#im usually in this sort of mood for like a month or so

[theonottsbxtch]

NO BABYSITTER NEEDED | LN4

an: i have this delusion that i could 100% change his bad habits because i work as a personal assistant and have experience in childcare. so enjoy this. also if you struggle with mental health, always know im here to talk <3

summary: lando norris, f1 golden boy who hasn’t slept properly in months and lives off protein bars gets assigned a carer by max who reminds him to eat, sleep, and maybe feel something other than anger or guilt. she brings flowers into his sterile flat and hides his gym clothes so he’ll actually rest and he lets her. and somewhere between her gummy vitamins and his races, he realises he doesn’t just need her, he wants her too.

wc: 10k

“ABSOLUTLEY NOT.”

Lando stood in the middle of his sparsely furnished flat, arms folded, jaw tight. The overhead light flickered once, as if in protest too. Max, seated on the battered grey sofa with a cup of tea he’d made himself, simply raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve not eaten today, have you?”

“I had a protein bar.”

“That doesn’t count, mate.”

Lando’s eyes flicked to the side. He knew Max was right. The protein bar had been from the stash he kept in his gym bag, a dry, tasteless thing that barely passed as food. Still, admitting that would mean giving ground, and he wasn’t in the mood.

“I don’t need a bloody babysitter,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “I’m not eighty-five.”

Max sighed, setting down his tea with the sort of calm that only long-suffering best mates could master. “She’s not a babysitter. She’s… a carer. Technically.”

“Oh, brilliant. Even worse.”

The silence that settled wasn’t comfortable. Outside, the steady hum of Monaco traffic drifted through the slightly ajar window. Somewhere below, someone shouted about bin day. Lando raked a hand through his curly brown hair and paced towards the kitchen. Max didn’t need to follow him to know what he’d find.

The fridge opened with a creak. Lando grimaced. A carton of milk two weeks out of date. Half a wilted bag of spinach. One lonely caprisun.

“See?” Max called from the living room. “You need someone to help.”

Lando shut the fridge, harder than he needed to. “I’m not broken.”

“I didn’t say you were. But you’re not exactly in one piece either.”

That one landed. He leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly. His eyes were tired, darker than usual, with the tell-tale puffiness that came from pushing through sleepless nights. After a bad race, it was always the same: the silence, the self-punishment, the long hours in the gym until his arms shook, or the empty buzz of late-night gaming until sunrise blurred into morning.

Lando wasn’t cruel, not to others. But he was brutal to himself.

Max stepped into the kitchen, soft-footed. He opened the cupboard, plucked a cereal bar, and tossed it to Lando. “Just give her a week. One week. If it’s hell, I’ll back off. You can go back to forgetting to eat and dying slowly. Deal?”

Lando caught the bar, didn’t unwrap it. He stared at it like it might explode. After a long moment, he gave a non-committal grunt.

“Fine,” he said at last, eyes flicking up. “But just a week.”

The doorbell rang at exactly ten o'clock.

Lando was on the sofa, one leg slung over the other, arms crossed, face unreadable. He hadn't shaved that morning. Or the one before, probably. Max, already halfway to the door, shot him a look.

“Try to smile, yeah?” he muttered.

Lando didn't answer. Max opened the door.

“Hiya,” came a warm, bright voice. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure which buzzer it was. I guessed.”

“You guessed right.” Max smiled, stepping aside. “Come in.”

She stepped over the threshold with a kind of lightness Lando noticed but didn’t comment on. Trainers, jeans, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. She didn’t look like a carer, whatever that meant. But then again, what did he expect? A clipboard and scrubs?

Her eyes flicked to him on the sofa and lit up with a friendly smile.

“You must be Lando.”

“I must be,” he said, dryly.

Max shot him a warning look. She didn’t seem fazed, though. Just walked in like it wasn’t a battlefield.

“I’m here for the trial week,” she said cheerfully, pulling out a small notebook. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take over your life. Just nudge it in a slightly healthier direction.”

Lando snorted. “Great. Can’t wait to be nudged.”

Max coughed to hide a laugh.

She sat on the armchair across from him, perching rather than settling, like she didn’t want to assume too much. Lando appreciated that. A bit.

“So,” she said, flipping open the notebook. “What’s your usual routine, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Train. Race. Gym. Repeat.”

“And food?”

He shrugged. “When I remember.”

“Sleep?”

Another shrug. “When I can.”

She smiled, scribbling something down. “Right. Noted.”

Lando tilted his head. “You’re very… upbeat.”

“Would you rather I was miserable?”

“No, just…” He waved a vague hand. “You’re in a flat with a stranger who clearly doesn’t want you here. I’d be a bit put off.”

“Well,” she said, closing the notebook, “I’m not easily put off. And you don’t scare me.”

That surprised a breath of laughter out of him, more exhale than anything, but it was the closest he’d come to smiling in days. Max looked between them, pleased.

“She’s good,” he said to Lando. “Give her a day. You’ll be grateful by tonight.”

Lando leaned his head back on the sofa, eyes half-closing. “We’ll see.”

She stood up. “I’ll pop to the shop, then. I’m sure the fridge is crying for help.”

Max dug into his pocket, handed her twenty euros. “Get whatever you think he won’t argue about eating.”

“Right,” she grinned. “Crisps and biscuits, got it.”

She left with a wink. Lando opened one eye, watching her go. Max gave him a look that was both smug and fond.

“You like her.”

Lando didn’t reply.

But he didn’t protest, either.

He didn’t last long after Max left.

He didn’t announce it, didn’t say goodbye, just grabbed his keys, mumbled something about “needing air” and left her alone in the flat. It wasn’t meant to be rude, not really. He just didn’t know what to do with her being there, so full of smiles and softness and trying. It made his skin itch in a way he couldn’t explain.

So, he went to the gym. Again. Even though his arms still ached from last night. Even though he’d barely slept. He didn’t care. Pushing himself until the edges blurred was easier than sitting in silence with a stranger who was supposed to fix what he wouldn’t admit was broken.

He stayed out longer than he planned. Took the long way home. Wandered a bit, hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on despite the fading light. He even stopped off at the corner shop and bought a bottle of water he didn’t want, just to delay the inevitable.

But eventually, the sun started dipping below the Monegasque skyline, and he had no more excuses.

When he opened the door, he paused.

The flat looked different.

Not massively, not like she’d moved furniture or painted walls, but nicer. The blinds had been tugged all the way open, letting the warm orange light of evening spill in. The windows had been cracked open too, letting out the stuffy, lived-in gym-sweat air he’d become nose-blind to. On the kitchen counter sat a small bunch of flowers in an old pint glass, cheap daffodils, probably from the shop down the road, bright yellow and unapologetically cheerful.

And she was cooking.

He blinked.

She hadn’t heard him come in. She had music playing quietly from her phone and she was humming under her breath as she stirred something on the hob. She’d tied her hair up, sleeves rolled, apron on that definitely wasn’t his.

He hovered at the doorway like a ghost.

“I won’t eat fish,” he said, voice flat.

She jumped slightly, then turned to him with a grin, unbothered. “Good thing I’m not making fish then.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“I know,” she added, casually flipping something in the pan. “And you don’t like raw tomatoes. Or coconut. Or mushrooms unless they’re chopped so small you can’t see them. I did my homework.”

He folded his arms, suspicious despite himself. “Homework?”

“Max told me what he could, and the rest I found in old interviews. You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

He had no idea what to do with that. “Right.”

She nodded towards the side counter. “There are some vitamins over there if you fancy. They’re the gummy ones, so they’re fun to eat.”

Lando turned his head slightly. Sure enough, there was a bottle of multivitamin gummies sitting next to a clean glass of water. He squinted at it like it might bite.

“You think that’s going to fix me?”

“Nope,��� she said, flipping off the hob and plating something. “But you’ll taste strawberry and get a vitamin boost, and that’s two good things. Two’s better than none.”

He watched her carry the plate to the table, proper food, he realised. Real stuff. A bit of grilled chicken, roasted potatoes, some sort of green that didn’t look like it came from a packet. She’d even set out cutlery.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered, but his voice had less edge than before.

“No, but your fridge did. Loudly.” She smiled. “Sit down, Lando.”

It was the first time she’d said his name. It startled him, how easily it came out of her mouth, no weight, no judgement, just lightness.

He didn’t move right away. But the flat smelled warm for the first time in… he didn’t know how long. It smelled like food, and flowers, and something gentle he couldn’t place.

Eventually, he sat.

And he took the bloody vitamin.

He started eating without saying much, though to be fair, the food shut him up quickly. It was annoyingly good. Not fancy, not trying too hard, just cooked well. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until the first bite, and now his fork barely paused between mouthfuls.

While he ate, she moved around the kitchen, wiping down surfaces that were already pretty clean, rinsing the chopping board, putting away the little packet of daffodils that had come with the flowers. She was humming again, soft and almost tuneless, like it was more for her than anything else.

He watched her from the corner of his eye.

After a few minutes, he frowned.

“What about you?” he said, voice low. “Are you not going to eat?”

She looked up from where she was drying a mug. “I eat after work.”

He stopped chewing. “That’s weird.”

She laughed, not offended. “Not really. I’m used to it. I don’t like eating in other people’s homes unless I’m invited to.”

“Well… I’m inviting you now.”

Her eyes softened a little. “Thanks. But I’m alright, honestly.”

He stabbed a bit of potato. “Can you at least sit? You’re making me feel like I’m in a restaurant.”

That seemed to surprise her. She blinked, then nodded, pulling out the chair opposite him.

“You’re on edge,” she said gently, not like she was accusing him, just stating it.

He didn’t deny it.

She leaned back in the chair, folding her hands on the table, not trying to fill the silence with too much. Just being there. He hated how much of a relief that was.

After a beat, she tilted her head. “So… do you actually enjoy racing? Or is it just something you’re brilliant at?”

He looked up, fork halfway to his mouth.

“No one’s ever asked it like that before.”

She smiled. “Well, everyone knows you’re brilliant at it. But enjoying it that’s something else.”

He chewed, swallowed, shrugged. “I used to. When I was a kid. I’d sit in front of the telly with my dad and pretend I could hear the engines. I used to think the drivers were invincible.”

Her smile didn’t fade, but it did soften into something more thoughtful. “And now?”

“Now I know they’re not,” he said simply. “Now I know I’m not.”

She didn’t say anything to that. Didn’t rush to fix it or tell him he was, in fact, invincible. Just let it sit there.

He liked that more than he expected.

“You know,” she said after a quiet moment, “I watched last year's Brazil race before I came. The one where it rained.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “That bloody race.”

He didn't think of it fondly, until she spoke again.

“You made that turn like it was nothing. Everyone else looked like they were wrestling their cars, and you just… glided.”

He looked at her properly for the first time that evening. “You watched it for research?”

She nodded. “Had to see what I was dealing with.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re very strange.”

“Thank you,” she grinned. “I take that as a compliment.”

He picked up the glass of water next to his empty plate, holding it in both hands. He didn’t know how to name the feeling in his chest, tight and loose at once. Like something had shifted half a centimetre to the right.

He didn’t say thank you.

But he didn’t ask her to leave, either.

The flat had gone quiet again and before he knew it, he’d finished his food and she’d taken the plate.

Lando sat there a while after she’d gone to tidy up again, not quite ready to move. His limbs were warm and heavy with food, his stomach full for the first time in, God, he couldn’t remember. The corner of his eye still caught the flash of yellow from the daffodils. Even the clutter on the coffee table had been gently rearranged, like someone had lived here instead of just existed in it.

He stood eventually, dragging a hand through his hair.

He didn’t say goodnight. But as he passed her, kneeling to organise something ridiculous like the cereal cupboard, he gave her a small nod.

“Night,” she said softly, like she knew he wouldn’t say it first.

By the time he got to his room, he felt it creeping in, the kind of sleep that didn’t come with punishment. Not exhaustion, not collapse. Just rest.

He changed half-heartedly, dropped into bed without bothering to pull the duvet straight.

And for the first time in what felt like months, he didn’t lie there for hours staring at the ceiling.

He didn’t toss or turn or drag himself back up to check his phone, or throw on joggers and go for another run he didn’t need.

He just closed his eyes.

And slept.

Deep. Still. Undisturbed.

He was that comfortable with his sleep he hadn’t even heard her leave.

The trial week came and went, and with that came his little scheduled meeting with Max.

“So,” Max said, leaning back in the café chair, hands wrapped around his coffee. “How’s life with Mary Poppins?”

Lando rolled his eyes, sipping slowly from a mug of hot chocolate that was somehow still hot.

“She doesn’t float in with a brolly, if that’s what you mean.”

“But she’s working, isn’t she?”

Lando didn’t answer straight away. He watched a dog trot past outside the window, nose down, tail wagging. The streets of Monte Carlo were busy with the usual Sunday bustle, people with tote bags full of veg, couples bickering gently over directions, someone playing guitar near the kerb.

He shrugged. “It’s less shit.”

Max smirked. “That’s the highest praise I’ve ever heard you give anyone.”

Lando looked down into his tea. “She’s just easy to be around. Doesn’t treat me like I’m a problem. Or fragile. She just makes dinner and talks about stupid things and leaves vitamins on the counter like it’s no big deal.”

“And you like that?”

“I don’t not like it.”

Max grinned. “So you’re keeping her?”

Lando huffed. “She’s not a goldfish.”

“You know what I mean.”

He didn’t answer at first, and Max let him have the space. There was something behind Lando’s eyes, quieter than before, but still guarded. Except now, the edges weren’t quite so sharp. He looked a little less hollowed out. A little more present.

Lando stirred the drink absently, then said, “I think she’s staying another week.”

Max didn’t say I told you so, but he smiled like he’d already said it a hundred times.

Over the next week, a rhythm began to form.

It wasn’t a schedule, exactly, Lando hated those, but there were now patterns. Gentle ones. He’d wake up to the faint clatter of pans and the smell of food. She never made him breakfast outright, but there was always a plate of something on the side, covered with a tea towel, like it had just happened to be left there.

He’d find his gym gear washed and folded in the same place on the sofa each morning. Not spoken about, just done. Vitamins still by the sink. Her music always low. The flowers in the pint glass had been swapped out for fresh tulips.

He didn’t say thank you. But he noticed.

And he started sleeping better.

Not every night, but more than before. Enough that the dark under his eyes wasn’t as heavy. Enough that the fridge had actual food in it now, and it wasn’t all hers.

By Monday night, she was packing up her bag to go home like usual when he spoke up.

“I leave for Barcelona tomorrow.”

She looked up, bright as ever. “Yup, I know. Made you an airport snack.”

She reached into the fridge and pulled out a tupperware container, sliding it across the counter towards him. The lid was already labelled in biro, ‘Do not open until bored at terminal gate’.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know I fly private, right? They’ve got catering.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “And what are the odds you didn’t reply to the email asking about your dietary preferences?”

He paused.

She grinned.

“Thought so. It’s just a wrap and some fruit. No tomatoes, no weird mayo, no drama.”

He huffed, but he didn’t push it. He picked it up and tucked it under one arm.

“Oh, and,” she added, wiping her hands on a tea towel, “I put a few things on your bed. Clothes you might consider packing. You don’t have to. Just thought I’d save you standing in your pants tomorrow morning wondering what the weather in Barcelona will be, and yes I know you like to dress warm.”

He let out a proper laugh, low and unexpected.

“You’ve done two of my most hated tasks in one night,” he said, eyes warm for a moment. “That’s impressive.”

She shrugged, light as always. “It’s what I’m here for.”

He stood in the doorway, still holding the tupperware, gaze lingering on her longer than he meant to. She didn’t make anything of it, just smiled and went back to packing her bag.

Race weekends were always a blur.

Even after years of doing it, Lando never really adjusted. The heat, the noise, the cameras, the pressure. Spain in May was dry and heavy, the kind of heat that sat on your shoulders and made your helmet feel three sizes too small. Qualifying had been a disaster, traffic, a lock-up, something just off with the rear grip. He was starting further back than he liked. Further back than the car deserved.

He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the cool-down lap.

His engineer had been cautious over the radio, Max had texted a brief ‘rough one. you’ll fix it.’ and that was about it. Lando stayed in his suit too long, helmet off but gloves still on, sitting at the back of the garage with his jaw clenched and a bottle of water sweating in his hand.

Later, after media duties and a cold shower and a half-hearted poke at some pasta, he was lying on the hotel bed, one leg still on the floor, staring at the ceiling when his phone buzzed.

He glanced at it out of habit.

It was a photo.

She was in a little French bar somewhere, low lights, strings of flags, telly mounted high on the wall with the F1 coverage paused mid-graphic. He recognised his own face in the corner, frozen mid-interview. She was holding up a pint of something cloudy, face half in frame, smiling like she’d just bumped into an old mate. A bowl of crisps sat in front of her.

The caption followed a second later:

That quali looked tough. Make sure to have enough electrolytes or a banana. 

Lando stared at it for longer than he meant to. Something tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She hadn’t asked how he was.

Hadn’t said you’ll get them tomorrow or you’re still the best or any of the usual platitudes.

Just, looked tough, take care of yourself.

Simple. Uncomplicated.

He let out a small breath of something that might have been a laugh. His thumb hovered over the screen for a second, then tapped out a reply.

They only gave us oranges.

A few seconds passed.

That’s alright. Oranges are just citrusy bananas in disguise.

He shook his head, grinning now, properly.

There was still noise in his chest, frustration, the echo of tyres locking up, but it didn’t feel quite so loud anymore.

And for the first time after a bad Saturday, Lando didn’t feel like running from it.

The flight back to Monaco was uneventful. He slept for half of it, sprawled inelegantly in the reclined seat, his cap pulled low and earphones in with no music playing. His body was tired in that hollow, post-race way, blood still buzzing faintly, muscles tight, but his brain was quieter than usual.

P2 wasn’t bad. Not a win, but solid points. Still, it ate at him.

He arrived home just after midnight. The flat was dark, blinds drawn, the sea outside nothing but soft black noise.

Lando dumped his bag by the door and kicked off his shoes. It should have felt like relief, home, bed, no media duties, but it didn’t. It felt still.

He flicked on the light in the kitchen, expecting nothing.

Instead, there it was on the counter.

A piece of white printer paper, creased slightly down the middle, folded like a school certificate. Hand-drawn, with glitter gel pen of all things.

P2 – WELL DONE, CHAMPION 

Underneath, in all-caps block letters, it read:

REDEEM THIS FOR 1 (ONE) FAVOURITE CHOCOLATE BAR, TO BE EATEN IMMEDIATELY.

And there it was. His favourite. Not the obvious one either, the one he used to buy from the corner shop when he was fifteen and couldn’t afford imported Swiss stuff with his pocket money. He hadn’t had one in years.

He picked it up, staring at it like it might disappear.

Beside the certificate was a folded note, written in her loopy handwriting:

I figured you’d want some space after the weekend, so I’m giving you the night off from me.

BUT. Your favourite meal is in the fridge. I expect to see the container empty when I’m back at 7am. I will be checking the bins. I’ve taken the power cable for your PC and hidden your gym clothes, so don’t bother looking. Please sleep. Properly. You’ve earned it x

He read it twice, then once more for good measure.

There was no teasing smile in the room, no hum of music or smell of herbs in the air, but her presence was there, in every corner. Quietly looking after him without needing him to admit he needed it.

He opened the fridge. The meal was there, labelled, still warm enough to be reheated. He didn’t even question how she knew it was his favourite. He just took it out, turned on the oven, and sat at the counter with the chocolate bar already half-eaten.

The flat was silent.

Normally he hated the silence. It stretched and scratched at him until he had to fill it. TV, weights, anything. But tonight it was different.

Tonight, the silence felt... safe. Like something was waiting just out of frame.

And though he’d never say it aloud, not even to himself—

He missed her. Slightly.

Just enough that 7am didn’t feel all that far away.

The first light slipped through the half-open blinds, soft and pale against the dark wood floor.

Lando was already up.

He didn’t mean to be. He’d woken sometime in the small hours, restless, but then the smell of coffee brewing pulled him from the blur of sleep. He found himself in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, the warmth of the oven still humming softly nearby.

The meal was gone. The container clean.

He smiled a little to himself, small victory, at least.

The kettle clicked off, and she appeared in the doorway, hair tied back loosely, eyes bright but gentle.

“Morning,” she said quietly, like she was trying not to wake the flat.

He met her gaze, caught in the calm.

“Morning.”

She reached for the coffee pot and topped up his mug, then poured one for herself.

They stood there for a beat, just the two of them and the quiet hum of the morning.

“Did you sleep?” she asked.

Lando shrugged, but there was something different in his tone. “More than I usually do.”

“That’s good.”

He nodded, watching her move around the kitchen with that effortless ease, putting the chocolate wrapper in the bin, tidying the dishes.

He felt it again. That small, stubborn flicker of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before: contentment.

She looked over her shoulder, catching his eye.

“Race weekend’s done,” she said softly. “You’re home now.”

He gave her a crooked smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes just yet, but was close.

“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

She blew on her coffee, then glanced over at him with a curious tilt of her head. 

“So what do you usually do on days like this? After a race?”

Lando paused, mug halfway to his lips.

“Usually?” he said. “Try not to think.”

She gave a small nod, like she understood exactly what he meant. 

“Right,” she said lightly. “So why don’t we go to the beach?”

He blinked. “The beach?”

“Yeah. You know, sand, sea, a bit of fresh air. It’s 27 degrees, the water will be decent. You’ve done all the not thinking bit, now you can do the part where you feel like a person again.”

Lando looked at her like she’d just suggested skydiving. In the rain. Naked.

She met his stare head-on, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile.

“I’m not saying we have to go swimming,” she added. “Just sit. Maybe with a drink. Or ice cream. I’ll bring snacks if that helps.”

He huffed a small laugh. “You’re relentless.”

“I prefer the term optimistic.”

He glanced out the window. The sun was already climbing, a shimmer of gold across the buildings. Monaco in May didn’t waste time. It was exactly the kind of day he’d usually spend in a dark gym or glued to his screen with a headset on.

And yet.

“Okay,” he said at last, surprising even himself. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

Her smile lit up, bright and immediate. “Brilliant.” He turned to head for his room. “I’ll grab my stuff.”

“I’ll meet you back here in thirty,” she said, already halfway out the door. “Just need to pop home, get a few bits.” He nodded. “Alright.”

And then she was gone, the flat felt quieter without her, but not in the lonely way. More like a held breath, waiting.

Lando glanced around, bemused at himself.

The beach. On a Monday.

He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “What am I doing?” 

But he was already reaching for his sunglasses.

When she came back, the sun was even higher in the sky and so was something in Lando’s chest. He’d opened all the windows while she was gone, and the breeze drifting through the flat was warm and salt-tinged.

He heard the door go and turned, halfway through stuffing a towel into a backpack.

She stepped into the kitchen in a light summer dress, sunglasses perched on her head, a bag slung over her shoulder. It was nothing dramatic, just something simple and floral, but it suited her. She looked soft, golden in the sunlight, like she belonged exactly in that moment.

Lando’s brain hiccuped. He didn’t say anything but he looked, really looked, and quietly thought to himself. 

God, she’s pretty.

She caught his gaze, raised a brow. “What?”

He blinked. “Nothing.” 

He slung the bag over his shoulder and nodded towards the door. “We’ve got to go somewhere that’s not Monaco, though.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “People’ll see. Paparazzi, fans, someone’ll clock it. Me. Us”

Her smile curled. “Us?”

“I just mean—” he started, but she was already grinning wider.

“I know what you meant, so where then?” “We’ll have to drive into France,” he said, completely serious.

She laughed.

He looked at her. “What?”

“Nothing, sorry,” she said, still smiling. “Just the way you said it like it was just us popping down to the shops.” He gave her a look, lips twitching. “It sort of is.”

She shrugged, following him down into the garage. “Alright then, France it is.”

The garage was cool and dim after the heat of the morning. Rows of sleek cars sat like sleeping beasts under soft overhead lights. She slowed as they walked, eyes wide.

“Bloody hell,” she murmured. “Is this all you?” He chuckled, unlocking one of the quieter looking models. “Some are mine. Some are team perks. Some are just there.”

She ran a hand along the bonnet, clearly impressed. “Not bad for a day at the beach.” They set off, the coast unfurling beside them like a painting. The drive was easy, winding roads and open skies, her hair dancing in the breeze as music played low from the speakers. She sang along quietly to bits she knew. He didn’t join in, but he listened.

And he smiled.

The beach was quieter than expected, a little cove tucked away from the road, shaded by cliffs and speckled with driftwood. They laid their things on the warm sand, and she kicked off her sandals with a sigh.

Lando was laying out the towles when she pulled her dress over her head in one swift motion, revealing a bikini underneath.

He didn’t stare, or at least he told himself he didn’t.

But he did definitely notice.

Something in his stomach dipped for a second, caught between admiration and the very sudden awareness of who he was and who she was.

She stretched like she’d been waiting all day to do it, hair tied up now, skin kissed golden by the sun.

Lando barely had time to take off his own shirt before she looked over her shoulder, grinning wickedly.

“Race you!”

And before he could respond, she was already sprinting towards the sea, feet kicking up soft clouds of sand.

He blinked, startled, then swore under his breath, grinning.

“You little—”

He chased after her, heart thudding, not from the sun. Something lighter than adrenaline, freer than pressure. The breeze bit at his skin, the salt stung his eyes, and the sound of her laugh carried over the waves. 

And for the first time in a long time, he felt light.

The sea was warmer than he expected, cool at first touch, then refreshing against his sun-warmed skin.

She was already thigh deep when he caught up, turning to glance over her shoulder with a grin that said you’re too slow. 

Lando launched at her.

She yelped, laughing as he caught her around the waist and they both stumbled deeper into the water, waves breaking around them.

“Alright! Alright! Truce!” she shouted, breathless.

But he didn’t let go, just held her steady against the current for a second too long. She looked up at him, cheeks pink from the sun and smiling so wide it almost knocked the breath out of him.

Then, without warning, she dunked him.

His head went under with a surprised splash and he surfaced with a splutter, hair slicked to his forehead and eyes narrowed.

“Oh, you’re done for,” he said, grinning through the water dripping from his lashes.

They splashed and shoved and laughed like children, the kind of silly, harmless chaos that left his chest aching, but not in the bad way.

Eventually, soaked and smiling, they drifted into a quiet stretch of the cove, water up to their waists, the sun casting long golden streaks across the surface. 

They talked a bit, nothing too heavy. Favourite ice creams. Embarrassing childhood stories. He learnt she hated the sound of polystyrene, and she learnt he once fell asleep in a bin lorry by mistake during a school trip (real story from me lol). 

Time stretched in that slow, delicious way that only seemed to happen when he was with her. 

The rest of the day passed in sun-drowsy contentment. 

They dried off on the towels, eating snacks and reading bits from a tatty magazine she’d brought on how to impress your manager. She dozed for a while with her arm flopped across her eyes. He sat beside her, knees pulled up, watching the tide roll in and out, trying not to overthink how much peace he felt in that exact moment. 

Later, on the drive back, they stopped for ice cream from a stand near the harbour. She ordered something fruity. He got mint choc chip, mostly so she’d stop teasing him for being too grown up and choosing something like coffee.

By the time they were halfway home, the sun had dipped below the hills and she was fast asleep in the passenger seat, head turned gently towards him, mouth parted slightly.

Lando glanced at her, then back at the road. His grip on the wheel softened. 

When they got back to the flat, he didn’t wake her.

Instead, he slipped out of the driver’s seat, came round, and unbuckled her gently. She stirred slightly as he lifted her into his arms, warm and still faintly smelling of suncream.

Her head dropped to his shoulder. He didn't say a word, he didn't even breathe.  

The lift ride up was quiet. His flat even quieter. 

He nudged the door open, padded through the hall, and carried her straight into his bedroom. The sheets were still crisp from the morning, untouched.

He laid her down carefully, brushed a bit of hair from her face. She sighed softly, turning into the pillow like she belonged there.

Lando lingered for a moment.

Then he backed out, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

He crashed on the sofa, limbs heavy but heart oddly light. His damp curly hair pressed against the cushion, and for once, the silence didn’t bother him.

He could still hear her laugh echoing in the waves. 

The following morning she woke with a start.

It took her a second to realise where she was, the unfamiliar softness of the duvet, the crisp linen, the faint scent of him on the pillow. Definitely not her flat. And definitely his bed.

“Shit.”

She sat up quickly, heart thudding, scanning the room for her jacket or bag or anything that proved that she hopefully hasn’t slept with him.

The flat was quiet except for the faint sound of something clattering in the kitchen. Not exactly a disaster, but not quite peace either.

She pulled a random hoodie over her head, ran a hand through her tangled hair, and padded out into the main room, bracing herself.

He was in the kitchen. Barefoot, curls a mess, concentration furrowed into his brow as he flipped a pancake that looked… questionably thick.

The pan hissed. The pancake landed mostly where it should’ve.

She crossed her arms, trying not to laugh. “Are you… cooking?”

Lando turned, startled. His cheeks were flushed, not from embarrassment, more from the warmth of the kitchen and the fact he hadn’t expected her to be awake.

“Sort of,” he muttered, glancing down at the half-stack on the plate. “They’re edible. Just about.”

She looked at him, messy-haired, in an old hoodie, trying to figure out if the one in the pan was burnt or just dark golden.

She couldn't help it. She smiled.

“I’m meant to be the one looking after you,” she said, shaking her head.

He rolled his eyes but there was no bite to it. “You fell asleep. I wasn’t going to wake you just to supervise me making average pancakes.”

“Below average.”

“They’re fine,” he defended, lifting one with the spatula. It folded in half on itself. “Okay, they’re character-building.”

She stepped closer, nudging him with her shoulder. “Look at that. First meal you’ve cooked yourself in how long?”

Lando scoffed, but the back of his neck went pink. “Dunno. Ages.”

She tilted her head, eyes soft with something he couldn’t name. “Domesticity looks good on you.”

He froze for a second but he felt the words settle somewhere in his chest.

Domesticity.

Her, here. His hoodie. Pancakes. Morning light.

He looked at her, really looked, and for once didn’t feel the urge to run from the quiet.

Instead, he flipped the final pancake with a slightly smug smirk. “Told you I didn’t need a carer.”

She raised an eyebrow. “One half-decent breakfast doesn’t mean you’re cured, sweetheart.”

He smiled despite himself. Sweetheart.

And just like that, he knew the rest of his day was going to be warm.

She grabbed a plate and scooped a pancake onto it, then passed it over with a cheeky grin.

“Here, try not to burn it.”

Lando took it, biting into the warm, slightly uneven stack. It wasn’t bad. Actually, it was pretty good. The kind of good that made you forget about the mess of your last few days.

He looked up at her, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

“Not bad for a carer’s breakfast, huh?”

She laughed, sitting down at the small kitchen table. “I might have to upgrade you to sous chef.”

He shook his head, but the smile stayed. “You sure you want to get stuck with a bloke who can barely boil water without a minor disaster?”

She reached across the table, nudging his hand lightly.

“I think I can manage.”

There was a pause, comfortable and easy. The sunlight caught her eyes, making them shine in a way that made Lando’s chest tighten just a little.

“So…” she said softly, “how are you, really?”

Lando swallowed, the question catching him off guard. Usually, he brushed it off or changed the subject.

But today, he let it hang in the air.

“I’m… better than I was,” he admitted, voice low. “Being with you, well, it’s different. Less noise upstairs.”

She smiled gently, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the table.

“That’s good,” she said quietly. “You deserve that.”

He met her gaze, a flicker of something like hope stirring beneath the usual mess.

Maybe this was the start of something, not just a routine or a distraction, but something real.

He didn’t know what it was yet.

But for the first time in a long time, he felt like he wanted to find out.

A few days passed in the way only good days do, quietly, comfortably, and all at once.

They fell back into their routine with ease. She was there every morning, bright and soft and organised, keeping him on track without ever making it feel like a chore. Meals appeared when he forgot he was hungry. She swapped out the expired yoghurt in the fridge without saying a word. She scribbled reminders onto post-it notes and stuck them in ridiculous places. On his phone, the bathroom mirror, his steering wheel.

And somehow, despite everything, he was sleeping again for more than 4 hours.

The flat no longer felt too quiet.

He met Max at their usual café down in the port the morning before he flew out to Austria.

Lando slumped into the chair opposite him, hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky.

Max gave him a look. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. You dress like a celebrity in hiding but show up to the same café every time.”

Lando smirked, pulling down his glasses. “Creature of habit.”

Max took a sip of his coffee, eyeing him properly now. “You look better.”

Lando blinked. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not half-dead,” Max said bluntly. “You’ve got colour in your face. You’ve shaved. I don’t see a Monster can fused to your hand.”

Lando huffed a laugh. “Thanks, mate. Proper confidence boost, that.”

Max grinned. “So she’s working, then.”

Lando paused. Thought about the pancakes. The post-its. The quiet sound of her humming in the kitchen. The way she made the flat feel like something more than just a place he slept in between breakdowns.

“She is,” he said, nodding. “More than I thought, actually.”

Max raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Told you. She’s got that stubborn kind of sunshine thing going on.”

Lando looked out at the boats bobbing gently on the water. “It’s weird. I don’t feel like she’s fixing me. It’s just… I want to keep up. For once.”

Max leaned back in his chair, smiling like he already knew.

“You’ve got someone in your corner now,” he said. “And you like it.”

Lando didn’t answer straight away.

But he didn’t deny it either.

Austria should’ve felt like business as usual.

The team was buzzing, the garage busy, the hotel sleek and sterile in that forgettable sort of way. He’d done this so many times he could go through the motions with his eyes shut, briefings, media, gym, sleep. Repeat.

But something was different this time.

His room was too quiet. His meals, though catered, tasted like cardboard. He’d forgotten to bring his vitamins, and the note she’d once stuck to the inside of his wash bag, remember to be a person, not just a machine, was no longer there.

He missed her. Not just her reminders and routines, but her. The way she’d talk at him while he made coffee, narrating her morning like it was the most important story on earth. The way she hummed while folding laundry. The way she looked at him, not like he was a driver, or a mess, but just… him.

The ache surprised him.

By Saturday night, he was holed up in his hotel room, lights dimmed, race prep done. But instead of watching footage or scrolling, he stared at his phone.

Then, almost on a whim, he opened their chat.

Would you ever come to a race?

Three dots appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then came back.

That’s quite a question. Is this your subtle way of inviting me to Austria?

He smiled. Tapped back.

Austria’s a bit mad. But Silverstone’s next. Thought you might like it. Home race and all that.

The typing bubble came and went again. Then,

We can talk about it when you’re home.

And there it was, that word.

Home.

He stared at the screen longer than he meant to.

It did something to him. Knocked something loose. Not because she’d said it. But because she meant it. Like his flat wasn’t just a stopgap anymore. Like him being away wasn’t permanent.

They’d talk when he was home.

He stared at her last message a moment longer, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

I’d like you to be there when I get back Sunday night. If you’re free, I mean.

He regretted sending it immediately. Read it back twice. It looked desperate. Or worse, uncertain.

But a reply came a few minutes later.

I’ll be there.

That was it. Simple. Certain.

He smiled. Couldn’t help it.

And for the first time on a race weekend, he couldn’t wait for it to be over, not for the result, but because it meant he’d get to see her again.

Sunday night came fast.

The flight was smooth, the car from the airport quick, but Lando felt that weird tug of nerves all over again as the lift doors slid open to his flat. His bag thumped against his leg. The hallway smelt faintly of fresh linen and vanilla.

She was there.

He could feel it even before he saw her.

When he stepped inside, the lights were low, and something warm flickered in the corner of the living room, a couple of candles, set along the windowsill. The blinds were open, showing off the Monaco skyline in soft golden hues.

She looked up from the sofa, dressed in cosy joggers and a big jumper, her hair tied up, a bowl of popcorn balanced in her lap.

“There you are,” she said, smiling like he hadn’t just spent three days thinking about her.

Lando stepped in, shrugging off his jacket, suddenly very aware of the domesticity he'd walked into. A blanket was draped across the back of the sofa. Two mugs sat on the coffee table, one clearly his, already filled with hot chocolate.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of mood you’d be in,” she said, shifting slightly to make room, “so I picked three films. Comfort, distraction, or dramatic sobbing, dealer’s choice.”

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked around at the quiet little world she’d built for him in his absence.

His shoulders dropped.

“This is nice,” he said, finally. “Really nice.”

She grinned. “Well, I figured if I’m going to keep pretending to be your carer, I might as well offer full post-race recovery packages.”

He laughed, genuinely, the kind that shook a bit of the tension from his chest.

She patted the seat next to her. “Come on then. Sit down before your hot chocolate gets cold.”

And he did, just like that. Kicked off his shoes, slouched onto the sofa, and let his body fold into the warmth of it all. Her shoulder brushed his as she pressed play, and he didn’t move away.

He hadn’t realised how much he needed this.

Not just the quiet, but her quiet.

And as the film played and her head gently tipped onto his arm, Lando let himself enjoy it, just for a while.

Home.

It really did feel like that now.

The following morning he woke with a crick in his neck and the faint scent of her still clinging to the blanket draped over his chest.

The telly had switched itself off at some point in the night. His hot chocolate was long cold. And she was gone, left sometime after the credits had rolled, quietly, without waking him.

But the flat didn’t feel empty.

It felt like she’d just stepped out.

He pulled the blanket closer, burying his face in it for a second longer than necessary. Lavender and laundry powder. Familiar. Her.

Later that morning, she came by as usual, letting herself in with a chirpy “Morning!” and two coffees in hand.

He was already up for once, hair still rumpled from sleep, hoodie creased.

“Sleep on the sofa?” she asked, amused.

“Mm.” He took the coffee gratefully. “Didn’t make it very far after you left. Blanket was too warm.”

She gave him a knowing look but didn’t tease.

They settled at the kitchen table, a shared croissant between them, her notebook open to a new page.

“So,” she said, flicking the cap off her pen, “Silverstone. Talk to me.”

Lando took a slow sip of his coffee. “I meant what I said. I want you there.”

She glanced up, smile tucked in the corner of her mouth. “I know. I just didn’t want to assume.”

“You never do,” he said, honest and quick, before he even realised it.

That earned him a small look, soft, appreciative.

“So,” he continued, shifting slightly in his seat, “you’ve got two options. I can get you a pass for the paddock, proper team kit, blend in, pretend you belong.”

She raised a brow, amused. “Pretend?”

He smirked. “You’re bossy enough, you’d fit right in.”

She grinned. “Flattering.”

“Or,” he went on, “you can watch from the grandstands. Might be a bit calmer, but I’ll know you’re there either way.”

She looked at him properly now, pen stilled in her fingers. “And you want me there even if it’s chaos?”

He shrugged, suddenly a bit shy. “I don’t know. Just when you’re around, it feels like less of a mess.”

That quiet settled in again. Not awkward. Just true.

She nodded, scribbling something in her notebook. “Alright. I’ll come. You’ll have to get me a kit that doesn’t drown me, though. I’m not showing up looking like I borrowed it off a rugby player.”

Lando laughed. “Deal.”

And as she tucked her notebook away and moved to put the kettle on, he watched her like he was seeing the start of something he hadn’t quite had the words for yet.

But he knew this much.

He didn’t just want her there.

He needed her there.

They flew out on the Thursday morning.

Private jet, naturally, something Lando barely registered anymore, part of the machine that came with the job. But watching her take it all in was another story entirely.

“Wait,” she whispered as they pulled up onto the tarmac. “This is yours?”

He shrugged, smirking. “Well, not mine mine. But yeah. Team flight.”

She stared up at the sleek plane like it had dropped out of a film set. “Right. Okay. No big deal. Totally normal. Not freaking out.”

Lando chuckled as he grabbed her bag from the boot. “You’re allowed to be impressed, y’know. You don’t have to be cool all the time.”

“I am cool,” she insisted, following him up the steps with wide eyes. “Just also wildly unprepared for this level of luxury.”

Inside, she settled into one of the leather seats like she was afraid she’d break it, eyes darting around at the polished surfaces and perfectly folded blankets.

He sat opposite her, grinning like a fool.

“You alright there?”

She looked at him over the rim of her paper cup. “Lando, they offered me a mimosa and I said no because I panicked. I’m not alright.”

He burst out laughing, tipping his head back. “You’ll get used to it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

By the time they reached Silverstone, her nerves had settled into excitement.

The team garage was already buzzing, and when she stepped out in the McLaren kit he’d had waiting for her, a proper fit, not some oversized leftover, Lando had to look away for a moment just to get himself together.

She fit in effortlessly.

Wearing the colours, she didn’t look like someone tagging along. She looked like she belonged.

And it was oddly comforting, more than he’d expected.

She was laughing with one of the engineers before he’d even finished debrief. Swapping notes with his physio. Keeping a watchful eye on the water bottle in his hand like it was her full-time job.

And for once, when he walked through the paddock, he didn’t feel like he was floating above it all.

He felt anchored.

Between sessions, she found him sat outside the motorhome, cap pulled low, headphones around his neck.

She passed him a banana and a look. “Don’t roll your eyes. You skipped breakfast.”

Lando took it, peeling it slowly. “You just like bossing me around.”

“Absolutely,” she said brightly. “Now eat it, number four.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You calling me by my driver number now?”

She grinned. “Only if it motivates you.”

And as she sat beside him, cross-legged and chatting like they were just two mates at a park somewhere, Lando realised this didn’t feel like chaos.

It felt… right.

Later that day, the two of them found themselves in the motorhome again, half-drawn blinds, casting warm strips of light across the small lounge space. Lando had pulled off his boots and fireproofs, now in team joggers and a loose t-shirt, legs stretched across the sofa while she sat on the carpet in front of him, back resting against the edge of the seat, her hair still slightly windswept from being trackside.

His hand dangled loosely near her shoulder. Not touching. But close.

She was humming, some random tune from the playlist she’d put on while he cooled down, and carefully peeling the corner of a protein bar wrapper for him.

“Do you know you hum constantly?” he said, watching her with that quiet, lopsided sort of amusement.

She glanced up. “Do I?”

“Yeah. Like, properly. All the time.”

“Well, maybe you’re just always around now.”

He smiled, then laughed softly when she tossed the protein bar at him without looking.

They fell into that easy silence again, the kind that didn’t need filling. She reached up to tug a hairband from her wrist, redoing her ponytail absentmindedly. His gaze lingered.

“You alright?” she asked, craning her neck slightly to look at him.

He nodded. “Yeah. You just make all this feel

less mental.”

That earned her softest smile, the kind she didn’t even have to think about. “That’s the job, isn’t it?”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at her like he wanted to say more but couldn’t figure out how.

Then the door creaked open and Oscar stepped in with a knock-knock gesture and a raised brow. “Sorry, didn’t realise this was occupied.”

Lando blinked, quickly sitting up, hand retreating behind his head like he hadn’t been close to her at all. She turned slightly, offering Oscar a warm, unapologetic smile.

“Hi,” she said, chipper as ever. “Nice to meet you, I’m Lando’s carer.”

Oscar grinned, clearly amused. “Oh yeah?”

Lando shrugged, slumping back into the sofa like it was no big deal. “Yeah. She cares so I don’t have to.”

Oscar snorted. “Nice work if you can get it.”

She laughed, then added, “To be fair, he’s more work than a pensioner with a sugar addiction, so I earn every bit of it.”

Oscar shot Lando a mock-sympathetic look. “She’s got you nailed, mate.”

Lando just shook his head, lips tugging into the smallest of smiles as Oscar backed out of the room with a wink and a wave.

Once the door shut again, she turned and looked up at him from the floor.

“Too much?” she teased.

He leaned forward, still smiling. “Not at all.”

And for the rest of the hour, with her back pressed to his knee and the quiet buzzing of the paddock beyond the walls, everything felt settled.

Like maybe this was becoming the new normal.

Race day came with its usual noise and nerves. The low thrum of engines in the distance, the hiss of tyres on tarmac, the sting of adrenaline thick in the air.

Silverstone buzzed with the kind of energy only a home race could bring.

And Lando had never driven better.

Every lap was clean, calculated, ruthless. No mistakes. No self-doubt. Just grit and instinct and a car that, for once, felt like an extension of himself.

When he crossed the finish line in P1, the roar from the grandstands felt deafening. Team radio crackled with cheers, engineers shouting down his ear, someone nearly in tears.

He barely heard it.

All he could think, where is she?

Pulling into parc fermé, he yanked off his helmet and looked around like a man on a mission.

“Where is she?” he asked one of the mechanics, already half out of the car.

The guy blinked. “Who?”

“Uh” He gestured vaguely. “My uh carer, she’s in the team kit, she was in the garage earlier. Has anyone seen her?”

Shrugs. Shaking heads. No one knew.

His jaw tensed, nerves he hadn’t felt all race prickling in now like static. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. All of this meant less if she wasn’t here to see it.

Still, he went through the motions: hugs with the crew, the sweaty TV pen interviews, the slow walk down the corridor lined with monitors and back-slaps. The moment was his, but it felt a bit empty.

Then he stepped onto the podium.

The crowd was thunderous. British flags everywhere, people chanting his name, flashes going off like strobes.

And there, down below, tucked between a few McLaren pit crew, cap pulled low and grinning up at him like he’d just done the impossible, there she was.

Her face lit up when he spotted her, and the tension in his chest just dropped.

He grinned, grabbed the champagne bottle, and with precision honed from years of celebration, arced the spray right in her direction.

She squealed, laughing, trying to duck behind someone’s shoulder but getting caught in it anyway.

He laughed too, and when the moment calmed, he looked down again and caught her eyes.

She mouthed something at him, something small, like ‘well done’, and he mouthed back.

Go back to the motorhome.

She gave a little salute, still smiling, and disappeared into the crowd.

And suddenly, the day felt complete.

The moment the press duties were done, Lando didn’t waste a second.

Still damp from champagne, hair sticking to his forehead, race suit tied at the waist, he all but jogged back through the paddock. Past cameras, past well-wishers, barely nodding as people tried to offer congratulations.

He needed to see her.

The motorhome was quiet when he pushed open the door, the rest of the team still caught up in the chaos outside. But she was there, sat on the sofa, McLaren cap now off, holding a bottle of water and staring out the window like she was waiting for him too.

“Hey—” she started, but didn’t finish.

Because he was already across the room, already scooping her up into a hug that nearly knocked the breath out of both of them. She gave a soft little laugh of surprise, arms winding round his neck as he held her like he’d just won her.

Which, in a way, he had.

“You were incredible,” she said against his shoulder.

“I didn’t care about the win,” he murmured, voice muffled in her hair. “Not until I saw you.”

She pulled back slightly to look at him, eyebrows drawing in. “Lando…”

“No, I mean it,” he said, heart racing now for entirely different reasons. “When I crossed the line, I should’ve felt everything. But I couldn’t think about anything except the fact that you weren’t there. Not at first. It felt, empty.”

Her expression softened, smile faltering at the edges.

“That’s the adrenaline talking,” she said gently, fingers brushing the back of his neck. “You’re on a high, people say all sorts when their heart’s going.”

“No,” he said firmly, eyes locked on hers. “I know it’s not.”

She stilled.

Lando took a breath. “My heart’s been on fire before, after wins, crashes, everything in between. But it’s never felt as empty as it does when you’re not near me. I didn’t know it at first, I didn’t have the words for it, but I do now.”

She blinked up at him, wide-eyed.

“I don’t just want you here when I’m falling apart,” he said quietly. “I want you here when I’m winning. When I’m okay. When I’m tired. When I’m not.”

Silence fell like a held breath.

And then she smiled, soft, shaken, and real. The kind that said she’d been waiting to hear those words without even realising it.

“I was always going to stay,” she whispered.

He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes fluttering shut. “Good.”

They stood like that for a moment, bodies close, breath mingling, the silence between them full of everything that had been left unsaid for too long.

She tilted her chin ever so slightly, and his nose brushed against hers. Neither of them moved beyond that, like they were afraid to disturb something fragile.

Then she whispered, “You smell like champagne.”

He gave a quiet laugh, barely more than a breath. “You smell like bananas and home.”

She smiled at that, small and warm and a little bit shy.

And then, like gravity had finally caught up with them, he leant in.

Their lips met softly, tentative at first, the kind of kiss you give when you’ve been thinking about it for far too long and you want to get it right. It wasn’t hurried, or heavy, or anything like what the world outside might’ve expected from a Formula One driver fresh off a win.

It was slow. Careful. His way of saying he didn’t want this to be over too soon.

Her hands curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, and he held her like she might disappear if he let go. When they parted, barely an inch between them, neither moved away.

She blinked up at him, dazed in the gentlest way.

“That wasn’t adrenaline,” she said quietly, as if to confirm it for herself.

“No,” he murmured, thumb brushing her cheek. “That was me. Just me.”

Her nose scrunched in that familiar way, eyes glinting with something fond. “Good.”

He smiled again, this time slower, fuller. And in the soft hush of the motorhome, with the noise of Silverstone still echoing somewhere in the background, Lando finally felt what peace might look like.

It looked a lot like her.

the end.

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[iwantyouto-eatme]

-PRETTY DEER

description! being trapped in the wilderness with a pretty girl makes it just the slightest bit better. oneshot!!

parings! natalie scatorccio x reader

contents! usual yellowjackets shenanigans, making out, fluff, slightly suggestive at the end, wlw, use of y/n.

not proofread

it had been 6 months since the crash.

6 months since all the chaos erupted.

6 months since you were forced to be around the prettiest girl in the school.

natalie was gorgeous to say the least. her bleached shag that complimented her warm brown eyes.

she wasn’t unaware of the looks you’d been giving her. she was actually quite aware of it. you hadn’t tried to hide it though.

whenever you and the girls would be sitting around the fire you’d intentionally perch yourself across from her, just to get a good look at her without anyone else really noticing it. even though you’d already been stuck with these girls for so long, you were still a little afraid of their judging eyes.

“hey y/n” nat said, deadpan from the other side of the muddy creek you were sitting at, trying to clean the blood off your bodies after the eventful night you’d had beforehand.

“oh hey nat. you alright?” you asked, trying to start small talk to get some sort of conversation going.

“yeah im splendid” adding an eye roll to the end of her sentence. “im shit but i don’t think that’s new”

“makes sense” you said. “do you wanna maybe go on a walk? i need to dry off and im really not in the mood to sit all day”

“sure” nat said, suprisingly accepting your offer.

-

the walk was calm. slight conversation flowing between the two of you. it was awkward to say the least. nat knew that you had been staring her down lately and you could tell now that she knew.

“yk im not blind” nat says simply

“what”

“i can see you staring. i have seen you staring. if you wanna fuck just say it” she says with a giggle, playfully shoving you.

“um… i uh just think you’re pretty. it’s nothing more than that” you say trying to convince yourself that’s all it is.

“yeah sure. i think you’re quite pretty too y/n” a small smile creeps onto nats face. it’s rare to see her smile like this, but you thought it was the most gorgeous sight ever.

the wilderness had been quite difficult for the two girls alike.

nat had been trying to help lead the girls and try to not all die. she had been doing quite well so far and wanted to make sure that stayed that way.

y/n just wanted to get out of that place one way or another. she didn’t care if she was rescued or killed. death did surely seem the easiest way out in this situation.

“were you with anyone before we left?” nat asked, genuinely curious about the girls life. she never was that close with her before. yeah sure they played on the same team and everything but y/n spent most of her time around jackie and shauna. not really nats favourite crowd.

“uh no. i liked someone but i never really got to talk to them before we left so i guess nothing could ever happen between us”

“do you still like them?”

the second of silence between nats question and y/n’s answer was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“yes.”

“so it’s someone here?” natalie was now extremely curious about who y/n’s mystery crush was.

“maybe maybe not. you’ll have to figure that one out nat.”

nat didn’t want to admit it but the way y/n said her name with such grace made her heart flutter in a way that it only ever once did for the boys she had a crush on when she was young.

crush

that’s definitely not what it is she barley even knew the girl.

but the way the soft afternoon glow of the sun hit y/n’s skin in a way that made her shimmer, the way her curls that still looked perfect without any product in them gently blew in the wind. she was in awe.

“you still there nat?” y/n asked seeing nat completely fazed looking at y/n’s face.

“oh uh yeah i am” nat said. “just looking at you”

y/n felt her face flush with red.

“lemme show you a spot travis used to take me to”

the way she said that made y/n realise that her dreams may just be about to come true.

she remembered how in love nat and travis used to be. until he was a dick. y/n lost her trust in him the second she saw how horrible he was to nat. if she ever wanted a chance with the girl they had to have a shared hatred for someone.

“ugh I can’t stand travis anymore” y/n said.

“oh my god tell me about it! his whiny voice just makes me wanna shoot him”

the two girls shared stories about eachother that even within the 6 months of being stuck around eachother had not learnt yet.

“there was a time during training once that i forgot my boots and had to play with my cheap ass sneakers and I fell over so many times!” y/n exclaimed.

“i actually remember that! you were so stupid! actually correction, you’re still stupid”

“what! this is not okay what are you talking about”

“look at you right now. can’t even tell what im trying to do” natalie says, slowing down when the two reached a large tree. the initials “t + n” lay etched onto the tree messily. it was all you could notice while nat picked up a stick from the ground.

gently moving you out of the way, she came close to the tree and etched a large x over her and her exes initials.

“why did you do that?” y/n asked.

“i wanna start fresh, you know start something new.”

her hand then wrote onto the tree “n + (ur initial)”

once nat had written that she turned back to you, your eyes widened in shock. clearly confused on why nat would write your name.

“y/n, i know we’ve like never really properly spoken before today, but i really really like you. i wanna know you, inside and out.”

nats words sparked something in y/n and she moved closer towards her, backing her up against the tree.

“oh yeah?” y/n said with a hint of flirting laced in it. she never knew this side of her could come out but for the girl she had been admiring for months, she’d do anything.

“yeah” nat said, barley a whisper.

y/n then, in an attempt to close the gap of awkwardness between the two, pressed her lips against natalies.

the two moved in a way that was almost whimsical. everything that the two had gone through over the last few months disappeared behind the two lovers, mouths moving in sync with the wind howling around them.

“nat! finally i found you we’ve been waiting for ever for you to-“ jackie yelled, pausing the second she saw the two girls passionately making out.

the two broke apart, readjusting their clothes and brushing their hair behind their ears.

“calm down i knew this would happen eventually. glad you stopped eye fucking eachother and just did it” jackie giggles as she walks back towards the groups site.

y/n and nat looked between eachother, a silent agreement that they’d continue all this when they got alone time next, and that maybe next time it would go just the slightest further.

“is this the right time to tell you that id so take you against this tree?” nat whispers into y/n’s ear. enough to get her flustered but able to leave her wanting more.

the two walked back, hand in hand. “i can’t wait to get to know you y/n.”

“i can’t wait to get to know you too nat”

the girls just hoped they’d live to know each-other as much as they wanted.

a/n! first story on here i hope u guys like it :3 pls give me feedback and/or requests writers block is so real. i have a series in mind i wanna do pre-crash!nat x reader story inspired by 10 things i hate about you. if i ever get to finishing writing it ill 100% post it!

[thegoldencontracts]

Prefect

Azul is your boyfriend. Yes, boyfriend, as in, person you're in intimate and romantic relations with. So why, just why is he still calling you Prefect?

Notes: credit to @/cephalo-punk for the idea... Im sorry for my sins, reader is the Prefect, GN reader as usual

You and Azul had a wonderful relationship, really. Wonderful, and romantic, and everything. It was safe to say you two were closing, dating, even. Yes, you two were dating. For months now.

And what did people usually call their partners whom they were dating? Their first name, maybe a petname. They usually dropped the titles.

But not Azul. No, Azul could never drop the title you held. Why? Who knew?

"Prefect!" Azul's voice pulled you out of your frying pan of rage only to plummet you into its fire. Ah, yes, that 'nickname'. That damned nickname. "Would you like to dine together this weekend? My treat, of course. I secured a reservation to that restaurant you kept ogling on our trips together. I know, I truly am a benevolent soul."

And yet, immediately your rage was quelled. Azul was asking to take you out on a date. And especially this week - Finals' must've left him completely swamped, no? But he did. And he even got a reservation to that one place that you somehow forgot the name of! Sure, you didn't remember the name, but you did remember that those reservations were super hard to get.

So, did the Prefect thing really matter that much?

"I'll gladly go on a date with you, Azul!" You said. Azul's lips jutted out ever so slightly.

"A 'date' is one way to call it, I suppose," he said. "Really, Prefect-"

Nevermind. In an instant, your mood was dampened by that stupid term of address. He loved you enough to go through all this trouble, and you really appreciated that, honest! You just wanted him to use your goddamn name!

Wait. You had an idea.

"Fine, fine, I'll stop teasing you," you said. "Housewarden Ashengrotto."

Azul looked at you in confusion.

"Housewarden Ashengrotto?"

"That's you, silly!" You said, like you didn't know the real reason behind his question.

Azul's face puckered up in displeasure, like he'd just eaten a sour lemon. He stayed silent for a while before speaking up again.

"Have I done something to offend you, Prefect?" He asked.

"Nope!" You said. "Why, Housewarden Ashengrotto?"

Azul's eye twitched.

"You've decided not to call me by my name all of a sudden," he said.

You smirked.

"Well, since you don't call me by mine, I thought we'd be on even footing!"

The realization hit Azul like a truck. His eyes widened, only to narrow as his cheeks flushed in an indignated pout.

"W-Well- that's different, er-" Azul sighed. "Does it truly upset you that greatly?"

You couldn't help but soften up a bit at that. He really didn't mean you any harm, even if you did still think it was uncharacteristically stupid of him.

"How does it feel when I call you Housewarden?" You asked. His face darkened.

"Point taken."

"Good," you said. "So, why don't you try calling me by my name?"

Azul's eyes widened.

"E-Eh?"

"You heard me. We should be on even footing, right, Housewarden Ashengrotto?"

Azul gulped. If he wanted you to call him by his name again, he'd have to do this, and obviously he was going to, since it was clearly important to you, but...

It was hard.

"O-Of course," he said. "E-Er, Pre- ah-"

And then he said your name. Without "-san" added as an honorific. Nothing of the sort, just your name.

You smiled.

"Yes, Azul?"

And just hearing his name again made Azul beam.

"Why don't we go to your place? It's getting rather late."

"I would love that."

[caninescreations]

Nine Years, Nine Months, and Nine Days

it's late so i'll edit the post later and make an AO3 link when im not sososo so sleepy. no title BUT i did piggyback this idea off that one anon who proposed cat!stan but back in New Jersey to @dark-lord-of-awesomeness and i was like... "yeah i can take a crack at that"

creative liberties taken with the premise, though, and absolutely NONE of this is beta read. did it all in two late-night sessions. you get spellcheck and that's about it, baybee

1963 Stanford and his brother were nine when it happened. There had been an old woman on the boardwalk, layered in crocheted shawls and cardigans despite the muggy September weather, her snow-white hair pulled tight in a braided bun at the top of her head like a head of cauliflower. She had the sort of puckered face that belonged to people who don't know what smiling is, and probably never did, and she had been parked square on a bench where the sand met the street, tossing breadcrumbs to seagulls that hovered in the air around her but did not seem to want to land. By her side was a carpet bag almost as big as she was, sitting open and overfilling with myriad items. Sheafs of patterned papers, browning flowers, one iridescent beetle that tried to clamber out before her wrinkled hands nudged it back inside.

He thinks it was the beetle, really, that started it. The both of them had been so fixated on its size and color, and so confused as to why an old woman would even have a bug in her bag. Stanford wanted to examine it, to see if it was a species he knew. Stanley just wanted to know how heavy it was, and maybe if it could fly, too.

"If she catches me," Stanley had said with a clever grin, a small crab cradled expertly in his palm, "then I'll just say I saw a crab tryn'a nab her snacks."

Stanford had nodded along, agreed with the logic.

The old woman had been keener than either of them had expected, though. Stanley's arm had only gone elbow-deep into the bag, barely time to root around for the beetle, when her bony fingers had snatched him up and pulled him to front, too fast for Stanford to intervene.

"Thieving little paws best keep to themselves, young man."

"I wasn't thievin' nothing!" Stanley had protested. "I- I saw a crab in your purse. Thought it woulda scared you out of your old-lady skin like a cartoon skeleton if you saw it."

"Well, aren't you sweet?" She'd let him go, then, his wrist red from the force of her grip. "Such a considerate little thing ought to be rewarded as he deserves."

She'd produced from her sleeve then something small and shiny that crinkled. A piece of candy, sort of brownish from what the two of them could see through the white waxed paper wrapping.

"Here," she said.

"Wait, really?" Stanley asked, accepting the candy as any nine-year-old would. "People don't usually thank me for rootin' through their stuff without asking."

"People don't usually keep live animals in their bags, either." She scattered another handful of crumbs along the ground, and the birds continued to not land.

"Fair enough. Say, you don't happen to have an extra, do ya? I got a brother, see, and hard candies don't split easy enough to share."

"This one is just for you," she had smiled. Then her sweet tone dropped. "Now scoot. I've got birds to bait."

And Stanley had.

He didn't end up splitting the candy in the end- one bite had revealed its flavor as toffee, and while Stanford never minded accepting a spit-covered hemisphere of hardball sugar, he hadn't been in the mood for that particular taste that particular day. On top of that, it had been sort of sticky-on-the-outside in the way that only really old candy got, and Stanford hated feeling it on his teeth. So Stanley ate the whole thing, chattering on with it tucked in his cheek as they returned to the beach and played on the wrecked boat they'd found earlier that summer. The mugginess continued late into the afternoon, until the clouds grew heavy with rain and threatened to spill down upon them.

And then, he remembered, something happened. Stanley had curled over onto himself, groaning in discomfort. Lightning flashed above them. Stanford had crouched with his hand on his brother's back, trying to soothe what he thought was a simple stomach-ache. But then his brother was coughing, and retching, and convulsing on all fours on the sand like something was trying to crawl out of him. The sky opened up and began to pour out onto the beach like a vertical tidal wave, and his brother got smaller, smaller, smaller- until sitting under his hand, curly-furred and yowling, was a little kitten.

=== 1964 Stanford was sitting underneath the table on the floor, sulkily poking at his peas and mashed potatoes. In the next room over, Ma and Pa were arguing again. He could hear their muffled voices through the walls. Beside him, on the floor, Stanley sat eating Stanford's portion of the evening's meatloaf. It had been a long time since his transformation, but his brother was still kitten-sized, all doe-eyed and chubby in a way that kept their mom cooing and their father acquiescent to any cat-related shenanigans.

"If I told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Caryn- I'm not letting a cat eat at the table like its a person!"

"Stanford is grieving, Filbrick!"

"He's mental, that's what he is! And you keep feeding into it, letting him convince himself that his brother isn't gone! He needs to accept reality, he needs to move on, and he can't do that if you keep indulging him like this!"

"Move on? Move on-?! Filbrick, Stanley is missing, not dead!"

"It's been a year, Caryn. What do you think happens to little boys who are lost for that long, huh? They don't come strolling in through the front door, that's for sure! We're not gonna let him coast by on false hope."

Stanford tuned them out. His brother finished eating and mewled quietly, crawling into his lap and pawing at his shirt. Stanley couldn't talk, but Stanford had gotten a book from the library about Morse code, and though his teeny kitten body was still a little wobbly, he could get a short and misspelled message or two out. It's how they'd settled on the name currently adorning Stanley's collar, when it became clear that their parents weren't willing to listen. Archer, after the giant lady from his brother's favorite poster.

"No, I'm okay, really," Stanford said. "If Pa won't let you eat at the table, I'll just eat on the floor. You can have half of my dinner, and then you won't have to eat the cat food. I know it must be gross."

The purring he got in response let him know without it needing to be spelled out that he'd said the right thing.

=== 1965 Stanford planted his face in his hands and groaned. "That does it. I've read every book in the public library, and there is nothing about magic curses. I hate it here." From his backpack Stanley crawled, chirping as he swiped at the used stack of books to Stanford's left as if to agree. He was steady now, if still ridiculously small. "We may have to take our research excursion beyond the reaches of Glass Shard Beach. We might even have to take a bus."

Stanley clicked out a short word.

"Well of course I'm gonna hide you. We might not need money for two tickets but they don't let animals on the bus. My backpack's fine, isn't it?"

…A reluctantly-chirped 'yes'.

"We'll figure this out, Stanley. I know it's… been a little while," if two and a half years even counted as such, both the summer and their birthday coming in hot, "but I've got your back."

=== 1966 "If you don't shut up about the cat I'm getting it put down," Filbrick snapped. "It's not Stanley. It's never been Stanley. It is a cat. It eats kibble and shits in a box. Your brother ran off and got himself kidnapped or murdered and now you're imagining things because you can't face the truth like a man. So either cut the crap and get your head screwed on, or Archer gets the boot. Am I understood?"

Stanford took a deep, shuddering breath and gripped the animal in his arms more tightly. It wiggled uncomfortably, but rather than yowl in complaint as it usually liked to, it curled its tail up under itself and pressed into his belly like it was trying to hide there, claws curling into the black suit jacket.

"Stanford Filbrick Pines, look at me when I'm talking to you. Am I understood?"

"…Yes, Pa. I understand."

Filbrick shook his head and grit his teeth, keeping his eyes on the road. "Twelve freakin' years old and still acting like magic is real. You're disrespecting your brother's memory with all this nonsense."

=== 1967 Stanford sat at his desk, staring at the stack of cards wishing him a happy thirteenth birthday. He was a man now, technically, having muddled his way awkwardly through his passage in the torah, wishing Stanley had been there to cut through the thick tension with a quip and a smile. But Stanley wasn't here. It was only him and Archer.

His hand ran along his cat's back, carding out a few knots from its curly fur as his eyes bore holes into the cardstock.

"You're just a cat," he muttered to himself, a repetitive chant he'd forced himself to learn after Pa's outburst at the funeral last year. Anything to keep Archer from being taken away. "A very smart cat, but a cat nonetheless. Magic isn't- magic doesn't happen in Glass Shard Beach. I was a confused little kid who missed his brother too much."

=== 1968 Stanford, fourteen, sat with his homework in the shade of the Stan o' War, its rotting deck letting in beams of hot sunlight through the woodworm-eaten holes in the wood. Archer was lounging beside him, stretched out in the sand with its paws kneading the air contentedly. Its tail flicked back and forth lazily as it rumbled like a car engine, loud and grounding.

"A kitten!" He startled at the girlish squeal, nose lifting from his book to find some vaguely-familiar young woman in a swim skirt and sandals whose name escaped him. "Stanford, I didn't know you were a cat person- is he yours?"

"Er, yes. Though Archer isn't really a kitten. It's just small. I think it might be a breed of munchkin cat."

"That's pretty groovy," she said, crouching down and reaching out for a petting.

"Ah, I wouldn't-" Stanford began, trying to warn her off. But Archer had already rolled to its feet and hissed, shaking the sand off its body in the girl's direction and trotting with a huff to his side. He chuckled nervously as she brushed the sand from her arms, saying, "Sorry about that. It doesn't really like other people- just me and my family. My cat is kind of protective like that."

"Aw, a regular little man of the house, ain't he?" the girl cooed at it, maintaining her distance. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna steal your pet boy. I just thought a cutie like you might appreciate a woman's touch."

"I'm not sure that Archer is interested in interior design," Stanford said.

"I was talking about giving him a good scratch behind the ear," she laughed. "Though if it's interior design we're talking about, that boat could use some. I've seen you hang around this old thing for years, and you ain't ever done anything with it."

"Ah, well. It's a quiet place to think," Stanford mumbled, drawing circles into the ground with his littlest finger and rather wishing to get back to his homework the more the girl made it apparent that he was woefully behind on his half of the social upkeep. "It doesn't need to be anything more than that."

"A quiet place, huh? Was I interrupting your alone time?" she asked, getting back to her feet. Archer meowed indignantly at her, and she amended, "Ah. Right, I'm sorry. Can't be alone if you've got Archer, can you?"

"…No, I suppose I can't," Stanford replied, a small smile warming his expression.

=== 1969 "What do I need a car for, Pa? Everything in this town is close enough to walk to." Stanford followed his father outside to the back lot, Archer close at his heels. His father stopped at the car- not the family car, they never went anywhere that required a vehicle to get to, and Pa seemed only to ever use it to get larger big-ticket items for the pawn shop or to get to those secret society meetings he went to every month- and held out the key.

"Whether or not you get your nose out of those books of yours long enough to actually earn the scratch to get your own car is irrelevant. Driving is a skill no man can do without. Now get behind the driver's seat- you're gonna learn how to drive stick. None of that namby-pamby automatic transmission garbage they're rolling out these days."

"Of course, Pa." Stanford opened the door and unlocked the passenger side as he slipped into the seat. Archer hopped in immediately, hopping nimbly from his lap, to his shoulder, and then out of the way and into the back seat.

"And put that damn cat back inside, I don't want it making a mess in my car."

"Archer has never once urinated or defecated in your car, Pa. It's a smart cat, it knows what it can and can't get away with."

"And it's not gonna start now! It already thinks it owns the house, I'm not letting it ruin my upholstery."

"It doesn't cause any trouble," Stanford tried to say.

"No trouble, eh? No trouble when it won't eat the cat food I shell out for, no trouble when it scratches up your bed posts and the good sheets, no trouble when it keeps getting into the fridge and eating the pastrami!"

"That was one time!"

"I paid good money for that pastrami!"

"And I paid you back for it!"

"It's about the principal of the thing, Stanford. If you don't teach that cat some respect it's gonna walk all over you."

Stanford neglected to mention the multiple occasions during which his napping father could be found with Archer in his lap, one wide hand set on its rumbling side without complaint.

"Can we just start the driving lesson?"

Filbrick shook his head. "Not until that cat is out of this car."

Stanford let his head drop onto the steering wheel and groaned.

=== 1970 When Stanford came home from school that day, Ma had been cradling Archer like a baby and smothering the poor thing's head with kisses. Archer, in contrast to its reactions to other displays of over-affections by strangers, was purring loudly with tightly-shut eyes even with her thick rouge smeared into the fur on its head.

"What's going on here?" asked Stanford, setting his bag down on the coffee table. It thumped with books, but the new straps held their weight well.

"We've got a little hero here," Ma told him, fingers scritching underneath the cat's chin. "I was havin' a client over to do an in-house reading on account of she was willing to pay more, and your cat caught her tryna steal the jewelry from my nightstand while I was in the bathroom. Ran her right outta the house, he did! Ain't that right, Archer?"

It let out a self-satisfied meow, brash and loud, and snuggled more into her arms.

=== 1971, April Stanford did something he hadn't done in years that night, and curled up on the mattress of the bottom bunk. The pamphlet for West Coast Tech was crumpled between his hands, the paper already half-ripped. He kept his eyes trained on the far wall, mind carefully blank as the poster for 'Attack of the Fifty-Foot Tall Woman' stared back at him. Quiet as a church-mouse, Archer leapt onto the bed and crawled under his arm to nestle against his chest. He could feel it rumbling quietly, its thick and curly fur shedding onto his wrinkled clothes.

"I made a fool of myself today," he admitted to it. "Stumbled over my speech to the recruiters and bumped the table. The whole machine broke down, just like that, and then they left. My one ticket out of Glass Shard Beach, gone like dust in the wind because I couldn't properly deliver a formal presentation in front of an audience."

Archer nosed under his chin, and he let his fingers release the pamphlet in order to card through its pelt. There was no judgement from it- never had been, not since he'd adopted it from the streets in the wake of his brother's disappearance. A strange thing, small as a kitten for ages, growing so slowly that it was only through pictures that anyone in the house had noticed it had grown at all. Nine years, enough for any cat to be considered old, and still as spry as a cat one-ninth of its age. But still just a cat at the end of it all. Long-lived through good caretaking and scraps of meat slipped under the table at dinner time. Loyal as a dog and twice as crafty.

"At least you don't care that I'm a failure," he mumbled. "Not that that will change Pa's reaction when he finds out I blew it."

Archer lifted a paw and smacked his face. There was a lot of force behind it, though the cat had miraculously decided not to use its claws. It meowed directly into his ear, and squirmed from his grip. He didn't move, more confused than anything else, as it jumped to the floor and trotted to his desk, which was currently still covered in papers. He knew it liked to play with his work, but only after he'd been sitting and thinking for hours on his own.

He watched it sniff around, its little paws digging scrap paper and notes onto the floor before it found something that seemed to catch its attention. It nudged the paper to the center of the desk, sat down on its haunches, and yowled at him. Stanford groaned- Archer was a chatty cat at the best of times, but when it yowled it wouldn't stop until he'd come to see what it wanted or his Pa came in to yell about the noise.

Not wanting to face the man this soon after the most humiliating day of his life, Stanford dragged himself out of the bottom bunk with a sigh and shuffled over to see what his cat was fussing over. It was an empty college application, one of many he'd been handed by his guidance counselor to fill out "just in case" his first choice fell through. Just looking at it made his stomach churn, the idea of going through all that effort of applying to somewhere only half as good and still getting a rejection letter swirling around in his mind's eye until he snatched up the page and crumpled it in his hands in a fit of anger.

When it was no more than a tightly-wadded ball in his hands, Stanford dropped it to the ground and sat aggressively at the desk. His elbows hit the table and his fingers found their way into his thick, curly hair to yank and tug his frustrations out. Archer made a little wheezy huff, hitting the floor with a thud and returning back to the desk after just a moment. When he bothered to look up, his cat dropped the paper from its mouth and pawed at it, leaning in close to his face and yowling loudly at him once more.

"What, you think I should keep trying? Do you want me to get on my hands and knees and go campus to campus, getting the door slammed in my face?"

Archer bopped him in the nose with a paw and hissed in displeasure. The clever cat always seemed to be able to tell when he was putting himself down, and refused to indulge him whenever he did. Just like-

He looked back down at the crumpled application and began the process of gently un-crumpling it. With a sigh, he grumbled, "Well. If I fill them out, at least Pa can't get mad that I'm 'not trying hard enough'. What do you think the statistical likelihood of getting a full-ride scholarship is for a freak from a backwater New Jersey town?"

Archer slammed its head into his cheek before it bit him.

=== 1971, June

He was passing his parent's bedroom when, through the open crack in the door, he overheard their conversation. Stanford stood still against the wall, hands still dripping wet from the bathroom.

"Whaddya want me to do, huh, Caryn? It's a cat. I'm not gonna let Stanford ruin his own future just because he can't follow a simple dorm rule!"

Ma sighed, "It's not like he'd have t' hide it forever, Fil. That poor animal's almost ten, it'll probably pass away before too much longer."

"Then we keep it here and get it put down while he's away," Pa replied. "He can cry and moan about it when the semester's over."

"Filbrick!"

"What? You're tellin' me you wanna watch that thing limp around like our last one? We'd be doing it a favor."

Stanford chanced a peek through the door, trying to catch sight of either of them.

"I'm not saying you're wrong, I'm saying our son's been through enough! Let him have the cat. Let him take it to college with him." Caryn gestured as she spoke, the smoke from her cigarette trailing after her hand like a record of the motions. "At the very least let him be around to watch it die. Give him some closure for it? Honestly, Fil, the kid's leaving to start summer classes tomorrow. Summer classes! I didn't even know colleges did that. He'll be workin' himself like a dog, I know he will. At least the cat'll make sure he pulls his head out of his books long enough to eat and sleep."

Her tone was pointed, and Stanford saw Pa grit his teeth and massage his brow with one hand. "Fine. We'll keep the damn thing fed while he's away. But it's not going with him. I'm putting my foot down on that. He'll be eighteen tomorrow, a full-grown man. And full-grown men do not need fluffy little animals to make 'em feel better about their feelings."

Stanford clenched his fists and moved away from the door, the single slice of birthday cake he'd forced himself to eat sitting heavy in his stomach. He wouldn't leave his only friend behind.

…Admittedly, he should've known that trying to hide Archer in his coat when it was mid-June was not one of his smarter ideas.

"Gimme that damn cat, you're not taking it with you-"

There was an odd popping sound, a sparkling flash of light, and then the twelve-pound terror that Pa had been scruffing became instead two-hundred-and-ten. There was a rip, a yelp, and the three remaining members of the Pines family stared down at the fresh heap of limbs on the ground between them. Pa stared, agog, his fist still clenched. Between his fingers was half of a shirt, well-worn, with white and red stripes.

There was a human teenager on the ground, wearing the other half of the shirt and the tatters of an outfit meant for a child about a third his size. This teenager- a doughy-looking white boy wearing Stanford's own face with hair long enough to cover what the clothing scraps couldn't- looked up at the three of them with a sort of blank, uncomprehending confusion. Stanford could relate to that.

"St- Stuhh- St-" he stuttered out through his paling, sweaty face.

"Stanley…?" Ma warbled. The cigarette in her hand dropped to the floor and started to scorch a hole in the worn carpeting. Pa didn't even chide her- he, too, was staring down at the carbon copy on the floor where once was a cat named Archer. No-longer-Archer looked between the three of them, then down to the pair of calloused hands that now belonged to him. He looked back up, locking eyes with Stanford for a brief instant before flicking his gaze away and croaking out a one-worded question.

"M-ma?" His mouth moved like he couldn't quite remember how words worked. His limbs, too, twitched like they were used to a much more restrictive range of motion, pulled in close to the chest like paws.

"My baby boy-!" Caryn collapsed to her knees, her shaking hands reaching out and clutching Not-Archer by the face. Her fingers cradled his cheeks, turning his head this way and that, and he let her, limp like Archer went whenever Ma scooped it up. "You- where'd you come from? How are you-? Why were you-?"

She stopped trying to speak, then, letting out a pained and aching sound when-- Stanley, sweet Moses, his brother! Not a cat, never a cat-- he managed to get his arms around her shoulders and hold her back. She clutched him tight and began to cry.

"I knew it." Stanford's voice was flat. There was a haunted look in his eyes, and his hands came up to clutch at his arms. "I knew it. I knew it the whole time, and I-" he took a sharp breath inward. "I let everyone tell me I was crazy. I let you tell me I was crazy!" His head turned sharp to Pa, then, that haunted look hardening to icy stone.

"I watched my brother get turned into a cat! I asked for help- I begged for it! And you were gonna put him down!"

Pa snapped his jaw shut. "Your cat just turned into a naked hippie and your first thought is pointing fingers at me?"

"His name is Stanley!" Stanford shouted, clutching the air like he wanted to strangle something. His fingers twitched, all twelve of them, and he threw his arms out wide as he laid everything out. "He's my brother! He's your son! You said he went missing! You made us hold a funeral for him! He's here right in front of us but you won't admit that even though you're holding his shirt!"

And Pa looked at the scrap of fabric still held in his hand. When he opened his clenched fingers, he could see the care tag on the inside of the collar. Stitched there in his wife's blocky embroidery with cheap black thread in all capital letters was his missing son's name.

"I-" all at once, the man looked at a loss. The taught line of his shoulders seemed to sag, millimeter by millimeter. Hoarsely, Pa mumbled out something that Stanford, in a million years, would never have bet a cent on hearing. "I don't know what's happening."

"Sixer?" Stanford looked down to the ground, where his brother was wrapped tightly in their mother's arms. "I-is this real? Can you understand me?"

His knees and expression both crumpled. Bruising his tailbone on the ground, he reached out and clutched at one of Stanley's hands, lacing them together and squeezing with all his might just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Stanley squeezed back, strong despite his lack of coordination.

"Stanley…" Stanford murmured. "Stanley, I'm so sorry- All this time you were counting on me, and I- I convinced myself that I imagined everything. I was a fool- I've been a horrible brother-"

"Hey." Stanley was looking at him with a stormy gaze- anger, bitterness from years of being ignored, likely, and why wouldn't he be? Stanford had all but abandoned him in his time of need, left him to languish for years under an unsolvable curse- His brother slapped his face with an open palm. It stung a lot more than the paw did. "Quit bein' a dick to yourself."

Stanford blinked, and then began to laugh. It wasn't a funny laugh- or, rather, it was a laugh that was funny-sounding. Of all the things for Stanley to say to him right off the bat, of anything for which his brother would take advantage of that most precious of human abilities, chiding him for self-flagellation was the least anticipated. And yet, when Stanford remembered Archer, remembered when his brother was last human, he couldn't imagine anything else.

He joined their mother in the hug, arms wrapping around both Stanley and her as he buried his hysterical laughter into his brother's thick, curly hair and sagged in relief.

[mbbmz]

Hey again😍I took 2 nights of thinking to actually come up with ANYTHING💀 SO, Brahman Wakasa who casually hooks up with reader to release stress n stuff. But reader realizes she's catching feelings for him and doesn't want him to be with any other girl, so she confesses it to him! Could be happy or sad ending but ngl im kinda in the mood for angst😭

Hi darling! Sorry I took a while to write this I was lacking motivation A LOT lol

Also what I write is a bit different from what you described to me but the spirit is still there, I hope you’ll still like it.

Warnings : Porn with a little plot, smut, ptv sex, riding, Waka is an asshole, kinda angsty and no comfort

NSFW under the cut

Stay.

The room was filled with panting breaths and small grunts, the headboard of your bed hitting the wall every so often. It was hard to keep your eyes open, but you did, for the sole purpose of watching the man under you.

His eyes were closed, his beautiful lips parted and a small frown on his usually relaxed features. It was almost unfair how pretty he was, his eyelashes fluttering everytime your pace varied, going from slow rolls of your hips to fast, small bounces. Your hands were settled on his firm chest, trying hard not to wander and disrupt the pace you were setting. You could feel his fingers digging in your hips, sometimes trailing down to draw lazy circles on your clit, trailing up to play with your nipples before repeating the cycle again. At this point, you didn’t care where he touched you, as long as you felt his hands on you.

You met Wakasa at a bar, three, four months ago. You don’t really remember. You remember hooking up with him, though, as it was probably one of the best nights in your life. Since then, you two became sort of… friends with benefit.

It wasn’t true, and you knew it. You weren’t even his friend. You were just a hook up, a booty call.

You were fine with that, because that’s what he was to you too. Until he wasn’t. Until you started seeing him in a different light. Until you felt a small pressure in your chest every time he was getting ready to leave. Each of those times, the words ‘don’t leave’ were threading to come out of your throat. They never did.

You felt your orgasm approaching, your pace quickening as your movements got slightly shaky, stuttering from the pleasure. You could see a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, neck and chest, making him even hotter in your eyes. His fingers came to play with your clit, rubbing it up and down in an attempt to get you closer to the edge.

A low moan escaped his lips, feeling your walls fluttering, tightening around him from the movements of his index on your sensitive mound. It was a matter of a few seconds until a wave of pleasure coursed your body, your orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks. It always did with him.

You continued moving your hips a bit more, trying to finish him off despite the sensitivity you had down there, and it paid off after a few seconds. You were both panting heavily, trying to come down of your high. Your thighs were hurting a bit, so after gaining some energy to do so, you let his softening cock leave the warmth of your body to lay down beside him, your head on his chest.

This sweet moment lasted five minutes, tops, before he started getting up. Sitting up on your bed, you watched him picking up his clothes from the floor, getting ready to leave.

-"That was cool. Thanks for lettin’ me crash here."

Cool. That was cool. Yeah, that’s exactly how you would describe too. Of course.

You felt the same usual words burning your tongue, you were running out of time. Soon he would go past that door and there would be nothing you can do about it.

-"Why don’t you… stay a bit more?.."

Your voice came out softer than what you intended. You hated it, how desperate you sounded. When you saw him looking at you, you knew he knew. You despised the way he was looking at you right now. His face was as expressionless as usual, but you could see it in his eyes. Almost like pity, but with a tinge or irritation. Like something inconvenient had happened.

-"Needa go, got somethin’ goin’ on tonight."

No goodbye, no see you around, no take care. Just silence as he walked past the door, leaving behind him a used condom, a creaking bed and a broken heart.

Late at night, curled under your blanket, your eyes were stinging a little. You should go to sleep, you had work tomorrow. Yet despite the sting of your eyes and the overwhelming tiredness, you couldn’t take your gaze off the text you sent to him. You couldn’t take off your eyes from the small red lettering next to it.

Not delivered.

[consistencynevermether]

Winter Nights (Vere x gn!Reader) (Touchstarved)

content: verex reader, gender neutral reader, I tried to write this so any origin will work with this fic, SFW but Vere makes his usual jokes, cannon typical swearing, reader bullies Vere just the smallest bit but he does the same.

summary: Vere has a horrible day, not enjoying the ice-cold weather at all. you decide to help out your favorite sassy fox boy.

word count: 5.5k

A/N: In honor of us getting VERE LORE i made this little fic of him. ngl i just saw how much he hated snow and ran with it. im so obsessed w this bitch yall i love him sm.

part 2 here

Vere had had a shit day. In your first few weeks of arriving in Eridia you probably wouldn’t have noticed it. That demon Fox was notoriously good at hiding his feelings when he really wanted to. He'd misdirect your attention, complaining about how shitty the drinks are in the Wick when he was really upset about something else entirely. Something deeper he didn't want you to know about. Honestly, in the first few weeks here you probably didn't care much to know what he was upset about anyways, you were too busy trying to survive. But life in Eridia had settled down a bit after the first month or so. You had stable lodgings, you had picked up some odd jobs, using your specific set of skills to give yourself some income. You even had allies of sorts. 

Leander had shown you the ropes of the cities and how to fit in with his Bloodhounds, Kuras had welcomed your assistance at the clinic (even if your help just amounted to laundry or organization), Ais enjoyed your occasional company in the red spring, and even Mhin had gifted you a well made dagger, their face blushing red as they insisted it was simply so you wouldn't be as useless as you had been that night they had met you. You'd even consider some of them almost friends now.

Yet out of all the characters you'd met since entering this city, Vere had been the one you had chosen to align yourself with in the quest to cure your curse. There was something dangerous beneath the surface of all of your new acquaintances, yet with Vere it was different. He knew more than he was letting on. He was more than he was letting on. Vain people like him usually loved to flaunt just how wealthy, powerful or clever they were, but he had always slyly dodged the topic. He was putting on an act, a performance where he was simply a beautiful face, and you knew it was bullshit. You’d be lying if you said curiosity was not a catalyst for choosing Vere as your closest companion, but you also had the sense that staying close to him was infinitely safer than opposing him. Something about keeping friends close and enemies closer. 

But that was the other problem. Over these months, you saw Vere as less of an enemy and more like-

-Well, Saying friend was probably inaccurate. You kept your secrets close to your chest and Vere was far too fake with you for you to assume he trusted you. Yet, you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. He'd try to get a rise out of you by being an asshole and you'd reply with something snarky, clever, or just downright outrageous and Vere would let out a surprised bark of laughter. Real laughter, a high pitched guttural cackle, not like the fake laughter he uses around most, that breathless smooth chuckle you'd quickly figured out was fake as fuck. 

Getting closer to Vere also meant learning things like that, when he was being fake or when he genuinely meant something. And although you'd never admit it, you loved that. Getting to know Vere better and getting rewarded with a real moment with him was like having a stray cat you'd been trying to get to trust you finally approach and sniff your hand before hissing and running off again. You knew that cat would be an asshole the next day, but you also know you'd be back the next day to see if you could get that cat to trust you a little more. 

Though said cat (or more accurately fox) had been in a worsening mood recently. The months were getting colder, and when the first snowflake fell Vere’s scowl became more frequent, plus leander had been trying to get closer to you lately, and that man's mere presence could put Vere in a pissy mood for hours. You didn't quite understand his hatred for Leander, but you also had the feeling leander was just a little insane, so it might be genuinely good judgment on Veres part instead of him just being an ass to people for fun, like what he did with Mhin and Kuras. The real icing on the cake to complete Veres' bad mood was his hunting session that happened today. The Senobium had dragged him out at the crack of dawn to kill monsters and only loosened his leash late into the night, after the light snowfall had become more of a brutal sleet, the ice cold rain coming down in sheets. The temperature in Eridia always drops much lower in the nighttime, so by tomorrow you'd put money on the outside either being a slushy mess with ice coating every road, or be covered in a dusting of snow. Though you weren't too sure how likely either of those realistically were to occur, it was your first winter in Eridia. You hadn't even realized that you'd been here for so long the seasons had begun changing around you, but it was clear Vere had hated the colder months. 

Your persistence in getting to know Vere, for reasons even you couldn't really explain, along with all these reasons, was why you knew he was going to be in the worst mood yet when he got back. You were by the bar, nursing some hot mulled wine when the door to the Wet Wick slammed open, Vere stomping in (probably to knock some of the slush off his boots and also because he was angry) and taking a seat at the bar next to you. 

He didn't say a word to you, silently seething as he gave the bartender a silent look that meant “make this drink strong or i'll make your life miserable”. 

Thankfully, the bartender was as reliable and quick on her feet as ever, ignoring Vere’s death glare but pouring him some non-watered down liquor. You were ever grateful for her ability to deal with the people of this city. 

Veres' long scarlet hair was slightly plastered to his cheek, wet and freezing, with snow and sleet mixed in, tangling the long strands. You wagered a quick look at his tail, and it was just as bad, if not worse. A bit of mud had caked on the bottom of it, along with the blood of whatever monster they had had him hunting that evening. And the fine fur was drenched to the bone. He looked absolutely horrible, and hadn't said a word to you the entire time, just bitterly drinking his liquor and motioning for another pour.

That's how you knew this bad day was different from the rest. Usually when Vere was upset he'd let you know somehow. Whether it was turning up his nose at you to let you know your presence isn't wanted nor needed, or sometimes he'd rant for hours on how much he hated the Senobium or whatever else was bothering him. And no matter how mad he was, he'd never let you see him in such a disheveled state. It was hard for you to remember even a handful of times where Vere looked less than perfect. 

But now? Looked like an absolute mess, and even stranger, he was just-

-just quiet really. If you didn't know better you'd almost think he was a little defeated. Like a person at their breaking point. 

You couldn't help but feel sympathetic. Not too long ago you had felt that way, the face he wore now was like the one you wore on the caravan on the way to Eridia reminiscing about how you were betrayed, how your former life and everything you had up until that point was basically nothing but ashes now. It was not a good feeling. 

You wanted to do something to help. For some reason you really wanted to do something to help. Luckily you had an idea. Well, hopefully luckily. You knew people who looked like that usually wanted to be left alone to seeth for a while. Or cry, depending on the person. But you wanted to help. If he didnt like it, then he could always leave, it's not like you'd force him to accept your help. 

While he sipped what must have been his 3rd or 4th strong drink, you quietly slipped upstairs to your room, and began filling up the tub. A while back you had splurged and purchased a small mesh bag of a few bathing items, all of them lavender scented. You dumped them out to see what exactly you had to work with

A small bar of lavender soap

A single vial of Lavender bath salts

Some lavender hair oils 

Lavender shampoo

And a small white comb, most likely made of some mid tier material, enough to do its job, but nothing stunning. This seemed like a passible amount of stuff for Vere right? You knew he was fancy and he probably had much higher quality items in greater amounts back wherever he lived, and what if- 

Wait a damn minute. You were doing this out of the kindness of your frickin heart. If it wasn't nice enough for his stuffy ass then you'd just use the items yourself. Hell you already were a bit disappointed you didn't get to use this stuff yourself, more for you if he decided he didn't like it. 

With that settled in your mind, you turned towards the now full tub and a smaller basin next to it, both filled with clear water, and began to use a simple spell to heat the water. Almost all humans had some potential to learn magic, and being able to heat water to steaming hot was an extremely basic magic, almost anyone could perform it if they knew what to do. You finished it off by pouring the bath salts into the tub and grabbing two towels out from your closet, one large one and one suited for drying hair, and laid them to the side along with the assortment of small lavender products you had gotten out. You then lit a few candles set on the sink, considering it was dark outside, and candles were now the only source of light in the bathroom. With that prepared and the bath still steaming hot, you headed back down to the tavern.

Vere was still there, still drinking some strong amber liquid. At least he was no longer shooting them back, but instead nursing the drink with slow sips. He was definitely at least a little buzzed, judging by the way he slightly tilted off the barstool. 

You walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Vere. Hey Vere, are you still with me? Or are you more drunk than you look?”

The fox glared up at you for a second before he fixed his scowl, a look of boredom and slight amusement painted on his pretty face in an instant.

Fake bitch. 

“Well, well, well. Here to keep me company now? I'll be honest, my standards are lowering with every glass I down, so keep trying and maybe you'll get lucky.” a lecherous smirk spread across his face as he spoke. 

Sigh. he was so going to take this the wrong way.

“Lets go to my room”

“W-” Vere momentarily stumbled over his response. Probably only because he was drunk. Any other time and he would have absolutely dominated this situation easily, poking and preening about how you were not immune to his charms. And yet up till now he didn’t think you were the type to fall for his flirty act so easily.

And he was right, you were smarter than that. If you hadn't been he probably would have killed you by now. 

“Hey.” you practically scolded. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Not for those reasons. Come on, up we go.” you said while grabbing his elbow gently to steady him as he got off the stool, just in case. 

Mercifully, he let you lead him upstairs without complaint, probably out of curiosity on what the hell you were thinking. 

When you opened the door to the bathroom, Vere was momentarily stunned looking at the steaming bath, but quickly put two and two together. It seemed this unexpected scenario had sobered him up a little bit. He instantly became more alert and aware of his surroundings.

Fair. it's not like you two were very soft and caring to each other. If anything you got along best when you were trying to out-snark each other. This was definitely out of character. But regardless his mask of calm indifference didn't falter a bit. 

“Oh I see” he drawled. “Set to join me in the nude aren't you? My goodness you could have just asked if you were this desperate to see me undress, I might have only made you beg a little.” 

His smugness was palpable at this point. Why were you doing all this for him again? Bitch-ass sad soggy fox. 

You pushed your annoyance to the side. If you reacted to his bullshit he'd get what he wanted.

“Actually yes I was planning on joining you. But not in the bath.” you responded.

“Oh? And what exactly are you planning on doing?” his questioning was genuine, as if he actually had no idea what you were thinking. 

You held up the comb that came with the rest of the bath items you planned on using. 

“I'm going to rip those knots out of your hair if it kills you.” you deadpanned.

The look of genuine fear on Veres' face for a split second when you said that was worth all the effort. 

After assuring him that you wouldn't actually rip out any of his hair (on purpose at least) and then additional promises that you would be gentle, Vere finally relented and began to strip down. As soon as he did you turned around, waiting until you heard him submerge himself in the tub before turning back around. You knew he thought about making a comment about you turning around to let him undress, but thankfully he seemed too worn out to poke you any further. 

He let out a slight gasp, and then sigh of contentment as he sank into the waters. When you had left to go fetch Vere from the bar the water was basically boiling, but it had cooled in the time it had taken you to get him up here, so it was just a little too hot to be perfect, but that meant a longer time in the warm water. Something Vere definitely needed, it was going to take a while to detangle and clean this mess. 

You handed him the soap, then took the smaller basin and poured a gentle stream over his head before grabbing the shampoo and lathering it up into a froth in his hair. If there was one thing you had learned, it was how to make a little supply last a while, so you only used about half the small bottle on his hair, making sure to massage all the way down to his roots and ensuring every inch of dirt would be rinsed out. You also made a conscientious effort not to disturb the chains around his neck. Tonight was not the night to try to sneak a peek at them. Not that it would do much good with how low the lighting was in here. 

True to your words, you tried to be gentle for the process, and you could feel Vere eventually relax under your touch, taking a break from scrubbing himself with the soap to lean back and close his eyes while you continued to work the shampoo into his hair. You were glad he was relaxed, but the last thing you needed was him falling asleep in the tub, especially after all the booze he'd had. You grabbed the basin and poured another stream of water on his head to wash out the shampoo, the water in the smaller container now closer to mildly warm than hot. 

After the shampoo was out it was time for the oils. And the comb. As you Began to massage the oils in, you felt Vere tense up once again. It was like he was fighting between exhaustion and being on high alert. Was your presence really this stressful to him?

You leaned down right next to his velvety ears and tried to keep your voice as quiet and non-stress inducing as possible as you spoke.

“Hey. I promised I would be gentle. Relax” you whispered, the fur of his ears slightly brushing up against your lower lip as you spoke. 

For some reason when you said that Vere went completely still for a second. 

Seriously? Was your entire presence just so annoying to him that he absolutely could not relax around you? Honestly that felt a bit hurtful. You could be so nice when you wanted to! Just look at what you were doing for him now!

You shrugged off the sting of rejection at Veres discomfort at you and began to massage the oils into his hair. 

First you gently felt out the knots with your bandaged fingers, taking care to rub the oils into each one and loosening the knot. Then you started to comb them out. Taking extra care to go slow and try not to tug too much, Vere eventually relaxed again and finished up using the bar of soap on his skin, saving his face for last so he could dunk his head under to rinse out the soap and hair oils in one go. 

It took a hot second, but Veres' hair was smooth as silk once again. A selfish part of you wished you could run your fingers through it without the bandages, but that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon, if ever. 

Satisfied with your work, you fully stood up and handed Vere the remainder of the shampoo, oils and comb. 

“For your tail” you said as you passed along the objects. “Do not fall asleep” 

Just before leaving you tested the waters' warmth. Lukewarm. You quietly summoned the magic needed to add a little more heat to the water. Just enough so he’d have enough time to properly wash out his tail. With that you gathered up his pile of clothes and headed out of the bathroom.

Usually you just washed your clothes in the basin in the bathroom with a cleaning solution and then left them to dry on the very, very small balcony your room hosted, but Veres clothes were of infinitely higher quality than yours, so doing that might ruin them. Not to mention your modest balcony was currently being blasted by the cold weather. 

There wasn't anything you could really do, so you just folded up the clothes and opened your closet to see what other options there were. You could let him borrow something of yours, but something told you he wouldn't appreciate that, not even considering the fact that it definitely wouldn't fit him perfectly like all his outfits did. His clothes were definitely custom made. 

Then, something caught your eye. Last time you were helping at the clinic, someone had kindly gifted some linens and basic white clothes to the patients who might need some (like you had), and in the mix there had been a few fluffy bathrobes. Kuras had kindly gifted you one considering there wasn't too much use for that in the clinic, and it had been sitting in your closet ever since. It wasn't fancy by any means, but it was good quality. And as long as you didn't tell Vere you got it from Kuras he probably wouldn't protest too much.

You walked back over to the bathroom door and rapped your knuckles on the door twice. 

“Hey I’m going to hand you a bathrobe. Are you out of the tub?” You called through the door.

You heard the faint sound of bare feet on tile and the door open as vere stood before you, the smaller towel currently in his hands being used to dry his hair while the larger towel was draped over his now clean tail.

Needless to say, you kept very strong eye contact as he took the robe from your hands and slid it on. 

You watched him feel the plush of the robe, a very tired but somewhat satisfied look on his face. The quality of the fabric had met his standards apparently (probably just barely). Then he turned towards your bed, walked over, and flopped down on said bed. 

Well, you weren’t exactly expecting him to go back out in this weather, but still. You really wanted to sleep in your bed tonight. 

Veres' muffled voice snapped you out of your thoughts, his words muddled by the pillow he was currently face planting into.

“What???” You responded. 

“I said brush my tail” he huffed before nodding to the comb from earlier he left on the other side of the bed, which he had left untouched, seemingly content with just half the bed.

Well, this kinda meant he was willing to share right? No floor for you tonight, and all you had to do was preen this peacock of a Fox. 

You situated yourself on the bed and began to gently brush out the mountain of damp fur in front of you. Luckily he had done a solid job of washing his tail, it was a lot easier to brush out than his hair had been. 

He flicked it occasionally, the fur brushing up against your nose more than once. His normal spiced scent was now overpowered by lavender. You involuntarily inhaled the scent, remembering it was known to relax people into sleep. (Kuras had told you that once).

“Please, try to contain yourself.” He cooed at you before flicking his tail at your face once again. “I always smell incredible, no need to act all enamored” 

You let out an annoyed huff.

 “Sure you do.” You mumbled under your breath.

“Excuse you” Vere turned on his pillow to look at you through half lidded eyes. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing.” You quipped, focusing on his tail to look busy.

You were avoiding the question instead of bantering with him, that’s how Vere knew you were being honest. You actually thought he smelled bad.

“What?” His eyes narrowed as he spoke.

“Hm?”

“What do I smell like to you?” 

You avoided eye contact and continued to really focus on brushing his tail.

“Hey!” He sat up now, and looked ready to wrestle the information out of you. “What do you think I smell like?”

“Well-“ you conceded, “you kinda smell like a Fox.” 

Vere looked at you unmoving, mouth slightly open. 

“It’s not like it’s super noticeable! Or like an inherently awful smell!” You assured him. “It’s just- once you notice it under all the fancy perfumes you usually wear it’s  kinda hard to not pick up on it.” 

Vere grabbed the pillow from beneath his head and smacked you with it. Hard.

“Hey!”

“How dare you!” He seethed. “I smell incredible all the time! Take back what you said.”

He finished his sentence by wacking you with the pillow again. 

After receiving the second pillow smack, you gave Vere a quick glare, but your annoyance quickly gave way to amusement, and you were now struggling to hold in your giggles. A slight blush had graced veres normally stoic face, along with a look of affronted shock. He was embarrassed. Oh this was actually too funny. 

Normally Vere would never let himself look embarrassed in front of anyone. But he had a shit day. He was exhausted, and his mask of arrogance  had washed away with the lavender soap. 

You began laughing. Quietly at first, but after those first few giggles an enraged, red-faced Vere had gotten up from his longing position and was now attacking you with your own pillow. The slight giggles on your part has turned into full on laughter, occasionally muffled by a repeated pillow to your face.

“Take!”

*Smack*

“It!”

*Smack*

“Back!”

*Smack smack*

You knew you would get noise complaints from the other tenants tomorrow, because you were absolutely overcome with laughter. Genuinely, you could feel your stomach start to cramp from how hard you were cackling at Vere. 

You looked up at him, towering over you with a pillow at the ready. You could see the tips of his fangs. He was smiling too. He was so pretty when he smiled. 

“Ok, ok” you conceded. “I take it-“

*Smack*

“Vere wait!” You squealed. “Wait, I said I take it back!”

“Not good enough anymore.” He responded. “You owe me a compliment, for telling me I smell like a wild animal.”

*Smack*

“So get with the complimenting asshole.” he smirked, readying his pillow for if your answer was not satisfactory. 

“I’m not going to-“

*Smack*

“Alright, fine! Your hair looks great!”

*Smack* 

“Your eyes are stunning!” 

*Smack*

“Hey those were good! Stop attacking me!” Your smile was so wide you thought your face might split for a second. 

“Try harder~” he cooed. “You’ll need to get creative in order to earn my forgiveness” 

Right as he was about to bring the pillow down to your face once more, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards you. 

He let out a yelp as you did so, but you knew he let it happen. The truth was if Vere didn’t want you to touch him, you’d never get close enough to even think about it. He knew the second you began reaching for his wrist, and he let it happen. He let himself fall against your chest, still heaving with laughter.

Chest to chest you looked at eachother, faces close enough that your noses nearly touched, both of you still smiling like idiots. 

“Vere, You have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

Vere smile shifted at your words. He wasn’t  cackling to himself anymore, instead he was looking directly at you. Studying you almost. 

You didn’t mind. You knew he wasn’t one to trust. Neither were you. But at this moment you didn’t particularly care. 

“I feel like it’s rare to see a real smile from you,” you continued. “It feels rewarding, knowing I can make you smile. I want to see it more, but-“ 

You couldn’t finish the sentence, but you knew what you wanted to say. 

But I selfishly want you to look at just me like that. Not anyone else. 

“Well. I like seeing it regardless.” You finished.

You saw the look on Veres' face. Most would call it indescribable, but you knew exactly what he was thinking. You had said something real just now. Real in a way he didn’t want to respond too or process right now, and he wasn’t sure how to proceed. 

“Was that a good enough compliment?” You asked, an easy smile falling over your face. One that said you were willing to brush off what you had just said as nothing more than a game if he was. 

The tension seemed to melt from his face as he playfully rolled his eyes and flopped down next to you.

It amazed you how expressive he could be when he was exhausted.

“Fine, I suppose I’ll forgive you. Just this once.” He mumbled.

Speaking of exhaustion, sleep was overtaking him quickly now that the fun had died down. He turned around and  pulled the covers up to his shoulders, fur and hair now dry. Despite this, you could tell he was still cold. It seemed this weather didn’t agree with him.

You pushed yourself out of the bed and went back over to your closet. In the bottom was a thick scratchy fleece blanket. Not comfortable, but great for keeping the heat in. The perfect blanket to lay over someone already covered in other blankets. 

You walked back over to the bed and draped it over Vere before waking back to your side and getting under the covers yourself. 

A few moments of silence went by, and you were sure he had fallen asleep, until you heard him whisper, so quiet you might have missed it-

“I hate the snow.” 

“Mhm.” You replied. “One of my earliest memories was about snow.”

Vere turned to face you once again, barely still awake. 

It was true. It definitely wasn’t your oldest memory, but you remembered being a child and seeing snow for the first time. The person who had betrayed you was there too. They had told you, “every snowflake is unique, no two are alike.” You had spent the rest of the day catching snowflakes and trying to look at the patterns before they melted in your palms. 

“Is it a good memory?” Vere asked. 

“I’m…not sure.” You responded. 

Something told you Vere already knew that would be the answer, he just wanted you to know the same. Sly Fox. 

“Goodnight Vere”

“…” 

No response. 

That night your dreams were filled with snow. And when you woke you saw it was already late morning. You had been out cold.

You looked over to the other side of the bed to see it empty. Not shocking. What was shocking was the items on the bedside table next to you.

You unfolded the note. It was undoubtedly Veres' handwriting. 

“Mhin told me that bathrobe I used was given to you by that fucking doctor. I’m burning it. Here’s a replacement.

-Vere”

Sure enough there was a blood red bathrobe neatly folded underneath the note. It was definitely higher quality than the one Kuras had given you, but less fluffy. 

Besides that, there was also a black wicker basket placed on top of the robe as well. Replacements for the lavender set you had given him last night. But these products were far nicer than what you had used on him, and far more greater in quantity. 

You sifted through the many hair oils, heavily scented bars of soap, lotions, and vials of perfume. The whole set was probably worth more money than you had ever had at one point in your entire life.

You opened a bottle and inhaled, and immediately recognized the scent. This is what Vere normally smelled like. He’d given you some of his products. It was shockingly sweet of him to do so, you didn’t think he cared that you were basically dirt poor. 

Speaking of, it was time to get up. You had odd jobs to complete and were supposed to help Kuras later today. 

Over the next few weeks, what had become what you would assume a one time thing had now become commonplace. Veres work would often end in the lowtown in the winter months it seemed, the Senobium only leaving hightown after all soulless had been cleared out, then heading to lowtown to kill maybe just one for their reputations sake before letting Vere off his leash.

Sometimes he’d just flop down in bed and immediately go to sleep, other times he’d demand you pamper him a little. Sometimes with a whole routine like you had done before, other times he just handed you a hairbrush and his tail and expected you to get to work.

“Didn’t you say to me you’d never be caught dead slumming it in the wet wick like the first day I was here?” You teased him.

“It’s literally a blizzard outside shut the FUCK UP.” He replied, stealing all of your blankets as punishment. (After that you kept an extra one under your side of the bed just in case) 

Over time you had to make space in your closet for a few of his outfits as well. He’d made a joke about how if you didn’t want his clothes here he’d gladly walk around in the nude, and you had agreed to let him keep some things here just a little too quickly for his liking. 

You didn’t think it meant anything. Yes, if it had been anyone else but Vere you could see how people might perceive this as romantic or something but not with him. Vere would never see you as more than a means to an end, and you would never open up to him. That’s just how the two of you were

Or that’s what you told yourself, wearing the robe he had given you while wearing the same perfume as he did, as you brushed his tail in comfortable silence while the snow fell outside.

Vere hated the snow. He always would. But as spring began to arrive and he no longer had any excuse to spend the night in your room, he began to miss those winter nights. Vere still hated the cold, but somehow that time with you had been anything but.

[backtothechurch]

"Everything is blue" Bob Reynolds x reader 

warnings: angst, mentions of drug use, bit of pre-thunderbolts bob, reader genre not specified, no use of y/n.

notes: okay im already apologizing for that, but I was inspired by my Halsey playlist and decided to make some angst, im thinking about doing a part two with a bit of comedy and some fluffy to recover from that.

Way before sentry project Bob was an even worse mess, the mess you thought you could save. 

Since you were young you knew your neighbour Bob, the abuse and violence on his house were daily and you could hear and see everything from your bedroom. You always had this will to protect him, to save him.

You saw what people usually didn’t, how he was actually good at so much stuff, but the trauma destroyed him. You were the only person who cared when he started using drugs and you almost killed him when he left school, but nothing seemed to change. 

When the first time he started to recover you two went in a date, he was happier, he could talk and laugh truly. You two started a relationship while you were in college and he came back to study, but a few months after everything became a nightmare, he was back on drugs, depressed, taking any pills he could. The fights became more often and aggressive.

“I hope you make it till 28 years old” was the last thing he heard from you. 

Your life after bob was good, but his memory haunted you.

After a few years you visited your hometown in Florida and heard he had moved out and the people at your city believed he died there, you swear you could hear your heart break. He died and you never got the chance to see him again.

You went back to New York and tried to live your life. You searched for him in every place, called friends and they didn’t even remembered him, the files about him, even his police record was gone, he was actually gone.

After leaving for a coffee break from a bad if not the worst, day at work you were walking when some sort of sadness consumed you, everything was grey and foggy, you didn’t know what was, you kept walking looking for a way out. Then you saw bob, not actually him, more of a memory, both of you playing at his house as kids, you got tense.

You wasn’t a woman of many traumas, you had a good life, good relationship with your family, a good job, and a very good and expensive therapist. But the memory of that day always got chills, was the first time you experienced a violence so closer. Bob’s dad arrived the house and the mood shifted, was when the screams, the slaps and the yells started, you could see the little you leaving the house, but now you could also see the desperation on little bob’s eyes when you left.

You needed to leave that place.

Everything related to bob was a big trigger to you. You ran out the house and went to the garden, now you and bob were older.

“What the fuck is this place” you mutter to yourself walking closer to you and him. He was passed out but the edge of the pool and you were desperately trying to wake him up, your heart was racing just like that day. 

That place wasn’t right. “Take me out of here!” You yelled while looking around to some way out. you were believing you were about to die, started to run away, was when you slipped and fell somewhere else, when you heard the music you already knew where you were. 

You stay on the floor, staring the ground, defeated. Soon you would hear your and bob’s voice raising, the party he was getting numb, the last time you saw him.

“You’re killing yourself!” You yelled and he just stared you, numb, away and certainly traumatized, you never yelled or made any movement that could remind him of his dad until that day, you regretted that. “Sometimes I think you really want to make me suffer” the voice from the past you echoed and you groan still on the floor. Bob walked to the door and you shout “I hope you make it till 28 years old” the door slammed and you jump a bit scared, you look up to the mirror in front of you, was when you saw. Bob, the present bob, with the sam clothes his lid version used on the first memory, but that one was not a memory, he was staring a total black version of him. You got up and got into the mirror, a group of eyes stared you and you looked back, two women and three men were staring you confused, they were trapped, but you kept walking in his direction. 

Somehow his mind didn’t notice you were there, the black shadow hit him with a punch that made him crash on the floor crying while saying things like bob was always alone and he broke down, was when you crashed in front of him. 

The mysterious group of people ran to hold himhim and you called his name holding his face. “Bob darling” he shakes his head still with the eyes shut.

“Stop it! you’re not here!” He was crying

“Bob it’s me, open your eyes” after shaking his head and keep crying he looked up at you, the whole pace you were started to fade. 

“Babe” he said, lips trembling, was when the people let him go and he crashed on your arms, your fingers went directly on his locks and you hugged him back. his grip was almost letting you breathless. You were back on New York, on another street, very away from where you were. His cries stopped and he wasn’t hugging you anymore, he didn’t even had tears. The mysterious group was there and he was still closer to you, almost touching his arms on yours.

“What the fuck just happened?” You said but before someone answer it had an applause around, you were too confused to clap, was when you were presented accidentally as one of the new avengers by a woman called Valentina.

Bob promised he would explain everything later, you hope he does it.

[chilling-seavey]

Hiii im sorry to bother, but something I'd love to see is maybe like (sorry if this seems odd) but george is finally home after a triple header, and he left after they had a disagreement and have been off with each other since then, it's late, it's raining outside, and they are getting touchy - eventually it led to some good comforting adult time.

Silly, anon, no apologies necessary!!! I'm always happy to hear from you and hear your thoughts and ideas and concepts...sometimes even the ones you think are the 'most odd' create the best and most enjoyable pieces of writing :) and the TWIG universe loves realism and your idea here feels very realistic. Hope I did it justice for you x

You didn’t pick him up from the airport like you usually would. Perhaps he should have expected that.

His fault for leaving at the most unideal time, really. You had just had some disagreement about something he now couldn’t even remember but it was enough to have him slamming the car door when you dropped him off at the airport three weeks earlier. Clearly it wasn’t all that important since he couldn’t even remember what the damn argument was about but it’s remanence lingered between the both of you for the entire time he was gone: texts were limited and dry and post-race routine calls were filled with awkward silence of neither of you really knowing what to say. 

It’s just that normally after a triple header you would drop the kids off at his parents’ so you could pick him up from the airport and have a quiet night with just the two of you. It wasn’t like he often had triple headers so really he wasn’t sure why you hadn’t bothered to come out to get him. It really wasn’t asking for much. Was the stupid meaningless forgettable argument from almost a month ago still pissing you off that much that you couldn’t be assed to come get him?

George’s mind offered a plethora of unhelpful silent rants in the back of the taxi on his way home. The darkened streets of suburban England were being doused by an unsurprising amount of rain that night and in his already frustrated state, his mind also added some unhelpful commentary about ‘fucking British weather…no wonder I moved…now I’m back in the pissing rain all the time and—’

The call of the taxi cab driver tore George from his thoughts. His eyes shifted to the front seat and out the windshield to see your house in front of him. At least you left the porch light on for him. How bloody kind. 

George paid the driver and wished him a nice night before getting out of the cab into the cold rain and he retrieved his bags from the trunk. He hurried up the steps with a hunch of his shoulders as if to shield himself from the rain without any sort of cover and he tried the door. Locked.

It wasn’t even 11:00 and you had already locked him out. Grumbling under his breath, George reached into his shoulder bag to find his keys, wet fingers rifling through papers and the like before wrapping around them. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside the silent but comfortably warm house.

Despite his frustration and exhaustion, George couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief at the familiarity of home. He quietly closed the door behind him. Toeing off his waterlogged sneakers, he noticed a light on in the living room across the hall, the warm light spilling across the wood floorboards. He walked towards it, leaving his bags by the stairs. 

You were in the living room, curled up on the armchair with a book in hand and a mug of tea cooling on the table beside you. When he appeared in the doorway, your eyes drifted from your page up to him. 

The two of you were quiet for a moment, as if gauging each other’s mood to decide how you were going to approach this. George cleared his throat and took a step into the room. You slipped your bookmark into your book and closed it. 

“Welcome home,” you greeted plainly.

“Thanks,” he replied, matching your unsure tone, “The kids are asleep?”

“They’re at your parents’,” you answered. 

George’s neutral expression melted into disbelief and then frustration, allowing his voice to rise just a smidge with the awareness that you were alone, “Are you kidding me? So you could have picked me up from the airport after all?”

“No,” you answered plainly.

“Jesus fucking—” George laughed humorlessly with a shake of his head as he set his hands on his hips. He paused. Then continued, “I’ve been gone nearly a month and you couldn’t even have the kindness in your heart to pick me up from the airport in the pissing rain? All because, what? Some stupid argument we had before I left?”

“You’re a grown man, George, you can make it home on your own,” you retorted firmly. 

“Yeah, I can, but it would be nice for my wife to pick me up,” he argued.

“Why?” you shrugged, your tone cold, “I still haven't received a thank you for dropping you off three weeks ago. I’m not your personal chauffeur. A little appreciation wouldn’t kill you.”

George sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face before dropping them at his sides, “Okay, this is ridiculous. We haven’t even been able to have a proper conversation in weeks. Can we just…figure out what the hell is wrong so we can put this behind us?”

You tapped your fingers on the cover of your book. 

“Thank you for driving me to the airport,” George started, “Genuinely. You took time out of your day and…I know it’s always hard for you to say goodbye and to be left alone with the kids, especially for so long so…thank you.”

You chewed at your bottom lip for a moment before nodding faintly in acknowledgment and letting out a small, “You’re welcome.”

George took a half step closer, “Seriously, love, I don’t even remember what we were arguing about but…I hate being so off with you.”

“Me too,” you agreed in a breath.

“Okay, so…can we just call this a truce?” he compromised, “Please?”

You nodded and held your arms out.

A small smile grazed George’s face and he moved over to you in the armchair, bending down with his damp clothes and damp hair from the rain and he pressed a kiss to your cheek as you embraced him. He sighed dreamily against your shoulder, hugging you awkwardly as he bent down to reach you in the chair. His hand rubbed your shoulder. 

“I missed you,” he breathed, “I missed you so much…and I love you.”

“I missed you and love you more,” you retorted. 

George pulled away to stand up properly and he sighed with a faint smile, holding your face in his hands, “I’m sorry if whatever I said in our argument I don’t remember was the cause of all this.”

Your fingers wrapped around his wrists tenderly as he held your face, “I’m sorry too. I can’t remember it either but…I wish I gave you a proper nice goodbye before you left.”

George stroked his thumbs across your cheeks with a cheeky, “You could give me a proper hello, if you want.”

You peaked a brow with a playful smirk, “Oh, really? After a long flight and suffering through taking a taxi in the rain?”

“Mhm,” George leaned down to press a tiny, barely there kiss to your lips, “And since there are no kids to be disturbed…”

You laughed breathily, brushing your nose against his with a, “That wasn’t what I was intending by sending them off.”

“Oh, my darling love, I know you in and out,” George tutted playfully, “I know exactly what you were planning when you sent the kids to my parents’ for tonight.”

“Or,” you teased, “are you just horny because you’ve gone three weeks with only the company of your hand?”

“Okay, listen,” he chuckled shyly as he took a step back, his hands falling into your absentmindedly. 

You stared up at him from the armchair with a fond grin at the hint of a blush that crossed his cheeks and you laced your fingers in his, not letting him stray too far. You had missed just staring at him like that; even with his hair mussed from the rain and his lazy flight-friendly clothes hanging off him. Oh, you just missed him and everything about him. More so with the emotional distance that had been between you the entire time as well. 

Before he could make up some half-assed excuse, you followed your own inquiry up with a, “Because I know I sure am.”

George’s eyes met yours and for a moment you saw the way his jaw tightened at your admission before his face broke into a dazzling grin. His head dropped back with a low, warm laugh that was laced in so prettily with a groan.

“Okay,” he gave your hands a tug to get you out of the chair, his voice laced with unmissable desire, “get on the floor. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it upstairs.”

The better half of thirty minutes later, the two of you were cuddled up on the living room rug like a couple in some Netflix romance film. The living room fireplace was still on, keeping your naked bodies warm amidst the simmering out of your bliss and bathed in the warm flickering light. Outside, the rain poured on, creating the most idyllic setting as you laid there in each other’s arms, the throw blanket ungracefully wrapped around the both of you for some shred of dignity and an attempt at making the floor more comfortable. 

George had his arm around your shoulders as you snuggled against his chest, your hands together in the air between your, fingers tracing fingers and lines of palms. You lingered in that moment of peaceful silence for who knew how long. Finally, he turned to kiss your forehead. 

“Love you,” he whispered against your temple. 

You tilted your face up to look at him, sharing a soft, “Love you,” in return. 

He sealed the declaration with a kiss. 

“We should get off the floor,” he breathed. 

“Mhm…probably,” you agreed. 

You let him untangle himself from around you and you watched as he stood up from the living room floor, the throw blanket slipping off his body to leave him beautifully bare. His back cracked as he straightened himself up. 

“Ooh, fuck,” he grunted faintly, “Yeah, I’m certainly not in my 20s anymore.”

You giggled from the floor and stretched your limbs before tucking your hands behind your head, “You still look just as sexy though as you did back then.”

George shot you a playful wink and reached down to pull the blanket off of your body, “Come on, flirt, up you get. You’re going to be feeling this floor tomorrow too.”

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[solargeist]

Idea for Xelqua, you know how chameleons can change color based on their mood? Well what if thats like with Xelqua but in his different forms or ages in his life, idk something like that im not rlly caught up

👍

hehehe this message is a few months old BUT i'll always ramble abt Xelqua, yes that is sorta how it works ? Kind offfff ? Its dependent on the Saint's emotions though. Xelqua's code is broken and unstable, so he can't control it. I think the switch usually only happens in the void/off server--much like changing a skin lmao. Usually, its obvious this will happen, he'll get a headache and become lethargic.

Xelqua turns into a kid as a sort of regression, he's longing for something. He feels safe and secure on HC. However, even in his Saint form he can regress (still like 5) without changing.

i think each form sorta holds onto something, Evo is rebellious and independent, the Watcher is reclusive and anxious, etc etc. i haven't superrr explored them though.

I think at this point, if anyone offered to fix Xelqua's code to stop this bug, he'd reject it, he views them as different people--enough to want to meet the kid, he's sad he can't haha

even if Xelqua improves mentally and emotionally, he's still buggy. I don't think the other forms know about each other.

[hyuukais]

Waiting

Finally, after many busy weeks, you’d be getting to see your boyfriend again. Beomgyu was coming home for an entire weekend. However, you were still stuck at the worst part of his return, the waiting.

word count: 1.5k

genres: beomgyu x streamer!reader, slice of life, fluff, insinuations of angst

warnings: language, mentions of executive dysfunction, reader plays zelda specifically botw because i do not have totk 👎👎👎👎

author: FINALLY SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY !! hopefully i will have more content coming soon im just in a major slump atm 😔 also shoutout to @ssunnae & @bobariki sunny and rue thank you both so so much for beta-reading this !!

The colorful LEDs shift along the floorboards, currently a fog of purple misting the floor. Trickles of soft mood music set the low-light room into its sleepy atmosphere. Two large monitors illuminate your face in blue light, aided by a small ring light situated to your left. Amid the calm, an underwhelming rage slowly fizzles up in your throat.

“Oh come on; not right now, please!” The sudden battle music picking up in your headphones sends you into a panic as an enemy health bar appears at the top of the screen. Rain crashes on Link, lightning streaking across in pixels. Your fingers smash around frantically, trying to run away as the Lynel begins to draw its bow.

“Please please please please, don’t-” Unable to draw a weapon or get away, a hard strike lighting descends on the character. The hearts filling the top left of the screen go dark.

“God-fuck!” Red light blinds your eyes with the large “Game Over” fading onto the screen. Your head slams down onto the desk, the top of it all that’s left in view of the camera. The long-winded groan that leaves you is still picked up well by your mic. Chat messages fly fast along your monitor; many expressing their simple sympathy for your defeat, others instead laughing at the situation.

Slowly drawing yourself back up, you catch on the monitor displaying the stream and take a moment to look at everything. “Man…I know I said today was only gonna be Zelda but…this is already the 7th time I’ve died.” Your words trail into a whining laugh. More comments flood the chat. Some call out your terrible playing, some suggest other ideas for the rest of the stream, and many are just extremely off-topic.

“I’m not usually this bad! I don’t know what’s happening to me.” You were out of it today, unfocused, and part of you knew why. “I guess…I dunno, I think I’m just tired!”

This space-y feeling had been following you all day. It was the sort of distance your brain felt when experiencing executive dysfunction. Stuck in a loop of boredom; waiting for something, anything. Struggling to do anything, but still wanting to. Oftentimes, it was hard to discern a particular reason for the feeling, maybe burnout or simply worms in your brain. Today, however, you could easily guess the reason. Today, there was something to wait for. After more than a few weeks apart, Beomgyu would finally be coming over.

You and your boyfriend were both busy people; both public figures in your own right. Although, his schedule as an idol was arguably stricter than yours as a streamer. Between the end of the North America leg of the tour, preparing for their Japanese comeback, and the new single, you hadn’t seen Beomgyu face-to-face in close to a month. It was like spending a month in hell. A month without having his hands in yours, body wrapped in your arms, lips painting your skin, heartbeat beneath your fingers; the reminders that he was real and he was all yours. So, now that you’ll finally get him all to yourself for a whole weekend, your brain was searching for any way to skip to having him back in your arms. Hence, why Link has died more than five times by your incompetence.

“Maybe-uh-why don’t we switch gears? Maybe Zelda was a bad idea.” Considering your head space, streaming today in general may not have been the best of your ideas; you still felt bad for skimping out on a regularly scheduled stream. You also kind of hoped streaming would give you some distraction from sitting by the front door like a puppy.

You click around, filling the screen up with your face as you exit the game. “Hmm…what about…animal crossing? Minecraft? Thoughts, chat?”

You watched message after message fly by, all varying that you don’t actually reach a consensus with them.

“I think…hmm…” You watch a moment more, “Okay, I think we’re gonna do Minecraft.”

Once again, your face cam is moved to the corner as your PC feed takes up the stream. The ambient music takes over for your voice, filling up the silence as things load. Grass blocks and wood load in first before the sudden appearance of buildings. You spawn near a small farm you last left off building.

This wasn’t the world you usually streamed from; preferring the action a survival world provided for content. Actually, this was a world you’d created and built with Gyu, and some of the other members much after you invited them. Although, your audience didn’t need to know any of that. “I’m just going to stick to creative this time, chat. Something…calmer, y’know.”

Soon enough, you find yourself sinking into a rhythm with the music. You keep working on the farm you left unfinished, fixing it up with the build of a greenhouse. Little commentary is provided; small tidbits here and there as you casually speak to yourself. Humming to the music at times and finding some focus on small tasks.

Your headspace shifting from inattentive to hyper-fixated, you’re not particularly tuned into any noise besides what’s pumping in your head. Perhaps that’s why you don’t notice the usual creak of the hallway floorboards or the awful squeaking of your office door. You don’t even see all of the chat messages taking note of those very things. Rarely looking away from the game, there’s no note in your mind of the torso slowly creeping up behind your chair; head just out of camera view, hands sneaking up to your headset.

It’s sudden, the relieving of pressure against your ears, the disappearance of your soft tunes, the realization that there is a person in your home and they are standing behind you.

Your scream is shrill and unending. The whiplash from how fast your turn around would have your head spinning if not for the new pumps of adrenaline coursing through you.

There, standing behind you, wearing the stupidest little cocky smile, is the cause of all your problems. Beomgyu was smart enough to keep his face just outside of the camera, hiding his identity from any viewers. Still, with pretty much the rest of him in frame, this is the largest glimpse your audience has ever gotten of your boyfriend. The chat reacts accordingly to such a realization.

You scramble around to mute your microphone and cover your camera; cutting off your connection as more and more chat messages fly faster along the screen. Nothing else matters though, as you spin your chair around to face the man looking down at you. He’s smiling still, eyes crinkled up and lips split wide. The way you leap at him sends him stumbling back.

Beomgyu’s hands come to cradle your back as you take him in your arms; feel him, his heat, his breath, the shake in his chest when he chuckles. His head settles upon yours. You squeeze his middle tighter and tighter and take in the depth of his scent. Head pressed against his chest, his heart beats softly in your ear.

“That…” You pull yourself away to get a look at his face, “was mean.”

He laughs as you slap at his arm; languorously boisterous, infectious with the happiness of his simple presence. A smile breaches your cheeks, soon enough, as well. Beomgyu’s hands tickle along your waist; keep you close, skin touching skin.

“It was a surprise.”

“More like a jumpscare!”

“Same difference.” His breath brushing your skin all this time finally comes ever closer. Douses you in his everything. A sweet peck on your lips, interrupted by a smile and a whisper. “I missed you.”

The fire of his words floods the pit of your stomach. His lips were barely pulled away from yours and yet that was too far. Your hands cupping his cheeks, pull him closer, filling your space with his. Breaths mingling with heavy words.

“I missed you, too.” You bring his mouth to yours; sway in his presence and feeling. Almost pulling away before more. “So much.”

Head tilted back, chest pressed into his, lips meeting in reverie. Beomgyu’s arms encase your waist; your fingers twirl in his hair. So soft, delicate, fluffy—so like him. Such is the kiss. Deep and sweet, nothing further than adoration. It’s intoxicating sugar; he’s delicious and addicting. His taste sticks to your lips as they leave his. Eyes still fluttered shut, taking in the disappearing feeling.

“I…have to finish off my stream.” You can barely stand to push him away, losing the soft brush of his thumb beneath the hem of your shirt, “You get yourself situated and I’ll be right there.”

The pout on his lips is nothing short of goading after losing your kiss. Still, he responds, although not without an eye roll. “Okay, but if you’re not done in 10 minutes, I get to choose the movie tonight!”

He plants a quick peck on your cheek before leaving you in the office. You have to laugh at how proud he is of that challenge as if you weren’t going to let him pick anyways. Though now, you may just have to get your own bit of payback and not leave him waiting.

© HYUUKAIS 2023

[teddy-the-queer-wizard]

i find it funny - and i dont mean humorous - that my partner thinks i dont know what fair is because i dont have a sibling

since she moved in she brings it up now and then. that something isn't fair and i shouldn't let x happen or shes *got* to help to make things fair

you know what i dont think is fair isnt...

her helping me out when she's got 0 spoons/ is burned out from doing school and work/ is hurt or sick and ive actually got one or two extra spoons to spare - especially seeing as how i was rasied theres usually at least one "chore" spoon in my back pocket even on the worst of days.

now. depending on how low on the scale that worst of days is, i may choose to use that chore spoon on something fun instead but it always exists

what isn't fair to me is how i have to take care of her in spite of her.

shes sick/tired/bad day/ injured/ burned out - im like its fine i got this go take care of yourself ill see you when [task] is done. i hold no grudges i *want* and *appreciate* you taking a break.

her guilt overwhelms her and 10 minutes later shes hanging out with me "in solidarity" so we "suffer together" ... i wasnt suffering i was balancing fucking off on my phone/ watching video i know you have no interest in/ listening to music while doing [task].

now ive got to keep you entertained because thing i was doing before is no longer allowed on account of youre not in the mood/ cant have that sort of noise right now while rushing task in a very unpleasant way when youre spending your back up chore spoon so i can get you - who is feeling unwell and now not able to do fun activity/ rest/ take care of self until *i* am done with task. but keeping you entertained has to be the priority - with talk, with stopping every five seconds to watch tiktok, with not getting distracted by things going on in my phone land.

additionally she's in pain/ ill/ what ever and no matter how much help or attention or resources or medicine or advice/threats/demands ahead of time - she *will* not do things to help her or will only conditionally do them after i spend extra time and attention helping alleviate symptoms BEFORE she trys to do things that might actually provide lasting relief. hell id even do whatever it is after if she did the first thing first. she needs to increase her fluid intake. i hound her all the damn time and she litterally fights me on it even when she knows shes dehydrated by default, her thirst meter is BROKEN and doesnt activate even when other people's would, and sometimes she even has to take pills that suck MORE water out of her.

but fuck me i guess let me just spend every waking free moment you can guilt out of me regardless of how i feel or want to do that day doing things that are the physical equivalent of the meds you refuse to take when youre sick because all they do is deal with symptoms and not actually help the problem

wont do stuff herself to deal with the problems, wont see a doctor, will make up reasons to spite me for being mean when im on the bitchy side of begging her to take care of *her* to make *my* life easier.

what isnt fair to me is that it doesn't matter how far down the end of my rope i am. it doesn't matter that i havent slept well over a month and some of that is - right wrong or indifferent- because she *need* me to stay up and make her feel better for whatever physical or emotional reasons and that things that wind her down for the night dont help me and ive got to stay up an extra hour after shes done widing down past when I should have already been asleep and shes gone to roll over to sleep to try and get myself settled so i can sleep - and it doesnt matter my sleep drive is absolutely driven me to the edge of my real no shit actually safe to function abilites. im the asshole for falling asleep while shes still up and has misiphonia and asking her to take care of one last thing while i go to sleep

and the second that clicks for her that she isnt being fair well shes going to stay up extra in a secondary location so i can sleep without triggering her to do things that werent asked of her and now ive got to stay up anyways even though im literally unable to fuction enough to maintain balance and spatial awareness oh. and my tone is upset and that makes her sad and need extra assurance and attention.

but im not allowed to sleep in a separate room either when shes got spoons to stay up and hang out and i dont because my not being there when she goes to sleep is somehow worse than being forced to stop doing fun thing because im no longer able to stay up (because im not trying hard enough/ doing correct things) snd my internment breathing changed because ive nodded off despite best efforts is setting her off.

what isn't fair is it doesnt matter whats going on in my life, i genuinely care about the people in it and make efforts to prioritize and accommodate their needs at my own expense when I can and even though i am learning to not do so in a way that is actively detrimental to myself *that* is seen as unfair

but when i litterally am at the end of my rope and asking for help or cattering to that i normally do not i get back nearly every single time "cant you just do it i dont want to" not. cant. dont feel good. just. literally stubbornness that ends with me doing it and then being the asshole because im miserable and it shows when i do the thing i didn't have the spoons to do anyways and now ive got to give reasurance that no. i dont hate her. im just tired and miserable and preforming a task i really didnt want to and nearly begged you to do and that wasnt a good enough reason to trump your not wanting to.

these are clearly complaints.

but there is far more good and help and ways she honestly makes my life better

but im so upset about every little thing that i cant get over that whats considered not fair is the stuff that actually bothers me or i need help with myself is shoved aside for catering to make things I don't mind doing alone harder for me to achieve.

like. if i wasnt already fucking upset I wouldn't have spent an hour doing this instead of getting the shower i wanted because the fact is that shell probably wake up in the middle of the night, notice im gone, and then come check on me because shes been concerned the entire time i was gone and not sleeping instead of sleeping herself.

and yeah. i know. im an asshole for whatsitcalled vauge posting about her. she litterally unfollowed me years before she stopped using tumblr because i vent on here sometimes about all sorts of things nit specifically her and it made her upset - other reasons too that was just one of the major ones.

but i also got to get the ugly out before i can find a way to be nice about the fact i need sleep or that sometimes i too have no spoons and need help. or that yeah its all been about me this month its not that i dont love you or dont want to spend time with our friends - hell I'm encouraging you to hang out while i just linger in voice chat and parallel play - and you haven't gotten to show me your tiktoks or do [actives that somehow require me when they dont] orive been upset and while i try my best not to take it out on you its still making you feel anxious or ive spent you time on extra work or couldnt focus on what I didn't even want to be watching in the first place because im actively interested in [distraction] and its consuming all my thoughts and some of my [you] time because i need something at work done or im super stressed and [distraction] is the thing thats currently keeping me from going insane about it and no actually conditions at work havent improved at all and im not over it youve been given all the updates and yet are still somehow surprised im like this.

i need to be nice because shell take it as rejection no matter how i put that i love and need you and want to take care of you and hang out and whatever but i very much need to do all those things for me too snd youre actively punishing me for trying even when you really dont mean to and no matter how many times i bring it up you dont seem to understand that.

like god if i could just wind down with her at 7, roll over at 8 to wind down alone, and be trying to sleep by 9. for like. a full two weeks. id be able to catch up on some sleep and probably have more patience and stress tolorance feel better and have more energy to do the things i need and want to do to make both her and my life better.

but instead its 1148 and I'm typing up stupid shit and planing to drink, eat, and take a shower and maybe then sleep sometime before 5.

because there was no nice way to say "i need you to leave me alone without making me feel bad about it or getting upset that i dont respond to half the shit you say because youre supposed to be leaving me alone and yeah okay your head hurts and you refuse to drink anything despite you telling me you didn't have even your normal amount but i do in fact love you more than sleep and have the spoons to give you some head pets to make you feel better even though its robbing me of any chance of going to sleep on time."

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

restricting myself to only do 5 snippets lol i love them all so much

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼 (OH!!!!!! @ that last snippet more pls)

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰(this one has me on the edge of my seat!)(i say as if the others dont lol)

📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖(its new so im requesting more :))

🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷(this one i need a totally normal amount! diaz boys Talking ;-;)

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨(i just love them so much)

You can do as many as you want! Tanis submits 800 million every week.

I'm gonna put Gentle On My Mind at the bottom bc the snippet is sort of smutty, so I'll hide it under the cut.

That being said, 30 for ➰:

Tagging @steadfastsaturnsrings

---

His fault. Sure. The naproxen? He shouldn’t have taken it from Rachel. That’s on him, too. Rachel’s kid cracking his skull open? Dumb bad luck. Not on him. But, fair enough… Three out of four. 

“That makes sense,” he tells Eddie weakly. 

“Why?” Eddie asks. 

“Just curious,” Buck mumbles. 

“Well, don’t worry,” Eddie replies. “Not like you’ve had to watch them, right?”

Yeah… He supposes that’s true…

“It doesn’t matter,” Buck says quickly. “Sorry.”

Something sad flashes across Eddie’s expression. He cups Buck’s face and pulls him in for a kiss. Buck allows it to happen, although he’s not sure he’s in the mood for their usual morning activities. 

“We should get going,” Buck says, breaking the kiss. “Don’t want to be late for kayaking today.”

Eddie nods. “Right. No. No, we don’t.”

---

45 for 📖:

---

“Hi,” the woman greets him with a nervous little wave. 

She’s beautiful, Buck thinks. Bright smile. Gorgeous eyes. Eddie is holding her hand.

Buck feels strange. He thought she was out of the picture. Are they back together?

“Shannon,” she adds. “My name is Shannon.” 

“Nice to meet you, Shannon.” Buck says, smiling. He feels a little muted and he doesn’t know why. 

“Nice to meet you, too, best librarian in the world.” 

They chat some more. She’s really nice. Buck can see Christopher in her. Whatever happened there, Buck resolves himself to be happy for the three of them. 

Not that it’s any of his business, anyway. 

vii. 

Life gets busy for a bit. He dates and subsequently breaks up with an interior designer named Ali. In Maddie’s life, there’s a stalking incident. A near kidnapping. Chimney gets hurt. Maddie’s ex ends up in jail. Buck lives in a state of shaky adrenaline for weeks. He takes some time off work to help his sister move apartments again and fight with her new landlord about breaking her lease. Even when he’s back, he doesn’t have as much energy for the job as usual. He feels bad about it, but he just can’t give his all. 

All this to say, he doesn’t get to know Shannon Diaz very well. Even though she’s the one picking Christopher up more and more these days. Even though she’s kind and talkative. Even though Chris lights up when he sees her and it’s clear having her back in his life has been good for him. 

It’s nothing against her, really. He’s just busy. He’s got a lot going on personally. He doesn’t have the same energy for the parents as he did six months ago. No other reason. 

But then… 

Well, then she dies. 

He only finds out about it through Carla. Christopher stops showing up to after school programming. One day. Two. By the third, Buck starts to worry. 

---

60 for 🦷 (YEAH TALKING!):

---

Eddie doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what he’s said wrong. 

“What about when you got back from Afghanistan and you were hurt?” Chris asks. He seems insistent. 

“Uh,” Eddie furrows his eyebrows. “I don’t think I had any ice cream then, Chris. I can’t remember.”

“No, comfort. Who comforted you?” 

Eddie’s chest feels tight. 

“I mean… I think your mom tried,” Eddie replies weakly. “She had, uh… She had a little kid to think about, though. You. And her mom was sick…”

“So no one?” Chris fills in.

“That doesn’t mean she didn’t try,” Eddie defends Shannon. 

“What about…” Christiopher’s eyes dart around. He’s upset. He’s upset and Eddie can’t tell why. “What about when you were shot?”

Eddie nods. Okay, yes. Yes, he can give a satisfactory answer. 

“Yeah, buddy. Buck was there for me. Comforted me all the time.”

“Just Buck?” Chris asks.

“I mean, other people were there. You were there. You being there helped.”

“What about Ana?” Chris asks. 

“Right, yes. Ana.”

Chris narrows his eyes. 

“What is this about?” Eddie asks. “Why all the interest in my own surgeries, Chris? Yours won’t be that bad, I promise.”

“It’s not that,” Christopher sighs. 

“Then what?” Eddie tries to temper the edge in his voice. He doesn’t know why he is getting frustrated, too. Maybe it’s just the confusion of it all. 

Christopher looks down at his tub of ice cream, then back up at Eddie. He looks like he’s going to cry. It makes Eddie want to cry. 

“I… I thought going to Texas would make me feel better,” Chris says. His voice is wavering. Like it’s about to crack. 

Eddie freezes. The ice cream is probably warmer than the blood in his veins right now. 

“I thought… I thought I’d feel better because you’d feel worse. I thought I’d feel better because I wouldn’t be in your way.”

---

45 for 🚨:

---

“So, uh… So, where is Christopher today?”

Eddie feels a little thrum of apprehension. 

“He’s at the zoo,” Eddie answers. “With his stepfather.”

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever phrased it quite like this before. To anyone who doesn’t know Buck’s role in his life, Eddie might phrase it like… My partner. My boyfriend. Something like that. There’s a different sort of implication behind my son’s stepfather. A permanence. A finality. One Eddie knows is valid and true. But one that catches Ramon off guard, clearly, from the way he raises his eyebrows. 

“Stepfather?” Ramon asks. 

“Yes,” Eddie replies tightly. Maybe he’s testing him a little. “You saw him. At the funeral. Buck.”

Ramon nods. “My memory of the day is a little fuzzy.”

“Right,” Eddie replies. 

“You’ve been together a long time?” Ramon asks. 

“A year,” Eddie replies. “Friends for longer, before then. He’s a firefighter, too.”

“That’s good. It’s good to… Well, to really know a person.”

Something in his tone says he’s speaking from experience. Like maybe he hadn’t, so well. Or maybe he feels like he doesn’t anymore? 

Eddie nods. “We’re happy.”

He doesn’t know why he feels the need to say this. Perhaps because the implication, when he came out to them all those years ago, was that he could never really be. That he was taking his life in the wrong direction. Well… Here’s the truth. He did right by himself.

---

30 for 🔼:

⚠️NSFW CONTENT AHEAD READ WITH CAUTION⚠️

---

Eddie kisses Shannon as he undresses her. Her mouth. Her cheeks. Down her neck. Her collarbone. Kissing along a line of freckles he has memorized. He knows every inch of her. 

He removes her bra and moves his mouth to her breasts, brain short-circuiting at the fullness of them right now. 

“God, Shannon,” he mutters uselessly. He thinks she says something back but it’s muffled and a little incoherent. 

She’s so beautiful. She’s always been so beautiful. He’ll never stop being amazed by it. 

Her chest has always been sensitive. She’s always liked him kissing her here. Applying a bit of pressure. Today, she’s more sensitive than ever. He obviously understands why. But her reaction takes him by surprise. The volume of her gasping. The sharp digging on her fingernails into his back. It drives Eddie forward with confident resolve. 

He keeps moving. Kissing further and further down her body. Her sternum. He kisses the firm swell of her stomach. Peppers it with the affection he hasn’t been able to give. He kisses her thighs. Another freckle on her hip. He kisses her everywhere he can, and then he gives her exactly what she needs. 

[radioactivereads]

bros cuddles (hlvrai)

summary: the science team is Tired and they Cuddle . thats it . lol

a/n: im a tommy kin and i was having a hard time sleeping so i wrote this a few months ago . its all platonic. also bubby is hard to write

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

The dripping sound of the pipes was pounding in his head. Every noise felt elevated to the highest degree. Tommy stared at the ceiling, sitting against the wall of the Black Mesa floor, the chill of it feeling like it sunk into his bones. Around him the rest of the crew slept.

 In his brain’s constant quest to identify patterns around him, the science team's sleeping habits were now familiar.

Gordon always slept curled up on his side, tense in his sleep. Tommy had hoped his dreams would allow him an escape from how on edge he always seemed to be, but after noticing that he wasn’t so sure. 

Dr. Coomer and Dr. Bubby often stuck close together, and they were no different now. Coomer liked to sleep on his back, even if it did make him snore, which Bubby complained about, but he also liked to prop his head up on Coomer and lie next to him, resting his head on Coomer’s stomach and muttering in his sleep.

Tommy wasn’t quite familiar with Benrey’s sleep patterns, only catching them napping in the middle of other conversations, or once when he woke up and they were still asleep. They seemed to sleep wherever was most convenient, which was often just wherever he was when they got tired.

However, none of these patterns soothed him in this moment. He found himself struggling to sleep more and more. The sounds of all the weapons echoed in his mind. Each day he was dealing with much louder sounds than what he’d become accustomed to.

He wished Sunkist were here, if only for the selfish reason he wanted to hug her. Her soft fur always helped him fall asleep, and she’d often curl up next to him or by his bed, guarding him from threats, real or imaginary.

But it would be dangerous for Sunkist to be here. Despite her immortality, Tommy always worried that the exact moment she got hurt would be when she suddenly would stop being immortal, or maybe she’d forget she was immortal and maybe that would make her not be anymore.

His dad was nearby, he knew that. He’d been watching more closely these days. Whether that was because of Tommy, Gordon, the ‘incident’, or maybe a mix of all of them, he couldn’t be sure.

He- again selfishly- hoped it was because of him, though he knew deep down that was probably not the case. 

His feelings about his father, the ‘Gman’ were complicated at best. They’re his dad, and he loved them, sure, but the recent reappearance after many years of absence was a big thing to get used to.

His father was busy, yes, but Tommy had always hoped they’d have more time for him someday.

But they never did, and Tommy had stopped hoping.

Tommy didn’t exactly want his fathers “comfort” at the moment. His dad was not very good with emotions like comfort, and Tommy knew it’d likely make things worse.

Tommy was only startled out of his thoughts when someone snapped their fingers in front of him. He scrambled back quickly, but realized it was only Bubby, who was squatting in front of him.

“Jeez loueez no need to be so jumpy!” Bubby scowled, but Tommy had learnt he often did that, and it was not indicative of his mood.

“Sorry…” Tommy muttered. His gaze flicked to Dr Coomer, who was still lying on his back, pawing at the air in his sleep and muttering something about a championship and some sort of gaming console.

Tommy wondered what he was dreaming about before turning back to Bubby.

“You look terrible kid, you should sleep”

Bubby was quite blunt.

Tommy bit back a retort, knowing Bubby was much better at that than him, and it wouldn’t be very smart to start that kind of fight.

“…I can’t sleep” Tommy complained “it’s too much- I-it’s way too loud in here. Even if- even when it’s quiet”

Bubby sat, thinking seemingly

“I usually use Coomer as a pillow” he began, Tommy didn’t inform him he already knew this information

 “but when I focus on his snoring it helps me drown out the sound of anything else”

“But how do you- how are you sure you’re gonna be safe all night then? If nobody’s keeping watch over you”

Bubby waved a hand

“You all are very loudl. If something happens I’m sure I’ll wake up to Gordon yelling his head off”

“…I guess so…” Tommy still didn’t feel convinced.

“Why don’t we try to find a noise that you can focus on?” Bubby offered. Tommy sighed but nodded

“Yea… Usually I have Sunkist a-and she helps me feel safer…” Tommy hugged his knees, and Bubby was lost in thought.

“...Say, you like Wikipedia right?” “The- The free online encyclopedia that anyone can edit?” Tommy looked up hopefully

Bubby grinned. It wasn’t like how people were supposed to grin, Tommy thought. It was more like a chimp bearing its teeth, but he’d learned that was just how he smiled.

Bubby walked over and nudged Coomer with his foot. Coomer muttered about gloves and Bubby rolled his eyes (Or, Tommy assumed he did. He couldn’t quite see behind his glasses.)

Bubby picked up Coomer and carried him over, dropping him on the ground. Coomer jolted and yelled something about ropes, but Bubby tapped him and he calmed down.

“Oh, Hello Dr. Bubb-” “Shut it! That one’s still sleeping” He jabbed a thumb towards Gordon, who stirred a bit.

Coomer’s voice was quieter, but not like a whisper, more like someone had used a remote to turn the volume down.

“Coomer, recite the boy a wikipedia article!” “Wikipedia, The Free Online Encyclopedi-?” “Yes, yes that!!”

Tommy tried to get comfortable on the floor, but it wasn’t working very well. Coomer lied back down, resting against the wall, and Bubby lied down next to him, resting his head on Coomer’s side.

Coomer noticed Tommy’s struggles and kindly patted the spot next to him, offering Tommy to share the space. Tommy was hesitant, he wasn’t very used to any sort of physical contact. He hadn’t had many friends, let alone ones who wanted to be affectionate with him. 

He hated to admit it, but he still flinched whenever Gordon put a hand on his shoulder.

Coomer was the exact opposite however, constantly poking, hugging, and messing with other people, so Tommy suspected it was very normal for him.

Awkwardly, Tommy scooted closer, resting his head on his side, and Coomer put an arm over him. It was very comforting, he had to admit.

“A Chair Is A Piece Of Furniture With A Raised Surface-” Coomer began reciting, and Tommy felt himself relax. 

It reminded him of his dad. Gman would recite OSHA guidelines, rules, and encyclopedias to get him to sleep, whether because he thought it would bore Tommy into tiredness or because he genuinely thought it was interesting was beyond him, but Tommy had grown a liking for them regardless.

As he listened to Coomer ramble on, his mind wandered.

His dad was nearby, and he was safe. He shouldn’t worry about that. Even if it wasn’t as direct as Sunkist’s guarding, Tommy doubted his dad would let him get hurt.

But he didn’t just have to worry about himself anymore. He willed his tired eyes- which he hadn’t realized had closed- open, and his gaze tiredly flicked to Gordon, who was still curled up. He looked to Coomer, who was still reciting the entire page, reading out each resource link letter by letter.

“Hey Dr Coomer?”

“Yes, Tommy?”

“...Can we uhm- Can Mr. Freeman join us? He’s- he looks… cold” 

Coomer’s eyes squinted in a strange sort of smile. “The More The Merrier!”

Tommy stood and walked over to Gordon,  and very gently reached down, tucking his arms under Gordon’s, and lifted him up, careful to not wake him. Gordon stirred a few times, but ultimately Tommy was successful. 

He sat down, moving Gordon to be close to the pile. Tommy curled up by Dr. Coomer again. Bubby was already asleep, and contrary to what he said, he was the one snoring it seemed. Tommy hadn’t noticed that before.

Coomer continued reading out the link he was on, while Tommy’s eyes slowly closed. The dripping of the pipes was merely a background sound now, and easily filtered out. And though he felt the cold of the room threatening to chill him, he felt so warm next to his friends.

This was nice. Tommy appreciated the group's company, of course, but as of late it’d felt… Better than before. Tommy realized in this moment that they were his friends. They cared about him, and they’d help him.

Tommy smiled tiredly, curled up by Dr Coomer and Mr. Freeman.

The cold had passed, and only warmth remained.

He hoped it would last a long time.

[stormflyblue]

can u tell us more about my magical girl au? I love hearing about aus like that lol

SCREAMS!! YES!!! sorry that it took so long to respond to this, i had to write a lot and im answering on mobile where i cant type as fast!! (also apologizes for my grammar in this, i was in a silly mood) prepare for the massive info dump under the cut!!!

okay anyways! the “magical girls” are wxs (bc im biased for them) and their theme would be “sweets” and “deserts.” their outfits are based around the fluffy dreamland set + other cards that i think suit them. (ex: nene messenger of feelings combined with her afterparty with fireworks(mermaid nene)) but emu is only based off of her smile of a dreamer card bc she’s the goat and it’s her focus. she’s sort of the leader of the magical girls (sorry tsukasa!! youre my favorite but ur not the leader for this au!! i have a lot of plans for you though >:3)

HOWEVER bc rui and tsukasa dont have clear full body outfits in that set im thinking of basing their outfits on different sets. tsukasa is the most clear for me, because he’s going to be an combination of his backstage encouragement card (lilykasa) and his an unexpected classmate card. i dont have any ideas for rui but i want him to be based on a lim card of his so his hair can change during the transformation ueueueuwuuwe (；′⌒`) .

since their theme is around sweets im thinking of naming their “charm” or those things that give magical girls power “___ candy” emu’s would be “sweet candy” since she’s the leader. nene’s would be “mermaid candy”. tsukasa would be “star candy” and rui’s would be “robo candy” or “thunder candy” (IM SORRY RUI I AM NOT TREATING YOU RIGHT IN BUILDING THIS AU 🙏) the names before ‘candy’ is either based off of their cards (nene) or their overall personality or actual theme (tsukasa, rui)

the order of who turns into a magical girl would be emu -> nene -> rui -> tsukasa. emu was the first to recieve her powers and has been fighting against “evil” for a good length of time. maybe around 4-6 months. because of this she is somewhat popular around japan and on the internet. everyone has at least heard of her if theyve stayed up with the latest trends. (saki is a MASSIVE fan of her’s).

nene recieves her candy during a particularly difficult fight she witnesses emu having. (here). in this au nene is more pessimistic that gets resolved soon when she gets to know emu more. the reason she knows emu’s identity in the comic i made is because she soon realized it after emu said something eeriely similar to her magic girl persona. she then confirms it during the battle and as she realizes the reason for why emu fights, she is determined to reciprocate those feelings to her. thus, she recieves her candy.

tsukasa and rui im not sure yet but i want it to be an accidental encounter. maybe during a show they have an enemy appears and they have to fight, thus leading tsukasa and rui to find out their identity. im still not sure how to make the enounter different for tsukasa and rui since i want there to be at least some time for nene and tsukasa to get popular on emu’s level (or at least close to it).

the “big bad” that magical wxs is fighting is called project DULL. it’s…nightcord… yeah. the enemies are n25. they have tragic backstories and i really want to see them snap at someone sooo /lh. haha! no actually though i want n25 to have another secret persona that NO ONE knows the identity to. even themselves. they work together but they have no idea of the real person theyre working with. yes, they still in n25 together working on songs but they also work together as the main “villains” (wink wink. nudge nudge ;3). a few times one or more of them come to their nightly vcs more tired than usual and theyre suspious but brush it off thinking “oh they must have had a more exhausting day than usual, i wont pry but i’ll tell them to take care of themselves!”

virtual singers and sekais still do exist in this au by the way! im also thinking of making each group into a villain fighting group but i have no idea where to start with that and i think my brain would implode trying to think of all of their lore in one go soo no mention of them here lolol.

project DULL wants to reset the world to a state where everything is neutral. no positive emotions, no negative emotions. no sicknesses either! the main reason they oppose magical wxs is bc n25’s “neutral” is tasteless (or at least that how i think) and wxs is based around sweetness and the different flavors of everything.

there are many other things i want to explain about project DULL and others associated with them but that would be spoliers and it would ruin the surpise!!! one last thing about them is that theyre based off their imprisoned marionette set and wear masks. (WINK WINK. NUDGE NUDGE)

this is all that i can think of right now. if i have any more information i want to dump i’ll just reblog. sorry if it’s a lot!! thank you so much for asking!!! <333

[bushpropaganda]

im not a very spiritual person at this point of my life but i swear that every november something happens to me that sets the mood for the next six months at least. its been like that ever since i was like nine. and usually its just like a new media hyperfix that rocks my world but im not really capable of hyperfixating anymore (antidepressants i suppose) so i really wonder what it is this time -> so far it just looks like the next big thing is being less parasocial and online in general but thats sort of lame compared to gaining new interests. boo

[balkanswift]

i'm so excited for you! if you try matcha just keep in mind it's not for everyone's taste and don't force yourself to like it gkfhdhdhd

i have been journaling for years now and i find it easier to mix the hard stuff with fun stuff. my journals are always divided into two sections:

fun stuff:

junk journaling (i collect stickers, labels, tickets, memorabilia from trivial things i do daily like a sticker from my take out food from breakfast, or a ticket from a bus ride, or a label of a new thing i just bought! this brings out my creativity on how to make junk look pretty on paper. sort of like making a collage

trackers- i currently track my hours of sleep and step count. it's just fun to take note of something i achieved during the day. it's also somewhat a motivation to walk more or sleep better. you can also track spending, grocery budgets per week or month, savings, etc!

others: to do lists, pictures of special days, recipes, maps, illustrations, doodles, lists of books shows movies etc

bonus: i use fun and colorful pens and markers for this section and it feels like my journal is just a coloring/drawing book!

serious stuff

i always label this section as kree's thoughts and feelings. on this section i just rant and write about things that frustrate me or make me happy or anything in between. just me, my black pen, and my journal against the world.

i usually try to write whenever i need to and when i dont feel like writing at all, i just put my pen down and keep my journal because i find that forcing myself to write when im not in the mood just makes the journal entry seem performative and less therapeutic.

hope this helps!! love u so much🤍

thank you soooo much!!! you've given me such good tips. i'll let you know how it goes. and i know about the matcha, but i will be open-minded and we'll see. Goodnight from me, love you! <3