#his mum doesn't care too much though

[fazcinatingblog]

Alright, which one do I submit for Cody's drawing competition 🥺🥺🥺🥺

[fdragon-art]

Day ??? - Monkey Hear, Monkey Do (concept)

Karen M. was sitting by the bookshelf, sitting in her beloved sofa as she read through the Cycle of Chronos series' 8th book. The development of her favourite character, Serace Derave, had always intrigued her, but seeing him lead the men that had once been part of the Twin Rivers' town made her reminisce about the simple life he had lost in the past books, and made her sigh about her own simpler times.

"Muuuuuum! Look, look look! Mum, look at meeee!"

Her reminiscence was interrupted by seeing her son, Damian, rush past her and stop straight in front of her. He usually only stopped in front of her when he had something he desperately wanted to talk to her about.

"Okay, Damian, " she started, "what is it you wanna talk about--"

She stopped dead. Slowly dropping her book, she saw something that had her scared for what could happen next. Damian was always a precocious child, getting into trouble when she really wished he wouldn't. She'd been with her husband for 9 years, and his own impulsive behaviours had her scrambling at times. This was hardly new to her. But even so...

"I have hearing aids, just likes Miles!!" Her 6 year old kid looked at her with a grin that makes you wonder how that mouth stays on his face. His eyes were as wide with glee as you had ever seen them - it almost made her want to look at them with love - and his body expressed itself with the most excitement she'd seen in any of her children

But all of it drained away as she saw the sides of his head: His ears were completely filled with orange play-dough.

"Damian!" She cried after him, but it was too late. Not just because he'd run off after showing her his make-shift "hearing aids", but because she wasn't sure he could even hear her through the flour-based morphable mixture.

Running past the bookshelves, she could only rush after him. It didn't take long to catch him, but damn if it didn't feel like the tensest 6 seconds of her life. Why would he do this?

...it wasn't a serious question. She'd questioned her own husband's impulses from time to time, but in the end, it wasn't for her to question. It may not be something she'll understand, but it is something she knows is only ever out of love for whatever he may be into at the time.

Considering how often he'd been over, she knew quickly it had been Damian's friend, Miles, who he had been obsessing over. Even in her own 19 years, she'd still never met anyone else who's been deaf.

She had wondered from time to time how that would even feel.

What could he hear? How did hearing through hearing aids differ from hearing through normal human hearing? How did his ears feel from wearing hearing aids for more than 8 hours a day (presuming he even wore them the whole day)?

Not that it mattered. Her son had play-dough that was who-knows-how deep in his ears. She had hoped it was only a shallow amount, but considering who Damian was, she doubted he was half-assed in his attempt.

Sure enough, after taking out the external pieces of play-dough, there were still pieces of play-dough stuck in his ears. How far did they even go in there?

"Damian, I'm sure you know what you did wrong here," she began, ignorant of the fact for just a moment that his ears were stuffed with an unhealthy version of earplugs.

"Nngh, leggo! I just wanna...I just wanna..." Damian began to tear up, his hands holding close to his ears. She moved to hold him closer, even as he shifted fingers to dig further into his ears. Poor kid, she thought, as she continued to hold him close. He probably just wants to be like his friend.

Holding him close, she kept her arms around Damian as he continued to cry. "It's okay, little D," she started. Damian didn't budge, only now starting to let go. "my... -hic- my ears hurt..."

She can't help but bring him closer. His ears must hurt, with the play-dough inside of them. Hopefully, there's nothing wrong with them when it gets taken out.

"It's okay, Damian. We can get the play-dough out--" She must've been loud enough for him to hear, as the moment that last sentence came out, he struggled fiercely in her arms. "No! No! Nooooo! I don't wanna!!"

The tears came out more profusely than before. Damn, he must really want this...or at least, he wants what he thinks he does. "It's okay, Damian! I won't take them out!" She started to reassure him before bringing her lips closer to his ears and repeating what she'd said, to ensure he could hear her through the play-dough.

"...but, we have to see a doctor, to make sure your ears are okay!" She was a sucker for making sure her children are happy. Even though she knew that Damian wanted to have hearing aids of his own, play-dough in his ears could not be healthy for him. She felt bad; how do you tell your child they can't have something because they don't need it? He wanted it, sure, but it's not something you could give them. His hearing was fine - at least, as far as she was aware; perhaps it may be worth checking at some point - but not even his selective hearing can be fixed by hearing aids.

...it's so hard, being a parent sometimes.

[nethereasypeasy]

Some fluffy head canons I have about the Baldurs Babes

mainly at camp :)

Gale stops tav to lace their boots, sarcastically tutting as he does it.

Karlach holds her hands round someones bowl and cups to warm them if they cool down too much. (Mama K microwave™)

Jaheira and Halsin share nightcaps and chat about the tadpole team. Mainly laughing at their comparative lack of experience - always ends on a 'they're good eggs tho' vibe.

Astarion and Shadowheart rate people's hair to eachother as an injoke, tav hears them mumbling numbers behind them whenever they speak to someone.

Lae'zel asks Gale to explain and pronounce things when no one is around because the 'annoying wizard' won't make fun, he's too eager to teach.

Jaheira has the best bedtime stories but they get Karlach hyped up and she asks a lot of questions till Astarion begs her to be quiet. Wyll takes mental notes for his own storytelling.

Karlach will force a game of 'I Spy' any time there is silence on the road.

Wyll is very good at little random gifts, he just remembers anything someone mentions to him. He's also low-key emotional if you return that kindness, 'you remembered?! 😭'

Halsin stops, kneels and whispers as he points and shows tav interesting plants or animals he spots when walking. 'look there's the mother and her babies' type shit. (He is camp dad(dy) ok)

Wyll teaches Lae'zel fencing. She's too keen though and tries to pin him down. She is not as graceful... But she has fun... chk!

Gale keeps a tiny portrait of Tara on him, you can't tell me modern au Gale's phone wouldn't be full of cat pics.

Astarion watches over the camp at night, he acts like he 'might as well/ I'm the only one lurking in the dark around HERE darlings' but sometimes he secretly gets a little teary looking at his first real friends all together.

Shadowheart writes moody poetry. She would tell Gale but she doesn't care for his taste... Or his possible critiques. If he ever did find her journal though he would be VERY enthused.

Astarion and tav will play with people's wardrobes when looting. Tav loves a funny hat and Astarion will do impressions of who he thinks would wear such god's awful attire.

Gale and Wyll play chess together after dinner some nights. They both say progressively cheesy lines when they take pieces, which is its own game itself at this point.

Halsin would quietly sing or hum to owlbear baby and scratch at night. Little lullabies and he'd probably tuck them in too. OR he'd be big daddy bear and snuggle up, especially when owlbear is scared and misses his mum.

The gang have played 'never have I ever' ONE time and ONE time only. It was a messy night.

... Jaheira was 100% last man standing.

[propertyofwicked]

INTERMEDIATE - LN

╭──╯ . . . . . the five times max tried to set his best friends up, and the one time it actually worked. . . . . . ╰──╮

PART TWO FOR ROOKIE (can be read as standalone)

warnings: none really, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption and minor sickness

this was so highly requested hehe! im glad you all loved rookie :) lemme know what you think! ✧ my inbox is open ✧

masterlist the playlist

Ⅰ

max fewtrell had been plotting for weeks. the annual karting gala was fast approaching, and he had the perfect plan to set up his two best friends. max managed to get himself a date and orchestrated the perfect excuse for y/n to accompany lando as his date, knowing that he was invited but y/n, not being a karter, wasn't. since the trio were somewhat inseparable, it made sense.

and it had worked - the three of them headed to the gala together, max’s date meeting them there, the atmosphere buzzing with music, laughter, and the clinking of champagne glasses. the drinks flowed freely, and the dance floor was packed. lando and y/n however, in their boredom of black-tie events, decided to see who could drink the most. much to max’s dismay, the two of them could never back down from a challenge, and seemingly formed a crowd of people to see them take on this challenge - which resulted in the two of them finding new dance partners for the evening.

this wasn’t max’s plan - he needed them to dance together, not with other people.

but then, y/n had left the dance floor, stumbling over to lando whilst holding her dress up as to not trip over it.

“lando?" she said, her voice shaky, and her eyes widening as she looked up at him.

this is it. they're going to kiss max had thought to himself, watching from only a few metres a way.

but instead, y/n's expression changed to one of distress. "i think im going to be sick."

or not, max thought, quickly springing into action.

lando immediately took charge, his hand sliding around her waist and guiding her towards the nearest bathroom with max following close behind. they managed to get her to a stall just in time. lando held her hair back, his touch gentle and reassuring as she emptied her stomach.

"im so sorry," y/n mumbled, her voice weak and apologetic. "i’ve ruined the night."

lando shook his head, his tone soft and caring. "don't worry about it. it’s ok. you’re ok."

meanwhile, max was on the phone, trying to get hold of y/n’s mum. "hi, it's max. im with y/n - she’s ok, but she’s had a bit too much to drink. could you come pick her up?"

as they waited for her mum to arrive, lando stayed by her side, stroking her hair softly as he poured water into her mouth less than graciously. max watched them, frustrated his plan had failed, but his heart warming by the way lando cared for y/n.

Ⅱ

max was determined. the karting gala might not have gone as planned, but he saw another opportunity to set up his two best friends at a house party. he thought a good game of truth or dare would be the perfect catalyst.

the party was in full swing when the group gathered in the living room, max quickly suggested playing truth or dare to which everyone agreed. the game started with light-hearted questions and dares. when it was lando's turn, max seized his moment.

"i dare you to kiss the person next to you," max said with a smirk, confident in his plan since y/n was seated to one side of Lando.

lando, however, had other ideas. his head looked to y/n besides him for a moment and then at niran on his other side, as though he was weighing up his options. then, he turned and pressed a light kiss to niran's forehead, catching everyone off guard. max’s jaw dropped in disbelief, while the rest of the group burst into laughter.

"that doesn't count!" someone shouted, still laughing.

"max didn't specify where," lando retorted, grinning cheekily, holding his hands up in defence.

“lando! how could you not kiss me? im heartbroken," she teased, holding her chest dramatically, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

when the game finally ended, max excused himself to the kitchen, shaking his head at how his plan had backfired yet again. niran, sensing an opportunity for some fun, followed him into the kitchen.

"you know," he said, leaning against the counter, "next time, maybe we should play seven minutes in heaven?"

max looked up, intrigued but sceptical, "you think that'll work?"

"it's worth a shot. at least then lando can't dodge the dare by kissing my forehead," niran shrugged, a playful grin on his face.

in the living room, lando and y/n were chatting and laughing, completely oblivious to max and niran's conversation. and as the night wore on, max’s determination remained undeterred. their bond was undeniable and he would go to any lengths for his efforts to pay off.

Ⅲ

lando decided to host a game night at his house - max was convinced that without being the host, he couldn't plan any elaborate setups. the evening kicked off with enthusiasm, everyone excited for a night of fun and games, with lando eventually suggesting they play drunk twister.

"…and every time you lose, you drink," he explained with a mischievous grin.

the game started off well, with everyone mostly sober. lando was winning, especially since his strength helped him keep his body in place. however, as the drinks kept flowing, max saw his opportunity. once they were all sufficiently tipsy, he took over spinning the twister board, calling out positions for lando and y/n.

at one point, max managed to have y/n essentially straddling lando’s waist, her legs balancing precariously on either side of him. this is perfect, max thought with satisfaction. he then told lando to move his leg, and when it was y/n’s turn, her hand slipped. the sudden loss of balance caused lando's leg to jolt out, causing y/n to tumble fully, twisting her ankle and hitting her head on the coffee table.

"who put that table there?" lando groaned in frustration as he rushed to assess the source of blood streaming down her face.

"erm… that would be you?" max snorted, trying to suppress his laughter but quickly becoming serious about y/n’s condition, deciding that hospital was probably the best call of action.

“lando, you should call her mum. i had to do it last time,” he whispered, as y/n slept next to them, the painkillers they had given her had wiped her out completely.

lando groaned as he dialled the number. it was 2am, so he wasn’t surprised when he got her voicemail.

"hi y/m/n, it’s lando - just letting you know y/n is in the hospital, but she’s fine. probably,” he added before hanging up.

“probably?” y/n called out groggily, still waking up, “she’s gonna worry more now you idiot.”

“im so sorry for hurting you," he said hurriedly, grabbing her hand and gently stroking his thumb along her skin.

"it’s ok, lan - i promise. as you said, im fine," y/n insisted with a small smile, "just remember to move the table next time."

“next time?”

“it was fun until i…you know,” she trailed off, using her free hand to gesture to her body laying in the hospital bed.

max watched the exchange with a resigned smile. despite his failed attempts and the chaos that ensued, it was clear how much lando cared for her. maybe, just maybe, things would eventually fall into place naturally.

Ⅳ

with an upcoming quadrant project, max found himself with the responsibility of finding accommodation for the team. he found a cosy airbnb and meticulously assigned the rooms, ensuring that everyone had their own space, other than y/n and lando - though neither of them minded. they’d been friends for so long that sharing a bed didn’t seem like a big issue.

when the team arrived at the airbnb, they were greeted by the chilly winter air, before max led them through the house, pointing out their rooms. to his surprise, and annoyance, lando and y/n’s room actually had two single beds, not the anticipated double bed.

nevertheless, max was determined to see his plan through, quietly turned off the heating, hoping the cold would drive lando and y/n to share a bed for warmth. the evening progressed, with everyone started commenting on how cold the house was.

“i am freezing my tits off,” y/n announced as she walked into the room, throwing herself down on the sofa next to lando.

"if it gets too cold tonight, we can always cuddle up together,” lando said, nudging y/n with a grin.

finally, max thought to himself, a plan was finally working.

“as much as i want to have you snoring directly in my face all night, and trust me i do - my dad taught me a bit about plumbing when i was younger. let me see if i can fix the heating,” she announced, to which the group felt elated to hear, fearing they would freeze to death in their sleep.

max’s heart sank as he watched y/n head to the heating system, fiddling with it for a few minutes before triumphantly declaring, "got it! it doesn’t seem like it was broken, just turned off. maybe the airbnb hosts turn it off between guests to save money?"

“guess we won’t get to spoon tonight after all,” she added, looking at lando with fake sadness.

max had never hated her competent parents more than he did at this very moment.

later that night, as the group gathered in the living room, warmed by the now functional heating, lando and y/n were nestled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket together as they usually did.

lando leaned over to y/n, his mouth settling near her ear as he whispered, "watching max sabotage his own plans is funny - we should do this more often.”

y/n giggled, adding, "maybe next time we can teach him how to actually break the heating."

“it's my favourite sport, right after driving,” lando added, laughing softly before sitting up again.

max was beginning to realise that his plans weren’t working because he was trying to make them fall in love with each other. they were already in love, he just needed to make them talk about it.

Ⅴ

determined to help them confront their emotions, he devised a master plan. so, when he moved into his new house, he invited them over to help build furniture.

as they assembled pieces in one of the rooms, y/n soon realised she needed a specific sized screwdriver but she couldn’t find it anywhere.

“well it hasn’t just grown legs has it?” lando teased, though helping her lift boxes to see if it had fallen beneath them.

"it might be downstairs. ill go have a look," he said, casually closing the door behind him. he knew it was downstairs - he had intentionally left it downstairs after loosening the screws on the door.

the moment the door shut, the handle fell out, leaving y/n and lando trapped inside - max was convinced that forcing them into close proximity would make them talk about their feelings.

“shit, sorry guys - bare with me whilst i try and fix it!” he called out, smiling to himself thinking about how great his plan was and how it couldn’t possibly go wrong.

however, he had forgotten one crucial detail - y/n was scared of being locked in small confined spaces. they had discovered this fact following a unfortunate attempt at seven minutes in heaven.

the reality of their situation set in, and y/n began to panic - her chest tightening as her breathing became fast and heavy.

"hey, it's okay. we're not stuck forever. we'll get out of here," he said softly, opening a window to let in some fresh air and sitting beside her. his arm wrapped around her instinctively, pulling her into his side as his hand found her hip, drawing patterns into her jeans with his fingers in attempt to ground her.

both of them were angry at max, knowing exactly what he was trying to do. they had somewhat discussed being together before, but lando’s busy career made things complicated. and now, he had gone too far, forgetting y/n’s anxiety in a bid to get his own plan to work.

"deep breaths," Lando murmured, holding her hand and gently stroking her back. "that’s it. max didn’t mean any harm. he just wants to see us happy."

y/n nodded, her breathing slowing as she leaned into lando, his hand coming up to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“i know. i just hate being trapped, and i know he means well but i wish he’d just chill out," she breathed out, her voice still wobbly as she tried to regulate her emotions.

they both sat quietly for a moment, looking at each other deeply, her anxiety dissipating, unspoken feelings lingering in the air. lando’s head moved closer to hers first, tentatively pressing his lips to hers. he wasn’t surprised when she kissed him back, her hands moving to his shoulders to lift herself up slightly as he deepened the kiss, his tongue swiping her lower lip gently.

"almost got it!" max called out quickly from behind the door, interrupting the two.

lando and y/n quickly pulled apart, managing to compose themselves just as max opened the door and rushed in.

"im so sorry y/n. i really didn't mean t- i don’t even know ho-,” he stuttered, moving down to hug her quickly.

y/n forced a smile, her heart still racing.

"it's okay, max. i’m fine, i promise,” she reassured him, her arms moving to hug him back.

♧

it wasn’t rare for lando, max and y/n to constantly be in each others houses. any free time they had at least two of them were together, and it had been the same for the entire time they had known each other. that week, they had all taken residence at max’s house to finish the final touches to the new quadrant video before posting it.

the early morning sun was shining through the kitchen windows as y/n rummaged through the cabinets, looking for a mug for her morning tea. noticing her struggle, lando walked over to stand behind her, his chest brushing against her back as he stretched to reach the mug from the top shelf.

"here you go, short-arse," he said, handing it to her with a smile, before moving across the counter to flick the kettle on.

"thanks," y/n replied, ignoring his nicknaming, "want some breakfast?"

"depends what you’re making," lando said, his eyes twinkling, “i would love some pancakes right now.”

“tough shit - im making cereal,” she responded bluntly, smiling sarcastically at him, before moving to grab the box of cornflakes from the cupboard.

“from scratch? that’s impress- OW,” he yelped, feeling the box of cereal hit him in the face.

“can we not use my cereal as a weapon please?” max announced as he walked into the room, rubbing the grogginess from his eyes.

“sorry dad,” y/n replied jokingly, sticking her tongue out at lando when max moved to open the fridge. she turned to start making breakfast, but in her movement she ended up knocking a spoon off the counter.

“fuck,” she muttered as she bent down to pick it up, lando watching on before quickly placing his hand on the corner of the counter, preventing her from hitting her head on the way up.

"careful," he murmured softly, as her forehead made contact with his hand.

later in the day, lando found himself sat on the sofa, scrolling through the comments on quadrants new video, where he had taught y/n how to kart.

y/n walked in, sighing deeply as she plopped down on the sofa next to him, her head finding a comfortable spot on his lap. lando didn't miss a beat - instinctively he began to stroke her hair, his fingers moving gently through the strands.

"you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

y/n closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "just tired," she whispered.

max walked into the room soon after, though stopping in his tracks as he saw the two of them. he shook his head with a bemused smile.

“you wanna read the comments?” lando asked as max took a seat on the chair opposite them.

the two of them nodded in unison, y/n shuffling around to sit up as lando’s arm rested on the back of the sofa behind her. they sat quietly, reading through the comments as max scrolled through them on his own phone.

they were accustomed to reading feedback from fans, but this time, something caught them off guard. the comments were filled with remarks about how good lando and y/n would be as a couple and how fans couldn't believe they weren't already together.

lando glanced at y/n, both of them slightly amused - they were sort of used to this, but every comment seemed to mention it.

"are you seeing these comments?" lando asked, raising an eyebrow.

“i know! i can't believe how many people want us to be together."

“you know, they're not wrong. we would be great together,” he replied, entirely unfazed.

"absolutely. it makes sense i guess," she nodded in agreement, shrugging casually.

“well that’s established then,” lando stated before moving the conversation, “should we get pizza?”

“up to you,” y/n responded with a smile, before resting back into the sofa, lando’s arm thrown over her shoulders.

max sat still, watching the whole interaction in utter bewilderment.

"what have i just witnessed?” he started, eyes darting between the two quickly, “seventeen years of seeing you two interact, and you just casually decided you're together and then sorted out what you're having for dinner?"

"yeah, pretty much,” y/n laughs, leaning into lando’s side as she shoots a grin at max, who’s jaw just dropped in disbelief.

"are you serious right now?" he continued. lando leaned back, crossing his arms with a confident grin.

"it's not like we’ve not kissed before," lando added, still grinning.

"YOU'VE KISSED?" max shouted, his eyes widening further.

y/n and lando exchanged a knowing look, both bursting into laughter at max's reaction, their casual approach to this new development was seemingly more surprising than the news itself.

“we probably would’ve gone further if you hadn’t fixed that door,” y/n added, still laughing as max smiled to himself.

“you’re plan finally worked mate,” lando laughed out, watching max’s face contort into shock.

“my pla-? when did you work it out?”

“sometime between you turning off the heating and the time you pretended to be sick so we had to go to dinner just the two of us.”

“yeah the table for two and the candles was a big giveaway.”

“i need to lay in a cold dark room please - excuse me,” max said finally, picking his jaw up from the floor before walking out in complete silence.

[ffsg0jo]

tw: grief, death, illness, and angst - i wrote this in like half an hour and i was really in my feels, so pls excuse me if it's bad

uncle sukuna, who's been in and out of jail, is always seemingly in trouble with the law and couldn't give two shits about it. ever since leaving home and his twin brother behind, he's only lived for himself and himself only. he'd be damned if he lets anyone change that.

he receives a voicemail from his brother one day, telling him he's had a little baby boy called yuuji. jin wants to put everything in the past behind them and would love for his brother to meet his precious son. sukuna only scoffs and deletes the voicemail almost immediately.

it's only when jin texts him a video of yuuji (who he's surprised to see almost looks exactly like him, minus all the tattoos) 8 months later babbling what could be interpreted as "papa", does he falter. the kid's adorable, but sukuna isn't ready to face his brother just yet.

many more months go by, and jin seems to have taken the hint. except he gets sent another video, this time on his birthday. he clicks on the video, unable to resist and its yuuji, wobbling on two legs, clapping his hands, and singing his own version of happy birthday (??). he's gotten so much bigger and looks so much like his father.

the only word sukuna recognises from yuujis incoherent nonsense is 'kuna', and his heart softens. he messages back a "cute." and leaves it at that. jin sees the message and doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.

jin messages him again a week later, only this time sukuna's heart drops. kaori's dead, and her funeral's next week. he's only met her twice, but she was good for his brother, and she was always good to him too.

he sees his brother for the first time in years at the funeral. jin's hair is a mess, his face unshaven and sunken in; grief seemed to have aged him 10 more years. sukuna's many things, a bad brother included, but something in him breaks when he sees yuuji screaming in his father's arms, not understanding where his mum's gone.

he doesn't know why, but he walks up to jin and offers to take yuuji instead. the toddler immediately calms down in his hold, now more confused as to why there's a man that looks exactly like his dad but with sharpie all over him. jin breaks down, stammering out a thank you, and excuses himself, leaving sukuna alone with his nephew. he'll hunt down his brother later, but for now, he'll keep the brat occupied so his dad can grieve.

sukuna hears from his dad that jin's fallen ill months later. he's speaks to his brother more often now and has even met up with both him and yuuji a couple of times. but jin's never mentioned being sick. he's been looking worse, for sure, but he just put it down to being a single father to an energetic toddler.

he moves in with them the next week. jin keeps getting worse and even little yuuji's noticed.

sukuna tries his best. he really does. he's not been there for jin previously, but he makes sure he's there now when it matters. it's all new to him, caring for people. he tries to cook the most nutritious meals for jin, making sure they're yuuji friendly too. he makes sure the house is always clean, even though yuuji's making a mess every 10 minutes. he changes diapers (both yuuji's and jin's), bathes them both, and tucks them both into bed. he even reads yuuji a bedtime story just to maintain normacly even though he hasnt read since he was a child.

he checks up on jin, constantly seeing if he's feeling okay and gives him his medicine. he holds onto jin with the utmost care (almost carrying him) when they go to visit kaori's grave or when yuuji insists on both of them coming to the park with him. when jin can't sleep at night due to being in excruciating pain, he's there. by his side and holding him. he's never been this affectionate, but he's also never had a dying brother before.

it's still not enough, though. the last couple of days were the hardest, and even yuuji knew enough to be on his best behaviour.

sukuna silently sobs into his pillow at night, when the whole world's asleep. he's filled with regret and hatred for himself, but he knows it's too late now. he tells his brother he loves him and that he promises to take care of yuuji no matter what. jin only smiles, his eyes shining with unshed tears, and tries to kiss his cheek as a thank you, and i love you too.

jin died with one arm holding yuuji, the other holding sukuna's, and his wife's name on his tongue.

sukuna was left all alone, once again. except this time, he had no brother to give yuuji back to. as he promised jin, the stars as his witness, he'd do anything for yuuji and to keep him safe.

his life was no longer his own. he had his nephew to think about.

© ffsg0jo 2024 — do not plagiarise, repost, modify, or translate any of my work, in any way shape or form; i will piss in your cereal if you do. all work belongs to me and me only.

[wasteddmoondust]

little family || remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x reader 1,258 words, single mom! reader, established relationship, FLUFFY FLUFF, kid fic, maybe i just crave domesticity a/n: back to back fics like who is she... (had this in the drafts for a WHILE) omfg guys this was soooo crazy indulgent I'm gong crazy no i did not proof read but i hope you like it anway

Remus is just about to leave work when he gets the call. He sees your contact name pop up on his screen, Y/N <3.

"Hello?" he says when he picks up the call.

"Hi, Re," you reply. You voice sounds rushed and anxious. "Do you happen to be free today?"

"I am, love. What is it?" he asks softly, stopping in his tracks to listen to you.

"Something came up at work today that I have to stay and handle, could you pick up Lyla from daycare?"

Lyla, a little girl equivalent to a ball of sunshine. Though you had only been dating for over a year, he sees her as his own.

"Of course I will. I'll bring her back to yours?"

"Yes please, thank you so much. I'll buy takeout for dinner when I'm done. You okay with that?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll go pick her up now."

He hears you heave a sigh of relief over the phone. "I appreciate you so much, I love you."

He smiles. "I love you, too. I'll see you later."

Remus reaches the daycare and realises he doesn't know what he's supposed to do. He walks by the window and sees Lyla colouring in her classroom. She notices the movement and looks up from her drawing. He can't hear her through the window but she's jumping around and cheering at the sight of him, waving excitedly.

He waves back at her, smiling, then notices one of her teachers gesturing to meet her at the entrance.

She gets past the gate to the classroom, leaving Lyla behind. "Hi, I know you're here for Lyla but since you're not her mum I'm going to need your ID," she says pulling out a file from one of the shelves.

He pulls out his wallet and gives it to her and watches her scan a list of what seems to be names of parents of the children.

She takes a few seconds and finally says, "Ah yes, Remus Lupin. You're on her list. I'll get her for you." He watches the teacher look into the classroom and call Lyla.

And then he realises. He's on the list. He's on the list of people who can pick Lyla up from daycare. You put him on the list of people who can pick Lyla up from daycare.

He's snapped out of his thoughts when he hears Lyla's voice. "Remoose!" she yells, running up to him.

"Hiya, angel," he says and picks her up. His heart melts as she immediately wraps her arms around his neck for a hug. "Mummy will join us later, but for now it's just you and me, okay?"

"We can watch TV?" she asks. "And then- then play toys?"

"Mhm, that sounds like a good plan," Remus replies, and they head to your home.

Later, you turn your key to your flat and open the door. You can hear the television playing a movie and the sound of your daughter's laughter. You kick off your shoes and walk into the living room.

Remus is covered in the fake makeup from Lyla's child-friendly kit. His hair is also adorned with little flower hair clips. He sits cross-legged on the floor while she sits in his lap.

"Looks like you had a lot of fun without me, hm?" you say. Lyla jumps at the sound of your voice, immediately running to you.

"Mummy! Remus fetched me today!"

"I know, darling," you kiss her cheek. "I asked him to. Did he take good care of you?"

She nods aggressively. She runs back to Remus, who is already walking up to you.

"Well don't you look pretty today," you tease. He smiles and breathes a soft laugh.

"My makeup artist is talented. She's very serious about this," he presses a kiss to your forehead. "You hungry? I can heat up dinner."

"That'd be great, and then it's time for this bug to go to bed," you pick up Lyla. "Isn't that right?"

She lays her head on your shoulder, visibly getting sleepy as it gets closer to her usual bedtime.

"Say good night to Remus?" you turn your body, so she faces him.

Remus bends down to kiss her hair, "Good night, angel."

Lyla slowly closes her eyes, "G'night..."

Putting your baby to bed goes smoothly, and she easily winds down as she is tucked into bed. She snuggles into her blanket and looks up at you.

"I like it when Remus fetches me from school," you hear her mumble.

You smile at that. "Really?"

She nods. "I really like Remus."

"I really like Remus too, darling."

"I think you get very happy around him, Mummy," she whispers. "You were not very happy last year, but now I see you be happy with him. So I'm happy."

You feel your heart do something. Jump? Lurch? Lyla was right, being a single parent comes with its challenges and you can admit a lot of late nights were spent biting your nails and wiping tears from your cheeks. You tried your best to prevent her from seeing you in that state, but you know she's observant enough for her age.

And that's why you're so thankful to have met Remus. He accepted you despite the fact you had a whole child. He saw you not only as you but also as the mother of your child. He understood that Lyla would always be a priority to you over romance (unlike most men you've met). Despite all its complications, he has been able to fit into your lives as if he's already meant to be there.

A prime example could be taken from today. Surely he could've said no to picking up Lyla from daycare, he's just her mother's boyfriend, after all. But he agreed and handled the rest.

"He does make me really happy," you say to her. "Does he make you happy too?"

"Mhm! He always plays with me and watches shows with me. He also hugs me and kisses me. He makes me happy. He's like my Daddy."

You chuckle, trying to hide the way your heart is going crazy at that. Somehow, you take the leap. "You want Remus to be your Daddy?"

"Can I call him my Daddy?" she asks, her eyes hopeful.

"You'll have to ask him tomorrow," you say, and you wonder what his reaction would be.

"Okay, I'll ask him tomorrow. Good night, Mummy."

You kiss her forehead, "Good night, darling."

You walk out of her room to see Remus placing your plate of food on the table for you. Without saying anything, you approach him and hug him. He hugs you back.

He is silent for a while, swaying your body slowly as you hug. "You were in there for a while, what were you talking about?" he mumbles into your hair.

You take a deep breath and look up at him, chin resting on your chest. "I love you," you say.

He furrows his brows but nods anyway. "I love you, too."

"Lyla wants to call you her dad."

Remus stops swaying. What is he thinking?

"Okay," he says, simply.

You jerk your head back, "Really?"

"Of course, I love her too, you know. I'd be honoured."

Chuckling, you bury your head into his chest and squeeze him. You feel him press a kiss into your hair.

"We're like a little family," he whispers to you. And you can see it too. You, your daughter, and Remus altogether as one.

And there's honestly nothing you want more than that.

a/n: SO LIKE UM this has been in the drafts about the same time as the james one like i said this is just very very indulgent brainrot i still have plans for the james series!!!!!!! ty sm for your support <3 likes and reblogs are always appreciated.

[elliesmainhoe]

Hey there vivi, I think your work is cool <33 Wanted to ask what you thought of Ellie and girlfriend having IVF with both their genetics/eggs so they both have a biological child together. Know it’s not possible yet but im thinking about a Ellie with biological kid. Tmi but im ovulating so this is what im thinking ab rn. Not asking you to do a little blurb if you don’t want to, but wanted to know if you like the idea of Ellie and her kidd, ngl i think is interesting and adorable. Much love!

omg I fucking love this idea!!!! she would be so silly , I wrote some headcanons for this so hope you like it!!!!

ELLIE WILLIAMS HEADCANONS: YOU HAVE A BABY WITH HER (biologically)

okay let's say- distant future, lesbians can now have biological babies (yay technology!)

when you tell her that your pregnant girlie is gobsmacked, even though you two were actively trying. (aka raw dogging every night)

goes through a crisis, buys baby books, pregnancy books, looks into a ton of birth and labour options

shes prepared for everything, goes to Joel to find advice about taking care of a pregnant woman and what to do with a newborn

GRANDPA JOEL????

stop that would be the most adorable shit ever, him sitting on his porch, yours and Ellie's babe on his chest, giving you two a break

stopppp 😭😭😭😭

anyways getting off topic-

she's literally so much more a doting loser than she usually is (which is a feat in itself)

gets you all your cravings, chocolate? done. pickles? done. chocolate AND pickles together? fuck it she'll try some too.

loves decorating the nursery in your house

PAINTS A DINOSAUR AND/OR SPACE MURAL IN THE ROOM???

the nerd indoctrination is already happening.

her and Joel make loads of custom furniture, adjustable crib, rocking/nursing chair, changing station.

the nursery ends up looking so cute, with loads of earthy tones and greens but also an array of rainbow toys.

OMG THEY MAKE YOUR BABY A ROCKING HORSE??

shed be so supportive during labour

whatever birth method you choose shes so supportive, makes you a little emergency bag just in case you go into labour

loves skin to skin

after the birth, you're exhausted of course, so you're sleeping and she's alone with a newborn baby???

honestly thinks that the baby looks a little funky

when babies come out they're squished, red and all silly looking

they're cute of course!!! but Ellie is still hoping your babe grows out of the squished tomato, potato phase?

skin to skin is her favorite thing

having the baby laid on her chest is genuinely the sweetest thing ever

she 100% cries when your baby grows out of their first onesie

she's so sentimental, keeps everything your kid does or has

old dummies (pacifiers if you're American), baby toys that the kid doesn't play with anymore, the umbilical cord? it's in a ziplock bag somewhere.

wears the baby in those baby back pack things (I can't remember the name LMAO)

when the baby starts teething she's always making jokes about how you've given birth to a feral baby.

jokingly scolds the baby when they start biting when you breastfeed them

dresses the kid up in the funnies outfits

the baby's dresser is basically a fancy dress box by now. dinosaur costumes, teddy bear costumes, pirate costume?

literally everything

---------------

I now have baby fever. kms.

not proofread

she's the best mum especially with a newborn

[emmylksblog]

SLEEPY CLOSENESS // MARC GUIU

request: Can u do a Marc guiu we’re he’s being really clingy and cute with you in front of his family ?

content: almost cringy fluff

warnings: just overly sleepy marc

words: 1350

a/n: i’m so sorry it took me this long to post but my life got busy and i’m almost never home 😔 be patient with me with your requests i’m not ignoring them just figuring out how to elaborate each of them 🤌🏻

The Guiu family had invited you over for dinner, and you sit with your boyfriend Marc, he sits with his shoulder against you. His parents, as usual, are chatting amongst themselves, as Marc lets out a huge yawn. His head then lolls onto your shoulder, and despite the fact his parents are right there, he wraps an arm around you and snuggles into your shoulder, not caring if they see.

Marc's mom glances over as her son rests his head on your shoulder and his arm over you, then a small smile crosses her face. She clears her throat "Marc, I know you're tired but please try and stay awake while you have a guest over!"

Marc half opens one eye and glances at his mother, before burying his head back into your shoulder. He mumbles quietly “But I’m comfortable here.”

"Please sit up properly at least." His mum says with a sigh. Marc just burrows down further into the crook of your shoulder. He has no intention of moving.

You chuckle to yourself quietly at Marc’s antics, and he looks a bit like a sleepy puppy. His mom shoots you an exasperated look, and you decide to intervene, gently ruffling his hair a bit and giving a reassuring smile. “Baby, your parents are going to think I'm a bad influence on you if you keep falling asleep on me.”

Marc grunts, opening his dark eyes again and peering up at you. “Oh they know you’re a bad influence on me already.” He lets out another yawn and sits up a bit more, though still leaning against you

His mom rolls her eyes but smiles at you. “He’s always like this when he’s tired. A right nightmare when he was a toddler!” Marc shoots her a look, and you grin.

He sighs, not denying it. “Ma eso no es verdad. (that's not true mom)” He mutters quietly, burying his head in the crook of your shoulder again.

He yawns again and lets out a sigh. “And I’m just really tired cause the match today took a lot out of me. We barely won, it was 2-1.”

You nod sympathetically. “That’s fair. Good job on the win by the way.” You say, running your fingers through his hair again.

Marc makes a hum that sound like he's quietly purring, letting out another yawn. His eyes are half closed as he's curled onto you.

His mother chuckles as she watches you stroke her little boy's hair. "You two are adorable." she says affectionately.

As dinner finishes, you both head to the door. Marc is obviously exhausted and looks like he might fall asleep on the way home. His family calls out their goodbyes, and you and Marc reciprocate promising to come back soon.

You steer Marc over to the car since you don't trust him at this point to drive. So you coax him into the passenger seat and fasten his seatbelt, before getting into the car yourself.

He leans his head on the window, eyes closed. At a red light you turn to look at him. "Stay awake a bit longer amor, I love you but I'm not carrying you into our apartment."

He grunts something unintelligible. "Love you too." He mumbles, keeping his head on the window. "But just let me sleep...."

You roll your eyes affectionately and poke his arm to keep him from falling asleep. "We'll be home soon enough, okay? Then you can sleep as much as you like."

You pull up at your shared apartment and climb out of the car, then go the other side to get Marc out.

You're already standing next to the car, trying to coax him out. He's leaning against the seat and doesn't look like he's going anywhere. You roll your eyes, then grin and crouch down next to him. "If you get out the car, I'll give you a kiss."

That seems to get his sleepy mind working, as he opens one eye to look at you. "Promise?"

You nod, and he lets out a huff. "Fine." He grumbles and drags himself out of the car, and you keep your promise by leaning up to kiss him as soon as he's standing upright.

He melts into the kiss, though is still half asleep. After a few moments you pull away, and he blinks sleepily. "I'm sleepy though. Carry me." He demands, opening his arms.

You laugh at his pouty face, shaking your head at him. "Oh yeah, you think I'm gonna carry you all the way to the apartment?" You teased him, wrapping your arms around him instead.

You quickly wriggle out of his arms, a grin on your face as you dart away towards your apartment, laughing all the while.

He gives a small growl, and his competitive nature sparks awake. "Hey!" He calls after you, before giving chase.

You run for the front door, hoping to get to the sanctuary of your apartment before he catches you, but he's quickly on your tail.

He catches up to you and wraps his arms around you from behind, holding you in a tight bear hug. "Thought you could out run a footballer, eh?" He says with a smirk, his chin on your shoulder.

You're doubled over in laughter, and try to catch your breath. "You're- you're a- a damn- cheater. Unfair." you manage between laughs. He grins down at you and holds his hand out for the keys. "No I'm just good at what I do."

You hand over the keys, and he unlocks the door with a flourish. "After you." he says, grandly holding the door open for you.

You roll your eyes affectionately and step past him into the apartment. "Such a gentleman."

As you come out of the bathroom, he's already stripped to his boxers and sitting on the bed waiting for you, looking half asleep again.

He gives a cute yawn and holds his arms out again. "Come here~" he murmurs sleepily.

You roll your eyes affectionately, letting out a laugh. "Baby, you didn't have to wait for me in your boxers. You could've gone straight to sleep."

He pouts and shakes his head. "But then I wouldn't get to see how nice you look before bed." He whines, beckoning you towards him again.

You walk over to the bed and climb up to straddle him, settling yourself in between his legs. He grins up at you sleepily and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you down onto him.

He gives you a warm smile, nuzzling your neck. "Can I get my reward now?" he mumbles, his breath warm against your skin.

You chuckle quietly, running a hand through his hair. "And what reward is that?" You ask, though you already know what he's asking for.

He yawns again but keeps his head on your shoulder, burrowing closer to you. "A goodnight kiss, please?" He says, his voice still soft and sleepy.

You smile at his sleepy request and tilt his chin up towards you, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. He smiles against your lips and kisses you back, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you nearer.

The kiss lasts a few moments before you pull back, and he pouts up at you. "Only one?" He asks, his eyes still half closed.

You laugh gently as you pull back, and tease him about the fact that now he's fully awake again with a smirk. "What happened to being tired, hm?"

He huffs playfully and glares up at you, though the effect is spoiled a little by the fact that he's still holding you close against him. "You can't blame me for wanting my goodnight kisses." He defends himself.

You shake your head at his pout and press another kiss against his lips. "There, there you big boy. Goodnight kisses delivered."

He grins and buries his head in your shoulder again. "Goodnight, I love you." He mumbles against your skin.

You run your hand through his hair and smile. "I love you too, you sleepy idiot."

[occamstfs]

Ni Hao!NYC

Morally conflicted journalist puts off questions of ethics until it's just too late. Finally assigned to put his name next inflammatory content Sam finds himself more than appreciating Chinese culture.

Various white to Asian Muscle growth and racial change ahead!

Like many, I saw the final pictures on twitter and had to do something with them haha! Ended up with a piece just a tad different than usual! Hope you all enjoy! -Occam

Samuel Johnston knew he worked for a rag but as long as the checks cashed he could afford to mute his conscience. They made money not from sales so much as some rightwing think tank who wants their views affirmed in any way they can get it. So he lays low and pens little puff pieces, avoiding anything too controversial and introduces himself as an accountant to anyone he cares enough to lie to.

He’s quite adept at staying out of sight and mind when it comes to the doling out of any especially charged or problematic issues. Making sure to bury his own work any chance he gets, even using a pen name in case someone accidentally stumbles on his writing. It’s gone well enough so far he thinks! Sam tells himself that really working for NY:Red isn’t that bad, surely it’s even good that he’s got the job rather than anyone who believes the shit they write. Right?

No job is without its problems, he tells himself. So far he’s done a commendable job keeping his nose down with an almost supernatural ability to duck away from bigwigs or management. That is until now as he’s summoned by name to his boss’ side. His proficiency at staying off the radar of management has kept him from a one on one with the man in charge for some time, but now he is sitting on the top floor outside of Mr. Howard’s office, surely waiting to be assigned some horrible project.

“Come in!” Sam hears the surly man shout before promptly stepping into the gaudy office. He’s immediately taken aback as somehow the editor looks almost younger than he does in the many pictures Sam has seen. Sam hides his shock at the man’s jet black hair as well as he hides the general fear and disdain that begins to send adrenaline pumping towards his mind. Mr. Howard doesn't notice at least, getting straight to business, “I can tell from yer writing that ya like the city Sam, can I call ya Sam?”

Samuel opens his mouth to reply but the chief just continues on, “Anyway I love all yer little toilet paper stories but how do ya wanna write with the big leagues?” This time Samuel stays strong and gets a word in before being steamrolled again, “Actually I-” “I’m puttin’ you on the most important case we have Sam. Surely ya’ve noticed all this, what's da word, influx? Invasion? Bah. All the Asian shit that’s startin’ ta creep in on our city’s culture!” Samuel makes an awkward face as despite knowingly working for the racist, it’s different to hear the words out loud.

He holds his tongue out of shock or fear and his boss continues on his diatribe, “The last couple a schmucks I had on the beat just up’n left me high and dry can ya believe it! Old friends I thought!” He grumbles as he scratches his chin, moving away his hand it seems his beard thinned? He shakes his head in irritation and Sam would swear he saw his jowls tighten and wrinkles smooth over. “Anyway kid. Go out and do some prelim research. Have something on my desk by Friday or yer out just like those galoots!” Samuel stands for a second unsure if he’s allowed to leave before his boss looks up to glare with eyes Sam would’ve sworn were blue when he walked in.

Sam rushes out the door and to the elevator, riding it back to his floor, debating between writing a preemptive resignation or keeping mum and keeping on payroll for one last week. Profiteering from a culture war he may be but he’s not about to regurgitate genuinely racist talking points. He taps his foot impatiently as he thinks about just how cushy this gig is though. “Fuck!” He decides to call the only other confirmed decent human being he knows here, his friend Nick who works in the fashion dept.

The two go to grab coffee at a chain next door, Sam tries not to notice how they’ve started selling Vietnamese iced coffee. “Fuck man I can’t do it! Literally just one conversation alone with Howard was a wake up call.” Nick smiles like he has no problems with working for the dirtiest rag in the city, “Chill out Sam. Huward had my manager on the same beat and he, uh, Hidaka said that is said to just look busy for a bit and we won’t need to worry about all this racist shit anymore.” Sam squints his eyes at his friend, he’s not usually so easy breezy about work. He also racks his brain trying to figure out who Hidaka could possibly be. That can’t be his boss. No way Howard would let someone not white lead a department.

Seeing Sam lost in thought Nick reaches out and grabs his hand in a way Sam couldn’t imagine him doing before this second. In fact as the second drags on he stares down in the hand in shock, feeling the warm hand squeeze his forearm. He looks up to his friend’s face searching for any clue to the cause of this odd behavior. Sam smiles awkwardly and half-jokes “Hah hah, uh- Who are you and what’d you do with Nick… Hah.” Nick bursts out laughing, patting him on the arm jovially and leaving a hand larger than Sam remembers resting on his own. “Hidaka-san just showed me how to worry less about this job un?”

Sam inspects him closely for anything amiss, it looks like he’s picked up a bit of a tan? His hair is messier than usual and definitely a little darker, his skin is alluringly smooth and Sam can feel the heat his body is generating despite sitting across from him. Looking at his clothes Sam finds another surprise, his shirt almost looks strained! As if Nick has been hitting the gym for sometime, maybe it’s just been a while since he’s seen his friend in person? 

Assuaged in the slightest, Sam ignores the glowering red flags and follows this lede, “Woah Nick have you been working out?” Nick blushes and Sam at the very least sees his friend is as shy as ever. He goes to scratch the back of his head straining his shirt almost to its ripping point as he responds, “Ah a little haha! どうぞ(please) don’t you worry about me. Since you have no desire to write the article, why don’t you go ahead and check out the little Asian market down the street for fun? It was quite a good time when Hidaka-san brought me earlier this week!”

Sam awkwardly smiles as he wonders why on Earth Sam is suddenly referring to his boss like this, it’s almost like he’s performatively speaking Japanese. Taking a second to pause Sam looks at the haircut as hands unseen style it into something fashionable he puts two and two together. Thinking to himself, ah! Nick must just be a weeb! Tension disappears from his body with a sigh of relief as he wonders how he didn’t notice before now. He gets up to follow his friend’s advice, what better way to stick it to the man than support the people he aims to malign right?

He bucks up and grabs a Vietnamese iced coffee for the road, tossing a “Sayonara,” at Nick with a wink to which he perks up and slightly bows. Man, how did he not notice before Sam thinks yet again. Blissfully unaware, leaving just as kanji symbols appear on Nick’s keyboard and his friend responds to an email in a language he didn’t know this morning. Blue eyes growing coal dark as his tanned, increasingly muscular arms tap away at the keyboard.

Sam spends the bulk of his day at the little Asian street fair and has an absolute blast. Any residual stains on his mind from his unpleasant morning absolutely fade away as he goes from booth to booth sampling cuisine and chatting with diasporic cultures the world over. Time flies as he goes into journalist mode and basically interviews first gen Chinese immigrants about their time in the city. He finds himself beyond immersed in the conversation, continuing to learn from the couple as the tables around them begin to pack up for the day. 

He offers to help the older couple pack up and they happily take the aid, striking him bashful as they talk of what a sweet young man he is. “Wa! 哇强 (strong) Too!” The wife chuckles as she jokingly feels his less than impressive arms. He was having a better time at this little fair than he ever could’ve imagined, enough so that he thinks about going to stick it to Huaward then and there. Huaward? Whatever. His mind slightly off put by whatever that was, in an uncharacteristic act of transparency, Sam lets it slip that he works for NY:Red. The expressions on the kind couple’s faces immediately sour and Sam is quite shocked that they even know what the paper is.

There is a glint in the husband’s eyes as he starts to motion Sam away from any further aid, “谢谢 (Thank you) for your help, Sam. There have been a few, hm, bad men wandering around from that paper and I uh-” He looks around his table and grabs some miijiu they hadn’t put away yet. His wife nods, her face somewhere between rueful and hopeful as she watches her husband offer Sam the glass. “Again, 谢谢, er thank you for your help young man, enjoy this for the road 好的? (Yeah?)” The two turn to each other and begin talking to each other in mandarin alone and Sam takes the hint.

Kicking himself that he fumbled the capstone on such a pleasant afternoon, though finding solace in the rice wine he’s walking away with. He is blissfully unaware as the couple watch him drink and head down the street debating if everyone from that paper really is an asshole. Grimacing as they think about the vitriol spewed at them by NY:Red readers they decide they had no other recourse. Pleasant as he seemed Sam was consciously working on the side of hate and that could not be simply overlooked.

Sam quite enjoyed the rice wine the couple left him with, it immediately smooths over any lasting regret or concern about his interaction with the couple. They don’t know anything about him! He’s nothing like his other coworkers. It feels as if he’s had far more to drink than the small container they left him with should allow, but every time he looks down there always seems to be more mijiu to entice him. It would be impolite not to finish their gift he thinks; his confident stride quickly shifting to a stumble as he wanders home. 

His phone goes off as he gets an email from his boss, Mr. Huang?  Can’t be right. He squints at the email, deciding he must really have overdone it on the mijiu and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Beyond the obvious difficulties in ambulation being drunk, Sam is unable to notice as his proportions slowly begin to shift. His ever-so lanky body begins to feel dull and heavy as the warmth of the wine fills his chest to capacity and then some as he leans against his apartment door, wiping his feet on an unfamiliar doormat. 

He kicks his shoes off by the door on some new instinct and immediately goes to collapse on the couch. His small sofa creaking as he puts more than his usual dead weight on it. His legs that usually hang off the end lengthen even further as his thighs grow meatier. Pecs press into the cushions as he snores. He is swiftly ushered into an unfamiliar dreamscape, the jubilee of the fair and the bewildering amount of wine he drank produce a vivid carnival of culture in his subconscious.

He sees the old couple at their stand and begins to speak with them in their mother tongue, seeing the delight as a load is taken off their shoulders. His dreamself seamlessly conversing with a fluency unearned. Sam stirs in the waking world as his mind existentially changes to match his morphing body. His blond hair grows thin and longer as its tint stains darker. Twitching in REM the green eyes that he prides himself on speckle with brown before they are entirely overtaken, becoming a rich cacao like the thick eyebrows framing them.

The discomfort of a new language forcing itself into this memory begins to wane as he prides himself on how fluent he is in both Chinese and English. His hand goes to scratch his pecs and he smirks in his sleep as they pulse larger, knowing pride is not the only thing surging within him. At the edges of his mind he feels the memory of learning a language, words written on a blackboard in chalk, English and Chinese both. For the life of him he cannot recall which of the two he’s learning second. An alarm set on his phone blares and he jolts awake to get ready for work.

Throwing on a shirt, Sam freezes as he sees his reflection. Hundreds of little questions seize his mind, those aren’t his eyes are they? Did he dye his hair last night? Are those abs? God his arms look good don’t they!? As they race through his mind and grow rampant they fixate on how attractive he suddenly feels. Rubbing his pecs and feeling them bounce he cries out to himself, “该死！Uhhh, Damn I look good!” He poses in the mirror and takes in every new angle of his powerful body. Taking note as his body hair seems thinner, and decidedly darker wherever it remains. He looks close at his pit seeing his once dense bush of curly hair thin out and straighten, before the memory of even having dense body hair is washed from his mind.

His phone goes off again and his work is immediately brought to the forefront of his mind. “Fuck I didn’t read Huang’s message!” He finds email after email from his boss, only the first few mention the wretched assignment they last talked about. Sam’s eyes widen as he continues to skim through the emails as the topic lines quickly show some drastic re-prioritization from his boss. Only then does he realize that he’s been reading his boss’ name as Huang. His boss is white. Rather his boss’ whole identity is based around being white! Huang isn’t, right? Incredibly he clicks the last email, subject line Vacation, and is immediately greeted with a mouth watering picture of a powerful man. Everything comes to a stop as he can’t help but gawk at this man’s body.

Ni Hao Sanuel- take the day off shi de? Still only half dressed Sam balks at just how bizarre this is, rereading the name Sanuel he is thrown for a loop as his mind reconfigures this. Tearing his eyes from the man’s torso he finally looks at the cocky face and sees a thread he recognizes,  “天啊! (Holy Shit!) That’s Mr. Huang!” He shuts his mouth before he drools like a dog at his boss’ arms. God, this is unlike him though right? He tries to dig through his memories of the editor in chief as the caustic racist he was yesterday, but with each uncovered the image of Huang changes as this dreamboat playboy overrides more of what was.

Sanuel readies to just stay in for this day of assigned vacation before he gets another notification, this time from his friend, Nobu? An image of Nick flashes through his mind, a handprint burns on his arm, and the taste of Vietnamese coffee dances on his lips. “Meet me on the boardwalk うん？” Sanuel rolls his eyes at his friend tacking on Japanese like that, willing his mind not to think about how his friend’s contact ID now says Nobu. Must be one of those, uh, his own thoughts trail off as he successfully abandons concern to head to meet his friend.

Nearing the meeting spot he looks for his usually cleancut friend, the only body present however is a massive Japanese man awkwardly flexing at himself in a reflective surface. Sanuel shyly speaks up, “Ni Ha-, uh Hey? Have you seen a guy named Nick around here?” The apparent bodybuilder beams and goes to engulf Sanuel in a hug shouting, “Oi! Shan! took ya long enough!” His eye twitches hearing the name, as this man effortlessly lifts him off his feet in a hug far too intimate for colleagues, and certainly from whoever this stranger is!

Shan pushes against the massive man, his body heat broiling him on this already warm day. He strains his eyes looking at the man grabbing him and suddenly it hits him, “Nobu?” The man promptly lets him go and pats him on the back with a laugh he would’ve never expected to come from his sheepish friend in the fashion department. “Wanna go have some ice cream or something Shan?” He feels the need to push back against his friend calling him Shan but as he hears it a second time he can’t recognize the names as anything but his own.

Shan pauses as he sees Nobu stop to chat with some Japanese tourists and something about the picture doesn’t sit right. God it’s that talk with Huang getting him all worked up again that,uh, racist? He clutches his head as contradictions between his past and present collide in his head and he slams his eyes shut as he cannot determine what is true about his current reality. Shan falls to the ground with a deep thud, slightly hyperventilating, his body grows larger as he takes deep breaths from the stress.

Hearing him collapse Nobu runs over to help him up, this time with more effort as his friend’s comatose body continues to put on muscle and grow heavier. Still, having the impressive figure he does, Nobu rather easily gets him on a bench and sits next to him, “クソ野郎？(Fuck dude?) You alright?” Shan slowly nods as his friend throws an arm around him. Looking down at his own arms as they pulse with muscle, he feels his eyes strain as the structure of his face begins to change.

Shan's jawline sharpens and his skin smooths. Stubble that has been a cornerstone of hiding his facial blemishes vacates as his hair stains black and flops longer. He feels clarity grace his mind as he stares at large hands on the ends of pale, hairless, muscular arms and he wonders if he is even himself.

He voices these concerns to Nobu who just laughs them off. “Hah! Of course dude, same Shan I’ve always known!” “那- that’s not my name Nobu.” His friend grins shyly in concern for his friend's mind. “It can't be my name. I’m-” grimacing before he continues as it takes everything in his power to speak against the realities in front of him. Memories of a world quite far away, moving to New York long ago, the youngest in a family of Chinese immigrants, “I’m white aren’t I Nobu?” 

Nobu can’t help but laugh again at the beyond bizarre statement. He jokes about Shan hitting his head when he fell. “You’re the most 2nd Gen Chinese わるがき(brat) I know bro! Imma go get us some ice cream while you chill out.” Shan stares at his friend as he abandons him, feeling his eyes tighten as they shift into the monolid eyes that his memories swear he’s always had.

Shan retreats into his mind racing against his changing memories to find a pillar of truth to grasp on. He sees himself at the gym with Nobu, his black mop of hair flicking sweat into the air as he poses with his bro. He sees just yesterday at the Asian fair, helping an elderly couple pack up their table, twitching as he would’ve sworn that went differently. He remembers sitting at the office getting no work done as he plays on his phone, 是的！that’s it! His job. There’s something there, if only he can remember what the problem was there.

He sees Nobu begin walking back with sweet treats, Nobu works at the paper too. Oh 呃/Duh! He smirks as he goes for his wallet to grab a business card. His eyes see the obnoxious red logo he knows before they read text that will send him irrevocably forward, Shun Jiang - Ni Hao!NYC. His body fills with warmth like a machine overworking as his mind races with information about his new reality. Sweat drips from his hair as he can no longer even struggle to recall his claimed existence as a bystander at the vile paper they produced. His brown eyes steep to a dark black as they glaze over.

“Shan-baka! Here’s a popsicle!” Nobu shouts as he returns to his overheated friend who immediately bursts from his stupor. “混蛋!(Asshole!) It’s Shun- thought we were close!” Nobe smirks as he starts to eat his own ice cream. Unable to recall anything too in depth he feels a pause as he wonders what his Japanese friend is doing working for a Chinese newspaper, before he answers it himself. Clearly his subconscious is more at place in whatever new reality he faces. Their paper is for all NYC’s Asian immigrants. Nobu works writing, or more often modeling, for Konnichiwa!NYC! Huang really was a genius for the idea.

Shun smiles, thinking fondly of his boss as he enjoys the short break from the summer heat that Nobu brought him. Back at the headquarters of their paper everything shifts from the rag it was and into a paper connecting the disparate Asian immigrants of the city, printed in any language they can find translators for, Ni Hao, Konnichiwa, Annyeonghaseyo, Namaste!NYC. Each day striving for a better, more inclusive New York City. Shun beams with his new face, no longer burdened with the just concern of his peddling vitriol, instead possessed with a desire to spread his culture far and wide.

———————————————————————————

As I was writing I remembered a similar series by the now gone Dumb-and-Jocked!

If interested do check out Horizon Zero: One, Two, and Three for quite a different take on a journalism themed Racial Change!

[dollypopup]

even more things I love about Colin Bridgerton

-his taste in waistcoats is genuinely A++

-he cares so much about the women around him. brought his mum an expensive, sentimental gift. supported Eloise's pursuits to learn about feminism. gave Fran sheet music to show he cares and listens to her passions, compliments Penelope and refuses to let her say bad things about herself

-even when he's mad he's never disparaging. the absolute worst thing he's ever called a woman in the entirety of the show was 'cruel'. he called his older brother an ass in defense of a woman, and that might be the meanest thing he's said to anyone in the show

-his swoopy curls

-how much he values and respects consent and honesty. He just wants to be his whole self with Penelope and is so incredibly vulnerable with her

-THAT HE APOLOGIZES. I was watching a comedy special and they dropped the line 'Do you know how rare it is for a powerful man to apologize when someone's not threatening to take something away from him if he doesn't?' My god, how refreshing is it that we have a man who apologizes wholeheartedly and earnestly so many times? to his mother, to his friends, to his sisters, to his ex, to his wife, and he does it with his WHOLE CHEST. I need Colin Bridgerton to run tedtalks on how to properly apologize, it is sexy as FUCK

-he feels things so deeply because he's so emotionally sensitive, and didn't want to be intimate with Penelope in anger because for him, intimacy with her is special and a positive thing and he didn't want to colour that with negative emotion

-he cries when he's upset, he's a sad crier, and he's an *angry* crier. Like how is anyone ever meant to win a fight against him? The man just has to blink his wet soppy seal eyes at me and I'm a goner

-he can't stay mad for long. he's too empathetic

-he can be awkward and silly

-his silly puns (we shall gallop along, i oiled my way right in)

-he tries to see things from other people's perspectives. He came to Cressida trying to understand and relate to her, he reads Penelope's letters and tries to understand her choices and merge her and LW in his mind

-HE ASKED FOR ELOISE'S BLESSING!!!!

-for the most part, Colin doesn't ask for emotional labour from the people around him. he tries to cope with his concerns on his own. he is not afraid to do that work on himself first

-he pushes back against the male machismo of his peers. he's not just respectful to the women in his immediate circle, but also the women who are out of it. he's nice to the debutants but maintains his distance so as not to lead them on, he defends Marina even though she broke his heart, he's just a good dude

-he holds everything. . .so gently? cups, quills, his wife

-he's a total sweetheart, how can you not love him???

[suguru-getos]

| Bully! Gojo Satoru x F!Reader | Part 5 |

Part: 4 / 3 / 2 / 1

Summary: You had just transferred schools, and your first day was an encounter with your new bully. He’s mean, terrifically hot & absolutely a menace. Though there’s more to that personna

Chapter Summary: After doing your much needed due-diligence with Satoru, he’s backed you up against the wall in the school corridor again. Things are a little… different however.

Warnings and A/N: For a change we have no such warnings here :3 Just Satoru Gojo sama 🙇🏻‍♀️ getting a little in his senses and grieving when the Reader-chan opens up a little. <3 Angst? Yeah.

Taglist: @mc-reborn @tvdumarvelhpsimp @alula394 @getoxmahito @knanamii @he4rts444mi @localginger22 @animeisforkings @ran6ia @creative1writings @lenaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @zoemaelol @shoutascoffeepot @whydohumansss @nyahctrl @a-trashbag @yoontaedotin @tojisworm-5 @mo0nforme @luciledreamz @camilo-uwu @sassyfoxunknown @bitchyinternetinfluencer @bakananya @mizzowizzo @k1y0yo @bl0odycutz @daidaiseam-blog @flirtyjen @jihyuniepark @stupiditystaar @lu-lynds @aymasakusa @creative1writings @roscpctals99 @eravariety @nanananananaiknow @b4tm4nn @milkm4nz @millimacis @bubera974 @ranhanabi777 @bleachisfood @thealphagirl @pinkprincessglitterzombie @tojisslxtt @chilichopsticks @deegausserr @tremendousdinosaurpizza @shittyhair234 @trisharay13 @luvvmae @tremendousdinasourpizza @stuckinaoaktree @ropickle @onlywaytobesane @mayumemehhh @lovernatashaa @rott3npoetry @ilovebattinson @qxdlx2 @herelegancy @megumisthirdog @k-sv @lyah17 @roscpctals99 @polarbvnny @eyes-ofhell @kazuahhh @theitchbbbb @millimacis @victoria1616

Can’t add more people in the taglist I’m sorry, it’s throwing me an error that I can’t add more than 50 users. If anyone has a workaround for this please 🙏🏻 please let me know. 🫡🩵🥰 Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! 🙇🏻‍♀️✨

"Can I please have some money." You want to recoil and kill yourself right now. The scrutinizing gaze of your mother is like leech on your skin, itching your core. You don't like this, but after what you had done today in the cafeteria; you really want to get this over with. There are still flashes of Satoru's face in front of your eyes. He looked devastatingly beautiful with those bangs drenched with water. Pale skin reddening at the coldness of the water. He looked so harmless. So… human. The way he extended his hand to you, he didn't seem like he had any malice or could ever harbour any.

"For what?" Your mum asked casually, "We have given you enough money to be comfortable, Sweetheart. I don't see the point." She dismissed, sighing at you. She couldn't care less about you suddenly being a tad too needy over finances.

You expected this, which is why your lips are unable to part in resistance. You open your mouth in false hopes that a sentence will come to aid you, against your mother, against Satoru Gojo. It doesn't.

She has given birth to you, you'd like to be in the disbelief that she can't see the stress in your face. You get up, "That's fine, nothing important actually." Your shoulders droop in defeat. You don't want to be mistreated, called irresponsible, told that you should be careful, less egotistical, more bendable to people's wills, told to tone yourself down, to mellow your aura, to water yourself down…

"What is it, Y/N?" She called your name softly, "haven't seen you go and attend Kickboxing classes either. Want to do something else? You always pick up new things and abandon old ones. No discipline- no consistency-" normally, you're professional in letting her words linger through one ear and part from the other. Not today.

"Yeah, thanks for being so appreciative. Love that for me." Ignoring the chastising replies, you stomped to your room. Yeah, you can't be free of Gojo Satoru so easily. You can't even hope to fathom what he will do with you tomorrow in school.

---

Meanwhile, Satoru's not changed his shirt, even after returning from school, sitting in his room and replaying back your words and your actions over and over like a tape he wouldn't get sick of, even if he tried his best. Lips parted and huffing. He's hurt. His ego is bruised but his heart doesn't feel okay after watching the repercussions of the damage done to you either. Part of him feels rightly treated, now you wouldn't see him with that petrifying look of disgust he hates. His hands slump over his face as he leaned his back over his California king sized bed, sighing in dishevelled breaths. Truth is, yes he collided against you in the cafeteria after all this began. Yes he did purposely and you called him out for it in front of everyone. Someone who is calling The Gojo Satoru accusingly was hard to digest. Be like other people and apologize, or even better, act grateful that he talked to you. No, you didn't do that. You were fierce and stern, you were like burning coal, warm… capable of burning when held the wrong way.

He still feels better than the nonchalance you presented him with when he abided you in a contract. That wasn't the you he hoped to meet, he hoped to meet the 'you' he met today in the cafeteria. The 'you' who holds the guts to obliterate him and anyone else when angered. The 'you' who isn't scared of things like financial status, powers, influence.

He likes you so much.

He likes you so much…

He likes you so, so much…

It's sickening, his heart pangs at the way the subtle hints from his mind about having a crush on you are now intensely, brutalizing storms he can't ignore. The only revolting thought that curdled his brain was how he would like to kiss you. Maybe he should have bullied you like that - that way, at least, partly, it would feel good to you and would have given him a safe bet to reach out to you later. Even right now, all he can imagine is his long, thick, looming fingers wrapped around your waist, pressing you plush against him, rendering you immobile. How great would the then-faint scent of your perfume would now intensify when you're in his hold. How good would it feel to taste you on his tongue, to feel you crumble and to…

To trust him enough to crumble…

Suguru was right, what an stupid thing to do. He couldn't give up, you didn't give up. Now he's forced to see through his mess he wishes to pretend never existed.

Would grovelling help?

What about the copious amounts of unhealthy egoism he wears?

Fuck that… would you forgive him even after he bore his heart out to you? It would be worse than getting physically naked. Satoru Gojo can't take rejection. Even more than that, he can't take being vulnerable in front of anyone. Vulnerability is sacred, and Satoru isn't sure there's anyone worthy enough to carry his weakness and still shielding his ego. Maybe he should try… the worse you can do is reject him and his company. As if he's not making an exquisite pathway for it since the very beginning.

His thoughts are making him insane, they are making him lose his grip on his mind.

Which is why, you both are here. Satoru's had you pinned against the wall in school the next day, the same way this all started. You're struggling and wiggling to no avail. Panting heavily. "Please- stop it!" You whimper out, gasping out when his eyes land on you in a sternly arrogant manner. Why do you hate him so much god damn! Oh wait, he knows…

"I'm not going to hurt you or manhandle you or be an asshole. Just here to talk, hard to believe right?" He smirked, looking at you in a little tender undertone now that you're eyeing him curiously. You pouted, gnawing at your lip. "I don't believe you, especially after what I did yesterday. It was water though! You can't really get marks from water! I don't owe you any money."

Gosh you are hilarious without even trying, he leans back a little. Having no sense of personal space anyway.

"I don’t want the money. Okay? I thought that you would have a month to… get to know me and to talk to me." He pouts, sighing. It's so hard to suddenly talk to you after being an ass. You don't trust him anyway. It's visible with the way you look at him, trying to dig any ulterior motives.

"So what you just needed your ass kicked to stop?" Gosh your mouth…

"I'm being nice, little bitch. The moment you realize you don't have to pay me back your tongue is back to dancin' around shitty words, eh?" Satoru grips your face with his hand, sneering a little with an amused grin.

You roll your eyes, "not scared of you since day one." You half-lie. He does… intimidate you. You wouldn't admit it though. He has made you cry, he has made you miserable. You are not going to let it slide so easily anyway.

"Uh huh, I know." He leans back, embracing the weird and awkward silence that accompanies you both. You nibble at your lip and look down, "Look, if you don't want the money. We don't have any reason to talk to each other." You tried to sound as nice as possible.

Technically, you both do not have any reason anyways. Which is why Satoru came up with this ego-inflating scheme. Now that he's officially decided after much contemplation to hook you off. He can't shove you back in. He looks at you like a kicked pup. Something you haven't seen in his eyes. He was always controlling you, tossing you around.

"There's no reason to, unless… you'd like to tolerate me." He grins wide.

"I'd not like that." You smile. Bouldering over him with your words.

"Well… alright."

Satoru walks away, he can't really do anything about it. You just rejected the possibility of a conversation, let alone entertain the idea to have him close to you. After a few steps, he comes back stomping & you almost cower beneath him.

"I.. well, I- may have been, an asshole."

To be honest, you have no idea what he means suddenly and what does he want. He is emotionally stunted and somehow lacks the comprehension of anything else except what he wants. "May have?" You raised a brow in disbelief, what does he mean by 'May have'?

You grit your teeth, "I've cried myself to sleep twice because of you, I dreaded going to school, I wanted to give up and change my school, I wanted to ask you why are you so mean to me? I wrote things a thousand times as asked for you to 'review' as you said cause I talked to Geto san!" You winced, the memories are hurtful and scathe you badly. It aches. What you tolerated was essentially for nothing! It hurts. FUCK IT HURTS.

Satoru looked stunned as well, you have been appearing so normal he could never believe you were impacted. Which is why he was only trying harder… oh no. "I wished to be as rich as you so I could have ended this then and there and wouldn't get blackmailed." You sighed, and that sentence makes him fall into decay.

"Well, if you could have just-" his voice is meek and submissive and you're quick to cut it down.

"Could have just what Gojo san? Apologized for something I never did? You're going to give me that I collided against you by my own mistake when it was 'you' who did that purposely and kicked me for raising questions on it? Then proceeded to make my life hell because I didn't back down? Could have what? I could have begged you to be merciful like a caged prisoner? Asked you to show me some kindness for something I didn't even do?"

Oh will you stop? Will you please stop? Satoru can't take this, every sentence feels like a deep gash on his heart. His throat feels hoarse and there's a rock hindering his speech. He just- did it- without thinking so much upon it. Satiating his ego and getting a rise out of your little reactions. God he wants to undo this so bad.

How can he undo this? He can't…

"I- uh- I'm sorry." He finally manages to croak out a small mouthed apology. Though he means every word of it even if he knows that wouldn't do anything.

"You should be."

[walkingstackofbooks]

A 9-year-old Julian Bashir who has had nightmares about evil doctors in an alien hospital for as long as he can remember. He doesn't tell his parents though because "he's a big boy now" and nightmares are for little kids, so he knows he should deal with them alone. And even if he'd like a hug sometimes, his mum only gives him hugs for doing well, not for doing badly, so he figures there's no point bothering her

A 15-year-old Julian Bashir who realises that the nightmares he used to have were based on the apparently very real alien hospital his parents had taken him to as a kid, and spends hours trying to figure out what were real memories and what his mind had made up over the years as he slept. The nightmares come back with an intensity, but they're nothing compared with how he's feeling when he's awake, and pretty soon they become a normal background noise of his life.

A 19-year-old Julian Bashir who's finally been moved into a solitary room after his third roommate in as many weeks complained about the almost-nightly screams. His advisor asks if he wants to speak to anyone: he claims they're just night terrors and he doesn't actually remember them. Besides, even if he could talk about what was in them, he probably wouldn't, because he's fine - he's used to them by now.

A 24-year-old Julian Bashir who gets woken from his nightmares by warm hands and gentle kisses, and learns what is like to be soothed back to sleep by the soft voice of Palis Delon

A 32-year-old Julian Bashir who has a different nightmare every night. The last year's been difficult. But then, it's been difficult for everyone, and he knows he's far from the only one to be suffering from nightmares at the moment.

A 34-year-old Julian Bashir who can't stop dreaming about the torture he went through four weeks ago, who's missing Ezri and who Miles is increasingly concerned about. When the O'Briens offer him their spare room for a while, he warns them multiple times about his nightmares, and is pathetically grateful when that doesn't change their minds. "We have nightmares too, Julian," says Keiko. "We can cope with yours."

A 34-year-old Julian Bashir who is confused when, three days later, Miles remarks, "You are having a bad run of those nightmares, aren't you?"

"They've been better than usual, actually," he replies awkwardly. "It's been really nice being able to go back to sleep afterwards, for once -- you and Keiko have been so generous in coming and checking on me."

"Course we're gonna come and check on you," says Miles gruffly. "You woke up terrified. We're not letting you do that alone."

"I'd be fine, Miles," Julian reassures. "I'm hardly going to expect one of you to come in every night."

Miles pauses. "...How long are you expecting to have them 'every night' for?" he asks, with some concern. "I mean, after a thing like this, how long does it usually take them to settle down?"

Julian stares at Miles. "I... have nightmares, Miles," he replies, frowning. "Just like you. Nightmares happen every night."

"No, they don't," says Miles, equally confused. "Don't get me wrong, they can do: after something big then sure, they're like that for a few weeks - a couple of months, even. But eventually they fall down to once, twice a week..."

Julian is looking at Miles incredulously. "That might be how it works for you," he says. "I guess my brain's different to yours. Mine don't stop, they just... mix. Change. Get confused with one another, eventually. I've had more dreams about being genetically modified by Sloan in the Dominion camp than I care to remember, you know?"

Miles' concern has turned into abject dismay. "You're saying you've had nightmares every single night since the Dominion took you?" he exclaims.

"Well, maybe not every single night!" retorts Julian, a little unsure what Miles is getting so het up about. "I do have some days when I don't... But yeah, pretty much. I've had nightmares most nights since I was fifteen, it's just how my brain processes stuff."

"Fifteen?"

...

A 34-year-old Julian who finds out that having nightmares every night for two decades is, apparently, "not normal" and something he should be seeking help for.

If Ezri comes back alive, he supposes he might take it up with her.

[1d1195]

Ding - Round 2

Read Ding here | ~6.2 k words

WARNING/spoiler there's a scummy guy in this part that tries to be forceful with our MC to go with him back to his place when she doesn't want to. Nothing will happen and nothing will be described in detail but be kind to your mind and heart ♥, trauma, anxiety, pining, and fluff.

From me: I actually know VERY little about boxing and even less about throwing a punch. I do however feel I'm well-versed in sprinkles so do with that what you will. Some parts of this got a little away from me again. I hope you like it 💕

Summary: Harry and Cupcake are both really busy and haven't seen each other in two months. But when Cupcake gets into trouble, she has no choice but to run into Harry.

Harry learned to fight when he was ten years old. He didn’t have his dad around much to teach him. Mum and Gemma may as well have been pacifists and as such, they weren’t much help when it came to defending himself. Harry watched his little girl friends get teased by boys. The same boys that told him he was weird for liking girls when they had cooties. Even if he didn’t (always) like them like that and was just merely defending them. Mum and Gemma may have been pacifists, but they taught Harry to be a respectful young boy. Especially toward girls.

One too many mouthfuls of sand at recess was enough to make him finally do something about it. He was angry. Angry because the girls didn’t like him because he was a boy (although they tolerated him since he was protecting them). Angry none of the boys in his class wanted to be friends with him because he was being nice to girls filled with cooties. Angry that he didn’t have a dad to teach him how to be a boy’s boy.

For a ten-year-old, he was really angry.

Mum took him to a gym—an introductory class to kickboxing. Just to get some of his anger out in an appropriate manner (and so he wouldn’t be sent to the principal’s office during recess again). Harry took a liking to the punching bag. He cried the first time he used it with the help of an older kid who was helping him learn to punch the right way. The poor teen watching him get so frustrated that his punches and kicks weren’t landing right—even though it was his very first time throwing a punch—saw something in him. Alerted his boss, encouraged Harry, worked with Harry every time he came in. He was a great mentor and even though he left only a couple years after meeting Harry to go to university and all that, Harry was forever grateful.

His first amateur match was at fifteen. Then there were only ten rounds at most, and he won by a landslide in five. By then he met Louis—someone who saw the same thing that teen kid saw in him and offered to be his manager. It wasn’t anything serious at the time. Harry was still in school and only using his time after school to get better at boxing. Louis was only a few years ahead but knew enough to help him be great.

By the time he turned eighteen, he had won three state-titles and people were watching him. At least in a way that those who cared about boxing did. Throughout university he trained and got better and won more and more.

Now Harry was twenty-five. He had to be nearing at least a hundred thousand punches since he was ten—eitherthrowing them at someone or at least in training against the punching bag he loved so much. Maybe more. He couldn’t even begin to think or count how he would figure out that number. Harry’s whole life was training, working, and fighting.

The only joys he had outside of boxing were his car and the sweet little niece that Gemma had kindly brought into his life—but that was only a recent change.

Only one other very recent change had left him a bit tongue-tied and flustered. Harry didn’t get flustered. Not since he was ten and knew he could beat the crap out of someone. There was no ringing bell to prepare him to make eye contact with a complete stranger and just feel like he had never ever felt before.

Was it love? Who could say, really. Harry had never loved anyone in his life that wasn’t his family or his friends. It made his stomach flutter like the first time he fought in a ring for something other than a trophy. A mere two hundred dollars on the line, all to get punched a whole bunch of times. Now he was still getting punched a few times over for a decent amount of money, but the thought of that pretty girl and her sprinkles made him unbelievably excited. Knowing she was there really made him feel different.

He knew next to nothing about her, but he was certain he was going to fall for her given half a chance. Even if she gave him a half a chance—a quarter!—he would do everything he could to have her in his life. If anyone else had damaged his car, he might have lost his shit, but there was something about her kind face, her doe-eyed expression in the rainy lamplight that made him rethink his entire life in the span of twenty seconds.

But whatever it was that he felt for her, he knew it started with her ringside. Beside his best friend waiting for the end of the fight that never seemed to end.

Normally, Harry’s matches finished in an average of nine rounds. But he was seated in the corner, sipping water like a hamster from the bottle, while Louis put Vaseline on his face where the cut on his eyebrow split between the tenth and the eleventh. “How you doing?”

“Is she impressed?” He asked.

“Who?”

“Cupcake. She’s sitting next t’Niall,” he was breathing heavy. Good as he was, it took a lot of energy to punch someone for a half hour as it was.

“Who?” Louis repeated, then thought better of it. He shook his head in frustration. “Can you focus on what you’re doing, Harold?!”

Louis didn’t get it. Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. To be fair, she was probably the reason it was taking longer than normal. Not that he minded. As long as she was impressed by the end, of course. Harry was on his feet, shadowboxing briefly with Louis, that boyish smile on his face. “What the fuck is your issue?” Louis hissed at him. “You’re acting like a lunatic!”

It seemed like a cliché to say he was in love, so he refrained from doing so. He felt it spared Louis further frustration as well. Cupcake, Cupcake, Cupcake. It was the only thing his brain could think. Fortunately, the bell rang, signaling the beginning of the next round and knocked a bit of the sense back in his head that had floated away from him on the thoughts of the pretty girl nearby.

His opponent was just as tired (although Harry believed his opponent was more so) as himself. He could see the exhaustion setting in as he held his gloves up near his face blocking a few jabs Harry threw to get the excitement of the new round going. He was waiting, searching, nearly taunting for a window of opportunity. Right as his opponent swung aiming for his face, Harry dodged his punch; smirking as he did. A blinding weak spot, his guard was down for only a fraction of a second but that was all Harry needed.

Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

Ding.

*

Harry looked like he was going to fall asleep sitting there in the bakery kitchen. He was a bit cut up; his eyebrow, the corner of his mouth, and his cheekbone had little cuts. Soothed with Vaseline, but it didn’t seem to bother him. His eyes were droopy. “Is Niall still around to drive you home?” She asked.

He shook his head. “I can drive,” he murmured.

He wasn’t really looking at her, but her look and tone screamed skeptical. “You look too tired to drive.”

“Mm,” he hummed. She was busy bustling back and forth through the kitchen. Cupcakes were in the oven. She only made a dozen, but Harry didn’t seem to notice it was a small amount. He was sitting at the big table in the middle of the kitchen. A seat dragged in from the office. She had her laptop open in her office running the report she needed while Harry held his head propped in one hand. She busied herself with prepping dough for scones and pastries while Harry tried not to loll off to sleep. She smirked at him.

“I could call you an Uber if you wanted,” she offered. “You don’t need to stay with me.”

His eyes were hardly open. “I’ll get a second wind in a minute,” he yawned. “S’jus’ the adrenaline wearing off,” he explained.

“Does that hurt?” She asked gesturing to the cuts on his (otherwise really perfect) face.

He shook his head. “Stings a little.”

“Will you be sore tomorrow?”

“A little. Stiff really... Why y’want t’give me a massage, kitten?” He smiled flirtatiously. Maybe she should have felt uncomfortable, alone with a man she only just met. But honestly, she thought Niall might be her new best friend and if Niall could vouch for Harry, then she wasn’t all that worried about him. Regardless of him knocking out his opponent with one punch. Truthfully, it was nice of her to walk her to the bakery. It was later than she expected and while the town they lived in was pretty safe, the college safety tips of never walking alone flooded her mind each time she did walk alone. She blushed at his forward assumption, but fortunately she was prepping something and stuffing it in the fridge, so he didn’t get to see. Plus, his exhaustion probably made him even flirtier.

“Thanks for being m’good luck charm, Cupcake,” he murmured sleepily.

“I didn’t know you didn’t need one.”

“Can never have too much luck.”

She smiled, continuing her prepping quietly. Harry watched her for a while. Eventually, his arm dropped to the table, and he rested his head on it. After another moment, a soft snore escaped his lips, and she smiled a little brighter. Only for herself, really, since Harry was asleep. She continued working. She was used to late nights. Maybe he really was going to get a second wind—honestly, she couldn’t imagine boxing and punching someone for almost forty-five minutes with only one-minute breaks in between rounds. Sometimes while she was baking, she would try to do other tasks while the timer counted down to take the treats out of the oven. It always surprised her how long and how short a minute could feel in the same breath.

But while she worked, she was mindful to not make too many loud noises. Harry needed sleep it seemed. She prepped for nearly an hour while waiting for the cupcakes to cool long enough to scoop out the middle and fed the sugary raspberry filling into the empty space. Frosting a dozen cupcakes took all but ten minutes then she packaged them in two half-dozen plastic containers with A Pinch of Sprinkles label taping it shut. Gently, she put her hand on his upper arm, and she really shouldn’t have been so surprised by how taut his bicep was beneath her hand, but she was. He was unbelievably strong, and she was in slight awe and shock of touching him—and he wasn’t even flexing. But rather than be creepy, she gave him a gentle shake. “Hey, Harry... Uh...it’s late. I’m gonna get going,” her voice was soft.

Harry startled almost jumping out of his seat and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Sorry, sorry. Wow,” he turned his neck to the left and then right. “M’sorry I dozed off there.”

She shrugged. “Probably needed it,” she assured him with a gentle smile. She pushed the dozen cupcakes forward, across the table. “For you.”

He blinked then looked up at her. “Did you make these for—”

“Well, yes, I made them. You were unbelievably kind to me even though I dented Clay. Plus, you won so it’s like a job well done, you know?”

“You made me cupcakes,” he repeated, his gaze unmoving from her face.

“We really need to work out this whole repeating what the other one says thing,” she felt her cheeks warm as he stared at her, but she smiled, only feeling slightly awkward.

He turned his attention to the two plastic boxes and tilted his head at them. They were identical. His fascination with her precision was immense. “What kind are they?”

“The raspberry filled ones. You said you liked them.”

His gaze went right back to her, and he felt hungry, but not for cupcakes.

Well, at least not the baked good kind of cupcake.

“Thank you, Cupcake. That was sweet of you. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

Her smile seemed to transcend to a feeling of relief. “Not even a little...um... I just have to grab a couple things. Would you... mind walking me to my car? Unless you need to leave right now. I know it’s crazy late. I’ll be okay. I walk to my car on my own usually but it’s always a little creepy. But I feel bad I made you—”

“’Course m’gonna walk you t’your car,” he rolled his eyes. “Besides I don’t want you t’ding Clay again,” he winked to ensure she knew he was kidding. Because yes, he loved his car.

But rapidly, when it came to her, the car didn’t matter in the slightest.

*

She hadn’t seen Harry in two months.

It wasn’t like she was avoiding him. Part of her knew he was a mere social media friend request away. In fact, she was trying her hardest to not stare at the pictures of him on social media, the PR plug for his matches, and all the things that she saw Niall, Louis, and all his other friends shared. But she didn’t want to come off too forward. It seemed weird to be so into a man she only talked to for no longer than ten minutes total.

Besides...she had her routines. Work, family, and more work.

Also, if Harry was really infatuated with her the way Niall alluded to, he knew where her bakery was—he easily could come and find her here. But she did notice there was a tag to her shop on Instagram with raspberry filled cupcakes in the picture. (All it would take is for her to press the Follow button and wait.) While she didn’t know Harry all that well, she assumed he was probably just as busy. Her brief cyber-stalking showed that Harry was often at the gym—although she wasn’t sure which one. He was also an amazing uncle. That much was clear. It warmed her heart, and she would never want to tear Harry away from that kind of time. Family was extremely important to her. She wholeheartedly understood how much his free time was probably monopolized by the little baby.

But it was so strange that she didn’t know him yet there was some part of her that wanted to see him. It was bizarre. She never got all up and arms about a guy. There was work and there was her family. That was it. That was all she could afford to balance. She didn’t need a guy to mess with her routines or upset the balance of her life.

However, every time she walked alone to her car at night now, she wished that Harry was with her to assure her safety—even though she had done it hundreds of times before. The night they met, he walked her in silence, opened her door and made sure she was safely tucked inside. “Good night, Cupcake,” he smiled almost dreamily.

“Good night, Harry. Congratulations,” she responded with a smile too.

Harry’s smile grew and he looked away briefly before patted the top of her car and turned to Clay, put his cupcakes on the passenger seat and moved to the driver’s side. He gave her a wave and pulled out of his parking spot.

It was two months ago.

But after just one month, it was hard to deny she didn’t miss him.

That had to mean something. Just one brief night—not even a date. Most of that night was spent with Harry in the ring or asleep at her kitchen table. Hell, she got to know Niall more that night. But it was Harry’s smile that plagued her thought—crooked and perfect. The way his eyes glittered as he convinced her to follow him with a picture of his niece.

“Are you baking something in here or burning in here?” Maeve asked.

Maeve was her best employee—her right hand nearly every day. More importantly, her best friend. Shaking her head of the thoughts surrounding Harry, she sighed and turned to the oven where her fudge brownies were surely overdone. “Shit,” she whispered.

“I don’t think you’ve ever burned anything. Are you okay?” Maeve asked gently. It was a loaded question. It took a lot of time to dig the answer out of her friend, but Maeve did. She knew asking if she was okay was probably the wrong thing to say.

But if it was, she didn’t mind. Of course she didn’t. Her very best friend was sweeter than all the treats in the display case. “Just a little distracted,” she mumbled grabbing the tray and setting it in the sink to cool off (and hopefully so she didn’t have to scrape the bottom of the tray later).

“Harry on your brain?” Maeve giggled.

She rolled her eyes but felt the way her cheeks warmed at Maeve’s (correct) assumption. Maeve was shocked to learn that her strong-willed friend was convinced by a stranger to go see a boxing match. She couldn’t believe it. Granted, once she saw the picture of Harry, she couldn’t disagree. I think I would let him punch me in the face if he wanted to.

She decided keeping Maeve as far away from Harry as possible was probably necessary.

Rarely did she and Maeve work together. As her best employee and best friend, it was like asking her to hold her child when Maeve was on shift. There was no one she trusted more. So, when Maeve wasn’t there, she often was and vice versa. But every so often, usually at the shift change, Maeve got to see her best friend in her element. “Well, the good news is, you can go think of him at home,” she winked at her.

She didn’t even look at her. “You’re disgusting,” she deadpanned.

Maeve snorted. “That’s not even what I was insinuating. Your mind went directly to the gutter. Good for you. I bet he thinks about you while he’s doing it too.”

“Jesus Christ,” she was blushing brightly now. “I just want to fix the display case and then I’ll go.”

“Any fun plans for tonight?”

She hesitated briefly. “Uh yeah...actually. I have a date,” she mumbled.

“Oh!” It was silent for a long beat. Rarely did she go on dates. There were only a few since she moved into town three years ago. Mostly because the bakery took up so much of her free time. The remaining bit of time she had and didn’t go on dates was because of the guilt she felt. Maeve’s surprise was palpable. It made her cheeks turn pink and she bit the inside of her cheek. “Good,” Maeve smiled encouragingly. “Online?” She asked.

She nodded. “We’ve been messaging back and forth for like...” she shrugged. “Two weeks.”

“Are you excited?”

No. “Yes,” she sighed softly. “Been a while,” she smirked. There was a huge part of her brain that told her she didn’t want to go because it wasn’t Harry. It was like a neon sign had been posted in her frontal lobe reminding her that it was pointless to even consider this date. She should have just requested to follow Harry and be done with it—he would probably drop everything if she asked him on a date. “Just...nervous.”

“It’ll be good!” Maeve said reassuringly. “Share your location with me and text me when you get to where you’re sleeping,” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“I will be sleeping at home,” she promised snorting through her laugh at her best friend.

Maeve smiled heading to the front and leaving her to finish with her burned brownies.

*

The front of the bakery was dark in color; she was aiming for warmth. The floors and baseboards were dark walnut brown. It contrasted sharply with the wall she wall-papered by hand with a white and brown marble pattern behind the display cases. It made the black chalkboard menus with the same walnut brown frames stand out. The lights were always set to dim when they were on. Her goal was to recreate the feeling of her childhood home—particularly the den where her father set up the most beautiful Christmases. The bakery lacked a fireplace (she joked with Maeve that it was an oven or a fireplace, and the oven did a better job at cooking croissants evenly).

The front of the bakery wasn’t massive. There were five little tables to sit and enjoy their treats if people wanted but it was really a grab and go kind of place. The back had more treats stored so the main room didn’t look overwhelming. The front display cases still contained more treats than anyone could think of eating. I wish I could buy one of everything was heard frequently from the line. Eventually she wanted to invest in coffee but for the time being she liked just her treats and was happy to recommend the coffee place down the road. If she ever got a hold of more space, then she would consider buying all the machines for coffee.

The bakery was honestly warmest when it was rainy. Which was frequent. She was reorganizing the main cupcake display, a tower of three tiers with one of each type of cupcake she made. The raspberry filled cupcake was the one that had been on top for the last two months. Each time it was bought, she replaced it with another. While people raved about her brownies, cakes, and even the croissants, it was the cupcakes that people came for; and so, she took care of the display as much as possible.

“Which one do you recommend?” She turned to the voice and saw a mom and little girl waiting patiently. She smiled fondly.

“Raspberry filled,” she pulled it from the top tier and handed it over. “Try it,” she offered.

“Oh, we don’t want to get you in trouble,” the mom said quickly while her daughter grabbed for it almost immediately.

She laughed. “Don’t worry, I know the owner,” she promised. “Maeve! I’m leaving!” She called but was delighted by the little girl’s approval. Silence, cake and filling on her cheeks immediately, and a delightful look in her eye.

“Have fun!” She called back.

“Enjoy the cupcakes. I also like the lemon vanilla ones.”

“I think raspberry filled is the winner,” the mom smiled.

She nodded, unable to keep herself from grinning back. “A fan favorite.”

*

She should have stayed home. The bad weather should have been an omen. But maybe it wouldn’t have been because she met Harry in bad weather, and everything was fine that night. It soured her mood and made her feel infinitely worse to think about the comparison.

I’m home. Not a great date. I’ll tell you later. She wished she had gone to Maeve’s. Maybe she would have doted on her. But she didn’t want to fall apart the way she planned on in front of her.

:( sorry babe. Sleep tight. Talk to you tomorrow :(

She locked her apartment door and checked at least fifty times that it was truly locked before she moved to her bathroom. Her heart was still in her throat and her eyes felt raw with tears. Maybe she was overreacting.

No.

The rational part of her brain reasoned against her handwaving casualness. She had good instincts. Obviously. If this same situation happened with Harry, then maybe she would have considered it her own poor judgment. It was more reason that someone as terrifying as Harry could have be sweet as her cupcakes that it was her good judgment that helped her get out of there tonight.

She hurried to get out of her clothes. Part of her considered throwing them away. She didn’t want them any longer. She wasn’t sure she would ever wear them again. She turned the shower on as hot as she could stand it and pushed it a little further.

He didn’t hurt her physically. He tried. It was obvious his intent was to force her into the car... or worse. Which was disgusting in its own right. Until that moment in the dark, rainy parking lot, it was almost identical to her moment with Harry. But it wasn’t. Harry didn’t make her feel unsafe. Harry didn’t make her feel threatened. Harry gave her an out even though he wanted to hang out with her. She knew she could leave at any moment and Harry wouldn’t have blamed her.

She rubbed her arm so hard with her loofa in the shower stream it burned for a new reason. Tears blurred her vision and she felt so stupid. So completely idiotic. How could she let it get that far? That was so dangerous. So close she could have been hurt in so many ways that she didn’t want to think about, ever again. She closed her eyes and let the water wash the night away, feeling completely alone and dreadful.

She never wanted to date again.

*

She finished her shower, sniffles plaguing her, and she got into her comfiest pajamas. Her heart was still beating too fast as she crawled under the covers. She felt so ashamed. It felt like her fault. All of it.

There was a tiny rattling in her brain that Harry could have prevented it all. She should have just requested Harry on social media when she met him. If she had, she would have had his number by then. He would have helped her for sure.

Without thinking, she scrolled on her apps, and clicked on the various follow buttons. Every platform she could think of to request his social media friendship—looking like a lunatic be damned. Almost everything had a phone call button now, she could use it as backup if she needed. For good measure she requested Niall too. It was nearing midnight, and she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was scared. Nervous. Heartbroken.

Yet, within moments, Harry returned the request along with a direct message in her inbox.

Thinking of me at midnight, hmm?  😉

She snorted despite her uneasiness. One sentence and she melted. But she couldn’t let him know that. 🙄 it was nice while it lasted. Just going to unfollow you...

Aw, c’mon Cupcake 🙁

Oh alright... No, not really... just can’t sleep. Popped up on my people you may know while scrolling. It wasn’t a complete lie, and she was glad she wasn’t having a phone call. He would have heard her sniffles and then she wasn’t sure she would have been able to stop herself from inviting a total stranger over. Right now, she didn’t trust her judgment fully.

Been dying to press that Follow button, Cupcake. Didn’t want to come on too strong after that first night.

She couldn’t help but smile. The contrast between the night she met Harry, and her present night made her sad but relieved at the same time. I see you enjoyed the cupcakes.

Louis made me run laps for two hours because of you. I ate all twelve in less than 72 hours. Do you put drugs in those? They’re addicting.

Lol, no drugs. Well... sugar. So, pick your poison I guess, right? 😇

Well, thank you, Cupcake. That was delicious. I hope you liked the match too. We didn’t get to talk much. I know I fell asleep 🤦‍♂️ I was really happy you were there.

Her heart felt so warm already. Despite how much she didn’t want it to. Thank you for inviting me. Because she was nothing if not polite. It was really exciting! I don’t know much about boxing. But it’s obvious you’re very good—not that you need me to tell you that. Were you really going to make me look like an idiot and not tell me you were undefeated?

You’ll make me blush, Cupcake. Didn’t think you’d come with me if you knew.

Sneaky... 👀

Just... wanted you there, kitten. I promise. Nothing more... I know I came off a little too strong and I know I was a little...pushy. I would have let you go to your store if you really wanted to... But...

The three dots on his message disappeared and reappeared a few times over.It was cute to imagine him holding his phone thinking about what to type, erasing it, typing it again.

I can’t explain it, Cupcake. I’ve been going CRAZY these last two months. Niall’s calling me a stalker and I haven’t even SEEN you. The sentiment doesn’t give her any bad feelings. Because despite how much she wanted to be guarded, especially after her evening, she couldn’t help but believe him. Trust him, implicitly.

I swear something in the universe pulled me to you... I woke up just in time to see you blowing up my phone tonight 😍😍

She snorted and felt her body warm with his kindness, his gentle adoration through her phone no less. You’re insane, Harry Styles.

About you 😍

Oh my God... Now she really was blushing, but she couldn’t help but notice she felt so much better chatting with him. Well... we can talk tomorrow if you want.

Oh?

I’m assuming you’re tired and I’ve already hogged more than enough of your time at midnight, as you pointed out.

Oh, no.

No way, Cupcake. I’ll stay up all night to talk with you ❤

Her heart felt so heavy. It was unfair. How could she be so stupid? Her dad would have killed her for being so naïve. It was his worst fear while she was growing up. It was everything he always talked her through when she was going through puberty and telling her about boys teasing her. Her dad reminded her constantly that a man has no right to make her feel scared or fragile.

But she could feel his grip on her arm trying to coerce her back into his car. She shook her head of the thoughts, refusing to let him poison any more of her time than he had. She was talking to Harry. She was okay. It was alright. It didn’t happen. She got in an Uber, and she’ll never see him again.

Harry was talking to her. Harry made her feel safe. Harry didn’t make her stomach unsettled with a bad gut feeling. Here’s my phone number if you want it.

Within moments, she had a new text message alert. This is better than an undefeated record 😍

*

The following morning, she felt less terrible about herself and her stupidity, but she never wanted to feel that way again. She was also so tired from texting with Harry for hours. It was nearly three in the morning catching up on all the things he did in the past two months before she wished him a good night. There wasn’t much to report about their lives. They both seemed to be workaholics, but he did offer her some really cute baby pictures of his niece (and a pretty cute picture of Niall falling asleep on Harry’s couch after an intense workout).

While she sipped her coffee—staving off the sleepiness, she Googled self-defense classes. Her dad would have approved. He wanted her to do it back when she was in college, but she refused for whatever reason. She regretted that too.

It was telling that she debated whether she was overreacting for several minutes. If she was overreacting, she would have brushed off the idea of self-defense classes like she did in college. But this wasn’t something to overreact about, right? Before she could overthink it any longer, she paid for the class. Honestly, in that parking lot she was smart to do this. Worst case scenario, for one reason or another, it was the smart decision.

She cycled through the next stage of grief feeling angry and bitter that he made her feel this way. She was incredibly lucky it was raining and slippery and she managed to get away from him in the chilly spring air. He left her so rattled. She was defenseless, so a class was needed.

God, she missed her dad.

Fuck, she missed Harry.

She never wanted to feel that helpless again.

With the class paid for, she put an apron around her waist and headed to the front of A Pinch of Sprinkles and turned the closed sign to open.

*

The following Monday, after a full day of flour, sugar, and plenty of customers, she headed to the gym.

It felt awkward. She hadn’t been to a gym since her college days, and she was already frustrated from her horrific night out. She and Maeve told each other they would go together but they were terrible influences on one another and opted for shopping trips with the promise they would pretend their shopping bags were dumbbells.

When she arrived, she headed to the front desk and introduced herself. She even admitted she felt awkward and the woman behind the desk smiled encouragingly. “I’m Sarah. Let me show you around,” she came from behind the desk and headed toward the side room. “It’s safe here,” she assured her, like she knew. The assurance made her throat tight with emotion and she nodded stoically. “This is the locker room; you can change in here and you can leave your stuff locked up or in the front cubbies and I can watch it. Whatever makes you more comfortable,” she smiled kindly and glanced her up and down briefly. “Do you own that bakery downtown?”

She smiled and nodded, looking at the flour handprint on the thigh of her pants. “Thought I got all the flour off,” she brushed at it with a chuckle. “Yes, I do.”

“My husband is going to think I met a celebrity today,” she laughed. “We love your blueberry scones. They taste like heaven.”

“Aw, thank you so much, that’s so kind. I’ll bring some next time,” she promised.

“Oh stop, I’ll divorce him,” she laughed and headed back for the front desk.

She quickly changed, feeling safe and relieved once more. She brought her belongings to the front and sat in one of the seats across from Sarah’s desk. “Kickboxing is just wrapping up and your instructors will be right over,” there was a group of several other women milling about. Obviously, they at least knew how to be in a gym by themselves. A few came as a small group. Maybe she should have brought Maeve.

While waiting, she scrolled through emails from her landlord, her college alma mater group, and all the coupons she had ever subscribed to. “I have got to unsubscribe,” she murmured to herself. She scrolled through photos of the beautiful little area she lived in now, and as sad as it was to get here, it was nice. Her shop was nice. Despite how scared she was over the weekend, things were good.

The only thing that wasn’t nice was that stupid, awful man.

“Holy shit, he’s hot,” she heard someone whisper. It was peripheral. She didn’t even register it really because she was sending Maeve a picture of the sale that was happening at their favorite clothing store on Thursday. If she paid attention, she might have noticed sooner.

“Ladies, self-defense class, this way please!” The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Maeve sent about ten heart eyes to her, and she smiled, stuffed her phone in her bag, and waved to Sarah.

“Blueberry scones,” she repeated with a firm nod and followed the line of women. She sipped from her water taking in the banners around the gym and realized too late why Louis’ voice sounded so familiar.

He stood at the front of the room, along with another familiar face.

“Oh shit,” she whispered to herself and turned immediately back toward the desk.

She bumped into another woman who steadied her and kindly looked her over. “Sorry—are you alright?” she was nearly motherly in her demeanor and her head felt woozy. She couldn’t do this. Harry would know.

Why was Harry attending her self-defense class?

“Yes, yes, sorry,” she shook her head. “Wrong—”

“Hey,” Harry’s voice was right there. She stepped out of the room trying to get more air to her lungs and head.He wasn’t attending. He was teaching. This was his gym. The boxing rings in the main room should have been a clue. The sound of Louis’ voice. Oh, you stupid idiot, her brain scolded.

“Cupcake?” Her head responded to the nickname instinctively. Harry’s suspicious green eyes gazed back at her. “What are you doing here?”

--

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[cuubism]

Idk if you are still taking prompts, but: After their first meeting, while Hob still thinks it is a joke, he escorts Dream out. It is only when Dream returns to the Dreaming that he realizes his ruby has been stolen by Hob. Thus begins a game of cat and mouse through the ages, and Hob keeps slipping through his Endless fingers.

oh dear, this was from last year. fun though! could be the basis for a much longer fic. i love thief hob

-

Hob knows better than to gloat openly about his winnings, but he can't help tossing the ruby a few times in his hand as he walks, admiring it. Such a stunning gem, he's never seen its like but in paintings of kings, and even those are rare enough. Invaluable. And the strange lord had just had it about his neck, for all to see.

Hob shakes his head, tucking the ruby away in his tunic. Money can't buy common sense, it seems.

He finds his horse in the stable and leads it outside, stepping into the stirrup and swinging up into the saddle. After a find like this, best to disappear. Easy as the ruby had been to snatch, that strange young lord will doubtless come back looking for it, once he notices it's gone.

Night is falling by the time Hob reaches the treeline. He hasn't been followed--the path behind him has been empty for hours, and the trees show nothing but birdsong as he steers his horse into the darkness. Hob knows this route well, and by the time the moon is high above, he's navigated to a familiar clearing, untacked his horse, and sat back against a tree for some rest.

He can't help but look at the strange ruby one more time before going to sleep. It glows unnaturally in the moonlight, a blue-white reflection on a background of venous red. He tilts it back and forth in his palm, studying the cut. Who, exactly, is going to buy this from him, he can't yet say. But it'll pay his way for years once he finds them.

Hob kisses the ruby's cool surface, then tucks it away in his tunic again, chain wrapped around his fingers for safekeeping. He quickly falls asleep.

-

The moon is still high when Hob wakes, startling back to awareness against the trunk of the tree. He scrubs a hand over his eyes, looking around, disoriented. Strange, it's like it's been only moments since he fell asleep--

His horse is gone. So's his pack. And for that matter, the clearing is smaller, closer, darker than he remembers--

Heart pounding, he scrambles in his tunic to find--

"I imagine you are looking for this," says a low voice, and from the darkness emerges the wine-red glint of the ruby. Following it is the dark shape of the lord Hob had robbed in the tavern, only he's-- he's--

He's horrible. His eyes glow white in the dark, his hair waves in a strange wind, and everything about him is sharp and wrong, like an uneasy nightmare Hob might have in the wee hours, consequences coming back for him.

"Look," he says, holding up his hands in self-defense. Shit, his sword's gone from his belt, too. "S'really your fault for swanning about with that thing, innit? 's bandit country, m'lord."

"Is it?" He... doesn't seem angry. He's smiling. Oh, it's a terrible smile, but nevertheless. "How foolish of me, then. To expect to maintain ownership of my belongings."

"Like I said, thieves about," Hob says. "Got to be careful, now." Really, what did he expect Hob to do? Let someone else get the score?

The strange lord sits down on the grass across from Hob, still with those glowing eyes and that terrible smile playing about his lips. "And what, Robert Gadling, ought I to do, having caught one of these thieves?"

And the thing is. Authority doesn't work very well on Hob. One of his 'flaws' most like to get him killed, 'cuz Authority didn't tend to care whether it worked on you or not. Hob's been hauled before the magistrate for theft before and no matter that he knew he'd be lucky to get away with his life he could never quite bite his tongue. Always a smart mouth, his mum used to say.

It's no different with this lord. Hob's hardly about to bow his head and apologize. He remembers the smirk on the other man's face at his challenge in the tavern. Pretty little thing to be talking big words about punishing thieves.

"Dunno," he says, tracking his gaze over the soft lines of the man's dark robe, his fine neck and narrow shoulders. The longer Hob looks, the less frightening he seems, though there is still something of the otherworld about him. God's teeth, if Hob's brought the ire of the fey about him... "What would you like to do?"

And the strange creature laughs. Just a chuckle, but nevertheless. "I could make you spend your next one hundred years paying a thief's price over and over again in the Dreaming, as penance for taking my ruby," he says. "Should I do that, Hob? Cut off your hands, and again and again as you regrow them?"

"If you did you wouldn't get to see what they can do for you," Hob says. Hell, Hob'll do it even without threat of punishment. He's a pretty little lord, for certain, even if he is fey.

The lord chuckles again, and closes his fist around the ruby, stealing its light. Without the reflection, his eyes seem even wilder. "Hm. Perhaps not this time. I am too curious to waste your next century in sleeping punishment." He takes Hob's face in one hand, holding his chin in sharp fingers. "Be wary what your hands touch in the Waking World, Hob Gadling. Not all creatures will find your insolence humorous enough to wish to be merciful."

He lets go, and Hob falls backward through the tree at his back, falls into darkness--

And wakes in sunlight, his pack beside him, his sword at his side, his horse grazing a few feet away.

Heart pounding, he shoves his hand into his tunic, though he already knows what he'll find.

Or what he won't find. The ruby, gone into the darkness, into dreams, with his strange, fey lord.

Hob shivers.

Well. He'll certainly have to meet him again in 1489, now. Not to retake the ruby--that hardly matters in the end.

But answers to all the mysteries it's brought: those Hob would gladly steal.

[sports-on-sundays]

two for one / LN4 & OP81 / Part 1

Summary: Lando x female!Australian!McLaren marketing unit worker!reader x childhood best friend!Oscar - Two Formula 1 drivers who just so happen to race for McLaren also just so happen to have fallen for you. Takes place from Australian Grand Prix 2024 to Monaco GP 2024.

Warnings: cussing, jealousy, flirty friendship, angst, manipulation, lying, OH THE DRAMA, confusion, mention of throwing up, not feeling well

Requested?: No.

Author's Note: I feel like this idea is so unoriginal but I don't care. The work of the reader is not mentioned much at all because there's no way I'm putting the energy into that. Link to part 2

"We should have Oscar over!" your mother exclaims. "I'm sure he's going to b-"

"Wait, Oscar's coming over?!" your younger sister exclaims.

"No, no, no," you sigh. "He's not. Mum, he's busy. We can't be bothering him with that. He's got too much on his plate. It'll just be a burden for him."

"No, it won't! Oscar's always nice!" your sister, Ava, remarks.

You sigh. "He's polite. He's very good at being polite. But it would still be a burden for him."

"You get to see him, like, everyday-"

"Not everyday-"

"-but me and Mum haven't seen him in ages. Oscar's like an older brother!"

You roll your eyes. "I'll see what I can do."

You're surprised when it's Oscar who brings it up. A week before the Grand Prix, he comes to dinner, which is nice for your sister and mum, you suppose.

But it's after he leaves that your mum makes a comment you're not sure you like.

She sighs and says, "Oscar's so sweet, Y/n. I'm sure that boy loves you."

"Sorry?" you look up in surprise. It was said so casually, you weren't expecting such a comment.

"He's such a sweet boy," she starts, as though he's still the sweet boy from down the street that used to babysit Ava with you, and not a famous Formula 1 driver. "You've known him for so many years. I would completely approve of him as a boyfriend for y-"

"Mum, I'm twenty-two! I don't need you to approve who I date! " you sigh, rolling your eyes.

"Yes, yes, I know. But don't you see the way he looks at you? He talks of you so fondly. He's just so kind with you- extra kind. More kind than how he is with other people."

You sigh, looking down at the tablecloth, picking your nails. "Well," you murmur, "if he really feels that way, he can let me know. But for now, I'm not interested in him... I... I don't think..." your voice fades off.

"Y/n. Haven't you had a crush on him for years? What changed that?"

You shrug, and murmur embarrassed, still not looking up, "I guess I just... moved on to someone else?"

"Y/n! You have a boyfriend?" your immature sister giggles.

"No! Just friends. But... I kind of like him, and I think he might like me, too."

"What's his name?"

You clear your throat, glancing down. You're not sure how to get out of this, so you decide simply to get up, saying you'll clean the dishes.

Because you know your mother would be, to say in the least, unhappy to know that rather being interested in Oscar, you're interested more in his teammate, Lando.

Or, at least, you think you are.

As you rinse the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, you think. Lando really is your type, in looks and personality. Everything you want in a guy. He's got a good sense of humour, a kind heart, and an adventurous spirit.

Not to say Oscar doesn't have all those things. It's just different.

Besides, you like Lando's curly hair. You like his greenish eyes and easy smile. You like his tanner skin and dark eyebrows. You like his build, you like his hands; you're just more attracted to him.

On the surface, maybe Lando and Oscar don't seem so different. But to you, one is your best friend, and the other, you want, just maybe, as a little bit more.

Are you not appreciating Oscar? You don't know.

But you sure know how you feel, and nothing is going to change that.

Or, at least, you don't think anything will.

The whole weekend after that goes as usual, but you're happy to be in yours and Oscar's homeland. After the practice sessions, you're seated, sipping from a your water bottle, when Lando plops down next to you. "Hello."

"Hey," you nod to him with a smile. "How's it going?"

He smirks like the stupid idiot he is and says, "Better, now that I'm with you."

You roll your eyes, and look up to see Oscar walking over he sits down on the other side of you, and you comment, "It's pretty crazy, isn't it?"

"What is?" Oscar asks.

"We used to play in this park, you know? Remember, dragging Ava along behind us?"

Oscar chuckles, nodding. "And my three little sisters. It was you and me, dragging around the four younger ones because our parents wanted a break."

"Yeah, your mum had Pilates or something," you joke.

He nods again with a grin. "Yeah. Probably something like that."

Then Oscar gets up and walks off, and Lando says, "So you two really have known each other forever?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Both born in Melbourne, a little over a month apart."

"So when's your birthday?" Lando inquires, crossing his arms across his chest.

"May 26. Funnily enough, that's the Monaco Grand Prix."

"Oh boy. I guess that means we'll have to drive well that weekend, even better. You know, for you."

"Yeah," you chuckle. "You're going to dedicate the whole Monaco Grand Prix to me?"

"Well, you certainly deserve it," he grins, patting your back before standing up and walking away.

Gosh, do you like both those guys so much!

"Ayy!" you grin, high-fiving Lando. "Let's go, baby! A podium. Nice job! And you too, Osc! Nice job, dude!" you add as he passes. He beams almost as big as Lando and nods, thanking you, before walking off.

"Well, what a gift," Lando winks. "To have you greet me after the Grand Prix."

"You're hopeless," you grin, rolling your eyes. "Good race, though. Solid, from both you and Oscar."

Lando suddenly wraps you in a hug, which makes your body practically turn to stone. "Thanks so much. You're so encouraging."

"O- Of course, Lando. Always."

"M-hm, and that's what I like about you," he says, pulling away from the hug, before walking off.

You're standing there, blushing softly, at the fact that Lando Norris just hugged you, when you turn your head, and, unexpectedly, see the brown eyes of Oscar lingering on you. As soon as your eyes meet, though, he swiftly turns his crestfallen face down, away from your face.

All the sudden, you feel a large, nervous stone in your throat.

Did he see you hug Lando?

Is that what that look about?

Or is he just down about not getting a podium at his home race?

Yeah, maybe that's just it. Anyone would be, right?

But, inside, you know that's not it. You know Oscar. He keeps cool. He's a good sportsman- a really good one. He's polite. He understands what had to be done.

So what's that look about?

Your brain can only reach one conclusion, and you're not sure if you like it.

Oscar takes a deep breath and starts walking toward you. Maybe it's time to say what he's thinking. If there's any chance of things going on with you and Lando, it's probably good for you to know how he feels, right? Just so there's no confusion.

At least that's what Oscar's figuring.

But, who knows, when he stands up and walks over, if he's actually going to admit it. For years, he's felt this way, and he's never had to guts to just say it, knowing you don't feel the same way.

Oscar wouldn't say he's scared of it, but he's definitely not keen on the idea of being rejected, which he assumes he likely will be.

You're just getting some coffee before you get back to your work, and Oscar, though he's really not thirsty or in want of any coffee right now, is ready to pretend he is.

The excuse is that he's tired. Perhaps it's too far-fetched, since it's pretty much a known fact throughout all of McLaren HQ that Oscar Piastri loves sleep, but-

Yeah.

He's 'super tired.'

You fill your paper cup up with coffee, in deep thought about work, and nothing else. Just as you're about to walk back to your desk and get back to the work, as you're turning around, a smooth hand grabs your forearm, and you spill your coffee on your McLaren T-shirt in surprise. "O- Oscar!" you exclaim, stumbling a bit at the utter closeness. "H- Hi!?"

"Hi," he says with earnest eyes. "I'm.... sorry."

"It's okay. Luckily it wasn't too hot. Oh well. I'll just go change; I have an extra shirt, sorry about that! Anyway, see you around!" And then you're off, leaving your half-full coffee cup sitting on the counter.

Oscar is left standing there, staring at the cup, his hand still out from where he had touched your arm.

Alright then. Well, maybe it's not meant to be.

Oscar's terrible timing is that he calls you the moment you're sitting next to Lando in his car, talking.

Lando is yapping. "-so then the girl said some spunky comment or whatever, and she reminded me a lot of you. You know, because I would've been the tough macho man in the movie that saves you from the fucking murder men, ri- Wait, who's calling?" he inquires, leaning over closer.

You laugh a bit at the interruption of his silly talking, and don't even think to not let Lando see who's calling. "It's Oscar..." you say vaguely, before looking up to meet Lando's eyes. "Why would he be calling?"

Lando shrugs, a curious streak in his expression. "Well, pick up, and see."

So you do. "Hello, Oscar?"

"I'm sorry for spilling coffee on you today," he says immediately, which causes a small laugh to escape from your lips.

"Osc, it's fine. I spilled it on myself. Did you call just to say that?"

"No," he laughs. "I was just wondering if tomorrow night you wanted to hang out or something..."

"Oh... yeah, sure, that'll work for me."

"Oh, nice. Alright. Also, one more question. I swear it's not related, either."

"Go on?"

There's a few moments of silence, before you prompt, "Oscar, are you still there?"

"Yeah. So... I was just wondering... are you dating anyone? Because. I know you and Lando are pretty close friends, and I was just wondering."

"Oh!" you say in surprise, your cheeks involuntarily going pink. And, without thinking, or considering, at all, you blurt, "No, of course not! Just friends!"

Immediately, you feel guilty.

You in no way lied, but you still feel like you just did something wrong.

Both you and Lando would say you're just friends.

But more and more, neither of you seem to want that.

And if Oscar's interested in you...

Oh, God.

"Oh, alright." He sounds somewhat relieved, which makes your heart tighten even more. "Alright, sounds good. Want me to just drive you from work? We could leave, at like, 8:00 P.M.?"

"8:00? What on earth are you doing, leaving at 8:00 in the evening?"

"I have something in mind."

"Uh?"

"You'll see. Trust me?"

"Alright," you shrug, still feeling very unsure.

"Okay. See you later, Y/n."

"Bye bye, Osc," you say, before hanging up.

The moment you do, Lando leans in close, with wide eyes, "What did he say?"

"Just wants to hang out."

One of Lando's eyebrows cock up.

"Lan," you chuckle. "That's all it is. Just like... like, how you and me just hang out."

"Mmm'kay, then..." he nods slowly. He's silent for a few seconds, before commenting. "Lan. That's cute."

"You're cute," you blurt, again, not thinking.

You really should try that more. You know, the whole thinking thing. You're sure you'd get in a lot less trouble if you used that brain of yours once in a while.

Lando immediately shows a pleased, toothy grin. "That's more like it," he comments, slipping his hand into yours, before he starts driving. "Up for an evening drive?"

"Always. Lan."

He winks, bites his lip, and gets driving.

"So, where are we going?" you ask as you walk to Oscar's car.

"I'm not telling you."

"Well, you're wearing a McLaren hoodie and grey jeans, so... somewhere casual."

"Good guess," he smiles, unlocking his car.

He opens the passenger seat door for you and as you're getting in, a piece of paper flies out of your pocket. You feel a lump in your throat as Oscar, with his quick reflexes, snatches it up off the ground.

Formula 1 drivers suck.

"Ca- Can I have that?" you ask quickly.

"Sure," Oscar says, handing it to you.

But it landed facing up. There's no way he couldn't have read the little note from Lando on it.

As Oscar walks around to the other side of the car, you read it over in your shaking hand.

You seem down today angel. If you wanna talk just find me or text me; i'm always here to listen. -lando

You feel your stomach lurch.

He even signed it with his name! The idiot!

And you weren't down! Just deep in thought! About Oscar, actually.

You let air escape from your lungs. You can feel the concern, the tenseness radiating off of Oscar as he drives, before, finally, he says, "Listen, I'm sorry for-"

"I know you read it. It's fine. It's nearly impossible not to. I would have, too."

"Angel?"

You bite your lip, looking out the window. "That's, just, uh, how Lando is..."

He regrips the steering wheel. "Y/n, you know me. If you lied on the phone, I won't be mad. I just want to know."

"I didn't lie, Osc. Lando was sitting right there when you called. I didn't lie."

"What... What were you doing?"

"Just hanging out. Just the same as what we're doing right now. You're both just my friends, okay?"

"Right," he says, but the sound barely escapes his lips, in only a whisper.

Soon, you reach the destination, and you're surprised to see it's your house. "Oscar...? Why'd you bring me home?"

"You'll see," he says with a soft smile. You both get out of the car, and he grabs some stuff from out of the trunk, before walking onto the lawn. You watch with your eyebrows scrunched together as he lays out a blanket. He sits down on it and pulls out a few little packets from his pocket.

"What's that?" you demand, still standing.

He takes your hand and gently tugs you down next to him. "Are you still a Tim Tam addict?"

You grin, holding your hand out to take a pack. "Thanks. And yes, I am."

"You're the most Aussie to ever Aussie."

"I could say the same thing about you."

Suddenly, he flops down on the blanket, laying down on his back, and you finally get the memo. "Stargazing?" you ask him carefully.

"If that's okay with you."

You grin, laying down next to him. "Why not?"

You lie there, side by side, staring up, and Oscar starts talking.

Listening to Lando is different. Lando is excited. Like he likes you so much and just wants to tell you everything. He talks a lot and makes you laugh a lot. Like, doubling over giggling kind of laughing.

Oscar makes little jokes, but just enough to make you softly chuckle. He doesn't go on and on. He pauses, as if he's thinking about what to say next. For you, that's a little awkward sometimes.

You feel awkward in silence.

But you like both of their ways of yapping.

After a while, Oscar is silent for longer than before, and you ask, "You asleep?"

He chuckles. "Of course not."

"Wouldn't put it past you," you tease.

"Fair enough..." he sighs softly, before, suddenly, you feel his warm hand brush yours. And in the dark, his fingers find yours, and he holds your hand in his.

You don't know what to feel. But surprisingly, it's something good.

His hand is smoother than Lando's, but smaller. His knuckles and veins are more defined, and his fingernails feel rougher than Lando's.

Here you are, just comparing the two.

Is that wrong?

But his hand is also radiantly warm, sending heat throughout your chilly body, causing goosebumps to appear on your arms.

You lick your lips, murmuring, "It's kind of cold. Can we go inside?"

There's a few seconds of silence from your friend next to you, before he says, "If the problem is that you're cold, I could fix that."

You look over in surprise, meeting his glimmering eyes, which appear to be merely black orbs in the darkness of the night. "How?" you venture.

Suddenly, he pulls you close to him, enveloping your body with his warm. You gasp a little, your heart rate immediately quickening. All the sudden, you don't feel so cold.

All the sudden, you get why you had a crush on Oscar for years.

All the sudden, the feelings come rushing back.

And in the light of the fact that you feel the exact same things with Lando, you have absolutely no idea what to think, feel, or do.

"So, are you, like, a bowling kind of guy?"

Lando shrugs. "I'm a you kind of guy, so any excuse I can think of to go somewhere with you, I will."

"Brutally honest, no?"

"Nothing's brutal about it," he grins, sipping from his cheap beer. He sets it down and stands up to have his go, before plopping back down on the couch next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

"Lan," you chuckle. "You know, when you're bowling with only two people, as you've decided to do, there's not much time for cuddling in between turns." You say it lightheartedly. You don't mean anything by it.

But Lando does, apparently, because he says, "Ah, you know neither of his care about bowling. I care about you."

"Is this when I'm supposed to say I care about you, too?"

"Yeah, well, pretty much."

You lean closer, resting your head on Lando's shoulder. "I care about you, too. You're a great friend."

"Ah. Yeah, you too." He runs his hands through your hair for a while, before finally prompting you to take your turn. He stands up with you, as he has every time you've gone. You deliver the ball, but take just a step too forward, and slip.

Ah, fuck.

But suddenly, Lando grabs your wrist and pulls you back up, so you stumble right into him. He steadies you, wrapping his arms around you, and says, "Careful, there, Y/n. You okay?"

You clear your throat, blushing as butterflies swarm your stomach. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Thanks."

He smirks. "No problem. That's what friends are for, eh?"

So, they both like me. And I like both of them. They're both so different in their own ways, but I like them both for different reasons.

And both likely expect the other likes me.

But regardless, they're both getting closer and closer to me. And I'm starting to

"Y/n-"

You slam your notebook shut, looking up to see Oscar. He's brought you on a few more...

Well, if you were to call a spade a spade, you'd say 'dates.'

But you just can't do that, because then you'd be saying you're dating two guys at once.

Neither of them have officially asked you out. Neither have ever even gotten close to calling you their partner.

So, that's how you convince yourself there's nothing wrong with it.

So they're not dates. You just don't know what to call them.

Either way, since the Tim Tam Stargazing Romantically Cuddling Under The Moonlight Night, Oscar has also taken you to dinner for his birthday and to a museum.

Oscar is different. He plans stuff out and then asks you if you're available. Lando asks if you're available first, and then just sort of-

Well, you never plan with Lando. You just do and go what and where you want that day.

It's different.

And yet again, you couldn't say which you like better.

"Y/n?" Oscar repeats, sounding more concerned now, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Oh- yeah, what?"

He sits down next to you. "I know you'll be busy, just like the rest of us, since Miami is coming up fast, but..."

You smile nervously. "Yeah...?"

"Want to come over to my flat tonight? Or something?"

You swallow a lump in your throat as the picture of Lando's text from earlier today appears in your head.

I'm feeling good for Miami. Want to come over to my place tonight?

You had said 'sure.' You knew sometime soon, plans would overlap, and...

And that time is now.

"Y/n? Are you okay?" Oscar asks, placing his hand on your shoulder. "You look pale."

"Just... uh... Lots of..." you clear your throat. "Lots of work to do before the Grand Prix. Just... you know, stressed. I don't think I'll be able to tonight. But thank you," you put on a weak smile.

Oscar's lips curl into a concerned, thin line, but he nods, taking his hand off your shoulder. "If you ever need someone to talk to, just remember- I'm right here."

Same exact words Lando says to me all the time.

"R- Right. Thank you, Osc."

He nods. "Of course."

As soon as he's gone, you text Lando, letting him know plans abruptly changed, and that you're busy tonight after all.

You end up being very busy laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, emotions swarming in your stomach as you come to the realization that you can't keep going on like this. Soon enough, you're going to either have to choose one and break the other's heart, or let go of both of them.

And for some reason, just that thought makes you start to cry.

The rush of adrenaline is enough to make you crazy. Enough to make someone do stupid things that they never, ever should.

But when Lando Norris, race winner Lando Norris, is there, in front of you, you scream his name. When he sees you, his whole face lights up, and he throws his arms around you, lifting you up. "Nice work!" You kiss him on the cheek.

He giggles. "Wouldn't have been able to do it without you and the whole team!"

"Ah, shut up and give yourself the credit for once."

He grins wider. "Yeah, I guess for once I do deserve it."

"Shut your face, loser- or, I guess, winner."

"No, you shut yours," he murmurs, and when he's sure no eyes or cameras are on you, pecks your lips, before pulling away and running off.

And you're left there, a dizzy mess of adrenaline and embarrassment.

Later, you're walking in McLaren, and suddenly, you hear Lando's voice, "Y/n, come here."

You look up to see him peeking out of his driver's room. "What?"

"Just come on. I've got something for you." He's looking at you like an excited little puppy.

You grin and shrug, walking in with him.

The door latches behind you.

"What have you got for me, Lan?" you ask, glancing around at his contained mess.

Suddenly, your back is against the wall, and Lando's face is merely inches away from yours. You gasp, staring at him, feeling his breath on your face. "This," he mutters softly, before his eyes flutter closed and his lips meet yours.

Excitement and guilt hit you at the same exact time.

But as Lando invites you, you lean into the kiss, and any thoughts of Oscar slowly leave you as you're consumed by the bliss of this intimate moment with Lando.

But when you finally pull away from each other, panting, you murmur, "We never, ever mention this again, okay, Lan?"

He just grins, his hand slowly caressing your cheek. "Of course. Friend."

You sigh shakily. "You supposed that was your little reward for winning your first race, huh? You already got a trophy."

"Ah, sure. But you're my real trophy."

Oh, Lando, and his so-called 'silver tongue.'

After literally just making out with Lando, it feels thoroughly terrible to pat Oscar's shoulder and tell him 'sorry' about P13. Yet you manage to keep composure, despite the heavy guilt, as you say, "It's just the luck of the draw sometimes, no? But there's always next race."

You want to break down crying. You want to say something, but at the same time, you don't.

You don't regret kissing Lando.

You like him.

You think you have a better chance with him than you do with Oscar.

But you like Oscar, too. And just doing that feels like...

A betrayal.

No matter how much you say you're just friends, when do labels stop counting?

Your head is absolutely spinning. You feel sick.

"Y/n, what's wrong?" Lando asks, surprised to see you sitting in the hallway outside the offices, back in McLaren HQ, hugging your knees to your chest, staring somewhat vacantly, at nothing whatsoever.

"Hm? Hi, Lando," you say tiredly.

He slips down the wall next to you and says gently, taking your hand. "You can tell me. You haven't been yourself lately."

You swallow but don't respond.

He squeezes your hand and whispers, "Was it the kiss? Y/n, I'm sorry... I didn't-"

"No, no... It's... nothing."

Lando sighs. "So I take it I won't be able to be getting you to talk, huh?"

"S'pose not..." you sigh. There's no way you're telling him. He's fifty percent of the problem.

And Oscar's the other fifty.

So he wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back softly. You automatically lean your head into his chest, and he presses his lips into your scalp, gently kissing your hair. "I'll be ready to listen whenever you're ready to talk. But if you never are, I'll be here for you anyw-"

"What the-"

Both of you look up in shock to see Oscar looking right back at you.

Oscar's teeth clench. He's usually, nearly always, such a calm person. But now he doesn't look angry. He just look deeply hurt.

You bite back a very sudden sob.

And out of his hurt, for once, Oscar Piastri doesn't think before he speaks, and the bitter words fly out of his mouth: "Alright then! Just lie to me! Just give me fucking false hope for no reason, Y/n! That's great! Thanks a lot! Thank you! Lando, why don't you keep comforting her? Clearly she'd like that much more than anything I have to offer."

And then he turns on his heel and walks away, down the hall.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Lando snaps indignantly. "The asshole!"

Oh, Lando. He doesn't know. Not one bit.

"You stay here," he suddenly says angrily. "I'm going after him."

"Lando..." you sigh, burying your face in your hands. "Please, no..."

"Y/n..." Lando looks at you, uncertain.

You sigh again. "Okay, whatever." It's not like it can get any worse, can it?

So then Lando's off, and you're left to drown in your complete and utter regret.

Lando jogs down the hall, and the moment he sees Oscar's back in front of him, walking away from him, he calls, "Oscar, wait up."

He spins on his heel to face the Brit. His jaw is tight, and his eyes tender. "What?" he breathes.

"What the hell, man? What's wrong?"

"I'm not blind, Lando," Oscar sighs, leaning his back against the wall, shutting his eyes, tilting his face up towards the ceiling.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lando demands, facing him.

"I know you two are dating. It's fine. I was kidding myself. Playing pretend, yeah? Just like me and Y/n used to always do. It's fine. You know I'm the type of guy to adjust. I always do. That's what I've learnt. So, I wish you two luck, but I ought to be off now." Oscar then leans off the wall to keep walking away.

But Lando grabs his shoulder. "What? I still don't get it?"

"It doesn't matter. Forget this ever happened." The Australian doesn't sound bitter or angry anymore. Disappointed and resigned, for sure, but also accepting. "It's for the best. Just go comfort your girlfriend. She needs it."

"She's not- I mean- we- I-" Lando trails off, at a complete loss for words.

Oscar stares ahead, not facing Lando. "Lando, I like you. Let's not make this dramatic. I'm sorry; I slipped. Should have kept it to myself. Like I have for years. Never should have said a word."

"I..." Lando begins, but stops. "Oscar, I..."

"You don't know what to say?" Oscar asks, suddenly looking over to Lando with an actual, genuine smile on his face, surprisingly enough. "That's okay. Probably means you shouldn't say anything. Maybe you talk too much sometimes anyway."

It's just meant to me a light, friendly tease, but in this situation, it doesn't seem right. Knots twist up in Lando's stomach, and Oscar's words don't feel like a joke at all.

Lando knows more needs to be said, but there's nothing more to say.

Then, suddenly, to his somewhat shock, Lando hears your voice behind him. "Oscar," you say, walking toward the McLaren driver. You swallow. Keeping composure.

Oscar looks at you expectantly, tentatively taking a step forward, almost involuntarily.

You suddenly throw your arms around him in a hug.

"Hey, Osc," you begin whispering. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what it might look like. But me and Lando are just friends, just like you and me are just friends. Like I said before- Lando is just like that. Besides, if you saw me sad, wouldn't you help me out in just the same way?"

"I... uh... O- Of course..."

"See? So there's nothing to be upset about. I wasn't lying to you."

Oscar's unsure eyes soften, and his eyebrows scrunch together. "I- Alright... Okay. Uhm."

"I forgive you, Oscar. It's okay," you smile gently, stroking his cheek.

You want to throw up.

Y/n. You lying, evil snake. Listen to yourself. So manipulative, and for what?

To save yourself.

To save Oscar.

But it is all selfish though, isn't it?

You're just trying to cover all your bases.

You take your hand away from Oscar's warm skin and say simply, "Lando- I think my problem earlier was just that I'm not feeling very well... Must have picked up some kind of virus... I... I should be getting home now."

And you run out, leaving the two McLaren boys standing there in the hallway, both absolutely speechless.

After quite an awkward week or so, the Imola GP comes around, and, like racing always does for you, the passion is too much to let any barriers soften your excitement.

You see Oscar first, who you congratulate with a high five. But he hugs you, saying, "How are you?"

"Huh?" you ask in surprise. "Great! Another super solid weekend for the team. P4 for you!"

"Hah, yeah," he smiles. "Well, I'm glad you're doing just as good as I am."

And later, wen you see Lando, your first comment is, "You could have won this one, too!"

"I know!" he laughs. "After knowing how it feels, P2 doesn't seem so glorious."

You click your tongue. "Don't worry, Lando. It'll come."

Well, in that following week, somehow, the two busy drivers both find times to ask you out.

As friends.

Lando tries to pry out of you what really happened that day with Oscar. You refuse to say it. Say it's personal, having to do with things from yours and Oscar's childhood.

More twisting the truth.

You're starting to hate how good you are at these disgusting games.

When you go to dinner with Oscar, it hurts your heart to see how trusting he seems. Even after it all, he thinks he's the one in the wrong. And he thinks all is well. That nothing wrong is happening. He asks you one more time if you're dating Lando.

You say no.

Because you're not.

Right?

And then, it seems, before someone can say 'I'm in love with two McLaren Formula 1 drivers,' you're walking into the Monaco paddock, the week flies by so fast.

You love Monaco. Doesn't everyone? It's one of the best Grand Prixs of the season in your opinion, if not the best. The atmosphere, the sea, the people- it's all just slightly different in Monaco.

Everything shines brighter in Monaco.

And, apparently, you do, too, because both Lando and Oscar are being particularly affectionate towards you this weekend. You can't tell if you like it, or if it's stressing you out. Likely both.

"So... Piastri-Leclerc, is it?" you ask Oscar with a chuckle.

"Yeah, that's right," Oscar says with a little chuckle.

Suddenly, one of your other coworkers nudges you and says teasingly, loud enough for Oscar to hear, "Ah, Y/n, that means you'll have to be Y/n Piastri-Leclerc when you marry him. What do you feel about that?"

Before you can say anything, Lando seems to materialize out of the depths of the McLaren garage to comment, "You know, Y/n Norris has got a lot better ring to it."

"The confidence!" your coworker laughs at Lando as Lando laughs genuinely and you and Oscar likely laugh more nervously than anything else.

That night, as you lay in the bed in your hotel room, you're having a sinking feeling, deep down in your chest, that soon enough, you'll have to choose.

You'll have to make a decision.

If you keep up this game any longer, one of you are going to get killed in the process.

You just have to be honest.

Who do you love more? Who would be better for you?

You've known Oscar longer. You connect with him better.

But you enjoy being with Lando more. You have more of the same interests.

Lando is always positive and confident. Oscar is always sensible and even-keeled, relaxed, and calm.

Lando's wild card or Oscar's solid rock?

They both care for and about you so, so much.

Oscar for all these years, was too scared to admit how he felt to you, and was only convinced to confess it when he saw how you and Lando were with each other.

So, essentially, jealousy was what convinced him to admit his feelings.

He hasn't even admitted it.

Lando has, many times. You've got Lando's number. He's straight with you. He's not scared to say it.

But at the same time... you've never believed in soulmates, but there's definitely something to the story of your life, and the way it always seemed to result in Oscar. He was always the one at the end of every tunnel.

You've known Oscar for a lifetime. You've known Lando for... what, two years?

You sigh deeply.

What the hell?

"P2, Oscar! P2! In Monaco!"

He's laughing as you throw your arms around him this time. Lando's there, patting him on the back. "Nice job, mate," he congratulates.

"Yeah, mate! Nice job is right!" you giggle.

Oscar leans away, beaming.

Then, as soon as Lando walks off, Oscar kisses your cheek gently, just letting his soft lips brush your cheek.

Your breath catches in your throat.

"Would it... would it be okay if I kissed you later? For real?"

You swallow. "We'll see about that."

But Oscar just smiles. "Will I have to wait until I win a race, too, to get a kiss out of you?"

You laugh, but a lump rises in your throat.

Why is he talking as if he knows?

"Y- Yeah," you breathe. "I reckon so."

He nods and leans away. "Well, happy birthday, Y/n! I've got something for you!" He's about to pull you by your hand, when suddenly, another hand grabs your other hand.

"Wanna see your birthday gift, Y/n?"

You look up to see Lando.

Literally, both of them, about to pull you separate directions.

Yeah, you think almost scornfully, That's right. You can each have a hand.

[lupiinist]

barty is a great cook.

like, not only because his mum taught him how to cook (gets even better if you hc him as italian or spanish [or latino, too]), but also because his friends can't cook even if their lives depended on it

regulus is a menace in the kitchen, he once burned a kettle trying to make tea, evan is too lazy to try to learn, pandora was banned from the kitchen after making something (no one really knows what it was) that got them all sick, and dorcas can do the basic, but she likes having barty cook for her

it surprises a lot of people when they learn it that that goth, punk, edgy, slightly off guy with too many piercings and tattoos to count could be the chef of his own restaurant if he wanted to. his specialty is main dishes, he's superb with pasta and meat, but also rocks the desserts

he bonded with james over food, because james is also the cook of his group of friends (he makes the most amazing desi dishes [which i won't go into much detail because honestly it's 3 am and i can't research properly right now])

opposite to what many people think, the skittles rarely order food when they're hanging out together. barty almost always cooks. more than knowing how to, he likes to cook. it's something he shares with his mum, something his father never had any influence over (after all, he was never home during supper)

most of all, barty loves to cook for evan. evan is the type of person who tends to either get into hyperfocus and forgets to eat or has a very bad week and forgets to eat. either way, he doesn't take good care of himself. barty helps by popping up in his house, making him get up from the couch and help him in the kitchen. evan doesn't cook, but he sorts the ingredients out and occasionally chops a tomato (not onions though, he hates how they make him cry). he makes barty company, and they both have slightly better weeks just because of that

so, in the end, barty loves to cook.