#Wolff

[smbhax]

Dracula trade paperback #1, Warren Publishing, 1972. Front and back cover illustrations by Esteban Maroto.

Info from Grand Comics Database.

[ricciardosheart]

Waves of Desires - Toto Wolff

Pairing - Toto Wolff X fem!reader!gf Warning - teeth rotting fluff, an age gap and some kissing nothing much

PHOTO CREDITS TO PINTEREST BUT I MADE THE COLLAGE

The golden hues of the setting sun spilled over the beach, painting everything in shades of orange and gold. (Y/n) stood near the shore, her red bikini shimmering softly in the light. Her beach curls cascaded down her shoulders, the salty breeze teasing a few strands across her face. She had borrowed Toto’s linen shirt earlier, and it now hung loosely over her, the fabric smelling faintly of him—warm, woodsy, and comforting.

Toto wasn’t far behind, wearing light blue and white shorts that emphasized his casual yet striking demeanor. A disposable camera hung from his hand, an almost whimsical addition that contrasted with his commanding presence. He watched her with a small, secret smile, admiring how effortlessly she blended with the natural beauty of the beach.

“Stay right there,” Toto said, raising the camera to his eye.

(Y/n) turned her head, startled. “Toto!” she laughed, her hands coming up to shield her face.

“Nope, don’t move,” he insisted with a smirk. “You look too perfect to let this moment pass.”

Reluctantly, she dropped her hands, her cheeks flushed with heat. “Fine, but I’m not posing.”

���Good,” he replied, snapping the picture. “You’re better like this. Just you.”

She rolled her eyes playfully but smiled all the same, walking toward him. “Do you always carry that camera?”

“Only when I know I’m going to be with you,” he teased, slipping the camera into his pocket.

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “You’re full of lines today, aren’t you?”

“Just facts,” Toto said, his grin widening as he reached out, pulling her closer by the waist. “And here’s another fact: you’re absolutely stunning, and it’s driving me insane.”

She laughed, leaning her forehead against his chest. “You’re impossible.”

The waves lapped gently at their feet as they waded into the shallows. Toto splashed a little water at (y/n), earning a mock glare from her.

“Oh, you’re playing that game now?” she asked, bending to scoop water in her hands.

Toto held up his hands in surrender. “No, no—wait! Let’s not—”

Before he could finish, she sent a small wave of water splashing onto him. His shocked expression quickly melted into a mischievous grin. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

He lunged toward her, and she squealed, laughing as he swept her up effortlessly, spinning her around before lowering her gently into the water.

“Toto!” she gasped, smacking his arm lightly as she clung to him.

“Revenge,” he said smugly, his hands firm on her waist.

They stayed there for a while, laughing and splashing, their playful banter carrying over the sound of the waves. It felt like freedom—simple, joyful, and real.

Back on the shore, (y/n) sat cross-legged on a towel, munching on crisps from the snacks she had packed. Toto was a few feet away, meticulously building a sandcastle.

“Are you seriously ignoring me for a sandcastle?” she teased, tossing a crisp at him.

He caught it mid-air and popped it into his mouth, not breaking his focus. “This isn’t just a sandcastle. It’s architecture.”

“Of course, it is,” she replied, laughing.

Toto finally looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why is that guy staring at you?”

(Y/n) glanced around and shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe he’s wondering why you’re building a sandcastle instead of talking to your girlfriend.”

Toto dropped the handful of sand and moved over to her side, wrapping an arm protectively around her. “He’s not staring anymore,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She laughed, leaning into him. “Possessive much?”

“Just careful,” he said with a smirk, pulling her closer.

Later, they lay under the shade of their tent. (Y/n) was stretched out on the blanket, a copy of Bared to You by Sylvia Day in her hands. Toto lay on his stomach, his head resting on her abdomen. She absentmindedly played with his hair, her fingers threading through the dark strands as she read.

“What’s the book about?” Toto asked suddenly, his voice muffled against her skin.

(Y/n) froze, her cheeks heating up. “Um… nothing important.”

He turned his head slightly to look up at her, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Judging by the way you just blushed, I’m guessing it’s not nothing.”

“It’s just… a romance novel,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

“Spicy romance?” he teased, his grin widening as he caught her expression.

“Toto!” she groaned, covering her face with the book.

He chuckled, shifting so he could press a kiss to her stomach. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?”

As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, Toto pulled (y/n) toward the water’s edge. The waves lapped at their feet, cool against their warm skin.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “You’re too beautiful for your own good,” he said softly, his voice low and full of emotion.

(Y/n) smiled, her heart fluttering. “You’re too dramatic for your own good.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Not dramatic. Just honest.”

Before she could respond, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss. It was soft at first, almost tentative, like he was savoring the moment. But then it deepened, his hands moving to her waist, pulling her closer.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as the kiss grew more intense, the world around them fading into nothingness. The waves continued to crash, the breeze whispered through the air, but all she could feel was him—his warmth, his strength, the way he kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, he rested his forehead against hers. “You drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

She smiled, her fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. “Good. It’s only fair.”

They stayed there, wrapped up in each other as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the world bathed in twilight. It was a moment neither of them would ever forget—a perfect memory etched in the sand and sealed with a kiss.

[forzalvr]

toto is an icon, a legend, he's THE moment, and im literally him. [not mine!!]

[astrolovecosmos]

I went down a rabbit hole to learn about the asteroid Wolff (5674) and I'm low-key obsessed with this little obscure asteroid. I have struggled to find a lot of good information about this asteroid in astrological terms. So below is more of a theoretical take from what I've read, researched, and then speculation based on my own knowledge.

This asteroid is most known for signaling an affiliation with or love of wolves, dogs, and canines. Some other interpretations could be someone's survival instincts, the hunter archetype, a connection to animals, a wild side, being a lone wolf, maybe even painting a picture of belonging, such as belonging to a pack.

Find where this asteroid is in your chart by using a custom chart reader like astro.com has and inputting the asteroid number - 5674

Wolff in Aries: Has warrior-instinct and approaches their more animalistic side with bravery. Faces challenges head-on. Maybe gets carried away when competitive, angry, or even bored. Has a confrontational side. Is comfortable being the leader but even more comfortable with their sharp teeth.

Wolff in Taurus: May have a closeness to the earth, nature, and/or animals. This placement can highlight themes of resourcefulness, loyalty, and a strong connection to the senses. Can be influential to others and gain followers through patience and consistency.

Wolff in Gemini: A curious animal. They have a keen interest in exploring ideas, gathering info, and engaging in intellectual pursuits. May highlight a quick-thinking, sociable nature, with a talent for multitasking and connecting with others. Wolff in Gemini has a drive to express oneself, share knowledge, and remain flexible in thought and action.

Wolff in Cancer: Has primal instincts and intuition with a focus on nurturing and protecting others. Has a deep attachment and association with many "wolf" things such as the moon, moodiness or volatile emotions, strong loyalty and sense of tradition, and a focus on family or their kin - pack.

Wolff in Leo: Is filled with themes of pride, loyalty, and a natural ability to inspire or lead others with enthusiasm and warmth. Wants to stand out among their kin in a way that is seen as bold, benevolent, or worthy. Can have a fierce side and it doesn't take much to get in touch with their inner animal.

Wolff in Virgo: Can have a love and passion for the environment and health. They get in touch with the natural world in a highly practical way. May have a strong sense of duty to their "pack". Has a sharp, untamed intellect that seeks to perfect and refine with an almost obsessive drive. Can have an unyielding urge to dissect and improve everything.

Wolff in Libra: Has a deep drive for connection through nature. They understand a natural sort of harmony in life, people, the world via nature or animals. Is highly social and truly a "pack" animal. May manifest as a fierce desire for fairness and justice, pushing boundaries to achieve equilibrium in relationships and social interactions.

Wolff in Scorpio: Has an association with wolves through one of the animals the sign is compared to in their transformations. The fact that sea wolves exist and killer whales hunt a lot like wolves is a sign that water has a connection to the animal, along with the earth element which has a connection to all of nature. The primal instincts of Wolff in Scorpio are mysterious and powerful. This placement suggests a drive for uncovering hidden truths, navigating emotional depths, and embracing change on a profound level. The wild side of this placement might manifest as a relentless pursuit of power and control, particularly in areas of intimacy, psychology, or the occult.

Wolff in Sagittarius: Embodies a wild, adventurous spirit that seeks truth, freedom, and exploration. Could be extroverted or open about their inner wildness. Truly has a hunter's instinct. Wolff in Sagittarius can highlight a love for the unknown, a passion for philosophical or spiritual exploration, and a desire to break free from limitations. This placement encourages embracing the untamed aspects of life, driven by an insatiable curiosity.

Wolff in Capricorn: Can have a deep appreciation for nature. May want to protect or conserve nature or history. May manifest as an intense drive to conquer challenges and rise to positions of power, often through perseverance and strategic planning. Is patient and may have the "coldness" or "ruthlessness" of nature. Is all about endurance, impact, legacy, and tradition. Their wild side can exist in a highly tangible way somehow.

Wolff in Aquarius: This is a rebellious, unpredictable, and chaotic lone wolf. There's a potential for a radical approach to solving problems, embracing the future, and connecting with like-minded individuals in unique or unexpected ways. They can represent the follower and conformist as well as the leader or outsider and unconventional in our most basic human instincts. Their feral side may be strangely familiar or human.

Wolff in Pisces: Has a mystical, intuitive energy that connects deeply with emotions, dreams, and the unconscious. The wild side of Wolff in Pisces may manifest as a powerful drive to explore spiritual realms, embrace creativity, and dissolve boundaries between the self and the collective. Can find inspiration and/or wisdom in nature. This placement encourages embracing the unseen and the intangible, using imagination and feeling as guides through life's complexities.

More history on the asteroid here.

[postcard-from-the-past]

Austrian stage actress Gräfin Claire Wolff-Metternich-Wallentin on a vintage postcard

[fe-smashorpass]

[verstappensrealwife]

Toto fics incoming?! 🔥

WAIT WIAT WAITIAAHAH DO PEOPLE WANT TOTO TELL ME TELL ME

[stepmarchen]

any thoughts about other characters animal motifs ? ( Someone on twitter said Ali reminds them of peacock 🦚 and I just couldn't stop thinking about it,like, peacock? 🤣)

hi! I've previously made a post about this topic, namely for animal motifs made officially in the webtoon! which you can see here!

As for unofficial motifs, I can totally see the peacock resemblance with Ali, especially in his coloring and the use of ornate patterns in his panels. As for other characters...

I know that technically the Neushwansteins are all lions, but i've always kinda attached myself to the idea that Elias was a wild mare? I think it totally suits his fiery yet gentle nature and how he's kind of the odd man out.

And I think most of us can agree that Wolff is some kind of weasel, at least personality wise...

if only he were as cute as one though

[posting-stuffies]

Experiencing a CTM (close to male) intersex variation doesn't mean having Wolffian duct, and intersex Wolffians can be CTF.

Intersex people can be neither CTM or CTF while still experiencing Müllerian and/or Wolffian ducts.

People can experience neither Mullerian or Wolffian traits too.

[smbhax]

Poster from Dracula #1, New English Library, September 1972. Illustration by Esteban Maroto.

Info from Grand Comics Database.

[ricciardosheart]

Hey could you do fic for Toto Wolff with wife reader where she's a chef and he's being her taste tester for her new recipes. Maybe their son, Jack helped (a little bit). Add something you'd like. Tag me later! Thanks :)))

sorry for the delay lol i had not checked my messages, but thanks for the request , hope it did not disappoint, loads of love @pear-1206

Title: Taste Tester Duties Pairing: Toto Wolff X fem!wife and Jack Warning: None

pictures are from pinterest

The kitchen was a beautiful disaster, a blend of chaos and creativity that only came from a day spent experimenting with new recipes. Flour was scattered over the countertops like a dusting of fresh snow, and various kitchen utensils were piled in the sink, a testament to the culinary journey you and your son, Jack, had been on.

You glanced at the clock. It was almost time for Toto to come home. He’d taken on the role of your official taste tester ever since you decided to test out new recipes in the evenings. As a chef, you prided yourself on perfecting every dish, but there was something special about letting your husband, the always-composed Toto Wolff, be the first to try your new creations. And today, with Jack’s “help,” it was bound to be an adventure.

“Mommy, look!” Jack called out, holding up a wooden spoon triumphantly. He’d been in charge of stirring the sauce, but judging by the state of his shirt—and face—half of it seemed to have found its way onto him. Chocolate sauce, no less.

“Oh my,” you chuckled, wiping a smear of chocolate off his cheek with your thumb. “You’re going to be as messy as the kitchen.”

Jack beamed up at you, not bothered at all by the chocolate mayhem. “Papa’s going to love it, right?”

“He will,” you said with a smile, finishing the last of the plating. “Especially when he knows you helped.”

Just as you were setting the dishes out on the kitchen island, you heard the familiar sound of the front door opening. The deep baritone of Toto’s voice followed, speaking a quick goodbye to someone on the phone before he hung up. Jack's face lit up with excitement, and he dashed out of the kitchen to greet his father.

“Papa’s home!” he yelled, his little feet padding down the hallway.

Toto chuckled from the doorway, scooping Jack up into his arms the moment he came barreling into him. “There’s my boy,” Toto said warmly, planting a kiss on Jack’s chocolate-smeared forehead. “Have you been helping Mama again?”

Jack nodded vigorously. “I made the sauce!”

Toto raised an amused eyebrow, following Jack’s enthusiastic pointing toward the kitchen. “I can see that. Very creative.”

You couldn’t help but laugh when they both walked into the kitchen, Jack still perched in Toto’s arms. Toto’s eyes swept over the mess of the kitchen, landing on the immaculate plate of ravioli you had just finished arranging.

“Well, it’s always a good sign when the kitchen looks like a war zone,” he teased, setting Jack down. “Means something special is about to happen.”

“Let’s hope the food looks better than the kitchen,” you said, wiping your hands on your apron.

“I’m ready for my duties,” Toto said, rolling up his sleeves in an exaggerated gesture, a familiar twinkle in his eye. “What culinary adventure have you prepared for me this time?”

You placed the plate of ravioli in front of him with a flourish. “Ravioli with a chocolate reduction sauce. A little sweet, a little savory. And Jack was my sous-chef today.”

Toto glanced between you and Jack, clearly trying to keep a straight face. “A chocolate sauce, you say?”

“I stirred it!” Jack piped up again, climbing into the chair beside his father. “It’s good!”

Toto gave him a playful nod. “Well, if Jack says so, then I trust him. Here goes nothing.”

With that, Toto picked up his fork and carefully cut into the ravioli, making a show of sniffing it dramatically. He took a bite, chewing slowly while you and Jack watched with bated breath.

After a pause that felt much longer than it needed to, Toto’s face broke into a wide grin. “Incredible. Absolutely perfect,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Sweet, savory, just the right amount of balance. Jack, I think you’re a genius.”

Jack’s chest puffed up in pride. “Told you!”

You let out a relieved laugh, playfully rolling your eyes at the theatrics. “I thought I might have lost my touch there for a second.”

“Never,” Toto said, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “Though I have to say, I was a little worried when I saw the chocolate…”

“You doubt me?” you said with mock offense.

Toto grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Never. But Jack’s taste is a little more… adventurous than mine.”

As if to prove his point, Jack was already poking at the leftover chocolate sauce on his plate, dipping his fingers in and licking them happily. “It’s the best sauce, Papa. Better than what you have on race weekends.”

“Is that so?” Toto asked, pretending to be offended. “Well, maybe I should ask the Mercedes team chef to take some notes from you two.”

“I’d be happy to share my recipe,” you teased, sitting down beside him. “But it’ll cost you.”

“Oh?” Toto raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “And what’s the fee?”

You leaned in closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Another date night.”

Toto smirked, leaning in just as close. “Deal.”

Before you could steal a quick kiss, Jack interrupted with a loud, “Ew, Papa, no kissing!”

You and Toto both burst into laughter, and Toto ruffled Jack’s hair. “Alright, alright, I’ll spare you this time.”

Jack grinned, pleased with himself, and then clambered off his chair. “Can I have more sauce, Mommy?”

“Only if you promise not to wear it this time,” you said, eyeing the chocolate stains on his shirt.

As you got up to serve Jack another small portion, Toto stayed seated, watching the two of you with a contented smile. These moments—the little everyday joys of being together as a family—were what he looked forward to most after long days spent at the track or in meetings.

“You know,” Toto said, breaking the comfortable silence, “I think this one is good enough to serve at the next team dinner.”

You turned, eyebrow raised. “Really?”

He nodded, a playful smirk on his lips. “Absolutely. I can already picture Lewis and George fighting over the last plate.”

You laughed at the image. “I’m sure Jack’s chocolate sauce will be the next big thing in Formula 1.”

“World champion sauce,” Toto declared, raising his fork like a trophy. “Courtesy of my talented wife and her apprentice.”

Jack beamed, holding up his spoon in victory, mimicking his father’s gesture. “Yeah, world champion!”

You shook your head fondly at the two of them. “Well, before you go declaring any more world championships, how about we clean up this kitchen?”

Toto groaned dramatically. “Ah, the real challenge.”

“Papa, I can help!” Jack offered, hopping off his chair once again.

Toto exchanged a glance with you, his eyes softening. “Alright, buddy. Let’s tackle this together.”

The three of you spent the next while cleaning up, Jack eagerly running around with a small towel, trying his best to wipe up the counters (which mostly meant moving the mess around). But despite the chaos, there was an undeniable warmth that filled the room—one that came from shared moments, laughter, and love.

As the last of the dishes were put away and the kitchen began to resemble something more functional, Toto pulled you into a gentle embrace, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you for this, liebe. It’s exactly what I needed today.”

You smiled, resting your head against his chest. “I’m just happy you like being my taste tester.”

“I love it,” he said softly, his arms tightening around you. “But not nearly as much as I love you.”

“Papa, come on!” Jack’s voice cut through the tender moment as he tugged at Toto’s sleeve. “Let’s go play!”

Toto chuckled, releasing you but not before planting one more quick kiss on your cheek. “Duty calls,” he said with a wink, before scooping Jack up in one fluid motion.

As you watched them disappear into the living room, their laughter filling the air, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. Life was messy, but it was yours—perfectly imperfect.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[cthrnschumacher]

I'm Yours - Ch. 11 Need You Now

Y/N POV

Since our late-night conversation, it felt as though life and university had made some unspoken pact to collide and accelerate with relentless intensity. Ironically, it had to be the moment Toto left for Brackley.

At first, his absence had felt like a weight—something I carried in the quiet moments, in the spaces between obligations, in the breaths I took when the world around me stilled just long enough for the loneliness to creep in. It wasn’t always sharp or overwhelming; it was something dull and persistent, an ache rather than a wound. I would catch myself reaching for my phone, expecting a message, a voice note, anything to remind me that he was still just on the other side of the screen. But of course, reality always settled in—he was busy, I was busy, and life had a way of making sure we both felt it.

The initial haze of missing him had been softened by the inevitable pull of routine, but not in the comforting, predictable way routine usually felt. This wasn’t the ease of slipping into a rhythm; this was the sensation of being thrown into the deep end of an ocean with no time to tread water. Lectures and tutorials stretched into the evening, each professor seemingly competing to make their class the most demanding. Research projects were no longer just exercises in academic curiosity—they were intellectual marathons that required endless revisions, constant re-evaluation, and a level of perfectionism that could drive anyone to the brink.

And then there was work—my other divided obligation. Balancing an already precarious schedule with part-time shifts that, while necessary, drained whatever energy remained at the end of the day. Some days I barely had time to eat, let alone breathe, rushing from one commitment to the next with the kind of determination that wasn’t sustainable but had somehow become the norm. The hours blurred together, punctuated only by caffeine refuels of any form and the occasional five-minute mental breakdown in the nearest quiet corner of the library.

The unspoken pressure of expectations tightened around my shoulders with each passing week. Deadlines loomed like storm clouds, growing darker and more ominous as they approached. The demands weren’t just academic—there was the pressure to be on top of everything, to excel, to prove that I was meant to be here, that I could handle it. And I could, I reminded myself, because this was something I signed up for. I had known, from the moment I chose this path, that it would be a relentless pursuit, one that required sacrifices and sleepless nights.

But knowing and experiencing were two very different things.

Still, I loved it.

Even as exhaustion settled deep into my bones, even as the days stretched into nights with little reprieve, I loved the challenge. There was something exhilarating about being at the edge of your limits, about pushing yourself further than you thought possible, with the help of caffeine of course. There was a strange satisfaction in looking at an assignment—one that had taken hours of research, countless cups of coffee and energy drinks, and an unholy amount of stress—and knowing that it was good. That it was yours. That it was worth the effort.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t hell getting there.

And you’d think that professors, after years of teaching, would have learned to space out assignments. They were once in our shoes, weren’t they? Surely, they remembered what it felt like to juggle multiple courses, to balance academics with everything else life threw at you. Surely, they knew that having three major deadlines in one week was a death sentence.

But no.

It was as if they had all convened in a secret roundtable discussion, nodding in agreement as they plotted the ultimate test of mental and sometimes physical endurance. There had to be some sort of conspiracy among faculty—a carefully coordinated effort to make sure students never experienced a moment of peace. It wasn’t enough to have one overwhelming workload; they had designed their syllabi in infinite synchrony, all agreeing that now was the time to challenge their students’ mental, emotional, and physical limits.

Despite the long hours spent buried in textbooks, toggling between dense research papers and frantic notes scribbled in the margins, there were moments when focus eluded me. No matter how much I willed myself to drown in academia, my mind betrayed me—slipping away from the rigid confines of theory and analysis to something softer, something warmer.

Toto.

It was infuriating how easily my thoughts drifted to him—how, no matter how tightly I tried to grip my focus, he always found a way to slip through the cracks.

I could be neck-deep in research, sorting through endless journal articles, cross-referencing citations, building a foundation for a paper that required more mental energy than I had left to give, and suddenly, there he was—soft and steady in my mind. The memory of his voice, deep and warm, would filter through like a whisper between the words I was reading, making it impossible to concentrate.

It wasn’t just any memory of him that distracted me—it was always the intimate, unguarded moments. The way his voice softened when he was tired, dipping into something slower, something a little rougher around the edges, like he wasn’t just speaking, but feeling every word. Or how he called me Schatz like it was second nature, like the word belonged to me and me alone. It lingered in my mind long after he’d said it, taking up space in my head in a way I never invited but never really resisted either.

And despite everything—the pressure, the expectations, the chaos of my own world—he still made time for me. Even in the middle of a schedule that would overwhelm anyone else, he never let a day go by without something. A message. A voice note. Sometimes just a simple Thinking of you. Those three words, in his voice or on my screen, had the power to derail me completely.

And I hated that I missed him this much. Not because I regretted what we had. Not because I wished it was different. But because the missing was inconvenient. It was distracting. It was a twinge I couldn’t afford to dwell on when I had so much to do with so much at stake, especially soon to be a fellow. But the heart, especially the in me, is annoyingly stubborn, and emotions have a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect them.

Like in the middle of a lecture, when the professor’s voice faded into the background, blurred into nothing more than a low hum as my mind replayed the way Toto had laughed the last time we talked. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the way he leaned back in his chair with that knowing smirk, the way he looked at me—like distance didn’t matter, like time zones were irrelevant, like for those few stolen minutes, I was the only thing in his world.

Or during an impossibly long study session, when exhaustion settled deep into my bones and my brain refused to cooperate, and I found myself staring at my phone, wondering what he was doing at that exact moment. Whether he was in a meeting, whether he was having his third—or fourth—coffee of the day, whether he was thinking about me, too.

Or in the rare quiet moments, when there were no distractions left to drown in. When there were no papers to write, no chapters to read, no deadlines to chase. When I was alone in my room at home, and there was nothing but silence. When my bed felt too big, and my hands felt too empty, and my heart felt the space where he used to be. That was the worst part—when the missing had nowhere to hide. I told myself I didn’t have time for this. That there was no room in my life for longing. But time had stopped listening to me a long time ago.

So, I buried myself in work.

I filled my days with lectures and assignments, letting them consume every waking hour. I let the deadlines dictate my existence, let the pressure push me forward, convinced myself that if I just kept moving, the missing wouldn’t feel so heavy. That if I never stopped, if I never let myself sit in the quiet for too long, I wouldn’t have to feel it.

But it was always there.

Lurking beneath the surface.

Waiting for the quiet.

Waiting for the moment when my mind wasn’t occupied with something else, when my hands weren’t flipping through pages, when my body wasn’t running on borrowed energy. Because even in the chaos, even with an ocean between us, he was still the one thing I couldn’t shake.

But It wasn’t sadness, not exactly. More like an ache—a dull, persistent thing that settled in my chest, pressing down in the moments when I allowed myself to remember just how far away he really was.

It was strange, the way distance worked. How it could feel suffocating and hollow all at once. How it could make a person both incredibly present and impossibly far away at the same time. But despite the thousands of miles, despite the time zones and the packed schedules and the inevitable exhaustion, distance had done little to sever the connection between us.

If anything, it had forced us both to try.

It had made us intentional. Made us carve out time in impossibly busy schedules, made us reach across time zones and hold onto whatever moments we could steal. Somehow, without ever really deciding on it, texting had become an intrinsic part of my day. It was woven into the fabric of my routine, as natural as morning coffee or the inevitable rush between classes.

A brief check-in between lectures—How’s your day going?

A shared meme sent in the middle of a tedious meeting—This is you.

A voice note recorded in the dead of night, when the weight of the day felt too heavy to put into words—I wish you were here.

Sometimes, it was nothing more than a single emoji. A subtle reminder that we were thinking of each other, even when words failed.

And then there were the video calls.

Not every day. Not always planned.

But when they happened, they felt like stolen moments. Like pressing pause on reality, just for a little while. Like stepping out of our separate worlds and into something that was still ours.

They were late at night for me, during the rare hours when my schedule slowed enough for me to breathe. For him, they were stolen moments between obligations—minutes taken from work lunches, from late-night meetings, from whatever chaos his role demanded of him that day.

And yet, despite the exhaustion, despite the miles, despite everything else pulling us in different directions, we always found our way back here.

Back to each other.

Like this morning.

The sun was barely up, spilling golden light through my window, casting long shadows across my desk. My coffee sat half-finished beside my open laptop on your desk, notes sprawled in front of you, the remnants of last night’s study session still lingering in the margins. I should have been reviewing my research. Should have been preparing for another grueling day of lectures and deadlines.

Instead of focusing on my work, instead of crossing off the long list of tasks demanding my attention, my phone was in my hand. Thumb hovering over his name. Hesitation lingered, just for a second, that familiar internal debate surfacing—Is he too busy? Will I be distracting him? Should I just wait for him to text first?

But then, I remembered the way he always answered. The way, no matter how packed his schedule was, he somehow made time. With that thought, I pressed call. The screen flickered to life, and there he was.

Seated in what looked like a conference room, the sterile white walls behind him doing nothing to soften the exhaustion in his posture. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows, collar undone just enough to make him look almost relaxed—if not for the slight crease between his brows. His dark hair was slightly tousled, evidence of too many times running his hands through it in frustration. A plate of half-eaten pasta sat in front of him, next to an almost-empty cup of coffee.

But none of that mattered.

Because the second he saw me, the tension in his face eased.

"Morning, Schatz." His voice was low, warm, tinged with quiet exhaustion.

I smiled, curling my hands around my coffee mug, soaking in the simple comfort of seeing him.

"Morning for me," I teased, lifting my mug as if to prove it. "Lunchtime for you."

Toto exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "And yet, here you are, calling me instead of working."

"And yet, here you are," I countered, arching a brow. "Picking up."

A slow smirk tugged at his lips, his head tilting slightly in surrender. That smirk—mischievous, knowing, effortlessly charming—made the miles between us feel smaller, just for a second.

It was moments like this that made the distance easier to bear.

I shifted, tucking my legs beneath me on my desk chair, the ceramic of my mug warming my fingers. "Exactly why I called," I admitted. "Figured we could have a meal together, even if we’re in different time zones."

His expression softened slightly, and I caught the way his lips curved—subtle, but undeniably affectionate. "And here I thought you just wanted to check if I was still alive."

I smirked, taking a slow sip of coffee. "That too."

Toto shook his head, but there was amusement in his eyes as he picked up his fork. "How’s uni?"

A sigh escaped me as I glanced at the open notebook beside me, pages filled with frantic scribbles and hastily highlighted lines. "Intense. I think my professors had a meeting and collectively decided to assign all major projects at once. Either that, or I’ve just lost my ability to manage deadlines."

His brows lifted slightly. "That doesn’t sound like you."

I huffed out a quiet laugh. "I’m managing. Barely. But yeah, it’s a lot."

Toto tilted his head slightly, studying me through the screen in that way that always made me feel like he saw more than I was saying. "Are you sleeping enough?"

I groaned, already regretting mentioning anything. "Don’t start."

"Schatz—"

"Yes, I’m sleeping," I cut in, narrowing my eyes at him. "Not… well, but I’m trying."

Toto gave me a look—the kind that said he absolutely did not believe me. His gaze was unwavering, like he was calculating how much he should push, how much I was willing to admit.

I knew he was about to start lecturing me on efficiency, time management, optimizing my schedule—because that was so much easier for someone who operated like a machine.

So, I changed the subject.

"And you?" I asked, tilting my head. "Work swallowing you whole yet?"

He let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair, further disheveling the already unruly strands. "I’d say no, but that would be a lie."

A faint murmur came from behind him—someone speaking in German, their voice just out of frame. He turned his head slightly, responding with a quick, clipped reply before looking back at me.

I raised a brow. "Work?"

"Always," he muttered, reaching for his water. "Half the team thinks I’m permanently glued to this chair."

I hummed knowingly. "Not entirely untrue."

His lips twitched. "Cheeky this morning, are we?"

"You bring it out of me."

His phone buzzed on the table beside him. He glanced at it briefly but ignored it, his attention still on me.

I recognized that look.

It was the I should be going, but I don’t want to look.

"You need to go?" I asked, already bracing for the inevitable.

Toto hesitated, then shook his head. "Not yet. I’d rather stay here and talk to you."

My fingers curled a little tighter around my mug.

"Good," I murmured, staring at him through the screen. "Because I miss you."

Toto’s grip on his fork tightened slightly. His gaze flickered—something unreadable crossing his expression before his voice dipped lower, quieter. "Ich vermisse dich auch, Schatz."

I swallowed, my chest tightening at the weight of those words. The sincerity in his voice, the quiet admission of something neither of us could change, settled deep in my bones.

"I miss you too."

Toto let out a slow exhale, his gaze steady, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"I shouldn’t be this distracted at this hour of the day," he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, self-deprecating smile.

A small laugh escaped me, breaking through the quiet. "Well, at least you’re eating. That’s progress."

"Not by choice," he muttered, nudging his mostly finished plate as if it had personally offended him. "Apparently, I’ve developed a reputation for skipping meals, so I now have people making sure I don’t starve."

I shook my head, unable to suppress my amusement. "You would absolutely survive off coffee and adrenaline if they let you."

"Also not untrue," he admitted, setting his fork down with an air of finality. His eyes softened slightly as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "But I prefer when you’re the one reminding me to eat."

Something warm and unspoken bloomed in my chest at that.

It was simple, really—the way he said it, the way he meant it. He never needed to elaborate. It was in the way he looked at me, in the way he lingered on the line even when he should have hung up, in the way he always answered my calls, no matter how chaotic his day was.

"Of course, I care," I said, my voice quieter now. "Even from an ocean away, I care."

Toto let out a slow breath, nodding. "I know."

A comfortable silence settled between us, not the kind weighed down by distance or longing, but the kind that felt like an understanding—an acceptance of what we were, of where we were, of the space we occupied in each other’s lives, even with the miles stretching between us.

"I’ll call you later?" he asked eventually, though it wasn’t really a question.

"I’ll be waiting."

He lingered for a second longer, his eyes scanning my face like he was memorizing every detail, tucking it away for when the distance felt too vast, too unfair.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he murmured, "Talk soon, love," before the screen went dark.

I stared at my phone for a moment, my fingers still curled around the edges as if keeping the connection alive a little longer. The warmth of our conversation lingered, wrapping around me like a quiet comfort.

Even across time zones, even with the chaos of life pulling us in different directions, he still made time.

And for now, that had to be enough.

I let out a breath, setting my phone down beside my coffee mug. The silence in the room felt different now—less hollow, less lonely.

The open notebook in front of me beckoned, the half-finished notes and highlighted passages waiting for my attention. With a resigned sigh, I picked up my pen, rolling my shoulders as I refocused on where I had left off.

The words on the page blurred for a moment, my mind still half-stuck in the conversation, in the way his voice had sounded when he said my name, in the quiet way he admitted missing me.

But there was work to do.

And so, with a deep inhale, I forced myself back into the rhythm of academia, back into the world that didn’t pause for distance, for time zones, for longing.

The weight of missing him hadn’t disappeared, but for now, it could wait.

[knifylicious]

wolffie expression chart mwah mwah mwah (that's me kissing his cheeks cause he's soooo cutesy)

+ blank template ^_^

[postcard-from-the-past]

German film actor Christian Wolff on a vintage postcard

[prussianpatriot]