#...i just need to get the maximum effect

[deep-sea-anemone]

Was anyone going to tell me that link click was already out on crunchyroll or was I supposed to read it through spoilers myself?

[ketchuppee]

During the 2008 recession, my aunt lost her job. Her, her partner, and my three cousins moved across the country to stay with us while they got back on their feet. My house turned from a family of four to a family of nine overnight, complete with three dogs and five cats between us.

It took a few years for them to get a place of their own, but after a few rentals and apartments, they now own a split level ranch in a town nearby. I’ve lost track of how many coworkers and friends have stayed with them when they were in a tight spot. A mother and son getting out of an abusive relationship, a divorcee trying to stay local for his kids while they work out a custody agreement, you name it. My aunt and uncle knew first hand what that kindness meant, and always find space for someone who needed it, the way my parents had for them.

That same aunt and uncle visited me in [redacted] city last year. They are prolific drinkers, so we spent most of the day bar hopping. As we wandered the city, any time we passed a homeless person, my uncle would pull out a fresh cigarette and ask them if they had a light. Regardless of if they had a lighter on hand or not, he offered them a few bucks in exchange, which he explained to me after was because he felt it would be easier for them to accept in exchange for a service, no matter how small.

I work for a company that produces a lot of fabric waste. Every few weeks, I bring two big black trash bags full of discarded material over to a woman who works down the hall. She distributes them to local churches, quilting clubs, and teachers who can use them for crafts. She’s currently in the process of working with our building to set up a recycling program for the smaller pieces of fabric that are harder to find use for.

One of my best friends gives monthly donations to four or five local organizations. She’s fortunate enough to have a tech job that gives her a good salary, and she knows that a recurring donation is more valuable to a non-profit because they can rely on that money month after month, and can plan ways to stretch that dollar for maximum impact. One of those organizations is a native plant trust, and once she’s out of her apartment complex and in a home with a yard, she has plans to convert it into a haven of local flora.

My partner works for a company that is working to help regulate crypto and hold the current bad actors in the space accountable for their actions. We unfortunately live in a time where technology develops far too fast for bureaucracy to keep up with, but just because people use a technology for ill gain doesn’t mean the technology itself is bad. The blockchain is something that she finds fascinating and powerful, and she is using her degree and her expertise to turn it into a tool for good.

I knew someone who always had a bag of treats in their purse, on the odd chance they came across a stray cat or dog, they had something to offer them.

I follow artists who post about every local election they know of, because they know their platform gives them more reach than the average person, and that they can leverage that platform to encourage people to vote in elections that get less attention, but in many ways have more impact on the direction our country is going to go.

All of this to say, there’s more than one way to do good in the world. Social media leads us to believe that the loudest, the most vocal, the most prolific poster is the most virtuous, but they are only a piece of the puzzle. (And if virtue for virtues sake is your end goal, you’ve already lost, but that’s a different post). Community is built of people leveraging their privileges to help those without them. We need people doing all of those things and more, because no individual can or should do all of it. You would be stretched too thin, your efforts valiant, but less effective in your ambition.

None of this is to encourage inaction. Identify your unique strengths, skills, and privileges, and put them to use. Determine what causes are important to you, and commit to doing what you can to help them. Collective action is how change is made, but don’t forget that we need diversity in actions taken.

[pumpkin-padparadscha]

moshang soulmate au where sqh never wrote mbj a soulmate so when he transmigrated with a soulmark that obviously represents mbj he assumes it's a one sided bond and keeps it hidden bc he doesn't want mbj to pity him or assume he has expectations or ulterior motives,

meanwhile mbj has no idea wtf the airplane shaped soulmark he has could possibly mean but he knows he has to keep it a secret bc its a potential weakness

so he deliberately acts like he doesn't have a soulmate and avoids psychics and plants that could help him locate his soulmate bc if he knew who it was he isn't sure he could stay away

for maximum drama at some point mbj gets poisoned by something where the cure is the blood of your soulmate willingly given and whoever did it is sure this will be a successful assassination bc its common knowledge that mbj doesn't have a soulmate

and mbj is also sure he's going to die bc even if he could find the identity of his soulmate in the very limited time he has left (unlikely) his teleporting powers are already unreliable (effect of poison) and he isn't sure he could get them to willingly give him what he needs anyway

the cure won't work if there's blackmail or bribery involved it has to be pure intentioned or whatever and mbj has self esteem issues tbh

so mbj is sulking about this or whatever and sqh is like "my king forgive me" and slices his palm open and holds his hand over mbjs mouth

and mbj gets to go from wtf to WTF ITS WORKING and how long has sqh known (how long has sqh been KEEPING THIS FROM HIM years of such a secret/lie for what!!! is he that undesirable???)

so he is freaking out and pissed bc "why would you let me dishonour myself by treating my soulmate like a mere servant" or whatever and sqh is very "I didn't want to burden you my king so really we can just pretend this never happened"

and mbj is hashtag coping with a lot of feelings and desperately wants a distraction (or for the world to start making sense even though this revelation makes SO MUCH SENSE) and he asks sqh abt what his weird ass mark shape means +shows it to him

and sqh is now ALSO freaking out bc 1. really? a reference to his handle? what did he do to deserve this and 2. MY KING YOU HAVE A SOULMATE?

then u get the whole "YOURE my soulmate" "obviously I'm your soulmate but I'm your soulmate!?!" and an explanation about one sided bonds (very tragic, mbj feels WORSE knowing what sqh was thinking for years)

for extra pizzazz add in an immediate proposal and "you don't have to marry me just because I'm your soulmate + in love with you" speech where mbj learns that sqh also 1. is in love with him and 2. believes it to be a one sided state of affairs

...the doctor would love for this not to be happening bc it would be really awkward to interrupt and check on how the cure is doing but that's kind of her job

[sixeyesonathiel]

what happens when satoru gojo fakes vulnerability and someone responds with actual care?

a/n: reader using a male avatar so she doesn't get underestimated and satoru using a female avatar to scam his way through life is literally the silliest dynamic i’ve ever cooked up. like hello??? gender who??? one’s silently carrying the whole server with raw skill and the other’s sobbing in sparkles for loot he doesn’t even need. peak clownery. I LOVE THEM.

satoru didn’t play the game to be noble. he played to win.

he lounged on a mossy ledge in aethergate online’s emerald forest, legs swinging above luminous roots, beams of late afternoon light dripping through the tree canopy like syrup. his avatar—a petite girl with tousled silver hair in a wispy bob, watery blue eyes wide with a kind of fragile wonder—sat delicately beside him, barefoot, skirts artfully dirtied, wand trembling in her small hands. she looked like she’d burst into tears if you so much as raised your voice.

and she was him.

he’d picked the flattest chest size the game allowed, for maximum "innocent lost fairy" effect. her voice—filtered through a pitch-tuned modulator—was airy and lilting, like a tearful anime side character two seconds from fainting. her idle animations were rigged to sparkle when she wasn’t doing anything. a helpless deer stuck in traffic. a damsel in distress.

who also happened to be capable of obliterating an elite raid squad with one broken staff and an accidental crit chain.

in real life, satoru slouched deep into his gaming chair, hoodie collar bunched beneath his chin, white hair curling in a sleepy cloud around his head. his bangs hung low over a pair of gleaming, mischief-fueled eyes behind the visor. he stretched, knuckles cracking, before lazily adjusting the mic attached to his cheek. a bowl of half-finished cereal sat nearby, forgotten. his room glowed faintly with neon strips and a flickering holographic map of the game world plastered to one wall.

he was, objectively, the worst.

and today, he was feeling particularly theatrical.

the forest shimmered around him—twilight casting gold against the thick moss, background players flitting through with cloaks trailing behind, the soft ding of system notifications blending into birdsong. a sprite child NPC chased a floating pet butterfly near the stream, while two players argued over loot nearby, their chat bubbles popping like comic panels. satoru squatted in an overgrown fox den, triggering a scripted ambush, and let a swarm of level thirty wolves drag his health bar down to red. he screamed through his girl voice like a starlet in an old movie. “aah~ not againnn~ i’m sooo scaaared~ someone heeelp~!”

just in time, the brush behind him rustled.

you stepped out.

no fanfare, no slow-mo entrance. just calm, heavy steps. armored boots pressed moss flat as you walked into the fray, blade already swinging. three clean arcs. no wasted motion. the wolves fell without even a snarl. your avatar—broad-shouldered, practical, with short dark hair and a jawline like it was carved by someone very tired—stood tall against the dappled light.

satoru’s avatar blinked slowly up at you. perfect mark.

he mashed the sparkle emote.

“waaah~ thankyuuuu~ i was totally gonna diiie~ you saved meee~ teehee~”

you stared. then crouched, dropping a low-tier potion by his feet.

his real grin stretched wide. “ehhh? you’re sooo nice~ i ran out of everythiiing~ do you maybe have a few moreee?”

you paused. then dropped three more. silent.

he squealed for real. in real life, he kicked his feet against the desk.

“i love you,” he breathed through the mic, voice mod still on. but you just nodded once.

and left.

or tried to. satoru scrambled after you like a glittery barnacle. every time you stopped to check your map, his dainty avatar would sit cross-legged behind you, hands folded in her lap. if you set traps, he’d walk directly into them with the most tragic whimper you’d ever heard.

you always helped.

he couldn’t believe how easy it was.

on the third day, he managed to scam your epic raid-earned sword out of you with a long, high-pitched plea and a sparkly spin.

“n-noo~ i feel sooo baddd~ i’m scamming youuu~!!!” he cried, while pressing confirm before you could blink.

and you just... nodded.

no mic. not once had he heard your voice.

but you always turned to face him. always healed him. always gave a little wave at the end of a dungeon. sometimes you’d do a silly dance emote if he pretended to cry hard enough.

he was on top of the world.

until the boss hunt.

he was half-tempted to ghost you when the invite came in. but... he liked the attention. and the freebies. so he showed up, sparkles and all. actually tried a little. even dodged once or twice.

afterward, when the rare loot dropped, he waited for you to start dividing it.

instead, you traded it all to him. the legendary cloak. the mount egg. the enhancement cores. he stared at the trade window, then at your avatar. you stood still, like a sentry carved from obsidian.

his fingers hovered over the confirm button.

“w-wait, are you sure? i don’t— i don’t deserve all this—”

he flicked on the sparkle emote again, panicking.

but you only bowed gently. then waved.

then disappeared.

he stared at the empty space where your avatar had been.

“…what the hell,” he muttered, voice modulator still on.

then, real voice: quiet, almost pouting. “what the hell.”

he sat down in the same mossy spot, skirt fluttering in the still forest air. around him, players sprinted past in the distance, gear clinking, birds chirped lazily, a low-level bard sang off-key to a party of two, while an animated slime NPC bounced in slow circles nearby. the world went on, coded and infinite.

satoru stayed frozen.

then, slowly, he typed.

“did u mean to give me all that stuff?”

an hour passed. the sky dimmed from golden dusk to violet evening. fireflies blinked in and out between fern leaves. his cereal had gone completely soggy.

then:

“yes. u looked happy.”

his visor fogged a little. his fingers paused on the keyboard.

he didn’t log off for another four hours. just sat there, tiny legs swinging off the ledge, face pink.

slightly smiling.

[orangeblossomsintheair]

LIONHEART (2/3) – LN4

summary : lando's journey as a dad.

wc : 12k

an : lionheart was supposed to be a 2-parter but i hit the maximum wc for a post so i guess it's gonna have one more part 😭 not the most linear progression and not beta-read !

It had to be some kind of cosmic joke, you thought to yourself, the more you watched your son grow up.

Nine months of carrying him, swollen feet, back pain, cravings, and sleepless nights, only for him to come out as an exact replica of his father.

Had your genes even tried?

Your son was all Lando.

The wild mop of curls that defied gravity, his sun-kissed skin, that cheeky gap-toothed smile, and those bright aquamarine eyes that twinkled with mischief.

His resemblance to your husband was so uncanny that even Cisca, your mother-in-law, couldn’t stop commenting on it.

“It’s like going back in time,” she said one afternoon, watching your son dart around her garden, pretending to race with his toy car. “He’s exactly how Lando was at his age.”

She paused to chuckle. “And just as much of a handful.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” you replied, sipping your tea with a tired smile. “I think the universe decided one Lando wasn’t enough, so now I’ve got two.”

Cisca patted your hand, laughing softly. “Well, you’re doing a wonderful job. Raising a mini Lando is no small feat, trust me.”

"Speaking of small," you quipped, watching your son determinedly try to drift his bulky toy car, tongue sticking out as he put his weight onto the steering wheel. "He’s just as tiny as his dad was, isn’t he?"

Cisca laughed, the sound warm and familiar as she watched her grandson’s antics. “Oh, absolutely. Lando was always the smallest in his class. It drove him mad. He’d come home every week asking me to measure him, convinced he’d finally grown an inch overnight.”

You snorted, imagining a pint-sized, gap-toothed Lando standing against a wall, demanding to see the ruler. “That sounds about right. Let me guess, he overcompensated by being the loudest kid in the room?”

Cisca nodded with a fond smile. “Loudest and most dramatic,” she added, her eyes twinkling. “He had this knack for turning every little scrape or fall into an Oscar-worthy performance.”

As if on cue, your son’s car lost its balance, and he tumbled to the ground, landing on his side but throwing his arms out dramatically.

“I crashed!” he wailed, flopping onto his back for full effect. “Someone call my pit crew!”

You buried your face in your hands with a groan, trying not to laugh, while Cisca chuckled beside you.

“And there it is. Just like his father.”

Lando chose that exact moment to walk into the garden, a drink in hand, eyebrows raised as he surveyed the scene. “What’s going on here?”

“Your mini-me just reenacted your entire childhood,” you replied, nodding toward your son, who was now lying in the grass, muttering something about needing new tires.

Your son immediately perked up, pointing at his completely intact toy car. “The wheel came off, and the engine’s making weird noises!”

Lando grinned, sauntering over and crouching down next to his son. “Alright, mate, what’s the damage?”

“Hm, sounds serious,” Lando said, nodding solemnly. “We’ll have to get you back in the garage. Can you make it?”

Your son nodded fiercely, throwing his arms around Lando’s neck as he scooped him up effortlessly. Watching them, you couldn’t help but smile.

—

Raising Lando Norris’s mini-me had been a chaotic blend of exhaustion, love, and endless laughter. From the moment your son came into the world, Lando had been there, fumbling his way into fatherhood with all the charm and clumsiness that only he could manage.

The first night at home was chaos.

Your son cried nonstop, his tiny lungs working overtime as the sound echoed through the house.

You were sprawled on the couch, clutching a pillow like it was the only thing tethering you to sanity. Every muscle in your body ached from exhaustion, and you could barely lift your head to look at Lando, who was pacing the living room.

“I’ve got this,” Lando announced confidently, his voice momentarily louder than the wails of your newborn.

He cradled your son in his arms, gently swaying back and forth. “Alright, buddy, what’s wrong? You hungry? Tired? Bored? Yeah, same, honestly.”

“Lando,” you groaned, muffled by the pillow, “he’s a baby, not a pit crew member.”

He ignored you, crouching slightly as he made exaggerated eye contact with your son. “Okay, listen, mate. I need some feedback here. Blink twice if you’re hungry. Cry louder if you’re overtired. Just... give me something to work with.”

Your son, predictably, kept crying, his tiny fists flailing in the air. Lando sighed dramatically. “Tough crowd. Alright, plan B.”

“Plan B?” you asked, lifting the pillow just enough to raise an eyebrow at him.

Without answering, Lando started bouncing lightly on his heels, his voice dropping into a soft hum.

At first, you couldn’t place the tune, but after a moment it hit you- he was humming the McLaren theme tune.

The one he used to play in the car after races, the one that made its way into every highlight reel.

“Are you seriously singing a racing anthem to our newborn?” you asked, your voice half-incredulous, half-amused.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” he replied, a teasing grin on his face. “Besides, it’s working.”

You blinked and realized, to your absolute shock, that Leo's cries were starting to fade. His tiny body relaxed slightly in Lando’s arms, the relentless wailing softening into hiccupping sobs.

“No way,” you muttered, sitting up straighter. “Are you some kind of baby whisperer now?”

Lando smirked, still swaying as he hummed softly to Leo. “What can I say? I’ve got a gift,” he said, casting a quick glance your way. “Or maybe it’s destiny. He’s clearly a McLaren fan already. Chip off the old block, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorframe. “Destiny? You hummed one tune, and now you think he’s a fan for life?”

Lando shot you a playful grin, looking down at Leo, whose cries had softened into sleepy hiccups.

“See this? He’s calm now. That’s McLaren magic, love.” He paused, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. “That’s right, little man. Team McLaren all the way. We’re a family of winners.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t let your Uncle Carlos hear you say that. He’ll be over here with Ferrari onesies faster than you can say pit stop.”

Lando laughed, rocking Leo gently as the baby’s eyelids fluttered. “Nah, no way. Right, Leo?” He leaned down, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t let Uncle Carlos fool you. Red’s not your color, mate. Papaya suits you better.”

“Lando,” you groaned, trying not to laugh. “He’s a baby, not a brand ambassador. He doesn’t even know what colors are yet!”

Lando shrugged, grinning as he paced the room. “Doesn’t matter. He’s got taste. I mean, look at him- calm, collected, already understanding the importance of good engineering.”

You finally let out a laugh, unable to keep a straight face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re welcome,” he shot back, shifting his grip to hold the baby closer to his chest. “Seriously, though. I think I’ve found my secret weapon. Next time he cries, I’ll just sing him some F1 radio clips. Maybe a little ‘box, box, box’ to calm him down.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, but you couldn’t stop laughing. “I can’t believe this. Our baby is going to grow up thinking pit stops are a lullaby.”

“Could be worse,” Lando said with a shrug. “He could think Formula 1 isn’t the best sport in the world. Now that would be tragic.”

“Lando,” you deadpanned, “please don’t turn our child into a walking race encyclopedia before he can even walk.”

“No promises,” he replied cheekily, pressing a kiss to the baby’s forehead as he finally, miraculously, drifted off to sleep. “But for now, I’ll settle for a good night’s sleep. For all of us.”

You leaned back against the couch, watching Lando as he gently carried your son to the bassinet. He moved carefully, like he was holding the most precious thing in the world—and, of course, he was. As he laid the baby down and tiptoed back to you, his goofy grin made your heart swell.

“See?” he whispered, sliding onto the couch beside you. “I told you I’ve got this.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh. “Alright, Dad of the Year. Just don’t forget to get me some water next time.”

He winked. “Coming right up, love. Anything else? Snack? Back massage? Pit crew?”

You threw the pillow at him, but you were laughing too hard to aim properly.

—-

The next night wasn’t much better, Leo seemed to have developed a personal vendetta against sleep, and you were convinced he had some kind of sixth sense that detected the exact moment you closed your eyes. The instant your head hit the pillow, his cries filled the room, pulling you out of the haze of near-sleep.

You groaned, rolling over to see Lando already sitting up in bed, his hair sticking up in all directions like he’d just stepped out of a wind tunnel. He rubbed his face, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a pit crew strategy.

“I’ll get him,” he mumbled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Stay here.”

But you were already sitting up, determined to share the burden. “No, I’ll go. You did the heavy lifting last night.”

Lando turned, his expression softening despite the exhaustion etched into his features. “Love, you carried Leo for nine months. I’ve got this.”

“You said that last night,” you countered, though your voice lacked the strength to argue properly.

“And I delivered, didn’t I?” he shot back with a teasing grin, standing and heading toward the bassinet before you could protest further.

You flopped back onto the mattress, listening to the soft sounds from nursery next door as Lando picked up your son and began his now-signature routine: the light bouncing, the exaggerated baby talk, and, of course, the humming. This time, the tune wasn’t the McLaren theme, it was his radio message after his first win.

“Let’s gooooo,” he whispered dramatically, his voice soft and playful. “Who’s a little legend? You are. That’s right. Just like Dad, huh? Winning every battle, even the ones against sleep.”

From your spot on the bed, you couldn’t help but smile. His ridiculousness was oddly endearing, and somehow, it worked. The cries began to fade again, replaced by soft hiccups and the occasional sniffle.

Lando returned a few minutes later, cradling your now-snoozing baby with a triumphant expression. “Another successful pit stop,” he declared, easing onto the bed beside you.

“You’re unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head.

“Thank you,” he replied, deadpan, as if you’d just complimented his driving skills.

You sat up, peeking over his shoulder at the peaceful little face nestled against his chest. “You know, if this whole racing thing doesn’t pan out, you might have a future as a baby whisperer.”

He snorted. “Racing will always pan out. But if not, maybe I’ll open a sleep training clinic for newborns. ‘Lando’s Lullabies,’ what do you think?”

You smacked his arm lightly, though you couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped. “I think you’re delusional from lack of sleep.”

“Probably,” he agreed, leaning his head against yours. “But hey, we’re surviving, right? That’s the real victory.”

You sighed, letting the warmth of his presence wrap around you. “Yeah. We’re surviving.”

“And thriving,” he added, glancing down at the baby. “Well, he’s thriving. We’re hanging by a thread, but that’s what parents do, right?”

“Right,” you murmured, the exhaustion temporarily eclipsed by a deep sense of gratitude. “We’ve got this.”

He grinned, his free arm pulling you close. “That’s the spirit, love. Now, go back to sleep. I’ll stay up a little longer, just in case.”

—-

(A few months later)

The weekend had finally arrived, and with it came a rare sense of relief as Lando’s parents pulled up to the house.

You were sitting on the couch with Leo cradled in your arms, his tiny fists wrapped around your finger.

Lando was sprawled next to you, his head resting on your shoulder, looking just as exhausted as you felt.

The door opened, and Lando's dad, Adam, stepped in first, his face lighting up the moment he saw Leo. “There’s my grandson! Hand him over, I’ve got this,” he said, already reaching out with eager arms.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not even a hello for us, Adam?”

“Hi, darling,” Adam replied quickly, flashing you a grin before focusing entirely on Leo. “Alright, little man. Granddad’s here. Let’s give your mum and dad a break, yeah?”

Lando’s mom, Cisca, followed closely behind, holding a casserole dish and a tote bag filled with who-knows-what. “And I’m here to make sure this house doesn’t fall apart. You two look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“We haven’t,” Lando said dramatically, sitting up and stretching. “Leo’s been practicing his lung capacity every night. Future Norris athlete in the making.”

“Alright, you two,” Cisca said, setting the bag down and clapping her hands. “You’re officially off duty. Go take a nap, watch a movie, do whatever it is you haven’t had the time to do. We’ve got this.”

“You don’t have to do all this,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction. The idea of a nap, an uninterrupted nap, was already making your body ache in anticipation.

“Sweetheart,” Cisca said, her voice softening as she placed a hand on your arm. “This is what family is for. You’re doing an amazing job, but even superheroes need a break. Let us help.”

Cicsa moved away with a smile, already pulling on a pair of cleaning gloves. “Anyway, I’ve raised two boys and managed Adam. This is a piece of cake.”

“Hey!” Adam called over, bouncing Leo gently. “I resent that.”

“You love it,” Cisca shot back with a wink before turning to you. “Now, shoo. “

You hesitated, glancing at Lando. “Are you sure? The house is a mess, and Leo’s been fussy all morning. I don’t want to dump everything on you two.”

“Nonsense,” Adam said, already bouncing Leo gently. “We’ve raised kids before, remember? This is nothing. Go.”

Lando grinned, nudging you with his elbow. “You heard them. Free babysitters. Let’s not waste this golden opportunity.”

Cisca rolled her eyes fondly as she started tidying the living room, picking up stray baby toys and discarded blankets. “You two deserve a break. Parenting isn’t easy, and you’ve been doing a wonderful job. But everyone needs help sometimes.”

Reluctantly, you let Lando pull you off the couch, your body protesting every movement. “Okay, but if he gets hungry-”

“I know how to warm a bottle,” Cisca interrupted gently, her voice filled with warmth. “We’ll call you if we need anything. Now go.”

As Lando grabbed your hand and led you toward the stairs, you couldn’t help but glance back. Adam was rocking Leo, humming softly, while Cisca was already organizing the clutter in the kitchen.

“They’ve got it,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And we’ve got each other.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “I still feel a little guilty.”

“Don’t,” Lando said firmly, steering you toward the bedroom. “They want to help. And we need this. Just a couple of hours to recharge, yeah?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the past few sleepless nights begin to fade. “Yeah. You’re right.”

The bedroom was bathed in the soft, warm glow of the sun, the kind of light that made everything feel just a little bit more peaceful.

For once, there was no crying, no laundry to fold, no bottles to sterilize. Downstairs, the gentle hum of Lando’s parents chatting with Leo filled the air, but up here, it was quiet. Blissfully quiet.

You lay sprawled on the bed, your limbs heavy with exhaustion but your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Lando lay beside you, his head propped up on his hand, watching you with a small, soft smile that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t in days.

“What?” you asked, your voice a low murmur, too tired to even tease.

He shook his head, his curls falling into his eyes. “Nothing. Just looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance in it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, shifting closer so he could rest his hand lightly on your waist. “But I’m serious. I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

“I’m right here, Lando,” you said softly, though the words felt heavier than you meant them to. You knew what he meant. The chaos of parenthood had left little time for anything else, especially for moments like this.

“No, I mean…” He paused, his fingers gently brushing against the fabric of your shirt, tracing absent patterns. “I’ve missed us. The way we used to just… be, you know? Before all the crying and nappies and figuring out how to keep a tiny human alive.”

Your throat tightened a little at his words, the weight of guilt creeping in again. “I know. I’ve been so caught up in being a mom that I…” You trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“That you forgot to just be you?” Lando offered, his voice gentle, no trace of judgment.

You nodded, blinking back the sudden sting in your eyes. “Yeah. That.”

He let out a soft sigh, his hand moving to cup your cheek, tilting your face so you were looking at him. His eyes were earnest, filled with that boundless affection that you didn't know what to do with most of the time.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re an amazing mom. The best. But before you were Leo’s mom, you were you. The woman I fell in love with. The woman who lights up every room she walks into. And I don’t want you to lose her.”

“I don’t know how to do that, Lando,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “I feel like all I am right now is tired and messy and just… not enough.”

His brow furrowed, and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead in a lingering kiss. “You are more than enough. You always have been, and you always will be.”

You tried to look away, the intensity of his words clawing at your throat, but he didn’t let you, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “And you’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he added, his voice taking on that familiar playful lilt. “Even with the spit-up stains and the messy bun.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Flatterer.”

“Not flattery. Just facts,” he insisted, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. Then your cheek. Then the tip of your nose. Each kiss was soft and slow, like he was trying to make you believe every word he said.

“Lando…”

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips finally finding yours. The kiss was gentle, filled with a warmth that made your chest ache. It was a reminder, a promise, and a thank you all wrapped into one.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Thank you for Leo. For everything. For letting me do this life with you.”

Tears prickled at your eyes, but this time they were the good kind. “You don’t have to thank me, Lando. We’re in this together, remember?”

“I know,” he said with a small smile. “But I’m going to thank you anyway. Because you deserve it. And because I don’t say it enough.”

He pulled you closer then, wrapping his arms around you as if he could shield you from every ounce of exhaustion and doubt you carried. For a moment, you let yourself melt into him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I love you,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your hair. “And I love Leo. But I don’t ever want you to forget- you’re more than just a mom, yeah?”

—

The morning light streamed through the curtains, soft and golden, bathing the room in a peaceful glow. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you woke up feeling truly rested.

No cries echoing through the baby monitor, no bleary-eyed stumbles in the middle of the night. Just the warmth of the bed, the sound of birds chirping outside, and the gentle rise and fall of Lando’s chest as he lay beside you.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your head to find him already awake, his curls messy and his face relaxed in a way that made him look impossibly boyish. His eyes met yours, and a slow, lazy grin spread across his lips.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.

“Morning,” you replied, your own smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Did we really just sleep through the night?”

Lando stretched, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer. "Looks like it," he whispered. "Feels illegal, honestly. Like we’re breaking some kind of parental code."

You let out a soft laugh, your hand instinctively resting on his chest. “I forgot what it feels like to be this… alive.”

“Same,” he said, his grin turning cheeky. “Although, I don’t think we should waste this newfound energy.”

Before you could reply, Lando leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was warm and slow at first, but quickly deepened into something more heated. His hand slid up your back, pulling you flush against him as his other hand tangled in your hair.

“Lando…” you mumbled against his lips, pulling back slightly. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” he said, his grin widening as he trailed kisses down your jaw and back to your mouth. “I’ve just missed kissing you like this. No interruptions, no spit-up, no baby monitor beeping at us..”

His lips captured yours again, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in it, the world narrowing down to the warmth of his body and the way his hand slid up your side. But then reality came crashing back, and you pulled away just enough to mumble, “Lando, my body’s… not ready for anything. You know that, right?”

He pulled back, raising an eyebrow and looking at you like you’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Well, obviously. Don’t doubt my research, babe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, smacking his chest lightly. “Your research?”

“Yes, my research,” he said with mock seriousness, leaning back down to kiss you again. “I’m well-informed, thank you very much. And I know exactly what you need right now- just this.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, his hand cupping your cheek as if to prove his point.

“Just kissing,” he murmured between kisses. “No pressure, no expectations. I just want you.”

You sighed into the kiss, your hands finding their way into his messy curls. It had been so long since you’d felt this close to him, and it was intoxicating. The way he kissed you made you feel like you were the center of his universe, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting together.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he said, his voice rough.

“Me too,” you admitted, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, he spoke again, his voice lighter now. “So… what do you think about getting a cleaner?”

You blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. “A cleaner?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Not full-time or anything. Just someone to help out a few days a week. Give us a little breathing room with the chores. Time to, you know…” He smirked, leaning in to steal another quick kiss. “Do this more often.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible but practical,” he corrected, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at you properly. “Not full-time or anything. Just someone to help out a few days a week.“

You bit your lip, considering it. The idea of having some extra help was tempting, but you weren’t sure how you felt about leaving Leo with someone else, even for a few hours.

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip. “I don’t know, Lando. I mean, I love being with Leo. I don’t want to miss anything.”

“And you won’t,” he reassured you, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I feel like I should be able to handle everything. Like... isn’t that what moms are supposed to do?" you admitted.

"Hey," he said, tipping your chin up so you were looking at him. "You’re already handling everything. And you’re doing it brilliantly. But there’s no rule that says you have to do it all alone. Asking for help doesn’t make you any less of an amazing mom. It just means you’re human."

His words hit you harder than you expected, and you felt a lump form in your throat. "You really think it’s a good idea?"

"I do," he said firmly. "But only if it’s what you want. We’ll make it work either way. I just want to make sure you’re okay, love. That we’re okay.”

“Just think about it. No rush. No pressure. But if it means more mornings like this… it might be worth it.”

He kissed you again, and you couldn’t help but melt into him, your worries momentarily forgotten. For now, all that mattered was this moment, the two of you, together, with nothing else in the world but the warmth of his touch and the way he made you feel like you were still the most important thing in his life.

—

After some thought and plenty of conversations, you and Lando finally decided to hire someone.

It wasn’t a full-time helper, just someone to help around the house, take care of the cleaning, and keep things a little more organized.

You still handled all of Leo’s needs together, but the weight of the mess hanging around, making everything feel just a little more overwhelming, was finally lifted.

A few days of the cleaner settling in, things felt noticeably smoother. The house no longer looked like a war zone, and the chaos of being first-time parents seemed a little less overwhelming with the clutter finally under control.

One evening, after you’d finally gotten Leo to sleep and both of you had managed to survive a particularly difficult round of diaper duty, you and Lando flopped onto the couch.

He stretched out dramatically, groaning like he’d just completed a marathon.

“Okay, I don’t care what anyone says. Getting Leo to bed is like running a 5K.” Lando let out a deep sigh, making a show of rubbing his temples as if he’d just solved world peace.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. “Oh, please. You’re a Formula 1 driver. Getting a baby to sleep should be a walk in the park compared to dodging crashes and tight corners.”

Lando shot you a side-eye, his lips quirking into a teasing grin. “Pfft. Formula 1 doesn't prepare you for a baby that won’t stop crying. No amount of pit stops will save you from that chaos.”

“True,” you said with a chuckle, snuggling up against him. “But at least we’re not cleaning up a whole pit crew’s worth of mess every two hours anymore.”

Lando kissed the top of your head and sighed in contentment. “Thank God for that.”

—

Lando was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed as he gently held Leo in his arms. The baby’s little hands gripped onto his fingers, his tiny face still a little scrunched in concentration.

You were watching from the couch, feeling a quiet sense of joy as you observed the two of them, when it happened.

Leo, with a little puff of air, let out the tiniest, most uncoordinated gummy smile. It wasn’t much, just a small curve of his lips, but to Lando, it was everything.

Lando froze, eyes wide as his gaze locked onto Leo’s face. He blinked, then blinked again, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Did… did he just-” His voice cracked, and before he could finish, tears welled up in his eyes.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “He smiled at me. He smiled.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, watching as Lando’s expression shifted from disbelief to pure adoration. He looked down at Leo, his hand trembling as he brushed a lock of hair away from the baby’s face.

Leo cooed softly, clearly content, and gave him another gummy smile. That was it. Lando completely lost it.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “My son… my son smiled at me.”

Lando cradled Leo in his arms, his gaze fixed on the baby with a mixture of awe and absolute adoration. He swayed back and forth, humming softly under his breath, as though trying to coax some kind of miracle out of his little son.

"Mama’s turn now," Lando said in a voice full of tenderness, walking toward you with Leo facing you. "Smile at Mama, Leo!"

You leaned forward, your hands resting on your knees as you watched Lando’s every move, heart swelling. “You think he’s really going to smile on cue?”

“Just wait,” Lando said with a grin, gently bouncing Leo. "Look at Mama, little man. Show her your big, gummy smile!"

For a moment, there was only the soft sound of Lando’s voice, and then... it happened. Leo’s face scrunched up as he stared up at you with those big, innocent eyes. And then, like a flash of light, his lips curled up in the tiniest, most precious gummy smile.

You felt your heart explode. Without even thinking, you reached a hand to cover your mouth as a soft sob escaped. "Oh my God," you whispered, tears already brimming. "He smiled at me, Lando."

Both of you stared at Leo, the tiny bundle who had no idea he had just performed the greatest act of cuteness in the history of parenthood. He just blinked up at you both, totally clueless, his little hands batting in the air, completely unaware of the emotional chaos he’d triggered.

Lando’s voice was shaky as he looked at you, a tear slipping down his cheek. "Look at him. He’s perfect. He’s ours. He smiled, love. He smiled!"

You were laughing and crying at the same time, shaking your head in disbelief. "I can’t. This is... too much."

Lando gently shifted Leo so that he was facing you both, as if presenting him to you like the greatest treasure. "See, buddy?" Lando whispered to Leo, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re gonna break hearts with that smile. Just like your mama."

You wiped away a tear, reaching out a hand to gently touch Leo’s tiny foot. "I can’t believe how much I love you two," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

Lando was full-on crying now, unable to contain the tears as he held Leo to his chest again, taking a deep breath and wiping his eyes. “I didn’t know it was possible to love you more every day,” he said, voice cracking with emotion. “But then... he does that,” he gestured lazily at Leo, “and suddenly I love you both a thousand times more.”

You reached up to gently wipe a tear from his cheek, your hand trembling just slightly. "I know," you whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly. "I love you both too."

Leo, completely unaware of the full emotional depth of the moment, simply gurgled in his sleep, his hands curling into fists, still smiling in his own little, clueless way.

You laughed softly, your voice still thick with emotion. "He’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen."

"Yeah," Lando agreed, his voice still a little raw. "He’s perfect. And he’s ours. I didn’t know I could feel like this,” he said, choking on his words, his voice cracking even more. “I’m so proud. I’m just… so proud of him already.”

You got up from the couch, walking over to where Lando was, a small, amused smile playing on your lips. You kneeled beside him, brushing your hand gently against his arm. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

Lando wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his face flushed with both emotion and embarrassment. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he said, looking at you through misty eyes. “This whole dad thing is gonna kill me. I can’t handle it.”

—

Lando was peacefully asleep on the couch, his arm draped lazily over his face, a soft snore escaping his lips as he lay on his back. Leo was nestled against his chest, his tiny hands swiping aimlessly as he slowly woke up, blinking his big eyes in the morning light.

You sat on the edge of the couch, your heart swelling as you watched the two of them. The sight was adorable- Lando, always so composed, now a soft, unguarded mess with your son lying on top of him. You leaned in to scoop Leo up for a cuddle, ready to give Lando a break from baby duty.

But just as you reached down to lift Leo, you froze. Leo’s tiny hand shot out, and in one swift move, he grabbed onto Lando’s nose with both little fists.

You stifled a laugh as Lando remained blissfully unaware, still deep in his sleep. Leo, on the other hand, was gripping his dad's nose like it was the most important thing in the world, his little fingers digging in as if holding onto a treasure.

You leaned over and tried to carefully pry Leo’s hand off his dad’s face, but Leo wasn't having any of it. His grip tightened, and he let out a soft giggle of his own, clearly delighted by his newfound power.

"No way, Leo," you whispered through your giggles. "Let go of Daddy’s nose."

But Leo just grinned and gave an enthusiastic tug, which only made you laugh harder. Lando, still unaware, snored a little louder, completely oblivious to the tiny assault on his nose.

You tried again to pull Leo away, but it was no use. Leo refused to let go. The more you tried, the more Leo seemed to cling to his dad’s nose with newfound determination.

"You little troublemaker," you giggled, your fingers now gently tickling Leo’s side in an attempt to distract him. "Daddy’s gonna wake up with a nose full of baby drool, and you're gonna be the one to blame."

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of baby antics, Lando stirred slightly. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, clearly confused as to why he felt a strange sensation on his nose. He looked down, and his gaze immediately landed on Leo, still gripping his nose like it was the most important thing in the world.

Lando blinked a few times, his lips twitching into a smile. "Leo..." he said groggily, his voice thick with sleep. "What are you doing, buddy?"

You couldn’t contain your laughter anymore, and you let out a full giggle. "He’s got you, Lando. He won’t let go."

Lando’s eyes softened as he looked at Leo, who was grinning back at him, completely unaware of the trouble he’d caused. "Well, guess I’m stuck with this now, huh?" Lando chuckled, gently moving Leo’s tiny hand from his nose. “I guess I should be flattered.”

You leaned in to kiss Lando on the cheek, still giggling. "You should be. I think Leo just claimed you as his personal jungle gym."

Lando smiled, finally fully awake now, and carefully lifted Leo off his chest, giving him a small kiss on the forehead. "Guess he loves me more than I thought."

"Just wait until he starts grabbing your hair," you teased.

Lando laughed, giving Leo a soft, affectionate squeeze. "I’ll take it. It’s just another part of the adventure."

You watched the two of them, your heart full. “Yeah. Another adventure,” you agreed softly, feeling the warmth of your little family wrap around you.

—

It was one of those rare, quiet afternoons. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting a soft glow over the living room where you sat with Leo cradled in your arms. His tiny body was warm against yours, his head nestled just beneath your chin. You were humming softly, tracing little patterns on his back, lost in your own world.

But Leo? Leo was in his own universe and it revolved entirely around you.

He tilted his head back slightly, his wide, curious eyes locking onto your face like you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

His little hands reached up, fingers brushing against your cheek. Every time you moved, even slightly, his gaze followed with a level of intensity that would’ve made a detective jealous.

“Hey there, buddy,” you whispered, smiling down at him. “What’s got you so mesmerized?”

Leo didn’t answer, of course. He just blinked at you, his big, gummy smile spreading across his face like sunshine breaking through clouds.

“Is it the song?” you teased, tilting your head. “Or are you just checking to see if I’m as tired as I feel?”

Lando walked in from the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand, and froze when he saw the two of you. “Oh my god,” he whispered, his voice laced with awe. “He’s in love with you.”

You looked up, confused but amused. “What are you talking about?”

“Look at him!” Lando exclaimed, setting the glass down and gesturing dramatically toward Leo. “He’s completely starstruck. Like, I’m his dad, but apparently, you’re Beyoncé or something.”

You laughed softly, glancing back down at Leo. “He’s a baby, Lando. Babies just... stare.”

“Not like this,” Lando countered, crouching beside the couch to get a closer look. He waved a hand in front of Leo’s face, trying to catch his attention, but Leo didn’t even blink. His gaze stayed fixed on you, unwavering.

“See?” Lando said, throwing his hands up. “I don’t exist. You’re his whole world.”

“Well,” you said with a sly smile, “can you blame him?”

Lando laughed, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Not even a little bit.”

Leo, as if sensing that his dad was stealing your attention, let out a little coo of protest. His tiny hand reached up again, this time gripping a strand of your hair.

“Oh, you’re possessive now, huh?” you teased, gently prying his fingers loose. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Lando watched the exchange with a grin, shaking his head. “I don’t stand a chance, do I?”

Leo giggled at you, a sound so pure and joyful that both you and Lando couldn’t help but laugh along.

“Well,” Lando said, sitting down beside you, “if he’s this obsessed with you now, just wait until he starts talking. First word’s gonna be ‘Mama’ for sure.”

You shrugged, smirking. “I mean, I am pretty great.”

“Understatement of the year,” Lando muttered, leaning in to kiss your temple.

Leo babbled something incomprehensible, his voice full of excitement, as if trying to join the conversation. You looked back down at him, your heart swelling.

“Don’t worry, baby,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, too.”

Leo responded with another gummy smile, and Lando groaned, clutching his chest.

“I’m gonna die,” he said dramatically. “He’s too cute. You’re too cute. I can’t handle this.”

You laughed, leaning into Lando’s side as the three of you basked in the warmth of the moment, your little family feeling more perfect than ever.

A few hours later and you were lounging on the couch, Leo nestled snugly against your chest. His tiny fingers clung to your shirt, his cheek resting against you as he babbled softly. You were exhausted but content, brushing a hand gently over his downy hair.

Lando appeared in the doorway, fresh from a shower, his hair damp and tousled. He grinned at the sight of the two of you, still where he had left you earlier to go running to get the workout his personal trainer required him. "Alright, mama. Your turn to rest," he said, striding over confidently. "Hand him over."

You chuckled softly, shifting slightly. "I don’t think he’s going to like that."

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lando said, reaching for Leo. “Come on, buddy. Let’s give Mama a break. You’ve hogged her long enough.”

But as soon as Lando’s hands gently tried to lift Leo away, your son let out a whiny little wail, clutching at your shirt like his life depended on it. His face scrunched up, and he made a series of dramatic, pitiful noises, burying his head against you.

Lando froze, blinking at Leo in disbelief. “Whoa, whoa, whoa- what’s this?”

You tried to hold back a laugh, rubbing Leo’s back soothingly. “I told you. He’s a mama’s boy right now.”

“Mama’s boy?” Lando repeated, his tone almost offended. “Leo, mate, you’re killing me here. What happened to our father-son bond? Remember? McLaren lullabies? Matching outfits? No?”

Leo let out another whimper and clung tighter, making it abundantly clear that no, he did not care about any of that right now.

“Unbelievable,” Lando muttered, dropping his hands to his hips. “You’re supposed to be my biggest fan, and you’re ditching me for her?”

“Can you blame him?” you teased, smiling up at Lando. “I mean, I did carry him for nine months. We’ve got history.”

Lando scoffed, sitting on the armrest of the couch, his arms crossed. “Alright, fine. I’ll just sit here and wait until he decides I’m worthy of his time again. No big deal.”

You laughed softly, adjusting Leo slightly so he could peek at his dad. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. He loves you. He’s just... clingy today.”

Lando leaned in closer, his face inches from Leo’s. “Hey, buddy,” he said in a mock serious tone. “You’re breaking my heart, you know that? At least give me a smile or something.”

Leo peeked at him, his little mouth forming an ‘O’ as if considering it, but then he tucked his face back into your neck with a happy sigh.

“Wow,” Lando said, throwing his hands up. “Rejected. Completely rejected. I’m never going to recover from this.”

You reached out with your free hand, tugging playfully at Lando’s arm. “Oh, stop. You’ll get your turn when he’s in a dad mood.”

“When’s that gonna be? Next year?” Lando quipped, though his grin gave away that he wasn’t really upset.

You tilted your head, resting it against the couch. “Maybe when he starts talking. He might surprise you and say ‘Dada’ first.”

Lando’s face lit up at the idea, his competitive streak kicking in. “Oh, he better say ‘Dada’ first. Otherwise, I’m taking him to every Grand Prix until he changes his mind.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at him fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me,” he replied, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. Then, after a beat, he pressed a soft kiss to Leo’s, earning himself a tiny, curious glance.

“See, Leo?” Lando said, grinning at his son. “I’m not so bad. Maybe next time, you’ll pick Dad, huh?”

Leo cooed softly, his tiny hand reaching out toward Lando’s face as if to placate him, and Lando laughed.

“Alright,” he said, standing back up. “You win this round, little guy. But don’t get too comfortable. Dad’s coming for you.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to Leo’s head as he settled contentedly against you. “I think we’re both lucky to have you, Lando. Even if he’s playing favorites today.”

Lando shot you a cheeky grin. “Damn right you’re lucky. Just wait until tomorrow. I’ll bring out the big guns- he won’t be able to resist.”

“Big guns?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll see,” Lando said cryptically, heading toward the kitchen. “Just you wait, Mama’s boy.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head, as Leo cooed happily in your arms, blissfully unaware of the competition brewing between his parents.

—

The house was unusually quiet that evening, save for the faint hum of the baby monitor on the kitchen counter.

You were finishing up the dishes when you noticed Lando sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. His hair was a mess from running his fingers through it, something he only did when he was stressed.

You dried your hands and walked over, sitting beside him.

Leo was already asleep in his crib, giving you both a rare moment of peace, but Lando’s usual lighthearted demeanor was absent.

"Hey," you said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. "What’s on your mind?"

He sighed heavily, sitting back and looking at you with tired eyes. "Season’s starting back up soon."

You nodded. "I know. It’s what you love, though. You’ve been itching to get back out there."

"Yeah, I have," he admitted, but his voice was far from excited. "It’s just... different this time."

You tilted your head, encouraging him to continue.

"I don’t want to miss anything," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Leo’s growing so fast already, and what if I miss his first word? Or the first time he crawls? What if he forgets me when I’m gone too much? He’s so little, and I just... I don’t want him to feel like I’m not around."

Your heart broke a little at his words.

Lando was always so confident, but being a dad had softened him in ways you didn’t expect.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "You’re not going to miss everything, Lando. We’re coming with you, remember?"

"I know," he said, wrapping an arm around you instinctively. "But it’s not the same. You’ll be in the hotel most of the time. I’ll be at the track all day. And then there’s the traveling, the media, the briefings... It’s not like I can just pop in whenever I want."

"You’re doing your best," you reassured him. "And that’s all that matters. Leo’s not going to forget you just because you’re working. He’s going to grow up knowing his dad is chasing his dreams."

"But he’s my dream too," Lando whispered, his voice cracking. "I love racing, but I love you and Leo more. And I don’t want either of you to feel like you’re second to anything."

You sat up and cupped his face in your hands, making him look at you. "Lando Norris, you are an amazing dad and an amazing partner. Racing doesn’t take away from that. If anything, it adds to it. You’re showing Leo what it means to work hard for something you’re passionate about. And no matter how busy things get, you always come back to us. That’s what he’ll remember."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as he let out another sigh. "You’re way too good at this pep talk thing, you know."

You smiled. "Comes with the territory. Now, instead of worrying, why don’t you focus on the things you can do? Like making sure you get as much time with Leo as possible before you leave for Bahrain."

Lando nodded, his resolve strengthening. "You’re right. I’ll make every second count."

"We’ll be cheering you on," you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Always."

"Love you," he murmured, pulling you into his arms.

"We love you too," you whispered back, knowing that no matter how challenging the season ahead would be, you’d face it together.

—

The door to the hotel room creaked open, and you looked up from the couch where you sat with Leo perched on your lap.

The tension in Lando’s shoulders was evident as he stepped inside, his eyes shadowed with the weight of a race that hadn’t gone his way.

His hair was still damp from a quick post-race shower at the track, hoodie lazily thrown on.

He dropped his bag by the door and leaned against the wall for a moment, rubbing a hand down his face. You could see the frustration in every line of his posture, and your heart ached for him.

“Hey,” you called softly, trying not to wake Leo, who was already babbling quietly as he played with your fingers.

Lando’s eyes found yours, and just like that, some of the tension began to melt away. His gaze shifted to Leo, whose bright aquamarine eyes lit up the moment he saw his dad. Tiny hands waved enthusiastically, and Lando couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, mate,” he murmured, crossing the room to kneel beside you both. “You’ve been good for your mum?”

Leo giggled in response, his baby talk filling the room. Lando reached out to gently tickle his son’s belly, his earlier frustration slowly dissolving into soft chuckles as Leo squirmed and cooed.

“I missed you two,” Lando said quietly, his eyes meeting yours. He leaned forward to kiss your forehead, then pressed a soft kiss to Leo’s chubby cheek. “Needed this more than I thought.”

Leo’s babbling grew more excited, and he suddenly clapped his hands before blurting out, “Buh! Buh! Buh! Booooox!”

Both you and Lando froze for a second, staring at each other in disbelief.

“Did he just-”

“Did he just say box box box?” you finished, already starting to laugh.

Lando’s jaw dropped before he burst into a mix of laughter and disbelief. “No way. His first words are box box box! Are you kidding me?!”

You were laughing so hard tears were threatening to spill from your eyes. “Oh my God, Lando. All that time spent listening to the race engineers is paying off! He’s already a little racer!”

Lando gently scooped Leo up, holding him high in the air as the baby giggled uncontrollably.

“Leo, mate, you’ve got the timing of a legend! First words straight out of a pit wall broadcast. Unbelievable!”

Leo’s babbling continued, his gummy smile stretching wide as he seemed to revel in the attention.

Lando pressed his forehead to Leo’s, his voice filled with affection. “You’re perfect, you know that? Absolute perfection. Even if you’ve cursed me to never hear the end of this from Uncle Max.”

You leaned over to kiss Lando’s cheek, your laughter settling into a warm smile. “Well, at least we know he’s paying attention during the races.”

Lando turned to look at you, his eyes soft and full of love. “You two make everything better, you know that? Worst race of my life, and here I am, happier than ever because of this little guy and his genius first words.”

“Buh-buh-buh!” Leo squealed again, reaching out to grab Lando’s nose.

“Yeah, yeah, box box box, I hear you, mate,” Lando said, his voice thick with laughter and adoration.

—

The moment came out of nowhere, as so many milestones do.

You were finishing up your nighttime skincare routine while Lando sat on the floor, trying to coax Leo to take a step.

Leo stood wobbling on his chubby little legs, his hands stretched out in front of him for balance.

“Come on, mate,” Lando encouraged, holding his arms out. “One step. Just one! You’ve got this.”

You looked up, a soft smile playing on your lips. “He’s been teasing you with this for weeks, hasn’t he?”

“Don’t jinx it!” Lando shot back with a grin, his eyes glued to Leo.

Leo’s face was scrunched in determination, his tongue poking out as if it helped his balance. Then, with the tiniest of shuffles, he lifted one foot and took a step.

“YES!” Lando’s shout nearly startled the poor baby into toppling over, but Leo took another step toward his dad, and then another, his arms swinging wildly for balance.

You gasped, nearly dropping the serum you were holding. “Oh my God, he’s doing it!”

Leo stumbled into Lando’s arms, laughing triumphantly as his dad scooped him up and spun him around. “That’s my boy! First steps! Did you see that, babe? He’s a natural.”

You were on your feet in an instant, rushing over to join them. “I saw it! Our little walker!”

Leo’s giggles turned into a proud little babble as Lando kissed the top of his head, his own grin so wide it looked like it might split his face.

Over the next few days, Leo was unstoppable. His clumsy little walk turned into a full-on mission to copy everything you and Lando did. If Lando was stretching, Leo mimicked him, though his version mostly involved falling over. When you bent down to pick something up, Leo would squat and then sit on his bottom like it was the same thing.

“Look at him!” Lando said one afternoon, watching as Leo tried to copy his dad tying his sneakers. “He’s like a little shadow. A very uncoordinated, very adorable shadow.”

Leo looked up at his dad with wide eyes, then toddled over and wrapped his arms around Lando’s leg, babbling nonsense.

“Aw, buddy, you’re killing me here,” Lando said, scooping him up. “You’re too cute. I can’t handle it.”

—

The sound of the private jet’s engines starting up hummed softly beneath your feet as you held Leo in your arms, walking down the narrow aisle towards the seats.

You could feel his tiny hand gripping your finger as you set him down on his feet, his little body still a bit unsteady as he tried to mimic your movements.

It was one of those moments that felt like time slowed down, as Leo tried to take a few wobbly steps toward Lando, who was already settled in his seat, grinning widely at his son.

“Come on, little man,” Lando called out, his voice light with amusement. “You can do it. Show mama how it’s done.”

You smiled at him, your heart swelling as you watched Leo try to imitate Lando’s movements, his knees wobbling slightly as he took another hesitant step forward.

The jet's gentle swaying seemed to make it harder, but Leo was determined. With every step he took, his little face lit up with the biggest grin, his wide eyes sparkling like he was proud of himself for trying.

“You’re a natural, Leo,” you said softly, helping him balance with your hand on his back. “Just like your dad.”

Leo looked up at you then, his smile widening before he reached for you.

He babbled excitedly, his voice higher-pitched and full of joy, and you laughed as you scooped him up, feeling his small arms wrap around your neck in a tight hug.

He was practically vibrating with happiness. You couldn’t help but melt into the feeling, his love so pure and contagious that it left you breathless.

“He really loves you,” Lando said with a grin, watching as Leo snuggled into your arms. “I think you might be his favorite.”

“Of course, I am,” you teased, pressing a kiss to Leo’s cheek. “He knows who takes care of him when he needs snacks, cuddles, and all the kisses.”

Leo giggled, his baby talk coming out in a string of adorable babbles as he snuggled closer to you. “Mama!” he squealed, his little voice bouncing off the walls of the plane, and you couldn’t help but smile in return.

“That’s right, buddy,” you whispered, looking at Lando with a playful smirk. “Mama’s got you.”

Lando laughed softly, clearly charmed by the scene.

You gently bounced Leo on your hip as you made your way to the seats. “It’s alright, babe. You’re still my number one, even if Leo’s stealing all the attention.”

Leo, sensing that he was the center of it all, let out a cheerful little giggle, reaching for Lando as if asking for his dad to hold him too.

“Okay, okay,” Lando laughed, scooting over and extending his arms. “You’ve made your point, little man.”

You handed Leo to Lando, watching as the two of them shared a moment. Leo rested his tiny head against his dad’s chest as Lando sat back in his seat, humming a soft tune to calm him down.

—

When Leo was still barely a year old, you and Lando found yourselves having the same conversation over and over.

You didn’t know if Leo would end up following in Lando’s footsteps or if he’d develop his own passions, but you both agreed that it was important to plan for his future- just in case.

Sitting together in the living room, watching Leo take wobbly steps across the floor, Lando turned to you with a smile. “I know we’re still a long way off, but... have you thought about what kind of school we want for Leo?”

You shrugged, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair from Leo’s forehead.

“It’s hard to say, isn’t it? He’s barely one, but I’ve been thinking about it too. I guess we can’t decide now, but I think it’s smart to start planning. I mean, who knows what his interests will be?”

Lando nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. He might not be into racing, or even sports. But I can’t help but think about the possibility of him wanting to do something like I did. I don’t want to push him, but...” His voice trailed off as he watched Leo take another shaky step.

“I know,” you said softly, smiling as Leo giggled and reached for you. “It’s hard not to think about it. I just want him to have the freedom to choose what he loves, even if that’s not racing.”

Lando’s expression softened. “Of course. But what if he does? I want to make sure he has options, you know? Like, if he’s into it, I’d love for him to have that foundation. But if he’s not... then I don’t want him to feel forced into it.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, knowing how much racing meant to him. “I get it. It’s not just about racing, though. It’s about having choices. I think we should focus on giving him a well-rounded education, one that could adapt to whatever he wants to do. But I also think it’s important to keep in mind how we’ll handle it if he does decide to race, just in case.”

Lando sighed, watching Leo playfully crawl towards his toy car. “Yeah. Maybe we should start looking into schools that would allow for flexibility. That way, if he does want to race, it won’t interfere too much with his education.”

“Yeah,” you said, watching Leo’s face light up as he grabbed his toy and started pushing it across the floor. “And if he doesn’t want to race, we’ll make sure he has every opportunity to explore whatever else he’s passionate about.”

Lando grinned. “Whatever he ends up doing, I’ll be proud. Just... as long as he doesn’t bring me another toy car to fix. That’s my job.”

You laughed, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “I think he might just follow in your footsteps on that one.”

“Maybe. But for now, we’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.” Lando took your hand and squeezed it.

—

As you stepped into the paddock, Leo securely tucked in Lando’s arms, you couldn’t help but notice how everyone’s attention turned to your little boy.

His bright orange McLaren headphones looked comically large on his head, his curls bouncing with every slight movement.

Despite the overwhelming sights and sounds, Leo’s aquamarine eyes darted around, wide with curiosity.

“Alright, little man,” Lando murmured, adjusting Leo’s jacket, complete with a tiny McLaren logo stitched on the chest. “This is where Dad works. Cool, right? Your dad’s a bit of a big deal here.”

You smirked as you walked beside them. “He’s modest too. Make sure you learn that, Leo.”

Lando turned to you, raising a brow. “What can I say? He should know the truth.” Then, looking at Leo, he grinned. “We’ll save the really cool stuff for when you can talk.”

One of the engineers wandered over, grinning. “Well, well, if it isn’t our new recruit. Welcome, Leo. Hope you’re ready to carry the team.”

Leo giggled at the commotion, clumsily reaching out toward the engineer’s shiny name badge.

“Watch out,” you warned, leaning away. “If it’s shiny, he’s going to grab it.”

“Just like his dad and a trophy,” the engineer quipped, dodging Leo’s little hands.

Leo’s delighted squeals made the whole team stop and stare for a moment, their smiles softening as he wriggled excitedly, his tiny hands grabbing at the air as if trying to reach for the brightly colored McLaren car parked nearby.

One of the mechanics leaned in with a smile, handing Leo a miniature wrench.

“For the next pit stop,” the mechanic joked. “Gotta train ‘em young!”

Leo grabbed the wrench with a look of awe, his gummy smile lighting up the entire garage.

“Careful,” Lando said, laughing. “You give him that, and he’s going to think he’s part of the crew.”

“Isn’t he already?” the team’s PR manager chimed in, snapping a photo of Lando and Leo. “This might be our cutest team member yet.”

“I’m telling you,” Lando said, looking around. “This kid’s already got star power. I give it, what, two years before Zak offers him a contract?”

“Let’s aim for potty training first,” you teased, running a hand through Leo’s curls. “Then he can talk strategy.”

Zak wandered over at that moment, his gaze flicking from Leo to Lando. “He’s stealing the show already, isn’t he?”

“Obviously,” Lando said, grinning. “Look at him! He’s got the McLaren spirit.”

Leo babbled loudly, throwing his arms in the air as if he were agreeing. Everyone laughed, and Lando looked at you, his expression softening for just a moment.

“You sure he’s not overwhelmed?” he asked quietly, his voice just for you.

You smiled, resting a hand on his arm. “He’s fine. He’s curious, just like someone else I know.”

Leo, now grabbing at the zipper on Lando’s race suit, interrupted the moment with a loud, joyful squeal.

“Alright, alright,” Lando said, laughing as he adjusted Leo. “You’re the boss, mate.”

After Lando handed Leo back to you, his bright orange headphones still perched comically on his tiny head, he knelt to Leo’s level one last time before heading to the car.

“Alright, buddy,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to Leo’s curls. “Daddy’s going to go really fast now, okay? Cheer for me.”

Leo babbled something incomprehensible, his little hands reaching out to pat Lando’s face. Lando chuckled, leaning into the touch as if it were the best encouragement he could get.

“See? He already knows I’m winning,” Lando joked, standing and giving you a quick kiss on the forehead. “Take care of my little number one fan.”

“We’ll be cheering from the best seats in the house,” you assured him, adjusting Leo on your hip. “Go make us proud.”

As Lando disappeared into the chaos of the garage, you carried Leo to the viewing area, a private box where you could watch the race without overwhelming him. The hum of engines roaring to life filled the air, and Leo’s eyes grew impossibly wide at the sight of the cars pulling out onto the track.

“Look, Leo,” you cooed, pointing toward the screen showing Lando’s car. “There’s Daddy. See the orange car? That’s him.”

Leo squirmed excitedly in your arms, babbling in response as if he understood. His tiny fists waved in the air, his gaze locked on the screen.

As the race began, you couldn’t help but glance between the screen and your son. His fascination was evident, his aquamarine eyes following the cars as they sped around the track.

Occasionally, he’d let out a squeal, clapping his hands together, and it made your heart swell.

“Is Daddy fast?” you asked playfully.

Leo responded with a delighted giggle, his curls bouncing as he nodded. Whether it was intentional or just random excitement, you weren’t sure, but it made you laugh anyway.

When Lando pulled off a daring overtake, you clapped softly, careful not to startle Leo. “See that, little man? That’s Daddy being awesome.”

Leo responded by slapping his chubby hands against your chest and squealing, his energy contagious.

By the time the race ended, Lando had finished in a respectable position—maybe not a podium, but enough to make you proud. As he approached the garage for post-race celebrations and interviews, you and Leo made your way down to meet him.

The moment Lando stepped into view, sweaty and slightly disheveled but glowing with the post-race adrenaline, Leo practically launched himself toward him, wiggling in your arms and reaching out.

“Alright, alright, mate!” Lando said, laughing as he took Leo from you, holding him close. “You watched me, huh? Did you see how cool I was?”

Leo responded with a string of babbles, his hands patting Lando’s cheeks and tugging at his race suit zipper again.

“He was your biggest fan,” you said, smiling at the sight of the two of them.

“Best fan I’ll ever have,” Lando said, pressing a kiss to Leo’s forehead before looking at you. “And my second best fan is pretty great, too.”

“Oh, I’m second now?” you teased, arching a brow.

“Technically tied,” Lando corrected with a grin, leaning in to kiss you briefly. “Best race ever. Thanks to you two.”

—

It was a sunny afternoon when Adam and Cisca arrived for their visit, the house buzzing with excitement as Leo toddled around, his tiny feet barely keeping up with his boundless energy.

You had been waiting for this moment, knowing how much both Lando’s parents were eager to hear their grandson say his first words to them.

“Cisca, Adam, we’ve been working on something special with Leo,” you said, a playful grin on your face. “I think he’s finally ready to impress you both.”

Cisca, who was sitting on the couch with Adam, leaned forward eagerly. “Oh, don’t tease us. What’s he going to do?”

You gave a small nod toward Leo, who was currently playing with his favorite toy car, completely oblivious to the attention he was about to receive.

Lando was beside him, giving a little encouragement.

“Leo,” Lando said softly, “can you say ‘Grandma’?”

For a moment, Leo just looked up at him, his big aquamarine eyes blinking as if he was deciding whether to humor his dad. Then, in a clear, albeit babyish voice, he uttered, “G-g-gra-ma!”

The room fell silent for a split second, before Cisca gasped and clapped her hands.

“He said it! He really said it!” Her eyes were wide with excitement, and she immediately reached for Leo, pulling him into her arms as she showered him with kisses.

Adam laughed, his arms crossed as he watched Cisca fawn over Leo. “Well, it looks like we have a new favorite around here.”

Cisca, still holding Leo, smiled warmly. “He’s a natural,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Lando grinned, clearly proud, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Alright, buddy. Let’s see if you can do ‘Grandpa’ now.”

Leo’s face lit up at the challenge, and he looked up at Lando with a wide grin. “G-g-pa!” he said, a little clearer this time, as though he’d been practicing in secret.

Cisca and Adam both looked at each other in amazement before bursting into laughter. “He did it!”

You couldn’t help but smile, watching your son, so small yet already full of surprises.

Lando, beaming, scooped Leo into his arms, lifting him high in the air. “Good job, mate! You’re already a hit with the grandparents.”

As you all laughed and celebrated, you felt a warm sense of joy, knowing that these small moments were just the beginning.

Leo was growing up so quickly, and every new word was another step toward the amazing little person he was becoming.

And if there was any doubt that he was Lando’s son, it was quickly erased with that second, clearer “Grandpa.”

—

It was Lando’s home race, and the atmosphere was electric. The streets around the circuit buzzed with excitement as fans poured in to cheer on their favorite driver.

You, Lando, and Leo were all geared up for a day of racing, but there was an undeniable sense of extra energy in the air today.

It was Lando's moment to shine in front of his hometown crowd.

You had decided to bring Leo along for his first true race day experience, and the little one couldn’t contain his excitement.

He had been bouncing around the house all morning, his energy matching the anticipation in the air

“Ready for the madness?” Lando asked, his fingers tapping on the wheel as he drove toward the circuit.

“Is there ever a dull moment at one of your races?” you teased, glancing at Leo, who was already staring out the window, wide-eyed at the massive crowds beginning to form outside.

“Look, Daddy!” Leo exclaimed, his voice full of wonder. “People!”

Lando chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Leo’s hair. “Yeah, buddy, those people are here to watch a race. They love the sport almost as much as we do.”

Lando slowed a little to let Leo get a better look at the fans, many of whom had spotted him by now.

A small wave of recognition rippled through the crowd, and people began holding up signs, taking photos, and cheering even louder.

Lando chuckled, glancing at Leo. “Look at him, he’s already soaking it all in. He’s going to be waving at people the whole time.”

Sure enough, as you drove past the crowds lining the track, Leo pressed his face against the window and started waving enthusiastically at the fans.

“Hi! Hi, people!” he called out, his little arm flailing in the air like he was trying to reach everyone at once.

Lando laughed, shaking his head fondly. “Just like me when I was his age, huh?”

You smiled, watching Leo’s excitement grow as the car neared the grid.

“He’s got your energy, that’s for sure,” you agreed, though Leo’s cheeky smile had hints of you, too.

Leo, still oblivious to the significance of the day, continued to wave back happily, as if the attention was the most natural thing in the world.

The moment was adorable, and it didn’t take long for the whole world to start catching on.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Curiosity piqued, you pulled it out quickly, only to be greeted with a flood of notifications.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the messages from friends and family, all the while still hearing Leo’s happy babbling in the back seat.

The trending hashtag was unmistakable: #LeoNorrisOnTheGrid.

It seemed that most fans, spotting Leo, immediately started recording, posting videos of the excited toddler waving at everyone. Within minutes, the clips had gone viral.

On Twitter, hashtags like #LeoNorris and #MiniLando had started trending in minutes.

Fans were going crazy over how much Leo looked like his father, and how adorable he was interacting with the crowd. Some even joked about how Leo was stealing the spotlight from Lando.

"I swear, this kid's got his own fan club already," you said, laughing as you scrolled through the posts and videos that were rapidly gaining likes and retweets.

Lando raised an eyebrow, glancing at the screen before shaking his head, amused. “Well, I’m not surprised. He’s got that Norris charm.”

As you all made your way to the grid, the excitement continued to build. Leo, blissfully unaware of the frenzy he’d caused online, continued to wave at the fans, his little face lit up with pure joy. You leaned over to Lando, whispering, “He’s definitely got your spirit, that’s for sure.”

“Guess he’s a natural,” Lando said with a grin, his tone light but his pride obvious. “But I’m not sure how I feel about all those people already talking about him taking my seat one day.”

You laughed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Don’t worry, Lando. He’s still got a lot of growing to do before that happens.”

Leo’s excited voice interrupted the moment. “Daddy race now! Go, go, go!” He was bouncing in his seat, eager for his dad to get to the track.

As you made your way toward the grid, Lando leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“Thanks for being here with me today,” he murmured, squeezing your hand. “It means the world to have you both here, especially today.”

With Leo tugging on his hand, eager to explore, you smiled, feeling the love and joy that filled the air.

“We wouldn’t be anywhere else,” you replied, knowing that this day, this moment, was something you’d all treasure forever.

[solarstranger]

a/n. sacrificed lunch so i can squeeze in writing this before i meet up with a friend. it just felt urgent, you know, like i needed to get this out there as soon as possible. dedicated to my fellow girlies out there who are dealing with weight issues. this one's for you. (1.5k)

c.w. minors dni. mentions of weight gain/body image issues. lots of cussing. nsfw themes but nothing explicit.

you don’t even look, gaze stubbornly trained downcast towards your own blue light radiating device in your freshly manicured hands to spare a hurried glance.

“no.”

“no?” bakugou parrots, tone incredulous from where he’s sprawled comfortably—on his stomach and propped up by his strong elbows—beside you in your shared queen-sized bed.

“no, thanks,” you clarify, shaking your head minutely as if to preemptively silence any further questioning.

which, of course, to your chagrin—and when you’re dealing with the great explosion murder god dynamight—doesn’t work.

from your periphery, you can sense bakugou staring at you for a moment, the metaphorical gears in his head clunking about as he struggles to register your definitive response to his seemingly harmless offer. and then, just as you predicted, he retracts his hand, before bringing his phone comically close to his face as if to find out why, despite the fact that he’s wearing his newly updated reading glasses and can see for shit.

“i don’t—” he starts, trailing off as he peers even closer into the screen, squinting his eyes for maximum effect, before giving up with a sigh and turning to face you. “why?”

you scramble for a response. “i-i just don’t feel like looking at pictures right now.”

a beat.

“…so that thing you’re doing with your phone right now?”

shit.

your thumb reflexively swipes back to your homescreen before your mind can think better against it.

busted.

another sigh.

“am i that shitty at taking pictures, is that it?” bakugou demands, shifting so that he’s on his side now—head mounted on his hand and the other still gripping his cell—facing you.

“because,” he continues when you don’t say anything, “i swear i’m trying to get better at it. even asked bug eyes to teach me how to be a better ‘instagram boyfriend,’ or whatever the fuck kids call it these days.”

at that, you have to bite back a smile; you don’t have to look at him to know he’s grinning, either.

“it’s not…that, kats,” you finally manage to get out a second later, absentmindedly locking your device before placing it on your nightstand. “you actually take really good pictures now.”

“right?”

you snort. “don’t get too cocky now.”

“i’m not,” he alleges, although there’s no denying the pride scrawled over his sharp features. “i’m just saying.”

“sure,” you quip, tugging the edge of your duvet from where it’s tucked neatly under your mattress and laying it smoothly over your frame. “whatever you say, big guy.”

“you’re fucking annoying,” comes bakugou’s sharp retort, although there’s no real bite to it.

you chuckle in response, choosing to shimmy into the covers instead and hope he leaves it at that.

and, for a minute, you think you’ve won and successfully buried the conversation deep underground where it belonged, with nothing but both of your steady breaths breaking the silence in your bedroom.

but then, it must’ve dawned on him that you closing your eyes meant that you are getting ready to sleep and not just cozying into the sheets, because bakugou splutters and shifts as if he’s sitting up, and it takes everything within you not to physically wince at the sound.

still, you keep your eyes clenched closed and mentally say a little prayer to whatever god is known for yanking you out of discussions you don’t want to have.

“babe,” bakugou says.

another beat.

“babe,” he repeats, shaking you lightly by the shoulder.

and when you don’t budge an inch: “if you think i’m letting you off that easy, then you’ve got another thing coming for you.”

despite yourself, you stiffen, a motion that apparently doesn’t go unnoticed by the ash-blonde, who only barks out a laugh.

“seriously,” he says after a moment of you still refusing to fold, “open your eyes, or else i’m gonna have to make you.”

now, you’ve been with him long enough to know what ‘make you’ means, and more often than not, it usually means attacking you with tickles and roughhousing you until you finally shriek out in surrender—an experience definitely not for the faint of heart that you’ve since vowed never to subject yourself to ever again.

which leaves you no choice but to force an eye open.

“what,” you say more than ask, not above squinting and making your voice a little raspy for dramatic effect.

to your dismay, bakugou only rolls his eyes. “quit it with that sleepy act,” he commands without missing a beat, “and sit up and talk to me like a grown ass adult.”

“but i’m comfy like this,” you pout.

(for convenience’s sake, you don’t tell him it’s also because this way, you can hide under the duvet if worse comes to worst.)

bakugou eyes you for a moment, before huffing in defeat. “…fine. but you don’t get to escape rope your way out of this, dumbass.”

damn. clocked just like that.

you don’t let your being found out show, though, opting to shrug nonchalantly instead. “depends on what you want to talk about.”

bakugou squints skeptically, although he doesn’t argue any further. what he does, though, is go for something worse.

“my question earlier,” he starts, peering down at you, “you kept on evading it.”

“what question?”

“jesus. you really want me to spell it out for you?” bakugou challenges—instead of demanding you to answer it, much to your surprise—and you blanch. “fine, then. why won’t you look at the pictures i took of you earlier today?”

“i j-just wasn’t feeling how i looked today,” you half-lie. your makeup actually turned out really great.

“but you said so yourself,” bakugou argues, “when you were getting ready, remember? you said you liked how your makeup looked.”

fuck. he remembered that?

“was it your outfit, then?” he presses, shifting on the bed, “or your hair? because i personally thought you were fucking beautiful today.”

“more than usual,” he finishes when you only stare at him, wordless.

“i-i don’t know. just—” you stammer, averting your gaze, not liking where this is going. “overall, i guess. i just don’t like how i look.”

“woah—hold the fuck up.”

at that, your eyes snap to glance at bakugou, who—to your bewilderment—is looking at you like you just grew horns in the split second of you looking away.

“what?” you can’t help but ask.

bakugou’s frowning now. “what do you mean ‘what?’ how did we go from not feeling how you looked today to flat out not liking how you look?”

…shit.

you hurry to deny his interpretation, but pause when you realize you can’t without blatantly lying. you open your mouth again to say something, although you quickly realize it’s too late, anyway—bakugou has already seen your hesitation.

“baby,” bakugou starts cautiously, tone uncharacteristically gentle, yet it’s anything but soothing at the moment, “is there something you want to tell me?”

the words are out before you can rein them in.

“nothing that you don’t already think yourself.”

bakugou’s brows furrow. “what?”

“oh, come on, katsuki,” you chuckle dryly, the sound laced with anything but mirth. “you don’t have to pretend i didn’t gain weight. or that i look like utter horseshit now. or that—”

“stop.”

“—i’m a far cry from the girl you asked to be your girlfriend three years ago, or—”

“fucking stop it, y/n.”

despite yourself, you shut up.

a seemingly eternal bout of silence passes with neither of you saying anything, you—still on your back and looking up at the pro-hero with your heart thrumming frantically against your ribcage, and bakugou—staring down at you and breathing heavily like he was just the one rambling the other’s ear off.

it’s him, though, who ultimately breaks it.

“you’re going to talk about this with your therapist,” he declares, just as he tugs the blanket free from his end, “and i’m going to make sure that you do.”

“how?” is the only thing you manage to croak out.

“i’ll find a way,” he responds decisively, mirroring you from a while ago and squeezing under the blankets beside you.

“my therapist isn’t the kind to break client confidentiality,” you offer quietly as he settles in next to you, as if that’s enough to deter your bullheaded boyfriend.

“and you’re gonna exercise with me tomorrow,” he furthers, ignoring you, and you tense at his suggestion—something he immediately notices, and he backtracks, “or not. just do whatever feels right for you.”

“either way,” he says when you don’t utter a word back, shifting so he’s on his side again and directly face-to-face with you, “you’re not gonna talk shit about yourself like that—ever again—you hear me?”

you stare at him for a beat, before: “or else, what?”

bakugou thinks for a moment. “or else,” he finally drawls, “i’m gonna have to resort to drastic measures.”

at that, you snort. “like what?”

“…like, fucking you in front of a mirror, so that you get to see how pretty you look,” he smirks, grabbing you by your waist and into him, “especially when you cum.”

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[p0orbaby]

Guy Fawkes Tesco Dissociation

summary: leah flirts with you, your sister isn’t too please by it

warnings: none

a/n: thank you to the anon who so kindly came up with this idea!

word count: 1.7k

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You’re standing in the post-match hospitality suite trying to decide if the grey thing in the buffet tray is mushroom risotto or porridge that’s lost the will to live. The consistency is tragic. Congealed at the edges like it’s nursing trauma. Some rogue sprig of parsley sits on top, wilting like a garnish trying to convince you this sludge had aspirations once. You haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t either beige or pre-wrapped since you got here, and now you’re just holding a tiny wooden fork as if it’s a weapon. It’s one of those eco-friendly ones that splinters if you so much as look at it sideways—useless for food, perfect for passive aggression.

The whole lounge smells like disinfectant and faint victory—sweat, floor cleaner, and that metallic hum of a commercial fridge you’re pretty sure is struggling for life. Poor thing. It’s making that low groaning sound, like it wants to die but knows it can’t until the Lionesses are done selfie-ing with extended family.

There’s too much fluorescent lighting. That kind of overhead buzz that makes everyone look vaguely jaundiced. Too many footballers, too many PR girls in patent heels, too many conversations happening in that specific register where everyone’s pretending they’re chill but secretly vibrating with caffeine, adrenaline, and the knowledge that they’re about to be Instagram-tagged into oblivion. Everyone’s leaning too hard into the whole ‘just happy to be here’ thing. Even the champagne flutes look nervous.

You’re mostly here for moral support. And maybe a selfie. You’ve mentally drafted the caption twice—some tasteful mix of “so proud” and ��she smashed it” with just enough cleavage in the frame to remind people that yes, you’re here supporting family, but no, you haven’t lost your edge. But also, selfishly, because the England women are hot. Like, disproportionately so. It’s suspicious. Someone should investigate.

“Let me guess,” a voice says behind you, low and amused. “You’re not here for the mini sausage rolls.”

You turn slowly, like a woman who’s watched enough true crime to clock tone, timbre, intent. You assess voices like others assess threats: slowly, carefully, always with an exit strategy. It’s Leah Williamson, living, breathing, taller than expected. That particular kind of tall that still manages to make you feel like you’d look better if you stood up straighter. Skin clear like she exfoliates with diamonds and filtered air. She’s wearing her England tracksuit half-zipped, no lanyard, like she doesn’t need it, like access is implicit. Hair up in a way that suggests zero effort and maximum effect. Like she got ready in two minutes and still managed to look like a Vogue cover. The kind that goes viral.

You blink. “What gave it away?”

She grins, eyes flicking down, then up. A practiced sweep. Not sleazy. Just clinical. “Your face is saying ‘get me out of here,’ but your outfit says you knew you’d be looked at.”

She’s not wrong. You’re wearing the blouse that gaps slightly when you breathe too deeply. The kind of outfit you wear when you want to seem chill but also low-key devastating. Your trousers are high-waisted and aggressive. Your earrings dangle like punctuation. Everything was intentional, even if you’ve lied to yourself about that three times already.

You sip the cava that’s slowly going flat in its flute. It tastes faintly of metal and regret. Like someone once promised it’d be champagne and then quietly backed out. “I like being looked at.”

She steps forward, just enough that you clock her scent—Le Labo Santal 33. Predictable. But still effective. Like rich girl pheromones. Every lesbian in a Soho House bathroom has worn it at least once. She wears it like it’s never been cliché. Like it was made for her skin.

“I like looking.”

You tilt your head. “Do you flirt with everyone who loiters by the catering?”

“No,” she says, completely serious. Not playing it for laughs. Just laying it out. “Only the ones who look like they’d let me.”

You laugh. You weren’t planning to. You’re not easy. You’re just—bored. Entertaining this. She’s entertaining. Her confidence is that particular brand of athlete-casual, like she knows she could outpace any awkward silence if it dared to challenge her.

She watches you, eyes flicking again to your mouth. Slow, deliberate. “You’ve got lipstick on your glass.”

“I always do. Bad habit.”

“I could help you fix it.”

Your eyebrow lifts, automatic. “Are you offering to drink from the other side or lick it clean?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

You hum. “Bit forward.”

She shrugs. One shoulder, casual. “Bit honest.”

“I’m older than you, you know.”

She grins. Not fazed. Not even slightly. “You say that like it’s not hot.”

You turn slightly, lean against the wall, tilt your head like you’re studying her for a project you don’t intend to finish. You’re playing now. Not because you want to win—just because you like the shape of the game.

“What’s your type?”

She takes a second. Bites her lip. Not nervous. Just drawing it out. Like she knows timing is half the seduction.

“Right now?” Her eyes scan, slow and obvious. “Blouse open one more button than is strictly necessary. Earrings from Mejuri. The kind of face that’s used to getting what it wants and the attitude to match.”

You glance at your reflection in the door of the fridge. She’s not wrong. You adjusted that button in the lift. Told yourself it was because it was warm. Not because you wanted attention. From someone. Anyone. Apparently, this is who you got.

She steps in closer. Not touching. Just close enough that you can feel her attention like a spotlight. “Name?”

You sip again. Don’t answer.

She tilts her head. “You’re mysterious. That’s sexy.”

“Don’t push it.”

She leans in, voice dropping just slightly. Low enough to feel like a secret. “If I pushed it, you’d know.”

You almost choke on your cava. This girl. This baby-faced, cocky, post-match swaggering captain is throwing out one-liners like she’s seducing her way through a Netflix original. You don’t even know if you’re annoyed or impressed. Possibly both. Probably both.

“Do you work in media?” she asks, suddenly, sharp as a cuticle knife.

You shake your head. “No.”

“PR? Events?”

“Closer.”

“So not here for work.”

“No.”

“Just for fun?”

You give her a slow, unreadable smile. The kind that’s been mistaken for consent, for challenge, for foreplay. “I was invited.”

There’s a flicker behind her eyes—barely anything, but you catch it. A recalibration. You’ve nudged her off script.

“Ah,” she says, tone smoothing out like a hand over a silk dress. “Important, then.”

You nod. Ambiguous. Let her fill in the blanks. You haven’t said who. You’re not planning to. Yet.

She nods towards the glass doors, out to the lower tier where discarded pints sweat on plastic ledges and the pitch glows radioactive green. “Came for the game, stayed for the overpriced alcohol and emotional turbulence?”

“I stayed for the company.”

“Oh yeah?”

You glance at her, deliberate. “Wasn’t expecting this, though.”

She smirks, something feline curling at the edge of her mouth. “Happy surprise?”

“TBD.”

She pauses. Thinking. You watch her do it. It’s almost charming—like catching a model doing Sudoku. She’s calculating the angle. How much charm. How much cheek. Whether to go full throttle or ease off the accelerator.

She chooses both.

“I could give you a better tour,” she says. “Not the literal kind. More… you and me. Somewhere less fluorescent. Less beige carpet. Better soundtrack.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you do this a lot?”

She shrugs, effortless. “Only when it’s worth it.”

“And I’m worth it?”

“Oh,” she says, stepping into your space with the grace of someone used to getting the last word, “I think you might be a little dangerous.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“It’s a great thing. For a night. Maybe two.”

You’re just about to deliver a line—something glib, maybe filthy—when a voice cuts the air like a dentist’s drill against enamel.

“Leah?”

Both your heads turn. And there she is: Grace Clinton, blinking at the scene like she’s just stumbled into a deleted scene from Sex/Life.

Her face spasms into an expression somewhere between disbelief and acute spiritual distress. “What the hell is this?”

You smile. Angelic. Like you’ve been caught volunteering at an animal rescue. “Hi, Gracie.”

Leah does a visible double take. “Wait—Gracie?”

Grace’s stare ricochets between you like a hostage negotiator. “That’s my sister.”

Leah looks at you.

Then at her.

Then laughs.

Then freezes.

“Wait, what?”

Grace throws her hands up, righteous as a preacher mid-sermon. “You were hitting on her!”

Leah’s eyes widen like she’s been offered ketamine at brunch. “You didn’t say your sister was hot.”

Grace looks like she’s about to throw up. “Why would I say that? That’s revolting. Are you okay? Do you have a head injury?”

You lift your cava flute like a toast. “To be fair, she was extremely flattering.”

Leah’s still short-circuiting. “This is… not what i was expecting.”

Grace stabs a finger in her direction like she’s summoning a demon. “Stop trying to seduce my family!”

“She flirted back!”

“She flirts with everyone! She flirts with lollipop men and the guy from DPD. It’s chronic. It means nothing.”

You shrug. “Not nothing.”

Grace groans like her soul’s leaving her body. “I need to be exorcised. Or euthanised.”

Leah rubs a hand over her face, suddenly aware of the PR disaster unfolding in real time. “This is going to be so awkward at camp.”

“You think it’s going to be awkward?” Grace gestures wildly, borderline unhinged. “Imagine me, stuck in midfield, watching you eye-fuck my sister from the touchline.”

“Language, Grace,” you say gently, like you’ve said it a hundred times before. A calm, familiar reprimand. Not scolding—just reminding. A soft nudge from someone who changed her nappies and taught her to spell ‘definitely.’

Leah turns back to you, a grin twitching at her mouth like it’s trying to behave. “So… about that better tour…”

“Jesus Christ!” Grace howls.

You grin, all cheekbone and implication. “She’s very protective.”

Leah grins back. “You’re very tempting.”

Grace’s voice goes up an octave, full banshee. “I hate both of you!”

Leah doesn’t flinch. “You gonna tell your mum?”

“Oh, I’m telling everyone.” She’s already got her phone out like she’s reporting a crime. “Group chat’s open. You’re getting dragged.”

Leah leans in, low voice, warm breath. “Still time to sneak out the fire exit.”

You drain the last of your cava and smirk. “I’ll drive.”

And somewhere behind you, Grace wails.

Perfect.

[jailforwriter]

Let's delve into...

Look, I know you don't like to fail. I KNOW. Neither do I. But do you know who will—and should—fail a lot? YES, your characters! Failure does all the nifty things writing teachers promise us will keep the story interesting: raise the stakes, bring emotions to a boil, and keep things from stagnating and/or getting predictable. Triumphs have their place, and should be present (unless you enjoy metaphorically kicking your readers in the shins, which, hey, more power to you!) but your characters can't always win. That's boring, and unfortunately, boring is the biggest noncriminal sin in entertainment. The good news is that, when your character does win, their previous failure is going to make it all the more satisfying. Doesn't that make you want to nail that failure for maximum improvability? (Hey I HEARD YOU rolling your eyes just now. Rhetorical questions are NOT cringe. Rude.)

So, what do I mean by a "good failure"?

Basically, when they mess up naturally, because of their own choices, in a way that reflects their flaws. "But wait," I hear you say, "does that exclude the possibility of an external circumstance making for a good catalysts for failure?" Nope! There are no hard and fast rules in writing, and shit does, indeed, just happen sometimes. Happen poignantly, even. But your character can't be entirely blameless in every scenario because then things get *taps on chalkboard* BORING. Seriously, consequences are so cool, I promise.

Okay then, why do I want a good failure?

Emotional resonance: do you remember that time you studied hard and still failed the test? Betcha that felt real bad. Yeah, it's that, but magnified by however many people died (or were sad about it! The stakes don't always need to be cataclysmic).

Catalyst for organic growth: do you remember how failing that test made you decide never to pull an all-nighter cramming again? Perhaps even reassess your relationship with God, your identity, and your place in the universe? Yep. And it felt earned, too. Huh.

Narrative depth: how mad were your parents about that test? And how much did it suck getting your Nintendo taken away because of it? That was compelling, realistic tension, baby! It put you right on the—unfun, but necessary—path to making that eventual success feel meaningful. Yay.

Relatability: you know, I felt kinda bad writing all that stuff about how failing that test wrecked you. Because I have empathy, certainly, but also because I've been there too! Mistakes are human, and few things are more effective at humanizing someone than making them an honorary cringefail loser. (This holds especially true if they're usually the god king of being hot and correct, btw.)

Fine, so how do I go about writing that?

Foreshadowing: why, yes, everything DOES always come back to foreshadowing. Good catch! See, foreshadowing marks the difference between a failure being contrived and awkward, and landing because it was tragically inevitable. The character has been making bad decisions that will come back to bite them all book, and the time for gleaning lessons from the teeth marks on their ass is now.

Make the failure specific and personal: sure, failing a test is a universal experience, but failing the most important test ever conceived in the history of mankind and if you fail your mom will hate you and your girlfriend will leave you and you'll go bald isn't. Make 'em feel it where it hurts!

Consequences: internal or external, they better be tailormade to catalyze change. Be it damaged interpersonal relationships or crippling self-doubt, they better not walk away from their mess-up willing to do it again. (NOTE: exceptions may apply in negative character arcs, but even then, the next time they make that mistake, it shouldn't be the exact same one again. It should be so, so much worse.)

Redemption: following on from the last point—make it a turning point! Show me how things are fifty kinds of broken now and how your character plans on rebuilding the mess using the tools they just got from chucking the toolbox full-tilt at their lives.

Examples be upon ye:

Simba in The Lion King: hopefully we can all agree that thinking you caused your father's death is a valid reason to crash out. However, the important thing here is that the crash-out was not eternal. It allowed for an emotional development cooldown period, and when it did end, empowered Simba to make his triumphant return all the more triumphant. Do you think smacking his geriatric uncle off a mountain would've been half as hot if his emotional arc and subsequent redemption had been underbaked? No. Literally. C'mon, lock in.

Zuko in Avatar: The Last Airbender: ahh yes, the king of redemption arcs, which kinda also makes him the king of cringefailing (both externally and internally! Very illustrative, thank you, Zuko). But I bet you don't just remember his struggle with capturing Aang. In fact, I'd bet quite a few buckaroos what you most remember is his struggle with honor. Could it be because you're grateful for what each setback did to help him find his? What about how they taught him that true honor was internally cultivated rather than externally conferred? And the fact that he chose to help the person whom he'd vowed to destroy in order to get it, for which he used the tools he painstakingly won throughout his arc? Hmm. Perchance. See what I mean? It just feels right when things come full circle, and boy is a good failure shaped like zero!

Ultimately, I hope you found something useful here and that, the next time you're down in the trenches of narrative predictability and character stagnation, you consider pissing in their metaphorical coffees. Thank you!

Happy writing!

[enoe-of-noen]

An Mc who is warm

It’s cold down in the Devildom, why wouldn’t those closest to Mc use them as their very own portable heater?

☞ Established relationships, lots of words

Lucifer

Taking full advantage.

Steals Mc away on certain exhausting nights when the breeze is harsh. The scratching of branches raking the glass.

Loves to have you on his lap for maximum warmth.

Maybe, after he’s done with this pile, can you join him in bed?

Please take the offer. He won’t ask twice, but he really needs it.

When Mc finally agrees, after a bit of teasing, they’ll gladly snuggle in the eldest’s arms.

During the day, Lucifer makes it a point to have his hand on Mc whenever they see each other.

Whether it’s a holding theirs for a kiss, a hand on their shoulder, a hand in their hair, a hand on their cheek, etc.

Since he wears gloves, he finds it most effective to hug them briefly before leaving them to their activities.

Mammon

He’s grabsy

“My human!”

“Yoink!”

Mc is always stolen away by him at any. Given. Moment.

They’re never safe from his grasp.

Never.

Mammon’s hands are all over Mc!

In their hair, under their shirt massaging their back, on their cheeks, on their thighs, on their hips, whatever he feels like

He loves hugging Mc from behind

“Mmn, warm, warm for me.” He cooes

“Mams. I have to go.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Fym nuh uh?!”

Mc will not be leaving his grasp any time soon~

Leviathan

Wow! Humans are really warm!

“Mc, Mc! I hope this isn’t too much to ask but, can you…sit here, while I game tonight?”

Levi pointed at his lap, blushing furiously.

This is embarrassing, isn’t it?

Is it too much?

Is it too weird?!

He won’t worry too long though, it is pretty chilly tonight and Mc is down to cuddle <3

Loves feeling their hands on his cheeks, squeeze them a bit if you wanna~

Hisses softly whenever he feels their warm hands, always accompanied by a cute smile

Hides his face under Mc’s chin, having easy access to their collarbone

Prefers Mc touching him rather than him touching them most days

Lets him know he’s loved and that Mc wants to be there for him

In public, he’ll always be holding their hand

Satan

Kisses their palm whenever they go to touch his cheeks.

Feel free to use him as a chair, he absolutely loves the warmth and attention.

Pets Mc like a cat, playing with their hair.

“Just a second longer, dear,” he hums.

“You said that 30 minutes ago,” Mc grumbles, feeling stiff.

Satan laughs whenever you complain.

Doesn’t stop his arms snaking their way around your waist though.

“Good book, at least?” Mc looks at the book in Satan’s free hand.

“Very much so.” He grins.

Otherwise around in the Devildom, Satan always lends a hand for Mc to hold.

His hands get chilly easily~

Asmodeus

Y’all already know~

All over you, all the time!

I mean, who wouldn’t be down here?~

Your hands are easiest to access of course.

You have such nice hands to hold, hon~ <3

Loves it <33

Surprise hugs! Tight ones, might I add.

Humans sure are cuddly, I love it!!~

No moment together is spent apart by any means.

Hands, hair, hips, arms, cheek-to-cheek even!

You’ll never feel alone with Asmo around, that’s for sure!

Definitely gives Mammon a run for his money

Beelzebub

Best hugger around totally not biased

Loves when Mc is able to face him, that way he can feel their breath

A little reminder they’re alive

Besides, gives him easy kissing access which is also warm in temperature

Always at Mc’s side; they radiate heat in the cold, dark Devildom

Loves resting his hand on their stomach, it’s the second warmest part of their body!

Whenever they’re sitting on the couch, Beel makes it a point to get between Mc’s thighs

It is so incredibly warm

He doesn’t care that he gets stares, it’s too comfy not to do

Belphegor

His naps have transcended

He is blessed to have Mc down in the Devildom with him

Uses you more like a weighted blanket sometimes

Cuddles, cuddles, cuddles

Always slumps over Mc’s shoulder in public or when he’s too sleepy

Instant smile on his face, even if for a split second

“Belphie?”

“You’re warm.”

“…fine.”

Free head pats for being cute! That’s a win for Belphie!

His hands often travel

Maybe too much

This devious little shit

Diavolo

“Dearest Mc!”

Makes it a habit to ruffle your hair whenever he passes by.

You emit so much heat that he can feel it just by petting your scalp.

Humans are fascinating!

Whenever Mc gets to stay over at the castle, he adores resting his head on their lap.

Mc admits the slight bedhead he gets from it is adorable.

Big arms give big hugs!

Get hugged at the most unexpected moment, Mc! Hahaha!

Always catches Mc off guard (unlike with the brothers)

Barbatos

Busy man, unfortunately. Not many opportunities for him to appreciate your warmth.

However, when he does, his hands travel.

Skillfully removing his gloves desperately.

Your skin is soft under his.

“How about a massage, Mc?” He’ll offer.

Easiest way of feeling your warmth without too much creepiness.

Such a calming atmosphere.

How can one resist the temptation?

Simeon

It was difficult moving from the Celestial realm to the Devildom at first.

Until, of course, he met Mc.

Gloves on, gloves off, doesn’t matter.

Holds hands, hands in hair, hands on shoulder.

Seems to instinctively lean on Mc.

Mc found it weird but more endearing the closer they got.

Touches go both ways, Simeon giving way more access.

Surprisingly, having come somewhat recently from the Celestial realm, Mc also feels warm back.

A win-win situation!

Solomon

A little sappy to admit, but your warmth makes him feel so…human.

Reminds him of times he’d relax, longing for human interaction.

He’d gone so long without it, forgetting he was one himself.

Tears up when the thoughts get him late at night.

He’ll always have an arm wrapped around either your shoulder or waist.

Please keep close.

You give him so much just by being warm, his heart pounds.

No matter if his facade of being the all powerful wizard crumbles slightly, he’ll be human with you.

He is human with you.

Luke

Luke is clinging onto you everywhere!

Like a cute little koala

Holding onto your leg (if you’re tall enough)

Loves being carried by you (if you can), gets to snuggle real close

Holds your hand like a child being led by their parent

Reminds him of the warmth in the Celestial realm

Easily got close with you, no questions asked

Just a little bundle of joy!

Raphael

Despite not being seen around together often, Raphael makes an effort to offer his touch.

Being quite new and unfamiliar with the Devildom, he’s also unfamiliar with its coldness.

“Hello, Mc. I know this is an odd request, but may I hold your hand?”

If he absolutely needs it, he doesn’t see the problem with calling upon his heavenly spears.

Watch yourself, Mc.

Mephistopheles

Ah, Mc.

Whenever he sees you around, he enjoys the heat you radiate.

Oh, come closer. The students here are quite dangerous.

That’s a ploy.

He just wants contact. You’re very warm, you know?

Thirteen

Flamboyantly steals you away, as any great trickster would!

Never a quiet moment with her, whether it be her inventions or her rambles, you’ll love it

If not, she can take a hint

Touch, touch, touch! Blush, blush, blush! You are now her big fat crush!

Be honored, human, hahaha!

Can’t believe humans could be so warm!

A treasure to hold and keep!

Mine!

Often has to fight for it

Which is totally worth it when she wins

Don’t know the last three well, so yeah. Hope you enjoy. This took way longer than it should’ve.

[twistedpink]

I already did a request so you can ignore this or put it at the bottom of the list if you have others to work on but!! soft floyd?

omg I’ll take any requests please send anything that comes to mind kyo!

Soft!Floyd that’s both really hard to miss in crowds, and the best at sniffing you out so there’s so shortage of hallway PDA,, you guys’re so sweet it makes all your friends pretend not to know you and Floyd loves it

Soft!Floyd that needs you to get along with his family (who else is he taking home for spring break?) so he has no shame imitating jade “for practice”, even stealing his brother’s clothes or changing his hair for maximum effect- he thinks it’s comedy gold and so worth it to hear you laugh

Soft!Floyd that uses you as a coat rack, and you must be a very good one because there’s never been a time you don’t have Floyd’s missing button in your pocket, or his scarf around your neck. It’s actually becoming a problem because now he loses his uniform pieces on purpose just to see if you’ll find them on your own,,

Soft!Floyd that’s always finding ways to grab you, or lean on you in public so when you’re fighting he’s just skulking around and leaning on walls like a delinquent, waiting for you to let your guard down >:)

Soft!Floyd that bullies you (affectionately) into getting a job at the lounge- and you actually do really well! Even when you’re not on shift with Floyd (suddenly a model employee) all your coworkers are much more productive and almost scared of making mistakes, it’s almost too bad you don’t have any work friends when all of them are so nice :(

Soft!Floyd worms his way into every aspect of your life, there’s no avoiding it, so you might aswell just appreciate all this new time with your boyfie. He’s a little rough around the edges but the prefect’ll soften him up! Or make him a little worse <3

[aventurineswife]

Hi, can i request aven, blade, jing yuan and moze taking care of reader during their period?🥺

Taking care of you during your period

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Blade x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Moze x Reader, Fluff, Comfort, Period Comfort, Caretaking, Comfort, Soft Moments, Emotional Support, Gentle Love.

Warnings: Sensitive Content (related to menstruation), Mentions of physical discomfort.

Aventurine sauntered into your shared bedroom, his signature grin faltering the moment he saw you curled up on the bed, clutching a hot water bottle against your stomach. He raised a brow, the glint of concern flickering behind his eyes.

“Ah, the dreaded monthly gamble of misery,” he teased lightly, sitting beside you. “What are the odds you’ll let me help?”

You groaned softly, not in the mood for banter. Aventurine chuckled and adjusted his glasses. “Relax, darling. I’m on it.”

Moments later, he returned with a tray: your favorite snacks, herbal tea, and a heated blanket. He even placed a small roulette chip on the tray for dramatic effect.

“Self-care by Aventurine. High stakes, maximum comfort.”

As he tucked the blanket around you and settled beside you, he gently massaged your temples, his touch soothing. “Now, tell me—what else can I do to make you forget about the unfortunate gamble of biology?”

Blade noticed your discomfort before you even said a word. The faint tension in your movements and the way you curled into yourself didn’t escape his sharp gaze. He approached quietly, his usual brooding expression softening.

“Are you in pain?” His deep voice carried a hint of worry.

You nodded weakly, clutching your stomach. Without another word, Blade retrieved a warm compress and sat beside you. His large hands were surprisingly gentle as he placed the compress on your abdomen and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against him.

“I’ll stay until you feel better.” he murmured, his tone protective.

Blade’s presence was calming, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he held you provided unexpected comfort. Though he wasn’t one for many words, his actions spoke volumes.

“If the pain gets worse, tell me. I’ll find something else to help.” he said quietly, his eyes meeting yours with unwavering resolve.

The usually composed and relaxed General Jing Yuan found you curled up in bed, wincing from cramps. Concern flashed in his eyes as he sat at the edge of the bed.

“Ah, no wonder you’ve been quiet today.” he said gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You mumbled an apology, but Jing Yuan shook his head, his warm smile reassuring. “There’s no need to apologize. Stay here; I’ll take care of everything.”

He left briefly, returning with a tray of warm tea, a soothing balm for your cramps, and a small, fluffy blanket Mimi had been napping on. “I’ve enlisted Mimi’s assistance. Surely her warmth will help.”

Jing Yuan placed the tea on the nightstand and massaged your shoulders with care, his movements deliberate and soothing.

“Rest, my dear,” he said softly. “The Luofu can handle itself for a while. My priority is you.”

Moze wasn’t one for overt displays of affection, but the moment he noticed you grimacing in pain, he quietly took note of your needs. Without a word, he disappeared, returning moments later with a glass of water and pain relief tablets.

“Take these.” he said curtly, though his violet eyes betrayed his concern.

You thanked him, his stoic demeanor oddly comforting. Moze began tidying the room—a subtle way of distracting himself from the helplessness he felt seeing you in pain. When he finished, he surprised you by sitting at your side and placing a cold cloth on your forehead.

“Tell me if you need anything else.” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

As you rested, Moze stayed close, his presence steady and reassuring. He didn’t need to say much; his actions showed his care. Even in silence, you felt his dedication, the way he ensured everything was just right for your comfort.

[matt-is-me]

I had a session this morning that involved hypnotic dials, and I've been thinking about just how hot that concept is >_<

Every emotion and personality trait, connected to a spearate dial that can enhance or diminish their effect. And while it's really fun to dial up very regular stuff like arousal, the real interesting part is using this trigger in less well-known, but more creative ways.

For example, taking a trait like open-mindnedness and dialing it up to its maximum setting, effectively making me completely agree with you, and changing my opinions in any way that you want. Or, what about amping up my susceptibility, making me incredibly sensitive to being hypnotized? Even a light touch of the hand or a slight suggestion to drop would just break my brain, leaving me an empty, drooling mess.

And, you can also dial any trait down, lowering, for example, my inhibitions, and hapilly chatting with a version of me that can't stop blurting out every sexual fantasy that he has any time he is asked. Or, maybe, you can get rid of my capacity for bratiness, slowly turning me into a needy toy as any idea of playfully resisting or jokingly teasing you dissapears from my head (only temporarily, ofc, I'll always be a flirt~)

Point is, dials are incredibly hot and people need to play with them (and me) more hhngngjfjf >///<

[elicathebunny]

HEALTH SHOULD ALWAYS COME FIRST! PRIORITISING HEALTH BEFORE EVERYTHING ELSE TO LOOK GOOD + FEEL GOOD.

People always leave out the basics when it comes to trying to improve their looks. Prioritising health is so important before going in and tempering with your body. Your base is what you work with and you can definitely level up with what you've got naturally.

DIET

Your diet also depends on what your goals are. Someone who wants to build muscle will obviously eat differently from someone who just eats relatively healthy. So identify what your goals are and work your meals around that.

Here are some videos to give you a better insight: HOW I LOSE FAT AND KEEP IT OFF MEANS, WORKOUTS + EVERYTHING ELSE PROTEIN EXPLAINED, STRENGTH, MUSCLES, FAT LOSS & ENDURANCE HOW METABOLISM WORKS

Diet not only makes you feel better from the inside, but it also reflects on your outside. Your skin is a huge display of how you eat.

When you consume junk food, it can show up on your skin as breakouts or dullness. Your skin is one massive organ which soaks up everything put onto it and reflects everything you put inside your body. Fix the problem from the inside before getting confused about why your skincare routine isn't working.

FITNESS

Again, your fitness will differentiate from your goals. So work out your goals and make a plan around that. There are so many forms of fitness, some more intense than others and with different results. Working out in general is good for you, our bodies are meant to move. So even if you don't have a goal, staying active is always recommended.

HOW TO CREATE THE PERFECT WORKOUT PLAN

THE BEST WAY TO GAIN MUSCLE, SCIENCE EXPLAINED SIMPLY

Low-intensity workouts:

Yoga: Focuses on flexibility, strength, and relaxation through various poses and breathing techniques.

Pilates: A low-impact exercise method that strengthens muscles, improves flexibility, and enhances posture.

Walking: Simple yet effective, walking is a great way to improve cardiovascular health and boost mood without high impact.

Swimming: Provides a full-body workout with minimal stress on joints, making it ideal for people with joint issues or injuries.

High-intensity workouts:

HIIT (High-Intensity Interval Training): Alternates between short bursts of intense exercise and brief recovery periods to maximize calorie burn and improve cardiovascular fitness.

CrossFit: Combines elements of weightlifting, interval training, gymnastics, and other exercises to build strength, endurance, and overall fitness.

Sprinting: Short, explosive bursts of running at maximum effort, often performed in intervals for cardiovascular conditioning and leg muscle strength.

Circuit Training: Involves moving through a series of exercises targeting different muscle groups with minimal rest in between, combining strength training and cardiovascular exercise.

These are just a few examples, but there are plenty of other workout styles out there to explore depending on your preferences and fitness goals. Walking every day is just a simple way to stay toned.

SLEEP

Sleeping is important for rest and recovery after workouts and energy-consuming activities. Sleep is needed for the brain to function, mood regulation and performance + productivity. Lack of sleep deprives you of all of these things, so getting your beauty sleep is absolutely needed.

School-age children (6-13 years): 9-11 hours per day.

Teenagers (14-17 years): 8-10 hours per day.

Young adults (18-25 years): 7-9 hours per day.

Adults (26-64 years): 7-9 hours per day.

HYGIENE

Upkeeping good hygiene is always needed anyway. Making sure you are clean (smelling good is a plus). Make sure you always wash your hands and take daily showers to remove any dirt on your body (clean those feet and your back well, don't forget them!). Taking care of your oral health must not be forgotten. Oil pulling and brushing your tongue for a healthy mouth. Make sure your hair is also getting the attention to keep it as healthy as you possibly can make it (this also depends on diet). Doing the extra things like spending time on your nails (making sure there isn't that stuff underneath them), making them pretty.

BODY CARE ROUTINE | FOR SMOOTH & GLOWING SKIN, TREATING KERATOSIS PILARIS, SHOWER ROUTINE

ENVIRONMENT

Having a stress-free environment is obviously the best to thrive in. But clearly not even being lucky enough to live like that constantly. So make sure you have that space to be on your own and have some alone time to really recharge. Keeping your space clean for a clear mind. Surround yourself with like-minded people and really set boundaries for those who prey on your mental clarity (energy vampires). Spending time in nature is one of the best ways to detach, rest time should not equal spending time on your devices. Let go and truly let yourself decompress. Mental health will improve how you carry yourself.

EMBODY YOUR POTENTIAL.

[sthilarions]

Much is often made of the question of whether or not Charles and Edwin have weight/mass, and how they feel weight-wise to each other, but it generally gets left in the matter of “how easily can they carry each other bridal-style when one of them is injured” and I think we can be more creative than that

Charles hoisting Edwin up to look over walls and in windows, for starters, and Edwin climbing higher and higher on Charles until he’s using that dancerly balletic grace of his to stand en pointe, just the toe-tip of one foot on Charles’s head, and Charles repeating to himself over and over that Edwin cannot possibly get injured by falling and he doesn’t need to be nearly as anxious as he is about possibly moving and dislodging his partner, but nevertheless realizing after a minute that he’s stopped reflexively breathing

But! Past the for starters! The FASTBALL SPECIAL

Sometime in the late ‘90s they need to get Charles into the middle of a bunch of bad guys with maximum surprise factor and he looks at Edwin’s surprisingly muscled arms consideringly, and remembers how they discovered that they’re effectively weightless even to each other, and goes “Hey, so there’s something I saw in a comic once.”

And it becomes a standard move, generally Edwin throwing Charles but sometimes the other way around - their most impressive throw so far was when Charles launched Edwin a solid 25 feet in the air over an enemy so that Edwin could blast its weak spot from above, and Edwin beautifully stuck the landing on the other side like the half-cat gymnast he is. They got spontaneous applause from the client for that one.

The first time they do it around Crystal her jaw drops for a second before she goes “Did you just - did you just fucking yeet Edwin?!?”

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

ok so imagine a reader who eventually at some point starts excitedly giving Robin, firefly, march and Acheron goodbye and hello hugs cuz they’re just very happy to see them?

(H:SR) Robin, Firefly, March 7th, and Acheron's S/O giving them energetic hugs

It doesn't matter how tiring the concerts were for Robin, or how long the day ahead of her was:

The moment she left and came back, S/O's loving embrace was all that she needed to get her psyched up.

Smiling, Robin allows herself to melt into their warmth as her wings flap just a little faster.

(S/O) "You did great out there!"

(Robin) "Thank you, dear..."

Robin's hugs are just as warm, though it's far more relaxed in nature.

Mostly due to the fact she can just be herself around them.

Firefly happily reciprocates S/O's hugs due to the nature of her mission. Though Elio's script has her coming back alive, that doesn't mean it'd be a short trip by any stretch of the imagination.

And so, her hugs are just as energetic as S/O's, a sad smile and a tight hug leaving, and an even bigger smile and a bone-crushing embrace returning.

(S/O) "Firefly! Welcome back!"

(Firefly) "It's so nice to hear your voice again..."

Firefly's hugs are passionate and surprisingly strong. Though given the nature of her strength, maybe it shouldn't be as shocking.

Usually, she lifts them off the ground and will yelp for a moment if the same is done to her, ending in a fit of laughter as she just rests within their arms for a second longer.

March will return the energetic glomping with equal force, if not stronger.

Even if she was going to be gone for at maximum a few days, she'll act as if she won't see them for a while solely for dramatic effect.

(S/O) "Finally, you're back!"

(March 7th) "Of course, now come here you!"

There has been times where she has almost tackled S/O to the floor in the surprise "hug", both of which begin laughing immediately as the volume of the train car increases tenfold.

March's hugs are playful yet firm, she isn't going to be lifting S/O off the ground but she sure as hell can stagger them with it.

Acheron isn't as playful when it comes to hugging, but her touch lingers on S/O's body longer than theirs.

Sighing deeply into their arms before she leaves, she reluctantly pulls back.

Moments like these, it's not goodbye, not really. It was more like...she wasn't here right now.

(S/O) "Acheron...be safe, please?"

(Acheron) "Of course. And to you as well, S/O. I'll find my way back to you."

And to that S/O gave a little smile, causing her to chuckle.

(Acheron) "Or at the very least, I'll text you when I think I'm nearby."

(S/O) "That sounds more accurate."

Acheron's hugs are long as she can barely feel the touch of her lover. Despite the Nihility that ate away at her, she'd do all she could to remember their loving embrace.

But the hugs she gives upon returning last for nearly ten minutes, unused to having someone actually waiting for her return and not wanting to let go of that feeling just yet...

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (2)

Summary: Terry and Treece are feeling the sparks again.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,659

Part: 2 of ??

Warnings: None. This one's a safe for work slow burn. Enjoy.

Previous

Grocery shopping was Patrice's private pastime. She was the queen of her universe when she walked through aisles every Saturday morning. Every flash bargain and value-sized item bent to her will for a chance at making it to her humble abode and fulfilling its one purpose in life. Employees greeted her like royalty. Customers started conversations like old friends, always giving her the scoop on any sale they'd overheard in their neighborhood Facebook groups. She was happy. She was zen. She was in her element.

"Do you need this?" 

She was a woman dragging around a large man intent on breaking any modicum of concentration she had left.

Patrice stopped and looked over her shoulder at Terry, who held a bag of cotton candy grapes up in the air for her inspection. "No, TJ. Put it down." 

"Why? You like grapes." 

"Because we're getting grapes from the farmer's market. Now, put it back."

Her rebuke was sweet but stern. Having him as a way too familiar roommate was becoming easier as the days passed. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss the freedom to go for a walk, watch a movie on the couch, or even enjoy an intimate moment alone in her own house without a man looming somewhere in the very near background. 

He didn't allow her to travel alone, and she never had the energy to protest. 

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm a kid," he grumbled as he put the grapes back in their place.

"Then stop acting like one. I have a list. I know what I need." 

"I know what I need." He exaggerated his mimicry for maximum effect. 

"You see how that was childish?" 

"Whatever." 

Patrice ignored him in favor of browsing packages of beef for the best deal. If she didn't respond, maybe he would get the hint. And, for a few moments, he did. Terry took a break in conversation to scan the immediate area quietly. He noted each patron and their most important details before checking the exit and entry points at the front of the store. They weren't secure enough, but he could manage if the situation required evacuation.

A lack of action soon turned his attention back to Patrice, who still hadn't decided. He gave her a slow once over and smiled at how much focus she put into such a simple choice. Her brow remained furrowed in intense thought, transforming her into the ninth-grade Patrice he met during a chance encounter in the library. Truthfully, he didn't have much of an opinion either way. He just wanted to talk to her every second of the day, even if it meant being annoying. 

"Get that one." 

His sudden interruption startled Patrice out of her zone, adding a final straw to an already exhausted camel's back. Terry grinned in triumph as she closed her eyes for a calming breath. 

"Terry," she spoke, slow and measured to keep the peace. "Take the other half of this list and get out of my face. Don't come back until you find everything. I'll meet you at the register." 

She didn't give him much time to protest before she shoved a carefully torn half of paper into his chest and sent him on his way. He gave her a sarcastic salute, which she waved off without a second look. She needed a moment alone and didn't care if he came back with Fruity O's instead of Fruit Loops if that meant he would be out of her hair for more than 10 minutes. 

Terry found himself slowly meandering around the grocery store with a tiny basket in tow, exhausted by all the options on each aisle. If Patrice hadn't been so meticulous with her lists, he would've given up on the mission and gone back to home base with his tail tucked between his legs. 

After sourcing the perfect pint of Oreo ice cream as an apology for his behavior, Terry found himself drawn to the sound of laughter on the next aisle. Sure enough, Patrice was parked by the frozen vegetables and engaged with a man dressed in the store's colors with his eyes directed far too low to be looking at Patrice's face. 

Terry quickly reached her location, stopping behind Patrice to show her guest the full extent of his scowl. 

Patrice noticed how his once loose body language had gone stiff and sighed. She didn't need to investigate the problem. Only her human pitbull could make a man cower in fear like that. 

"Derrick, this is Terry. Terry, this is Derrick. He usually helps me get stuff to my car." 

"Ah, man. It's a good thing I'm here, right? We don't need you taking too many breaks from stocking. Mornin' rush can get crazy." 

"Terry," Patrice admonished with a harsh whisper and an elbow to his stomach. 

Terry remained steadfast, keeping his eyes on Derrick while taking one step closer. A taunting smile tugged on the right side of his mouth. He waited on any sign of fight from his unspoken adversary. 

Derrick stood in palpable discomfort, sizing up the outcomes if he decided to test his luck. Each mental scenario led him back to some instance of physical harm on his last shift of the week. He had plans for the weekend, none involving a trip to the emergency room.

Patrice stood between a rock and a hardheaded man, praying that the Lord would end her suffering.

"That's what I was about to say," Derrick answered before shifting his attention back to Patrice. "I think I oughta get going. See you around, Ms. Ellis?" 

"Same time next week." 

He nodded in half-hearted agreement and hurried out of dodge, with Terry keeping a watchful eye until he was safely around the corner. 

Patrice groaned with one hand, rubbing tight circles at her temple. "What in the hell was that about?" 

"He wouldn't even look you in the eye. If he can't look you in the eye when he's speaking, he can't protect you, and he doesn't respect you." 

"I'm not looking for his protection. I need this water loaded into my trunk every week when you aren't here!" 

"I'll never not be here. Problem solved."

His declaration was so sure, so matter of fact, that it left Patrice no room for retort. So she resorted to schoolyard antics. 

It was her turn to mock him with an exaggerated, deep voice. "Problem solved. Push the damn cart since you got so much energy." 

He obliged without protest and a proud, self-satisfied grin that Patrice couldn't see while she led the way to the register. An unexpected system error had halted all transactions, leaving them log jammed in a long line of restless customers. 

Together, they stood sharing light banter and running through weekend tasks, resembling any other couple making a store run to strangers observing them from the outside looking in. Former acquaintances, however, had no problem drawing attention to the pair from three spots back in line. 

"I know that ain't who I think it is." Both Patrice's and Terry's eyes darted up to find the source of the loud outburst, only to whisper 'fuck’ in tandem when they spotted Katrina Spivey waving her arms to grab their attention. "Hey, Terry Richmond!" 

Terry pretended to ignore being singled out by turning his back, earning a stifled laugh from Patrice. Katrina, not one to be deterred, used the moment to push past patrons in line until she reached her destination with a host of angry faces in her wake. 

"Well, if it ain't Mr. and Miss Homecoming in the flesh. You two finally stopped kidding around and got married?" 

"No," Terry answered without much explanation, his back still turned. Patrice reluctantly made up his slack. 

"What Terry meant to say was that we're not married. We're not together at all, actually. But he's here to visit me for a while." 

"What a blessing it is to have friends you can lean on when you need a helping hand."

"Amen."

An awkward tension settled into the conversation's lull, compounded by Terry's outright refusal to engage. Patrice was in deep water without a paddle and a co-captain who had already jumped ship.

Katrina wouldn't let the conversation end and take her newfound place in line. She continued to pry.

"Both of y'all look good! How long has it been since we last saw each other, huh? Gotta be since Terry's graduation send-off." 

Patrice feigned interest with a hollow smile. "Yeah, I think that was it. A looong time ago. All grown up now."

"And thank God for it! I remember how sad you looked all night because ol' Terry was moving away. Like a little crying puppy!" 

Katrina's laughter didn't quite reach Terry or Patrice, who bristled at mentioning one of the more contentious nights in their friendship. 

"Everybody's been a little young and dumb, right? Like when you and BJ got caught underneath the bleachers during state championships." 

Checkmate. A little reminder of her indiscretions had turned Katrina's condescending smile into a mean mug that could burn through anyone not equally as stubborn. 

Terry showed his approval with a light nudge against Patrice's arm. That was his girl. Sweet as pie but a tongue coated in venom when backed against the wall. He'd been on the receiving end on one too many occasions. It felt good to be on the winning side this time. 

Three seconds of a Western standoff had culminated in a gift sent via store intercom. 

"Apologies for the stoppage, folks. Our registers are back up and running. Thanks for your patience." 

Terry moved the cart to place items on the conveyor belt while Patrice waited for the conversation to resume.

Recovering from the sharp end of a verbal lashing, Katrina cleared her throat and grabbed hold of her cart in preparation to skip lines. 

"Well, I don't wanna hold y'all too much longer. If y'all don't think you're too good to mingle with us Francis High Hornets anymore, Corey's throwing a little Juneteenth gathering at his daddy's pool hall. This is my personal invite for the both of you."

"We were already invited. Maybe we'll make an appearance." 

"That'd be grand." 

"I bet it would."

Nice nasty smiles passed between the two foes until Katrina was off to harass some other unsuspecting patron. 

Patrice tried to let go of her frustration with an angry huff before turning to catch up with Terry, who was casually moving groceries from the bagging station to the shopping basket. He waited a moment before acknowledging the obvious. 

"You over it now, or do I need to iron a shirt for tonight?" 

"I'm over it," Patrice answered plainly. She calmly handed over payment for the day's groceries and smiled ever so sweetly to bid the cashier farewell. To an outsider, she'd returned to her zen state without much effort. Terry was no outsider and kept a cautious eye on her as they loaded bags into the trunk and got settled in the front seat of her SUV. 

"You sure you're good," he asked as he backed out of their parking space. 

"I'm sure, TJ," she answered with almost too much enthusiasm. Terry started a mental countdown for the other shoe to drop. "I'll iron the shirt. You need to shave." 

--------

The final verdict? A plain white T-shirt. 

An hour of searching, choosing, rejecting, and choosing again led them to a plain, crisp white tee. Patrice said it went better with her yellow wrap dress, which she chose because her girlfriends were all in dresses, and she wanted to match the occasion. It all sounded like made-up bullshit to Terry. Still, he accepted being treated like a Ken Doll because it meant that his Barbie would agree to a two-hour hard stop at the festivities. 

He'd already started his stopwatch when they pulled up on a busy street in front of an even busier hole in the wall.

The smell of fresh grease greeted them upon crossing the threshold from outside into Mister C's Bar and Lounge. Fried fish, French fries, and wings in any flavor you could ask for sat in the service window, waiting for their delivery to any one of the patrons packed from wall to cinderblock wall. Terry inhaled deeply and let his scowl drop for one second to fantasize about a bite of Corey Sr.'s signature catfish and fries basket. 

Next came the familiar mix of sweat and weed near the dancefloor as bodies intertwined to some GloRilla song neither of them recognized. Thick traffic in the center of the room paused Patrice on her path to the pool tables, locking her between Terry and a crowd that wouldn't budge. 

"Excuse me!" she shouted over a swell of crowd reaction to a new song. "I need to get by!" 

No response. Not even a look back as she used a hand to create space between her and a group of men debating nonsense. Before she could try again, Terry used one hand to push her forward and his voice to clear the way. 

"Yo, step out of the way. We need to get through." Direct and to the point. He left no room for misinterpretation, and his baritone's boom left no confusion about who was calling the shots. Patrice watched with her lips slightly parted in awe. 

The first reaction to his demand was the embers of confrontation. Each member of the group sized Terry up, noticing his heavy scowl and size in comparison to their own. Then, they realized that this wasn't a winning game. 

The flashiest of the group nodded, though disdain at the mere suggestion that he was in the way kept his mouth in a tight frown. "Yeah, you good, OG. My fault." 

Another light push propelled Patrice forward as Terry maintained with each man until they had passed. 

Once they were out of the mix and nearing their destination, he advised, "Stay close." Patrice nodded her compliance, shocking Terry into a slight smile in appreciation for her obedience. 

Sparks of electricity shot between them but had no time to turn into a total current before Corey called out to them. 

"Treece! Terry! We over here!" 

Surrounded by familiar faces from Francis Edward's Class of 2010, Corey welcomed them with open arms and his ever-present 100-watt smile. At a slight 5'6", 150 on his best day, he'd always been larger than his frame would suggest. Loud and flamboyant had always been the name of his game, earning him anything he set his sights on.

It didn't take long for the trio and Corey's wife, June, to fall into familiar habits and friendly jabs at one another as they took their seats in a makeshift VIP section by the pool tables. The Three-Headed Monster was their moniker in high school, and they moved like a military force. Terry was the enforcer, while Corey and Patrice served as judge and prosecutor. If you had an issue with one, you had an issue with all three. 

"Your security is lax. Who trained them?" Terry pointed out during a dead spot in conversation. 

Corey followed his eyeline to the two young men standing at the door and back. "My boy at the sheriff's office. What you see?" 

"They look soft. It wouldn't take much to overpower them and get in for some drama. You only have one exit. Somebody breeches this place, and you're on the hook for a tragedy. Plus, the one on the left is scared. He'll be the first to leave if things get hot. Watch him."

"Impressive," June remarked, smiling at Patrice, who subtly playfully waved her off.

"Hm." Corey took a long pull from his cigar, taking in the information before responding." You here for a minute, T? I got some connections over at Liberty if you looking to get back in the swing of things." 

"Contract?" 

"Whatever you need, man. You know I'm good for it."

Terry looked over at Patrice for some indication that she believed in Corey, and she returned with a subtle nod and encouraging smile. June looked between them and then at her husband before clearing her throat. 

"It looks like Kel and his boy are back on the pool table. You know he still owes you a game from when he cheated last week." 

"Hell yeah," Corey agreed as he turned in his seat to get a look at his enemy. "Aye, T, you trynna make $100 real quick?" 

"It's either that or you gotta come dance with me," Patrice challenged. "This rum and pineapple got me feeling a little loose." 

She wasn't lying. A taste of alcohol in her system was starting to make her want to explore parts of the Patrice she thought she left at North Carolina A&T. Every heart-rattling thump of Megan Thee Stallion's latest and greatest had her thinking about reminding everyone in the room that she could move with the best of them. 

Her little grind in her seat made Terry show teeth in a small grin before he stood to his full height and looked down at her. His eyes were hooded and dreamy from some combination of exhaustion and a contact high, reintroducing that spark from before.

"Don't go too far. I'll be back with your money in a little bit." 

Patrice's tongue felt too heavy to respond coherently past a punch-drunk nod. June watched her watch him make his way down the platform and into the crowd until both men were out of earshot. 

She whistled and shook her head. "That's a good-looking man, ain't he?" 

"Who? Corey? He alright. He's like a slightly more attractive Taye Diggs." 

"First off, ouch," June laughed. "Second, I was talking about Terry. He was cute in high school, but I'll be damned if that second puberty didn't take him to a whole 'nother level." 

"Don't tell him that. His head is big enough."

"You know you wrong for that." If the music weren't so loud, everyone in the building would've heard the pair guffawing over Patrice's petty insult. 

Once they contained themselves, June took a sip from her margarita and shifted in her seat to get closer to Patrice.

"He likes you still." Five plain words shook Patrice internally as she struggled to maintain a poker face. June continued. "I see the way he looks for your approval and damn near trips on himself to fulfill your every whim. You're all he talks about when he and Corey get on the phone." 

"They talk?" 

"From time to time. I think he needs a man's opinion sometimes, you know?" 

Patrice wrestled with the influx of information as June continued. 

"That man is mean as a snake. Always has been and always will be. But, you bring something out of him. Even if you can't always see it." 

"If that were the case, things would've been different for us back then." 

June shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you're right where you're supposed to be. I know I can't make you do what you don't wanna do, but if what I say means anything, focus on today. Thirty-two-year-old Terry is so much more prepared to love you than eighteen-year-old Terry was." 

Punctuating her advice, June tapped Patrice's leg twice before taking a step away to refill their tray of food. 

Focus on today.

The words replayed in her mind repeatedly; even after their two hours were up, Terry had returned $100 richer, and they were back on the road to their quiet slice of the world. 

They rode together in content quiet, letting the Quiet Storm host talk while Terry tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. 

Randomly, he would glance in her direction, assuming she had lost the sleep battle to her old friend Bacardi. When he reached over to adjust the air vent on her side of the car, he was surprised when she mumbled a low "thank you." 

"My bad. I thought you were sleeping." 

"No. My head is swimming, though. Don't let me drink that much anymore." she laughed. 

He chuckled along with her but didn't agree to keep her from letting her hair down occasionally. In his eyes, seeing her relaxed and carefree was a gift to the world. 

The opening notes of Tevin Campbell's "I'm Ready" swirled around them, sounding like a secret message to Patrice as she focused on streetlights to keep the contents of her dinner inside her stomach. 

"Hey," she whispered before she could catch herself. Terry acknowledged her with a glance. "Do you think you're still scared?" 

"Of what?" 

"Of whatever kept you away for so long?"

He thought for a moment, wanting to make sure he was clear with his word. "No. I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of bringing you along for a ride I might not survive. That's not a threat anymore. So, no, I'm not scared anymore."

You know I'm ready

To love you

Forever 

Patrice reached across the center console until she reached Terry's hand to interlock her fingers with his. He gave her an appreciative squeeze without taking his eyes off the road. 

"I-I don't think I'm scared anymore either."

Her heart raced wildly behind her ribs, and Patrice was that if Terry pressed his wrist close enough to hers, he could feel her pulse accelerate. He didn't mind either way. Sweaty palms and trembling fingers would never be enough for him to let her go. Not again. 

As if she'd break if he moved too fast, Terry brought her hand to his lips slowly. One kiss. Another. Two more. And a final one for good measure. 

When he'd had his fill of her skin, he pressed the spot up against his cheek. He needed to feel and absorb her until they were one body. 

But, for tonight at least, this was enough.

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse