you might be upset,” he says, an almost missable hint of teasing in his tone. 

“It’s stupid,” you admit. “I know he has to be here somewhere, there’s no point in worrying.” 

“I’m sure he is.” Remus rubs your leg, soothing. “You’re right, lovely, he’s probably just somewhere we haven’t—” 

“Found him!” James cries. 

You gasp, and Remus grins at your reaction. 

“Where?” Sirius bounds in from the sitting room. 

James comes from the opposite direction, holding your rabbit above his head like a trophy. He passes it to you with a flourish as you hop down from the counter. “Angel, your Moo Moo.” 

“So this is Moo Moo,” Sirius says, grinning. 

You feel suddenly defensive, bringing the grayed, ratty plushie close to your chest. “Yes.” 

“I love him.” 

“I think he’s handsome,” says Remus, also looking at him interestedly. 

“Caused a lot of trouble today, though,” Sirius tuts, “hasn’t he?” 

“Where’d you find him?” you ask James, eager to be out of the spotlight.

“He was wedged between your mattress and the wall.” Your boyfriend pouts. “Poor thing.” 

You frown. “I looked there.” 

“He was sort of in the corner.” James shrugs. “Rather easy to miss, I’m sure Sirius checked there too.” 

“Well, thank you,” you say shyly. Still holding the toy to your chest. “I might not have looked there again on my own.” 

“Seems a good thing we came over, hm?” Remus asks complacently. 

Your face heats. “Yeah.” 

“One more time, sweetness?” Sirius cocks his ear. “Not sure I heard you there.” 

“Yes,” you say again, fighting a smile. “Thank you for coming.” 

He grins at you, wrestling you into his side. “I don’t ever want to hear you arguing one of my ideas again.” 

“That seems a bit premature—” James starts to say. 

“Nope! Never again.”

[inwithrin]

｡𖦹°‧ sevika doesn't know how to say 'i love you.'

thinking about sevika who doesn’t know how to say i love you back, not because she doesn’t feel it—but because she feels it too much, and it scares her.

cw: sevika and reader have a minor argument over reader being reckless.

she’s never been soft with anyone before. never had a reason to be. love, to her, was always something that came with conditions, power plays, and strings attached. so when you come into her life with that patience and the gentle way you look at her—she doesn’t know what to do with it.

she’s awkward about it, at first. clumsy in the way she shows affection—buying you your favorite snacks and drinks, pushing them toward you without a word, standing guard by your side without ever admitting she’s doing it on purpose, brushing your hair from your face with calloused fingers and then pretending like it didn’t happen.

but you notice, because you love her in ways she doesn’t even know. 

one night, after a long day and an even longer silence, you’re curled up in bed while she sits at the edge, elbow resting on her knee, cigar in hand. the room is low-lit, and she hasn’t looked at you in ten minutes.

“are you okay?” you ask softly.

she shrugs. “yeah.”

you sit up behind her, arms wrapping around her middle. her body tenses for a second—always like she expects you to pull away—but then she melts into it, leaning back into you.

“you don’t talk much,” you say into her shoulder. “why?”

“never been good at it,” she mutters. 

“you don’t have to be good. you just have to be honest,” you whisper.

she lets out a low laugh. “that’s the thing. not sure what to say.”

you pull back just enough to look at her profile, her tight jaw, eyes on the floor. “you could start with why you always act odd when i say that i love you.”

her eyes flick to yours, startled. she’s quiet for a long moment. “you mean it?” she asks.

you blink. “what?”

“when you say it. you mean it?” sevika clarified.

you sit fully now, cross-legged behind her. “of course i do, sev. i wouldn’t say it if i didn’t.”

she exhales slowly, rubbing her free hand over her face. “i don’t get it.”

“what don’t you get?” you ask.

“you see me. all of me. the scars. the temper. the shit i’ve done,” she looks back at you now, eyes sharp. “and you still love me?”

you reach out, brushing your fingers down her back. “yeah. i do.”

she looks away again, muscles clenching. “people like me… we don’t get that. not for real.”

“you do,” you say, gently but firmly. “you get me. you get this.”

sevika turns to you then, finally. there’s something raw in her face—something open and fragile, if only for a second. she doesn’t say it. not yet.

she puts down her cigar on the ashtray placed on the bedside table. sevika leans to cup your cheek with her rough hand, pulls you in, and kisses you like a vow. steady and real.

when she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours. “i’m trying,” she murmurs.

you smile, eyes fluttering shut. “i know.”

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

“what were you thinking?” sevika’s voice is sharp—borderline panicked—but it comes out like anger because that’s all she’s ever known how to wield.

you’re pacing the concrete behind the bar, arms crossed over your chest, adrenaline still pumping from the confrontation that just ended. “i was fine. it wasn’t even a real threat, just some drunk man talking shit—”

“and what if it was? you don’t even know who he is or if he had a weapon!” she cuts in, brows furrowed like she’s holding back something far bigger than anger. “you can’t just walk around like you’re untouchable.”

you scoff. “i know i’m not! i didn’t even ask you to step in, vika.”

“didn’t have a fucking choice!” sevika says.

you look at her, exasperated. “you always have a choice.”

she steps in close, towering, teeth gritted. “not when it’s you.”

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. 

sevika runs a hand down her face, like she’s trying to wipe the emotion off with it. her voice is lower when she speaks again, but it shakes at the edges. “you don’t get it. there are people in this city who’d put a bullet in your head just to see me flinch. just to get leverage.”

you stare at her, stunned. “so you only care if they get to you?” the second you say it, you regret it. but it’s already out there.

sevika goes still. her jaw works silently for a moment. “of course not,” she growls, stepping even closer. “i care because if something happened to you, i wouldn’t fucking recover.”

your breath hitches.

“i’d burn this place to the ground if anyone so much as touched you,” she says, voice shaking now, fury and desperation bleeding together. “and i’ve been trying so hard to not need someone like that. but you—fuck, you ruined that for me.”

you look up at her, heart racing. “so what, that’s my fault?”

“no,” she says, softer now. “it’s not a blame thing. it’s a love thing.”

the silence that follows felt like surrender. she doesn’t say it pretty, doesn’t even say it with care—but it lands.

“say that again,” you order. 

she shakes her head, eyes flitting away for a second. “i’m not good at saying—”

“say it, sev,” you repeat.

sevika meets your eyes. “i love you,” she says, like it hurts. “i love you,” she repeats, quieter, but no less intense. “so don’t go walking around like your life doesn’t matter, because i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

her shoulders drop the moment you press your hand to her chest, grounding her. “okay,” you whisper, leaning into her. “okay, i won’t. i’m sorry, sev—i love you too.”

she rests her forehead against yours, breath warm and ragged. sevika’s jaw is clenched, but the tension is starting to bleed out of her shoulders, now that she’s touching you. now that neither is yelling. now that you’re safe.

you brush your fingers up her chest, let them settle at the collar of her shirt. “you’re shaking,” you murmur.

she huffs out a soft laugh. “yeah. kinda hard not to when you almost get yourself killed in front of me.”

you smile, just a little. “you’re dramatic.”

“you’re reckless,” she retorts. 

you raise your brows. “and yet you love me.”

that gets her. 

her lips twitch, but there’s this look in her eyes now—exasperated and fascinated. like she’s still trying to figure out how someone like you ended up wrapped around someone like her. her mouth brushes against yours, soft and unhurried. you hum against her lips, hands sliding up to cup her face, and you feel her sigh into your mouth.

she pulls back just an inch. “you scared the shit out of me.”

you press a quick kiss against her lips. “i know.”

“you don’t get it,” she murmurs, voice rough. “i’d kill for you. die for you.”

you press your forehead to hers again, whisper, “i’d rather you just love me.”

[bitchthefuck1]

I actually don't fully vibe with my point here anymore. I think there's definitely an element of this going on, and it was never supposed to be a full explanation of his whole "thing", but it still feels a little too simplistic and overcooked. Post cancelled.

I feel like a really crucial scene for unpacking Roman's whole "oedipal" thing is the bit in Prague where he sees Tabitha, because one of the first things he says is "dad would go fucking nuts for her." He is constantly using "well it's what dad would do" as an explanation for his actions, and I genuinely think the jokes about wanting to fuck Marcia/Caroline are less about his mommy issues and any actual attraction to maternal figures and more about "well these are the women dad's into, so they must be the right women to be attracted to." It's like a defense mechanism--Logan can't think there's something "wrong" with his sexuality if they're attracted to the same people. It's what he would do.

Except this is obviously flawed logic that only makes him seem more "wrong," because "if dad does it then he must think it's okay to do and he won't get mad at me for it" isn't even the mostly-coherent reasoning of an adult choosing a partner their parents approve of, its the logic of a kid trying not to get hit.

[y3sterdaysproblem]

shifting - m.s.

summary: invisalign matt <3

cw: kissing, oral sex, invisalign kink?

wc: 2.7k

loosely inspired by take it or leave it by @plasticferal , mostly inspired by how horny matt with aligners makes me.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The sound of Matt absentmindedly pulling his invisalign tray off of his teeth and then pushing it back on filled the room, and you felt like you were about to explode if he did it again. He wasn’t even aware he was being so loud, his attention focused on whatever was on his phone that he held in front of him. You were both laying in his bed on top of the covers, having finished watching a movie around thirty minutes ago, now just doing your side by side doom scrolling in silence, or what was supposed to be silence.

You turn your head to the left to look at him, a slight look of annoyance on your face as you glare at his side profile. He doesn’t notice, still too caught up in his phone, fingers still toying with the tray in his mouth, clicking the bottom one on and off of the attachments on his molars. That was one of the nice things about Matt and his brothers being in the public eye, the fact that they didn’t have any of their attachments visible on the front of their teeth, leaving their smile otherwise smooth and normal when their trays weren’t in, however the downside was watching them stick their fingers so far in their mouth every time they wanted to take them out. Now was no exception, Matt’s thumb tucked into his mouth as he clicked, and then bit down, and then clicked, and bit down.

“Are your teeth hurting you?” You asked suddenly, breaking the silence between you both. He’s caught off guard when you speak up, turning to face you with a confused look. “What? No, why?” Matt responds in his soft spoken voice, pulling his hand away from his mouth.

“Because you haven’t stopped playing with your fucking trays for the last twenty minutes,” you tell him, flopping your phone on your chest. “I can’t focus on anything.”

“Sorry,” Matt smiles sheepishly, setting his phone down as well. “I’ve had this tray in for a couple weeks and I’m about to switch it out. Doesn’t hurt so… sometimes I just fiddle with it I guess.”

Truthfully, this conversation opened the door to a topic that had always piqued your interest, and maybe you brought it up for more reasons than how annoying the sound of his repetitive actions were. “It doesn’t hurt?” You ask him, looking away from his eyes to look at his mouth. When he notices your gaze shift, he shoots you a large grin to show off all of his almost perfect teeth covered in the clear plastic. “No,” he says, chomping his teeth together a couple times. “When I change it, it’ll hurt for a few days, but I’m used to it.”

You nod, still staring at his mouth as he spoke. “What does it… I dunno.. feel like?” You ask him, meeting his eyes once again. “The outside?” Matt clarifies, and you nod. “Just like plastic. Makes my teeth dull. You wanna feel it?”

You’re a big caught off guard by his offer and you can’t help it when your ears start to heat up, feeling embarrassed that you’d even brought this up in the first place. “Feel your teeth?” You clarified, and he nods at you. You hesitate and he notices, reaching down to grab your hand. “Come on, I won’t bite,” he teases, and your cheeks darken even further as he pulls your hand up to his lips, parting them so you can run your finger over the aligners gently. For some reason, the close contact sent a small shiver down your spine, not used to being this close to Matt.

You realize after almost a minute of running your finger over his teeth that you’ve zoned out and you pull your hand away from him slowly, bringing it back to your own body. “Weird,” is all you can come up with to fill the void, looking back into his bright blue eyes that stared over at you, waiting for your reaction. “Does it affect when you like… kiss girls?” Matt’s eyes widen slightly at your unexpected question, his own cheeks taking a turn at heating up. “I’ve never really kissed anyone with them in,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders shyly. “So I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly, nodding towards him. He mimics your action, feeling a palpable tension settle in his bedroom. He’s got an offer sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite force himself to say it, feeling like he might ruin everything you guys have worked so hard to create in the years that you’ve been friends. You turn your head back towards the ceiling, staring up at it as your mind raced along with your heart, wondering what on earth has got you so intrigued about this interaction. There was always an underlying attraction towards Matt, but ever since he started his treatment, you couldn’t help but find the way he looked with his aligners oddly sexy. The way he laughed or smiled, the way he ran his tongue over his top teeth just to get a feel for them, the way he had a slight lisp any time he spoke; it all made you hyper aware of how attractive Matt really was. You’re not given much time to overthink when Matt clears his throat, grabbing your attention again. “You wanna find out?” He asks you, voice full of faux confidence that you could see right through.

You turn back to face him, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Find what out?” You ask cluelessly.

“You know…” he starts, confidence fading quickly. “How it feels to kiss.”

Oh, you think. That’s what he meant.

You stare at him for a few moments before silently nodding your head, not trusting your voice enough to speak. You genuinely did want to know what it felt like to kiss somebody with invisalign, if it felt any different, but more than that you wanted to know what it felt like to kiss Matt. You’d thought about it more than you care to admit out loud, or even to yourself.

Matt’s initiating the kiss, turning himself on his side to look down at you from where you still lay next to him, eyes staring up at him patiently. “You sure?” He asks quietly, wanting clarification before he crosses the line you both can’t come back from, and once again you shoot him a small nod, and it’s enough for him to lean down and close the distance, lips pressing gently onto yours.

It’s slow and soft the way his mouth moves against yours and the way his hand comes up to rest on your cheek, like he’s afraid of moving too quickly, afraid of shattering the environment. Matt’s heart is hammering in his chest as you kiss, unable to hide his nervousness when your own hand comes up to rest on his neck, pulse racing under your palm, holding him close to you, letting him know to stay exactly where he was.

The kiss was good, amazing even, but it was too tentative and wasn’t giving you what you were looking for, so when Matt’s lips parted for a split second, you took that as your opportunity to slide your tongue between them and press against his, pulling him into you a little bit harder as you both became more desperate, breaths becoming harsher.

His hand slid from your cheek and moved to the bed next to you, using it to hold himself above you as the kiss deepened, the sounds of your lips parting and reattaching and your staggered breathing filling the otherwise quiet room. In a moment of slowed intensity, you let the nagging voice in your head take control, hand coming around Matt’s face to grip at his jaw to hold him in place. Keeping your mouths pressed together, you ran your tongue slowly over his top row of teeth, feeling the dull plastic that he had described, the sensation sending a trail of goosebumps down your arms. You could hear the small, shocked gasp that Matt sucked in as you licked over his teeth, his eyes cracking open to peer down at you once you pulled away, entranced by how pleased you looked.

You opened your own eyes and smiled bashfully back at him, clearing your throat awkwardly. “I don’t… I don’t think I got a good enough feel,” you tell him, gliding your hand back around to the back of his neck, applying a bit of pressure. “No?” Matt asks sweetly with a slight tilt of his head. “Here, maybe this will help.”

His eyes flutter shut again as he dips back down to connect your lips again, rougher this time as you both become more comfortable with each other. Matt only kisses you for a few seconds before he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, dragging his teeth along it carefully, eliciting a small moan to slip from your throat. He releases your puffy lip and smirks down at you, tucking his face along your jawline as he starts to place small kisses on your skin until he reaches your neck, teeth gently biting at the warm skin. “Matt,” you whine, trying to press up into him more.

His only response is a small hum against you, his mouth kissing further down your neck until he reaches your collarbone, rounded teeth dragging against your skin as he descended. “You wanna know what they feel like, right?” Matt asks, slightly breathless. You nod, tilting your head down to look at him as he grabs the hem of your shirt and shoves it as high as he can, his movements pausing as he stared down at your chest. “Why are you not wearing a bra?”

Your bottom lip pouts out slightly as you watch him stare down at you, his hands moving to slide up your stomach, fingertips pressing into you like he was savoring every inch of skin he could touch. “I wanted to be comfortable,” you tell him, voice whiny. “Fuck,” is all he says before he leans his head back down and wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking harshly so the skin glides between his teeth, his groan sending a vibration through your chest. You’re instantly moaning, hand coming up to rest on the back of his head, your back arching to press your chest into him further.

His mouth felt like velvet around you, tongue working against the hardened nub that was pulled into his mouth, his hand kneading into your breast that wasn’t in his mouth. “Matt,” you whimper again desperately, holding him close while your hips searched for friction from his thigh that he rested between your legs. Matt felt like he was in heaven, face buried in the chest of the woman that he’d craved for so long. He was content just staying like this, sucking on your perfect tits until he died, or until you got sick of him. He could never get sick of this.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good.” You groaned out. His cock strained against his underwear at your words, feeling lightheaded from the lack of blood rushing to his head. Matt couldn’t believe he was experiencing the honor of having you moan out his name, and he was committed to dragging it out as long as he could.

He pops his lips off of you and drags his tongue over your nipple slowly before he lifts himself up to look down at you. “It’ll feel so much better when I’m eating you out,” he grins, sliding his long, slender fingers down your torso again until they stop at your pants, keeping eye contact with you. You don’t have to be told twice, nodding your head at him to indicate your willingness and he scoots down on the bed and pulls your pants with him, leaving you with your shirt bunched up on your chest and your cute, pink panties covering your already soaked pussy.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to get my hands on you. If I knew all I had to do was wear my invisalign around you I would’ve done it a lot sooner.” Matt’s almost talking to himself while he maneuvers his body between your legs, pushing them apart with his own knees as he settles down, sliding his hands up your thighs greedily. “God, your body is so fucking perfect, wanna worship you so bad. So pretty.”

You’d almost forgotten the origin of this encounter already, having to remind yourself that you were nearly naked in front of your best friend because of his orthodontic treatment, though his words only make you wetter, the mix of his dominance and his praise causing the hair to stand up on your arms. “God, Matt, please don’t be all talk. I need you to make me feel good,” you tell him honestly, pushing yourself up on your elbows to watch as he rubbed and squeezed on your thighs, seemingly entranced by the way your body moved under his touch. It looks like it takes a concerning amount of effort for Matt to pull his eyes away from your core and up to your own, a lazy grin forming on his face. “Okay,” he agrees, shifting his knees down so he can lay below you, spreading your legs farther apart.

One of his hands comes up to push your thong to the side, exposing your drooling center, begging to be devoured by him. “Holy fuck,” Matt groans out, wasting no time as he closed the distance, his eyes fluttering shut as your taste flooded his senses. You immediately dropped back down onto your back as his mouth sucked your clit between his lips enthusiastically, being mindful of how sensitive you were when he pressed forward a little more to allow your skin to come into contact with his covered teeth.

Teeth were never a thing for you before, but watching Matt’s get prettier and prettier and seeing the confidence that came along with his new smile, it did something to you, and that something was the same reason you were grinding your hips up into Matt’s face as he ate you out, tongue running over your clit. “Yes, yes, oh my god,” you babbled loudly, fervently. His pace never faltered, even when he brought his fingers up to your entrance and slipped them inside of you.

He was sloppy with the way that he was eating your pussy, though not in a way that felt unsatisfactory, but in the way that had you unsuspecting of each movement and had your eyes rolling back in your head. Matt’s fingers worked inside you leisurely as his tongue and lips stimulated your swollen clit, bringing you towards your peak faster than anyone had before. “Oh my god, Matt, I’m so close. Please don’t stop,” you beg, hand pressing him down into you as your hips rolled with the movements of his fingers, feeling your thighs start to shake on either side of his head.

Matt hummed against you, ripping a cry from your throat as your orgasm slammed into you, your body trembling with aftershocks as his mouth didn’t let up. “Matt,” you whine, grabbing his forehead and applying a bit of pressure until he pulled off with his own groan of disapproval. He moved his head over to the crease of your thigh, letting his teeth dig into you slightly, the sensation obviously feeling more dull than you’re used to, but you also felt way more into it at the thought of the reason why. He happily sucked a small mark into your skin the best he could with his aligners, pulling away after a few moments to admire it before he turned his attention.

Matt felt like he was kicked in the chest for a second as he laid eyes on you, your red cheeks and tired grin causing his heart to stop momentarily. “I’m, uh.. never taking these out ever again when you’re around, I hope you know that.” He tells you.

You’re laughing at his comment, but you couldn’t help but hope he was telling the truth. “As long as we get to do this again, that’s fine.”

a/n: nice and short! sorry if it’s boring it’s not my favorite thing I e ever written but invisalign matt is my origin story.

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @rafesapprentice @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbrat @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @annsx03 @ouchywow @pasteldreams @sweetshuga @pip4444chris @chriss-slut @yourebeautifulqueen @watercolorskyy @courta13 @craftycrafter26 @meg4-matt44 @ariestrxsh

[matteglaze]

Thinking abt Todoroki Shouto, and how he isn't as dense as he comes across...

When reading fanfics Shouto is always oblivious and dense, and yes, I wholeheartedly agree with that—

But i feel like Shouto also does it on purpose, you know? Like, one day you're both talking, and he's just soo up close to your face. 'He probably doesn't realize' you rationalize inside your head, but no, he's definitely aware of the affect he has on you. Your reactions are cute, he thinks, cute in the way he can't seem to stop teasing you.

I think he'd pay extra close attention to people that are close to him, people he holds dear, so whenever you stutter, or your mind goes and blank and you think 'Oh, I hope he didn't notice that—' he does.

I think that's why I like the idea that he's actually a little menance, but the worst part is that he gets away with it !!

Whether it's saying something so humbling and out of depth— something that many would take offense to but think, 'well, he didn't really mean it that way— that's just how he is', NOPE!! he definitely meant it that way, but not clarifying anything saves him the trouble so why should he care yk...

Though, he mostly (all the time really) does it with you. Getting up in your personal space, saying things like "When we're on a mission together, I feel like I can handle anything as long as you're the one by my side"— and it flusters you sooo badly, but no, this is Shouto we're talking about, clearly he didn't mean it like that, right? Right? (And the entire time, he's trying to bite down a Cheshire grin)

So, yes, in the earlier years of being a hero he wasn't really great at communication and unaware of social cues— but now, he's practically evil with the way he acts around you.

Sometimes you think you see it; you're going to call him out on his behavior. There's no way he didn't know what he was doing when he held your face in his hands on a hot summer day, pulling you close and saying, "Is this cooling you down?" (No, actually, this was just heating you up)

But whenever you do call him out on it—

"You know, you're not that slick." You say one day, ice cream cone in hand as you walk next to him, bumping him with your hip. Your eyes slide over towards his mismatched ones, gauging his reaction closely. If you were anyone else you would have probably missed the slight quirk of his lip; the uplift of his brows. But you don't, and the grin on your face overtakes most of your features. Maybe today will be the day he finally admits it. Instead he doesn't speak, takes one lick of his mint chocolate ice cream and then he turns to you, a silent question appearing on his face. A taunt.

You let out a humourless breath, cone tight in your hand as you point it in his direction. Accusing him of something both of you know you won't be able to prove, but he knows you know, and you know he knows you know. But, it'd be really great if he could just admit it, because it's almost like a game.

A game between just the two of you.

"Don't try and act blonde now!" You chide, biting on your bottom lip to control the smile that tries to force it's way on your face.

Shouto smiles at your antics, leaning in close to you, and all of a sudden he completely invades your senses. The smell of mint on his lips is so close, and yet so far. He stares deeply into your eyes, and just as you thought you were getting closer to the truth— he brings his thumb up to wipe absent mindlessly at the corner of your mouth. He pulls back, looks you in the eyes, and takes a tentative lick at the frosty flavour on his thumb. With a cat-like tilt to his head, he says, "I'm not blonde?"

But, the worst part is whenever he speaks about you to others, he speaks so fondly of you; like one would do about their partner— but you guys aren't together. Sometimes he does it right in front of your face whenever you guys are at a hero gala. Shouto sees you talking to a new and upcoming, young, pro-hero and he immediately comes to your side. With how close he is, and with the things he says to them, "I can never imagine myself without them by my side." It gives people the idea that you're both, you know, a thing.

Little do you know, he's been playing this 'game' ever since high school, and even though the two of you aren't exclusive— it doesn't mean he can't get in his fun.

Todoroki Shouto is not good for your health.

[littlespoonevan]

and maybe, just maybe, i'll come home

some post-8x17 fic bc it got me thinking soft thoughts that were then further exacerbated by promise by ben howard (hence the title)

enjoy 💛

-

“Hey, scooch over.”

Eddie gives up the guise of trying to sleep and sits up in time to see Buck rounding the couch in the dark. He pulls his legs back just as Buck sits down on the cushion next to him.

“First he takes my house, now he’s taking my bed,” he grumbles – but it’s fond – as he rearranges himself, bracing his feet against the edge of the coffee table and yanking the blanket out from underneath Buck.

“S’my couch,” Buck quips back, taking the blanket from Eddie’s hands and draping it over both of them before he slouches a little in his seat.

It reminds Eddie of late nights at the firehouse when neither of them can sleep. The pang of longing at the thought is so fierce he clears his throat to force it away.

“Yeah, and it’s making me miss my couch. Yours isn’t as comfortable.”

Buck casts a sidelong glance in his direction, the silence stretching for a second too long until he says, “Yeah. I uh, I like your couch better too, honestly.”

It feels like he’s saying something else but Eddie isn’t going to pull on that thread. Instead he tips his head back against the back of the couch.

“It’s weird,” he says after a moment and Buck hums in askance.

“That you living here doesn’t feel weird,” he clarifies, picking his head back up again.

Buck’s expression doesn’t quite change but it almost seems like he’s holding his breath and Eddie feels like he has no choice but to continue.

“I don’t know…even though it’s all your stuff, I still feel like I’m-”

Home.

He doesn’t say it. Doesn’t finish the sentence because it feels too revealing. Buck looks like he knows what Eddie was going to say anyway.

Buck looks down, and away, and then back up again, the faintest smile at the corners of his mouth. “Tonight was good.”

It’s a subject change but not quite.

Sitting around the dinner table with Chris and Buck and Pepa. That felt like home too.

“Chris missed you,” Eddie shrugs. As if he didn’t lie in this same spot last night, stewing, until he’d called his son way past his bedtime and asked if he’d come back to LA for a little while to see Buck.

Chris has said yes before the words were even out of Eddie’s mouth and Eddie was booking him a flight as soon as he hung up the phone.

“I missed him too,” Buck says, pillow-soft as his shoulder pushes a little more firmly into Eddie’s. He’s playing with the edge of the blanket, where the hem is fraying just a bit.

And the thought is still itching away at the back of Eddie’s brain. If Chris would say yes to coming home just as easily. He doesn’t dare ask – too afraid of an answer he doesn’t want.

For now, he lets himself lean into Buck, arms overlapping and hips pressed together under the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie murmurs after a beat. He knows he’s effectively said it already but he doesn’t mind saying it again. Especially when it makes Buck look at him, eyes wide and vulnerable.

Buck breathes out a hushed, “Me too,” and then he’s moving, slouching even more to drop his head onto Eddie’s shoulder.

And it’s-

It’s different. Eddie knows he throws the selfish accusations at Buck but when it comes to this Buck rarely takes.

Eddie is usually the one to reach out, to get in Buck’s space, to find that same spot where the base of Buck’s throat meets his shoulder over and over again. Buck, who is so open with his affection, never asks for more than what he’s offered with Eddie.

That he’s asking at all now reminds Eddie what the root of all this is in the first place. It makes his heart twist inside his chest as he lifts his arm, dislodging Buck for just a second, until he can get his arm around him and pull him in more securely.

Buck’s breath is shaky against his neck and Eddie closes his eyes, turning to press his forehead against the crown of Buck’s head. Buck’s arm slides around his middle – hesitant at first and then in a vice-like lock.

“Can I make it about me for a sec?” Buck asks, the words half-muffled but still loud enough to make Eddie laugh.

He shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. “Sure.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” As if to prove his point, his fingers twist where they’re gripping Eddie’s t-shirt. “Having you here- having both of you here…Feels like I can actually breathe for once.”

Keeping his eyes closed does nothing to stop them from stinging but Eddie tries anyway. His hand moves of its own accord, sliding from Buck’s shoulder and up so he can drag his fingers through Buck’s hair.

“Yeah,” he croaks. Rueful. Apologetic. “I don’t think I want to leave either.”

And it’s not a promise. It can’t be, not really. Not yet. Because he told Buck he refused to choose between him and Chris and he meant it but maybe-

Maybe it doesn’t have to be a choice.

Maybe it never really was.

Tonight, he lets himself sink into Buck’s warmth, lets their overlapping limbs hold him in place like a weighted blanket, lets himself feel something akin to peace for the first time in weeks.

He’ll hold onto home for home as long as he can.

[cressidagrey]

Brilliant

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:   Lando Norris figures out that Felicity is not the only genius in the family. 

Warnings and Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

Lando Norris had been lulled into a false sense of security.

The first time he’d come over to have dinner with Oscar and his secret wife and daughter, it had been all banana bread, fairy lights, a farmhouse and chickens. 

He’d left thinking, Wow, wholesome. Lovely. What a nice normal family.

He should’ve known better.

It started fine.

Felicity answered the door with her hair in a braid and Bee on her hip, wearing a linen apron. Later she started chopping parsley like she had a Michelin star. 

Oscar was still in socks and a McLaren hoodie, casually setting the table. Brownies were cooling on the counter. It all felt aggressively wholesome.

Domestic. Wholesome. Normal.

And then things started to shift.

It began when Bee asked Lando if he wanted to see her “new diagrams.”

“Sure,” Lando said, immediately charmed. “What are we diagramming?”

Bee dragged a whiteboard the size of a refrigerator into the living room. It was already covered in rainbow-colored equations, scatter plots, and aerodynamic schematics. Some of it… looked familiar.

“This is what I think happened to you in Canada,” she chirped. “Your rear tyre temps didn’t match your front entry load.”

Lando blinked. “I—I’m sorry?”

“Don’t worry,” Bee said sweetly. “I made notes.”

Oscar, leaning against the counter like a man watching a nature documentary, just said, “She was bored yesterday.”

Lando turned slowly. “Did you… help her with this?”

Felicity didn’t even look up from the salad she was tossing. “Nope. But she did ask me how to pull GPS overlays from the broadcast feed. I think she reverse-engineered it.”

“She’s three,” Lando said, horrified.

“She’ll be four next month,” Felicity replied, like that clarified anything.

Oscar handed Lando a glass of water with the casual air of a man offering a lifeline. “She’s always like this. Felicity taught her indexing when she was two. They do Sudoku before bed. Last week she asked if brake bias feels different when I haven’t slept.”

Lando opened his mouth. Then closed it.

Bee, very seriously: “Do you think you overcorrected in Q2, or was your setup just inefficient?”

Felicity, completely deadpan: “You should’ve requested a suspension change after FP2. I told Oscar you’d feel the oversteer.”

Oscar nodded. “She called it Wednesday night.”

Lando looked down at his mashed potatoes like they might hold the answers.

“Am I being… debriefed?” he asked weakly.

Felicity gave him a sunny smile. “Consider it peer review.”

Bee handed him a drawing. It was a near perfect drawing of the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve. Labeled.

“You missed apexes here,” she said, pointing, “and your throttle trace gets nervous here. But you did very well on Sunday. Mama said your interview was mature.”

Lando took a long sip of water.

He had no idea how to respond to that.

Oscar just smiled, like this was completely normal.

***

Dinner was over.

Bee had fallen asleep halfway through explaining tyre conservation during variable track temp. Her whiteboard stood like a shrine to chaos in the corner, still covered in formulas and glittery annotations. Felicity was upstairs putting her to bed.

Oscar was stacking plates by the sink when Lando, quiet and still visibly rattled, came to stand beside him.

“Mate,” he said, softly. “This isn’t normal.”

Oscar glanced at him, then raised an eyebrow. “What part?”

“All of it. The tyre graphs. The whiteboard that’s bigger than she is. The fact that Bee casually says the phrase ‘aerodynamic turbulence modeling error margin.’ She’s three.”

Oscar shrugged, drying a plate. “It’s normal for Felicity.”

Lando frowned. “What do you mean?”

Oscar leaned against the counter, arms folded loosely, voice low with affection. “She’s the one who set the tone. Bee was never going to grow up in a house where questions got shrugged off or answers got dumbed down. That’s Felicity’s doing.”

Lando hesitated. Then, a little cautiously, “Okay, but like… how smart is Felicity, actually?”

Oscar sighed. Then exhaled. “She hates the word genius.”

“But…”

“She took multiple tests when she was a kid,” Oscar said. “Different versions. Different formats. She only ever mentions the lowest score she got.”

Lando waited.

Oscar glanced over. “One-sixty.”

Lando choked. “That’s the lowest?”

Oscar nodded, like he’d just said, ‘she bakes good muffins.’

“She rounds it down when people ask,” he added. “Doesn’t want anyone treating her differently.  She never tells people the others. Said it felt gross. Said it made people expect her to be perfect instead of human.”

“Mate,” Lando whispered. “That’s, like… Einstein numbers.”

Oscar shrugged. “I know.”

“She could be running a think tank.”

“She’d rather raise our daughter,” Oscar said simply. “And tile bathrooms. And fix old engines. And make bread.”

“She’s been raising a kid, tiling bathrooms, baking bread, writing a doctoral thesis and telling me my tyre strategy’s garbage—and she’s out here pretending to be a normal person?”

“She is a normal person,” Oscar said with a smile. “She just happens to be the smartest one in most rooms.” Oscar looked fondly toward the staircase. “She’s brilliant. Not just smart—brilliant. But she’d rather teach Bee how to mix concrete than talk about test scores.”

“...She terrifies me.”

Oscar grinned. “She terrifies everyone.”

A pause.

“Except you,” Lando said quietly.

Oscar shrugged. “She’s my wife.”

Lando shook his head. “You’re not even the smartest one in your own house.”

Oscar just shrugged. “Never claimed I was.”

“So… she’s a doctor,” Lando finally managed.

Oscar glanced up. “Technically, yeah.”

“Technically?!” Lando spluttered. “She has a PhD in mechanical engineering from Oxford. That’s not ‘technically.’ That’s Doctor Piastri.”

Oscar’s smile widened. “She doesn’t use the title.”

Lando blinked. “Why not?”

Oscar shrugged. “Says it either puts her on a pedestal or paints a target on her back. She earned it. But she doesn’t want it to be a wall between her and other people. So she leaves it off.”

Lando was quiet for a second. “She got a doctorate while raising a toddler. And doesn’t even use the title.”

“Because that was never the point,” Oscar said softly.

“Then what was the point?”

Oscar glanced toward the stairs. “Proving she could. Making sense of the chaos. Showing Bee what it means to finish something—even when it’s hard.”

Lando’s voice dropped. “What about Bee?”

Oscar stilled. “What about her?”

“Have you… tested her? For IQ or anything?”

Oscar shook his head. “No. Felicity doesn’t want to.”

Lando frowned. “But why?”

“Because when Fliss was a kid, that number became her whole identity,” Oscar said. “Her parents had her tested. A lot. Every number came back sky-high. Her family turned it into her whole identity. She stopped being a person and started being a benchmark. They gave her a number. A label. ‘Gifted.’ ‘Advanced.’ ‘Exceptionally high functioning.’ You’d be amazed how fast people stop treating their child like a child once that happens—and start treating the child like a product.”

Lando’s brows furrowed.

Oscar kept going. “Every teacher expected brilliance. Every mistake was a crisis. Every success wasn’t surprising—it was required. And every time she tried to be a kid, or just… ordinary for a second, someone reminded her what her number was. What it meant she should be doing.”

A pause.

“She doesn’t want that for Bee,” Oscar went on. “She wants her to love learning. To be curious because it’s fun, not because someone told her she’s supposed to be special.”

Lando was quiet for a long moment.

And then, finally: “That’s… actually really beautiful.”

Oscar gave a small smile. “Yeah. It is.”

“Don’t you ever want to know? Like, just out of curiosity.” Lando asked curiously. 

Oscar smiled faintly. “We already do know. We live with her.”

“Mate,” Lando said again, more quietly this time. “You live with two terrifyingly brilliant people.”

Oscar smiled, easy and proud. “I know.”

***

GRID GROUP CHAT

Lando: guys guys guys.

Charles: what did you do

Lando: i just had dinner at oscar’s place again his daughter. she has a whiteboard. bigger than her.

Esteban: cute 🥹

Lando: NO NOT CUTE IT HAD EQUATIONS ABOUT MY TYRE PERFORMANCE IN CANADA

Pierre: wait what

Lando: she told me i should’ve requested a suspension change after FP2 and then GAVE ME A DIAGRAM

Oscar: Be grateful It had glitter

Lando: you’re TOO CALM about this your child is a genius your wife is a genius and you’re like “haha brownies?”

Max: this is the best thing I’ve read all day Lando is actually spiraling

Alex: wait Bee is THREE right??

Lando: YES THREE AND A HALF AND SHE SAID “AERODYNAMIC TURBULENCE MODELING ERROR MARGIN” OUT LOUD WITHOUT BLINKING

Lando: you know what max i want you to meet oscar’s daughter i just think it would be extremely funny for someone other than me to be told their apex was emotionally insecure

Charles: what

George: her what was

Oscar: it made sense in context

Lando: SHE SAID MY THROTTLE TRACE WAS NERVOUS AND THAT I WAS DRIVING LIKE I HAD COMMITMENT ISSUES

Carlos: and she’s… how old?

Oscar: 3 (nearly 4)

Alex: i’m sorry, are we skipping over the fact that your daughter has stronger analytical skills than half the grid

Fernando Alonso: she’s a visionary

Lando: she said my “driver confidence curve was showing signs of emotional fatigue” and then offered me a drawing of the circuit with my insecurities highlighted in glitter marker

George: she gave you therapy. that’s not an insult. that’s a gift.

Lance: i would like to respectfully not be perceived by oscar’s child

Logan: wait does she do like feedback for everyone now? Not just Oscar? could she maybe help me

Lando: i want you to sit across from her, max and watch her diagnose your lift-off timing while hugging a frog plushie

Oscar: Button the frog. He’s essential to the process.

Charles: i would pay money to watch this

Lando: this is pay-per-view content max verstappen vs oscar’s toddler loser has to do arts and crafts and reflect on their driving flaws

Max: fine bring her but if she mentions my 2021 turn-in angles I’m leaving

Oscar: she already has opinions just so you know

Lando: i need to see Max get peer-reviewed by a preschooler.

Oscar: She is very thorough.

Daniel: bro why didn’t you warn us your kid was a data analyst in disguise

Oscar: You didn’t ask.

Lando: @everyone also HIS WIFE SHE HAS A DOCTORATE IN MECHANICAL ENGINEERING FROM OXFORD AND JUST. DOESN’T. MENTION IT

Charles: Pardon?

Alex: WHAT IS HAPPENING

Lewis: Hold on. Hold on. She has a PhD?

Oscar: Technically yes. She doesn’t use the title.

Max: Of course she doesn’t Of course you married someone terrifying and secretly brilliant This explains… everything

Alex: so you’re telling me Oscar lives with TWO geniuses and is just…vibing???

Oscar: I bring snacks. That’s my role.

Lando: She reverse-engineered my Q2 data for fun FOR FUN While making dinner!!

George: That’s love. Or war. Possibly both.

Carlos: Honestly sounds like Oscar’s entire household is smarter than the entire paddock combined

Yuki: Do the chickens also do calculus or

Oscar: No comment.

Fernando: i want to meet the wife.

Lewis: me too actually.

Lando: good luck she’ll probably fix your floor issues and then critique your suspension setup while baking a pie

Yuki: can she bake for us also???

Oscar: Yes. She bakes. Also she tiled our bathroom. And wrote a thesis while Bee was napping.

Lance: I feel like a potato.

Lando: i need a nap just from being in their house

Carlos: can she also explain ferrari strategy to ferrari

Carlos: no one can do that. not even god.