#tangerine!verse

[scuderiahoney]

Tangerine

Oscar Piastri x reader

Masterlist // Part 1 // Part 1.5 // Part 2

Summary: You’re definitely not an insomniac. But Oscar keeps finding you awake at all hours, and he’s starting to get worried. Or: I wrote this while actually being unable to sleep, passed out for 3 hours, woke up and finished it. So… here you go, I guess?

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: insomnia, anxiety/mild paranoia?, alcohol, limited knowledge of the actual structure of the MTC and the corporate structure of McLaren in general, a poorly researched night in Tokyo

The MTC lobby is empty, besides you. The lights are half turned off, motion sensors that have gone hours without detecting anything. You’ve stuck to your table in the corner. It’s quiet, just how you like it.

You look up from your notebook after who knows how long, blinking your weary eyes. Outside, the floodlights reflect off the inky black lake. There’s a car, pulling up in the drop off area outside the front doors. It’s Oscar, you think, his car one of a few that are easily recognizable. Sure enough, it’s confirmed when he climbs out of the driver’s side door. He leaves it running as he makes his way up to the door.

Oscar scans his pass and the doors swing open, followed by all of the lights in the lobby flickering on. You squint, fighting the urge to shield your eyes from the harsh lighting. Oscar is rushing through the lobby, a man on a mission, but he skids to a stop about halfway across the shiny tiled floor.

He turns, slowly, and makes eye contact with you. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

You hold back a laugh, thinking that might be a little mean, all things considered. “What are you doing here?”

He sighs, hands hanging at his sides. “I forgot my phone charger, and my laptop, and…” he pauses, frowning at you. “What are you doing here?”

You raise your brows right back. “Working?”

You watch his eyes flicker across your setup. You’re still in the same McLaren sweatshirt you’d been wearing when you saw him that morning. Your hair is piled atop your head. Your laptop sits open in front of you, the only source of light before Oscar burst through the doors. There are papers and notebooks scattered on the tabletop. Your pen is missing- you selfishly hope that as he scours your table, he’ll spot it.

“You got here at 8am,” he says, bewildered. “It’s almost midnight. That’s almost 16 hours.”

He says nothing about the pen. Why would he? He doesn’t know it’s missing. Logically, it must be here somewhere, probably under a paper or clipped to a notebook, but you’ve given up.

“Yes,” you answer, smirking. “You’re great at math, Oscar.”

He rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, home? Sleeping?”

You shrug. “I took breaks. It’s not like I’ve been working all day straight.”

You’re not lying. You’d taken a good, long lunch break, and an afternoon walk around the grounds. You’ve gotten up to stretch a couple times, made runs to the break room for coffee. You hope he doesn’t see straight through it, though. Hope he can’t see the dark circles under your eyes, the paleness of your skin, the exhaustion weighing your shoulders.

It’s not that you weren’t tired. You just knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep. One of those days. So instead, you had decided to be productive. Which had led to this- you in the lobby of your office building, hunched over a laptop. Oscar, the driver whose data you’re scouring, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Go grab your stuff,” you tell him, nodding towards the doors he’d been headed to. “You have an early flight tomorrow.”

He blinks wildly. “We’re on the same flight.”

You nod, because you both know this quite well. There’d been a meeting this morning about who had to be where and at what times. You’re on the first flight out with the main team, headed to Singapore.

“I’m not the one who has to drive the car at very high speeds this weekend,” you remind him, pointing the eraser of your pencil at him. “Or the one who has to be in front of the cameras. You need your beauty sleep.”

Oscar laughs at that, a happy sound that makes you smile, too. “Okay, okay. I’ll be right back.”

You think about disappearing to the bathroom or the break room while he’s gone, just to avoid any further questions. You know Oscar relatively well, though, and knowing him, he’d just wait around until you came back. Or worse, come and try to find you. You can picture it- you pouring your third cup of coffee in the last hour, Oscar watching from the doorway with disdain. You stay put, sipping from your mug and scribbling notes.

He’s back within a few minutes, a backpack in hand. His keys dangle from his fingertips. You don’t look up from your laptop as he walks towards you, that is until he’s standing right in front of you. You blink up at him through your lashes. There’s a frown on his face- this close, you know your lack of sleep must be obvious.

He nudges the top panel of your laptop with a single fingertip. “C’mon. Time to go home.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, shaking your head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”

“What, you just gonna stay here until we all meet up in the morning to go to the airport?” He scoffs.

“That would be ridiculous,” you laugh.

“It would,” he agrees. He seems to see straight through you, though. “Come on. Close the laptop, close the notebooks. You can work on this on the flight, like a normal person.”

“I’m trying to improve your car, you know.”

“I’m not leaving until you do,” he finally says, and you scoff with wide eyes. “And remember, I’m the one who has to actually drive the car. And go in front of the cameras. I need my beauty sleep.”

You rear your head back, unsure how to even counter that. He takes the opportunity to close the laptop for you, and you bat at his hands. Then he’s sweeping your papers into piles, stacking your notebooks and gathering them up into his arms.

“That’s my intellectual property, you know,” you scold him, reaching for the papers. He holds them up above your head easily, and you groan. “Okay, okay, I’ll go, just- I lost my pen, earlier. It’s my favorite one. I just have find it and then I promise I’ll go- you can go home, really, I’ll see you-“

He’s reaching for your head, suddenly, and you freeze. When his hand returns to your view, he’d holding the pen between his fingertips. You blink once, twice, then reach for it, but he’s holding it above your head within seconds, too.

“We’re leaving,” he tells you, firmly. “Come on. Up we go.”

You get to your feet reluctantly and pack your things into your bag. Oscar helps, handing you your papers in neat little piles. He keeps you in front of him as you both exit the lobby, like he’s afraid you might take off running further into the office building. His car is still parked out front, still running, and you see him wince.

“Didn’t expect to be inside for so long,” he says sheepishly.

You laugh lightly, starting your walk towards the employee lot. It’s down a well lit path, but every step feels heavy this late at night.

“Wait,” he says, and you pause. “Do you want a ride? You seem tired. You know, sometimes that’s as bad as driving drunk.”

“I’m not gonna fall asleep behind the wheel,” you tell him. You say it with confidence, because it’s pretty likely you’re not going to fall asleep at all tonight.

He cocks his head at you, cast in the bright glow of the floodlights. “At least let me drive you to your car. Otherwise, how do I know you’re not going to just go back inside?”

You roll your eyes. “And how do I know you’re not trying to kidnap me?”

You end up getting in the car, because he makes it pretty clear he’s not leaving until you do. You contemplate just walking to your own car, but honestly your feet feel so heavy it’s just not worth the fight. Oscar, to his credit, doesn’t kidnap you. He also doesn’t comment on your very modest car, the only one left in the parking lot. He does try to offer you a ride home one more time, but he lets it go after your repeat refusal.

You say goodbye, climb into your own car, and start the engine. The heat kicks on quickly, thank god, and you start up a playlist. It’s only when you look up, ready to leave, that you notice his car is still sitting there. You can just barely see Oscar behind the windshield, and he waves at you. He’s waiting for you to leave.

You flip him off as you roll out of the parking lot, and you watch him laugh in response.

…..

You’re one of the first ones at the office the next morning, and therefore one of the first ones on a shuttle to the airport. Oscar’s chronically late, or as he would call it, chronically precisely on time, so you don’t see him until he’s climbing on the plane. McLaren’s rented out a charter plane for this trip, with the double header making it the easiest solution.

You’re already settled into a seat, laptop open on the table in front of you, headphones on. You barely even look up when you feel him looking over you, but then he’s tugging one side of your headphones off your ear.

“Did you even sleep?” He asks, brows furrowed.

“Yes,” you lie, raising your brows at him defensively.

Oscar raises his brows in return. He obviously doesn’t believe you.

Before he can say anything else, Lando’s behind him, leaning up over his shoulder. “Oscar, mate, get a move on.”

Oscar rolls his eyes but does as Lando’s urging. There’s not assigned seats, per say, but the two drivers are headed towards the middle of the plane where their trainers and other senior staff are sitting. That’s how these things normally go- it just makes sense. They’ll have meetings on the plane, talk about meal plans and strategies and get ready for the weekend. You’ll spend your flight going through the data just one more time, trying to unlock all of the secrets to give Oscar the best possible chance on Sunday.

…..

Singapore is good. Not great, not perfect, but good. For Lando’s team, it’s a huge weekend. And honestly, 4th place for Oscar in his rookie year is huge too. He’s thrilled, tells you as much after the race, after the briefing.

“I know you worked hard this weekend, put in a lot of hours,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job,” you say with a shrug.

“Right.” He says. “Thanks, though.”

You smile up at him, knowing it’s wobbly and insincere. You don’t take compliments well. “No problem.”

When you get to the hotel that night, you lay down in the bed and try to fall asleep. It’s no use, really, because it’s not your bed, and because your mind is racing. There’s nothing even bothering you, that’s the stupid thing. Just… a billion thoughts flying by all at once. So you wander the hotel, up and down the stairs, down the halls. You make a pit stop in the exercise room, walk on the treadmill, try out the rowing machine. You’ve never been one for working out, but the internet says exercise can help with sleep issues. It’s worth a try, but it doesn’t work.

You contemplate sneaking into the closed hotel pool, but ultimately decide against it. You’d probably get caught, and then you’d get in trouble, and it would somehow make it back to your boss. Then you’d get fired in Singapore, left to find your own way home. So instead, you head for the vending machines on your floor. There’s got to be something in there that’ll cure the racing in your head. Or at least bring you some comfort in the dead of night.

What doesn’t bring you comfort in the dead of night is a face in the reflection on the glass of the vending machine. You nearly scream when you meet someone else’s eyes. You whirl around, arms in a defensive position, and come face to face with Oscar.

“Would’ve pegged you for flight, not fight,” he says drowsily.

“You can’t sneak up on people like that,” you hiss, dropping your hands to your sides.

“Payback,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face clumsily. “B‘sides, I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. I was trying to get a snack.”

You blink at him. “Oscar, it’s 3am.”

He nods, blinks slowly. You almost expect his eyes to stay closed, almost expect him to fall asleep standing up.

“I woke up starving,” he says, shuffling towards one of the vending machines. “Promise you won’t tell Kim? I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

He’s cute when he’s sleepy. You want to tuck him into bed and tell him bedtime stories. You want to kiss his forehead. You blink hard, trying to reset your brain. The sleep deprivation is really getting to you. This is your coworker, your teammate.

You shrug and nod in agreement. “Would’ve kept the secret without the bribe, but if you’re offering…”

Oscar laughs, a quiet sound in the empty night air. “What’ll it be, then?”

He’s leaning against the glass heavily. He must still be half asleep. You can’t blame him. You point at the bag of chips you’d been eyeing, and then at the gummy worms in the corner. He nods in approval of both, selects them, feeds the machine his money. Then he’s picking his own snack- a poptart and a bag of Cheetos. He backs away, but you make a noise and point at the drinks machine.

“And a Red Bull?” You ask, pointing at your favorite flavor where it sits, lit up by fluorescent light.

He turns back, almost puts the money in, and then he pauses and looks at you. “It’s 3am.”

“Right, we established that.”

“Why would you drink Red Bull at 3am?” He asks, bewildered.

You shrug. “Because I like Red Bull.”

“Go work for them, then,” he suggests. You laugh. “Actually, I have a feeling that would be severely detrimental to your health. Too many free energy drinks. Do you ever sleep?”

“Those are big words for 3am,” you tease, nudging his shoulder. “Come on. The tangerine one, please.”

“I’m not buying you a Red Bull.” He shakes his head. “I am walking you back to your room and you’re going to bed.”

“I’ll tell Kim about your snacks.”

“No, you won’t.”

You let him walk you back to your room. He stands there as you swipe the key card, as you open the door and shuffle inside. He says goodnight from the doorway. You close the door after you echo the sentiment, lock all the locks, and lay down in your bed. You close your eyes and try to go to sleep. You really, truly try. But when the clock turns over to 4am, and you realize it’s useless, you roll out of bed and head down to the vending machine. You buy the Redbull with your own money, carry it back to your room, turn on the tv, and settle in until the sun comes up.

…..

Tokyo may just be your favorite city in the entire world. Everything is open all the time. You’ve never felt more seen by a city. The days that you and the rest of the team spend there between the two races are heaven. You have meetings during the day, but they’re short and easy. At night, there are plenty of places for you to roam, plenty of things to do and see.

You spend your nights in ramen bars, in arcades, in toy stores that seem to stretch on for miles. You collect so many souvenirs you’re worried you’ll have to buy a second suitcase. Frankly, you’re going on week two of sleeping only in one to two hour stints, and it’s likely you’re beginning to get a little manic. In Tokyo, though, nobody bats an eye.

You join the team for breakfast in the hotel lobby on Thursday. You’ve somehow ended up at a table with Oscar and Lando- you’d gotten here before anyone else, and Oscar had chosen the seat across from you. Lando asks what you’ve been up to. They’ve been busy with promo stuff, you’ve hardly seen the two of them all week.

You regale them with your stories and hand off your phone to Lando so he can scroll through your pictures. Oscar listens with rapt attention, leaning to look at the photos too.

“How do you do all this and find time to sleep?” Lando asks, an amused tone in his voice.

“She doesn’t, mate,” Oscar replies, pointing at your phone. “Look at the time stamps.”

You roll your eyes and snatch the phone away from them. Lando’s looking at you with wide eyes, Oscar is smiling amusedly.

“Sleep is for the weak,” you tell them, and you swear Lando’s eyes are going to bug out of his head. “We’re in Tokyo, I’m making the most of it.”

To Oscar’s credit, he doesn’t bring up the encounter at the MTC, or the run in at the vending machines. Still, this revelation seems to bewilder Lando.

“Sleep is like, the most important thing,” he says, shaking his head. “For your health.”

“Not all of us have to be in tip top shape,” you say, stabbing your fork into a waffle on your plate. “Some of us get to have fun. Exhibit B. Our breakfasts.”

Lando looks at your plate, filled with waffles and bacon and your cup of coffee, next to it. He casts his glance to his sad looking bowl of oatmeal, then, and sighs heavily. Oscar’s laughing at the two of you, though his plate looks just as sad.

“When you pass out halfway through the day,” Lando says, a retaliatory furrow in his brow, “I’m telling Andrea why.”

“That won’t happen,” you reassure him. “And besides, it’s media day. I have it easy.”

…..

Oscar makes it on the podium on Sunday. You scream your lungs out with the rest of the team, run to the pit wall, watch the podium celebrations. He’s wrapping everyone in enthusiastic hugs, slapping everyone’s backs and grinning so, so widely. All the lost sleep feels worth it, just to see him smile like that.

When he makes it to you, he hauls you into his chest, arms around your shoulders, holding you tight. You could stay like that forever, if he’d let you. He tucks his chin atop your head and you think you’d like to make a home right there, in his arms.

The celebrations go late, and so does the debrief. By the time it’s all said and done, everyone looks exhausted, including the drivers. They start shuttling you all back to the hotel for the night, back in Tokyo so you can get on the plane easily tomorrow morning. You’re just glad to be back in the city. On a night like tonight, buzzing with adrenaline and caffeine, there’s no way you’re falling asleep.

You somehow end up in a shuttle with Oscar. He smells like champagne and sweat, and you tease him about it when he sits down in the back row next to you.

He smiled sheepishly. “So I smell like a podium finisher, then.”

You watch as the city goes by out the window and listen to him chat idly with the others in the van. When you get back, you’re the last one out of the car. He’s waiting outside the hotel, leaning on the wall.

“So, what’s your plan for the night?” He asks, cocking a brow.

“No judgement?” You ask.

“No judgement,” he promises.

You shrug. “Not exactly sure. There’s a lot to do. I’ll probably get some ramen, maybe go shopping. Might just take a walk.”

He nods. “Sleep?”

“Not high on the priority list,” you admit.

He nods again. “Can I come with?”

You blank, staring at him. “What?”

“On your adventure,” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can I come along?”

Suddenly your heart is pounding in your chest. He wants to come with? Why? There’s a part of you that doesn’t like the idea, that thinks your sleepless adventures are for you and you alone. The other part of you, the one that wins out, thinks it might not be so bad to have some companionship.

“… sure,” you agree, eyeing him carefully. “But you have to play along. No forcing me to go to sleep.”

“Promise,” he says, holding out his pinky.

You hook yours with his and seal the deal.

…..

You both head up to your hotel rooms to change clothes, and in Oscar’s case, to take a shower. He sends you a text when he’s ready and you meet him in the lobby. He’s in a casual outfit, jeans and a hoodie. You’re dressed similarly, in a pair of black jeans and a crewneck.

“Where to?” He asks, wide grin on his face.

It turns out that Oscar is the ideal late night adventure companion. You start your night out at a sushi conveyor restaurant, both of you joking about how Lando would never dare to eat there. You eat to your heart’s content and make comments about fueling up for the night ahead. He even joins you in having an energy drink, some Japanese brand that you’ve never heard of. Oscar reads part of the label to you, balks at the amount of caffeine in it, and drinks it anyways.

After the restaurant, the two of you climb into a cab and head to the Shibuya district. It’s crawling with people, buzzing with energy, and you feel right at home. Oscar sticks close to your side, hanging onto the back of your sweatshirt as you cross the busy crosswalks in a sea of people. When you turn, though, he’s smiling like he’s having the time of his life. The two of you climb the stairs to an observatory where you can watch the dance of pedestrians and traffic from above. There’s a glow to the city that feels akin to how your brain feels when you can’t sleep- like it never goes out, never turns off.

You tell this to Oscar, who gives you a contemplative look.

“Is it the energy drinks?” He asks. His hand is on your wrist, likely just to keep track of you in the crowds.

You shake your head. “The energy drinks came after the… not sleeping-“

“Insomnia,” he suggests.

“… not sleeping,” you repeat, narrowing your eyes at him. “Anyways. I was like a zombie. The energy drinks make it so I’m functional. I figure if I’m gonna be awake, may as well enjoy it.”

You head back out onto the streets and begin to wander again. Oscar follows along, always holding onto you in some way, always smiling when you look at him. The two of you wander through art galleries and museums lit up with neon lights. Somewhere in the middle of one of them, he slips his fingers between yours. You’re not complaining. There’s something grounding, leveling about his presence.

You stop for drinks at a bar- some sort of local beer that Oscar orders for both of you in Japanese. It’s followed by a vodka Red Bull, at your insistence. Oscar wrinkles his nose but drinks the whole thing, seemingly determined to match you.

Next door, there’s a highly American themed bowling alley. Oscar laughs about how Logan would love it and pulls you inside. It’s the first stop of the night that he’s suggested, so you go along eagerly. He’s snapping pictures, ones to send to Logan, ones for himself, ones of you smiling, renting out bowling shoes. He pays for the game, and you both do terribly. The worker puts the bumper guards up out of pity, because the two of you obviously have no idea what you’re doing. He’s a world renowned athlete, you’re a highly skilled engineer, and yet, you both suck at bowling.

“When did the in-“ you fix him with a glare, and he stops mid sentence. “When did the not sleeping start?”

You look up at the ceiling of the bowling alley and purse your lips, watching the disco ball spin. “Next question.”

He huffs and shrugs, rolling the ball down the lane. “I don’t have a next question.”

“What’s your family like?”’you ask him, and he smiles, softer than you’ve ever seen him smile before.

“Well, I have three sisters,” he starts, eyes lighting up.

Somewhere between the bowling alley, the next bar, and the shopping mall you end up in, you start to really get to know Oscar. It’s funny how the night opens people up. Everything feels safer in the dark, surrounded by other people. It’s creeping up on 1am- in theory, both of you should be sound asleep. The fact that you’re not makes anything okay. You learn about his family, his childhood, his friends back home and in the UK. You tell him about yourself, too. He listens with an eager look on his face, laughing at all the right moments, squeezing your hand at the right ones, too.

You end up in a store that’s packed to the brim with stuffed animals. He lets you drag him around the whole thing, pointing out cute ones and the ones you think are a bit odd. Then you gasp, pointing excitedly, pulling on his hand.

“It’s you,” you squeak, the delirium beginning to set in. It’s a stuffed Kangaroo, and he groans softly. “Look, you’re even making the same face.”

Oscar seems unable to argue with that. Both he and the stuffed kangaroo do seem to be scowling. He smiles instead, picks it up, and takes it to the register. He buys it before you can really even say anything, and the cashier packages it in a bag. The kangaroo’s head sticks out over the paper, your second faithful companion for the night.

By 3am, Oscar is starting to drag. He perks up every time you look at him and smiles brightly, but you can tell. His grip on your hand is looser lately, and his blinks are growing longer and longer. You turn to him, a sympathetic smile on your face.

“We can go back to the hotel, if you want,” you say, poking his cheek lightly.

He smiles. “Are you tired?”

You sigh. “No, but you are.”

“I’m okay,” he insists, shaking his head. “What about the batting cages you mentioned? That sounded fun.”

You pout at him. “Oscar, you’re half asleep. You’d definitely get hit by a ball.”

He nods in agreement. “Maybe I just need another energy drink?”

You cock your head at him, take in his heavy eyelids, his parted lips. “That would be your third one of the night. And that would be very unhealthy.”

He nods again. “Yeah. Okay. Just… I said I’d be along for the ride.”

“We can hang out at the hotel,” you suggest. “The pool area is open all night.”

“I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”

“Me neither.”

You somehow end up with a pizza on your way back, and the two of you plant yourselves in the pool area on one of the chaise lounge chairs, the pizza box in front of you. You eat the greasy, cheesy food, and even Oscar indulges in it. He has his hand planted on the chair behind your back. Every so often you lean backs against his arm just to feel his presence. His knee bumps against yours, and you smile.

The pool is clear and blue. Neither of you will be swimming, but this felt like a neutral enough place. You’d thought about inviting him back to your room but had felt weird about it. There’s something calming about the still water and the smell of the chlorine, anyways.

He leans his head on your shoulder. The heavy weight of him is nice. He’s solid, sturdy, grounding. You’re chatting idly about something that happened at the race, something he’d missed while he was driving the car. You break off in the middle of a sentence to yawn, and then you close your eyes for just a moment. Oscar’s breath hitches.

The two of you are silent for a moment. You stare into the clear water, aching to drift and float and fall asleep. You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest.

“It started when I was a kid,” you tell him. “I just… stopped sleeping. It comes and goes in cycles. Sometimes I’m fine, sometimes I just…”

“Can’t sleep,” Oscar finishes for you, his words contradicting the sleepy tone of his voice.

“Yeah,” you say, blinking slowly again.

Your head droops, resting against his. He’s so warm, so comforting. He must feel you drifting, must feel your grip faltering, because then he’s sitting up, tucking you into his chest.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks, drowsily.

“M’so tired,” you admit, curling into him. “Justwannasleep.”

Tears are stinging at your eyes. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t been prepared for this part. The moment when your lack of sleep catches up to you, and you become an emotional, distraught mess. You’re seconds away from full on sobbing.

Oscar seems to sense this. “Okay. Okay, how about- I have a pull out couch in my suite. Why don’t you- if you’re comfortable, you could come sleep there. Maybe it would help to know somebody’s there if you need it? Maybe-“

“Okay,” you answer, nodding against his chest. “Okay, yeah.”

He takes care of the empty pizza box and guides you up to his room. You know there’ll be questions to answer if anyone sees you, but you’re comforted by the fact that it’s 4am and nearly every sane person is sound asleep. He scans into the room, and you let out a sigh when he lets go of your hand. He moves quickly, unfolding the pull out couch, grabbing extra blankets from the cabinets. Before you know it, you’re sitting down on the bed, rubbing your eyes.

It’s strange, now that you’re here. You’re in Oscar’s hotel room. You’ve just spent the night wandering Tokyo with him. You’re exhausted, sleep deprived, still on the verge of tears. Everything feels hazy and blurry.

“I can… go, if you want,” he says, and you blink up at him through your blurry vision. “Or I can sit with you till you fall asleep.”

“That might take a while,” you tell him. “Like, you’re more likely to fall asleep. Even… when I finally get to this point, it takes a while.”

He shrugs. “We could put on a movie.”

That’s exactly what you do. He turns on the tv, spots Finding Nemo on the guide, and turns it on. He sinks down on the bed, leaning against the couch back. You crawl up next to him as he turns the volume low. At first, you just sit shoulder to shoulder. Then he reaches out, wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulls you into his side. You sigh against him. Cradled close, you let the exhausted tears flow. He can’t see you, probably, and even if he can, you can’t bring yourself to care. He leans down, brushes his lips against your forehead.

“M’right here,” he says, softly. “I’ve got you.”

You wake up at 8am with your head in his lap. His alarm is blaring from the side table, and you’re both springing apart. He fumbles for his phone, shutting the alarm off with the shaky hands of someone who’s just been woken up from not nearly enough sleep.

You, on the other hand, have gotten the most consecutive sleep of your last two weeks. You stretch, rubbing the blur from your eyes and blinking at him.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“For what?” He asks, voice steady.

“For… I don’t know. Keeping you up so late? Falling asleep on you?” You shrug. “I… that was a lot, for me to put that all on you.”

Oscar shrugs, so nonchalant about it. “It’s what friends are for.”

You nod, though you’re not convinced. You pull away, and Oscar’s soft smile drops to a flat frown. He reaches for you, but you dodge his touch.

“I should go,” you tell him. “We have to leave soon, people are going to be getting up and- if they see me come out of your room-“

“We can be friends,” he says, again, brows furrowing. “We didn’t do anything wrong, everything is okay-“

He doesn’t understand. It’s fine for him, but this is too much for you. He wants to be friends, but you’re looking at him and thinking about how if you could curl up on his chest every night, you might never have trouble sleeping again. He wants friends, you want more. You can’t have more, though, because there’s no way you’ll keep your job. And he doesn’t want that, anyways. Why would he? You’re just his pity project, the poor girl who can’t sleep, who fails at counting sheep.

“I should go,” you repeat, standing up. You can’t look at him, can’t watch him watching you. “Thank you. For everything. I’m sorry.”

He stands up too, and he grabs your hand. You pause, stuck between ripping your hand from his and running, or whirling around and snapping at him. Fight or flight. Instead, you take a deep breath. You’re still sleep deprived, still exhausted. 4 hours doesn’t fix two weeks of little to no sleep.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, shoulders sagging. “I have a hard time letting people take care of me.”

“It’s okay,” Oscar says. “Just- come sit down? Let’s talk, okay?”

You sink down on the bed, rest your elbows on your knees and your face in your hands. “Why do you care?”

Oscar sits down next to you. He reaches out, knits your fingers together. You’re reminded of the art galleries, of the crowds, of the bowling alley. You split yourself open last night, in the safety of the time when you should’ve been sleeping. He saw you and he’s still here, somehow, hanging on. Your bones are tired. Your head is pounding. You need caffeine.

“I care,” he says, gently, “because I care about you. Because I think you’re a good person, and I want to get to know you better. And because this whole thing is not healthy.”

You sigh. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand methodically, back and forth. The funny thing is, you could fall asleep again, just like this. You could lean into his shoulder, let the warmth of him seep into your skin, and fall asleep. You wonder if he knows it.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, rubbing at your face sleepily. “Osc, I’ve been like this for years. It’s not just going to change now.”

“Not overnight,” he says, softly. There’s a callous on his thumb, you can feel the scrape of it over your skin. It’s oddly soothing. “But I can try. I can be here.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Because despite all the craziness, last night was the most fun I’ve had in weeks,” he says, and you could cry. “I want to spend time with you. I want to get to know you. Take you on dates. The whole nine yards.”

You should’ve expected this. Oscar can be shy, and quiet, but he can be straightforward, too. He’s pretty easy to read. He’s blunt with Lando, almost to the point of contention sometimes. But you’d been so focused on trying to prove to him that you were just fine that you hadn’t considered he was feeling the sparks, too. That maybe he wasn’t holding onto you in the crowd just so he didn’t lose you. That maybe he liked the feeling of your skin on his, too.

“If you want that,” he says, voice low.

You blink blearily, pull away to look up at him. “I do.”

He nods, leans forward, kisses your forehead. The rest of it will come later, you think. You can work all the details out when you’re both more awake. Right now, he pulls you into his chest and flops back onto the bed.

“We have an hour before anyone comes looking for us,” he says, rubbing your back lightly. “Close your eyes? You don’t have to sleep, just-“

You blink once, twice, and then you’re fast asleep before he can get another word out.

…..

Oscar wins the sprint race in Qatar, and then takes second on Sunday. He’s nothing but endless wide grins all weekend, despite the heat and the dehydration and his obvious exhaustion. You laugh when you watch him lay down on the floor in the cool down room and smile when he gets sprayed with champagne on the podium. He chases you through the garage afterwards to give you a hug, despite your screeching about how sticky he is.

He tucks you into his chest. “Couldn’t have done it without you, baby.”

Later, you help corral a very tired Oscar and Lando to the shuttles and back to the hotel. They’re each stumbling over their own feet, giggling and laughing about the race, shoving at each other’s shoulders. For a minute, you’re walking through an empty parking lot, far from any other McLaren staff, and Oscar links his fingers with yours. They fit together like puzzle pieces. His fingers are sticky with champagne, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Lando sees and doesn’t say anything, just smiles.

You’re keeping it quiet for now. Time to figure it out between the two of you before you get your bosses involved. You have a feeling it’ll be mostly okay. You’ll figure it out, one way or another.

You follow Oscar up to his hotel room, saying goodnight to Lando as he heads further down the hall. He knits his fingers with yours again, leads you into his room, and collapses onto the bed.

“I’m exhausted,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Are you?”

You smile down at him, laid out on the bed. He should probably shower, at the very least change his clothes, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him that.

You sigh. “I mean, yeah, but if you’re asking if I’ll be able to sleep… probably not.”

He nods in understanding and purses his lips. “D’you think… would you just… stay, until I fall asleep?” He asks, blinking up at you. “After that you can take my card and get a Red Bull and go do whatever, just-“

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” you tell him.

It’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. He gets ready for bed, and you do the same. You lean against the headboard and he crawls up the bed. He puts his head on a pillow in your lap, curls up into a little c shape. He’s very cat like, you’ve noticed, especially when he’s sleepy. You run your fingers through his hair, the tv playing quietly in the background, and he sighs and closes his eyes.

“Goodnight,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple.

He’s out within minutes. Oscar is a sound sleeper. You could move him, could shift his head and get up. You could wander the halls, take his card and buy all the energy drinks you desire. But you look down at him, his brow unfurrowed, lips parted, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. You could sit here and watch him breathe all night. It’s a terrifying and comforting thought, all at once.

You don’t sleep. It’s likely you’ll crash on the flight home, or maybe shortly after that. With your luck, you’ll pass out in a meeting when you get back to the MTC. Oscar doesn’t scold you when he wakes up and it’s obvious you’ve been awake all night.

He gets you coffee from the breakfast bar, exactly how you like it. And when he finds you in the backseat of the airport shuttle, he hands you a tangerine Red Bull. It’s early, the sun just peeking up over the horizon, washing the whole city with orange. He’s smiling at you, and you’re smiling right back.

When you fall asleep on his shoulder on the way to the airport, nobody dares to say a word.

…..

“Did you hear we’re gonna be sponsored by Monster next year?” Lando asks, throwing a tennis ball at a wall in the courtyard.

You sit up in the grass nearby, eyes lighting up. “You’re kidding. Free Monster?”

Oscar, whose stomach you’d been laying on, sits up behind you and wraps his arm around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Your consumption will be restricted,” he says, and you laugh.

You suppose that’s fair. Besides, Monster is fine, but nothing will ever top tangerine Red Bull.

check out the companion blurb, Glad You’re Here

thanks for reading, hope you sleep better than me! you can find my other fics here! sweet dreams y’all

[ohhmydyosfics]

(Hyuckle) tangerine love (favorite)

“Are you my sugar daddy?”

It’s very difficult to leave Chenle of all people speechless, but Donghyuck’s always been prone to do the impossible.

“What?”

(i (omega, 25) am in love with my best friend (alpha, 24) and he offered to help me with my heat. what do i do?!)

[misfitsandmusings]

@climatact // Tangerine Trysts starter!

Curiosity.

That was the only explanation the pirate could think of - the only thing that had brought him back to the human auction house a second time - much as it had lured him in earlier in the day.

The first time he’d wandered into that disgusting establishment, he’d been guided by a hunch. A sixth sense he’d developed at some point between here and setting sail from Swallow Island all those years ago - a feeling deep inside that something there would spark his interest if he wandered in. He hadn't been surprised in the least to see Doflamingo's jolly roger inked upon the wall when he'd entered. The slave trade was exactly the kind of distasteful enterprise Law knew the Shichibukai would delight in. And because that feeling had persisted, he’d found himself sticking around long enough to witness quite the spectacle when the Mugiwara pirates rolled onto the scene - another of those moments where he'd just known he was witnessing something remarkable. Something that had been worth sitting through the disgusting display for.

He'd been right that time, like he had on every other occasion his restless mind had led him to actions he may never have taken otherwise.

But it was not pirates or Warlords or even a gut feeling that had led him here the second time. He didn’t suspect who he’d find if he waited around long enough to get a glimpse of her again - he knew. He’d only seen that vibrant shade of orange once before in his life, after all, and no sunset had rivaled its brilliance since. When the little loud-mouth had grown up enough to become a marine of all things was a mystery, but even his disdain of the navy had not been able to keep him from skulking back to scene, laying low and out of sight until the opportunity presented itself to speak to her alone.

“Now, there’s a face I haven’t seen in a while,” Law intoned in a lazy drawl as her fellow officers’ footsteps receded down a distant corridor.

[ikkaku-of-heart]

@climatact asked: "Ikkaku~" The witch sings out the other woman's name as she approaches, hands behind her back. "I have something for you- Close your eyes and hold out your hand."

It wasn't often that Ikkaku had encounters with other witches. Not positive ones, anyway, considering the bad blood between her and the Coven. But Nami was harmless enough. She at least didn't seem to be trying to hex or attack her like so many others would. Still, the wayward witch raised an eyebrow at the ginger suspiciously.

"Not trying to accuse you of something, but I've learned the hard way not to blindly trust anyone to not have bad intentions towards me. I've had too many demons try to trick me into making contracts or nearly drain my energy dry, witches attempt to hex or assassinate me, vampires kidnap me, and let's not even get into the times I've had to deal with the fucking Devil himself." That last one made her sneer a bit, but she shook her head. No point in dwelling on him now. "So, I'll hold out my hand for whatever your surprise is, but my eyes are staying wide open. "

As if to make her point, Ikkaku held out her hand, maintaining eye contact with the other witch, ready to cast a defensive spell if she needed to.

[unnamed-locomotive]

little spoon.

i wrote this in one go offhandedly earlier idk

-

The Lover visits the man on a sunny afternoon. For sure, he would leave his bed now. The weather was beautiful. It had been a long, hard winter, and now warmth caressed every inch of their town.

The Lover rings the doorbell, yet there is no answer. The Lover tries to knock, yet there is no reply. The Lover tries the lock, yet it was never locked at all.

The Lover enters the home, smelling the rotten and decayed. Still, the house lay clean, everything tucked away for another day. A gorgeous day, such as this one.

The Lover crosses the halls to the dungeon, where the man lay. He knocks, and yet, there is no answer.

The Lover enters anyway, tired of the man’s incessant silence. The man lay where he always, and The Lover is not surprised.

“Please, won’t you come outside?” begged The Lover.

“Maybe tomorrow,” muttered the man.

“It is beautiful out,” pleaded The Lover.

“Maybe another day. It’ll come. For now, I am tired,” the man rejected.

“I won’t wait forever,” confessed The Lover.

“Better for you,” resigned the man.

“I love you,” implored The Lover.

“You do not exist,” the man demanded, “Return the shadows that you took when you came in.”

“I didn’t notice any shadows,” The Lover blundered.

“I didn’t expect you to,” the man reconciled.

[twingerine]

" All these fuckin' spider people or whatever you wanna call 'em runnin' around like they're actual bloody cockroaches, while me? I'm more than happy to just pop a cap in someone's arse and not fuck around with 'em like these 'heroes' do. Full on waste of time if you ask me. " That's just his opinion, though.

[gotta-winwin]

heat of july | b.sk

⭐ starring: boo seungkwan  💌 genre: comfort, fluff | wc: 1.6k 💬 preview: He loved everything about the countryside equally, except for you. He loved you much more than he loved anything else. 

cw/tw: small town romance, tangerine farmer!seungkwan with a love of poetry, loosely adapted from when life gives you tangerines, ex!vernon

🪽fic rating: pg  ☁️ masterlist & a/n: a little abstract, but as tiya (@gyubakeries ) put it: the simplicity of it made it feel more raw. at least, i hope. thank you so much for betaing and calming my fears, my love <3

now playing: forever by noah kahan 

this is an addition to my 500 followers event: click here to read the masterlist!

There was something tortuous about the heat of July. 

Seungkwan couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly, but the scorch of the sun beating down his back as he tended to his tangerine farms made him feel like dying. Or giving up. Uprooting his life and moving to the big city like all his friends had. 

But there was just something about the tender craft of growing fruit and the feel of the countryside that Seungkwan loved. How his own hands could bring life into something and make it grow strong. How everyone seemed to know one another in this small corner of the world. Seungkwan romanticized the shit out of his hometown and he enjoyed the cinematic feel it gave him. 

He wrote verse upon verse of poetry dedicated to everything around him. The ocean breeze that always carried a hint of salt. His baby tangerines trees reaching for the sun. His rickety old rocking chair. His lover’s hair glinting in the afternoon light as she leaned against the porch railing. 

He loved everything about the countryside equally, except for you. He loved you much more than he loved anything else. 

You came to Seungkwan in a teal colored van, decorated with colorful bumper stickers, marks of rust and a fist-sized dent on the fender. 

“Hey, neighbour!” You had smiled at him as he stared at you, open-mouthed at the scene in front of him. It had been clear to him that you were from the city. “I love the farming aesthetic you’ve got here.” You wave a hand at his field and the tangerine saplings Seungkwan had planted with care, row by row. 

“Thanks.” He had replied dumbly, watching as you unloaded equally colorful suitcases from the trunk of your car. He walks down to assist and the smile on your face grows brighter. 

Seungkwan listens to you ramble on about your road trip from the big city to his hometown, and he could already hear himself composing his next poem. He didn’t have the verses just yet, but he knew it’d be something about the sun, and you. How your smile felt warmer on his face than any sun in the midst of July. 

You spent most of your time in the kitchen because of two things: the window sitting above the sinks face the sunrise and the window opposite those had a perfect view of Seungkwan’s tangerine farm. 

You saw him singing to his crops, now tall enough to reach his knees. They’ve sprouted baby leaves along the thin branches, and Seungkwan tended to them with care and gentleness. You watched him baby each plant like his own child. 

Occasionally, he’d glance up and catch you staring. A teasing smile would cross his face and he’d tip his hat in your direction. 

“You’re a great singer, Mr. Boo.” You’d tell him one afternoon in June, leaning out your window with your hair in the breeze. 

“Any song requests, ma’am?” A speck of dust on his left cheek catched your attention as he stood up to greet you. He gestured to his growing trees. “Good tunes always make them grow faster and stronger.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “And is that scientifically proven?” 

“Nah.” He smiled, eyes glancing down at his plants as if to share an inside joke with them. “It just does.” 

“Alright, then.” You played along. “Sing me something you think I’d like.” 

Seungkwan fixes you with a longing stare. “Alright, ma’am.” He hums a tune and although you can’t catch the exact lyrics, his voice flows through your ears like orange juice and honey. 

You watched him continue his work. You fall in love. 

Seungkwan likes how you seem to glow with the setting sun behind you. You’re both sprawled out on the picnic blanket in the middle of his tangerine grove, now taller than both of you but still thin and empty of fruit.

Seungkwan tells you it takes about 4-5 years for a tangerine tree to bear fruit. You tell him you’re patient enough for the wait. 

It’s silent as you stare at the lowering horizon and Seungkwan stares at you. 

“You give nice silence.” He mumbles against your ear, pulling you closer to his chest. 

You laugh, and it reverberates through his lungs. “Thank you. You do too.” 

He basks in your presence and the tangerine trees bloom around the two of you. Seungkwan falls in love. “Y/N.” 

You hum. “Yes?” 

“I think you should move in with me.” 

“You think?” 

Seungkwan laughs at your quip, kissing your forehead and nodding. “Yes. Move in with me.” 

“Okay.” 

Both of you ignore the fact that his question sounded more like a marriage proposal than a casual thing. Both of you knew this wasn’t one bit casual at all. 

The tangerines trees are high enough to cover the sun by the time another car rolls up on you and Seungkwan’s shared driveway. 

You know who it is before they step out of the driver’s seat. There’s an unmistakable bumper sticker that is the missing piece of the one still sitting on your car. 

“I’ll be right back.” You promise Seungkwan. You trust him enough to know he won’t hold it against you.

“I’ll be out in the field.” Seungkwan presses a kiss worth a thousand words against your lips and gets up to grab his farmer’s hat. He trusts you enough to let you go. 

He knows you’d be back. He just knows. 

“Vernon. Hi.” You step out of your shared house and greet your past lover on the wrap around porch. 

Vernon looks the same as he did three years ago. “Hey. Please come home.” He cuts straight to the chase and you appreciate him for it. 

“I can’t.”

Vernon scoffs. “Do not tell me you’re actually happy here. You hate the countryside– all the dirt and grime and labour. The distance from society. You only left because I pissed you off.” 

He was right. You had hated all those things, but it felt like a previous life now. “My fiance doesn’t let me touch the dirt, or the grime. He doesn’t make me do the labour. And the distance from society is not that bad when everyone you love also lives in the countryside.” 

You pretend you don’t see the color drain from Vernon’s face. 

“I’m sorry.” You tell him, because a bit of you is. “I like my life here.” 

“And what about what we had? You liked your life then too.” 

“I left and it took you three years to come looking for me.” You counter, and he grows quiet. 

“I’m sorry. Come back home, please.” 

You think about it for a second. You allow yourself to imagine what it’d be like going back to a life with your corporate job, cooking dinner every night, waiting for Vernon to come home from his busking gig with his friends. “I can’t–” You pause, and you voice out what you really want to say. “I don’t want to.” 

You watch Vernon get back into his car and drive off. You watch until you can no longer see his confused face in the rearview mirror. You know he used to love you like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like breathing. Yet you turn and you run to your lover. 

You find him surrounded by his tangerine trees, his hands in his pockets as he mumbles the next verse of whatever poem he was currently working on in his head. And in that moment, you knew you were always meant to love a poet. Be loved by one. 

He turns and you throw yourself at him. 

Seungkwan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Hey there, pretty.” He kisses your ear as your arms wrap around him. He doesn’t speak about Vernon, but he knows. 

“I love you.” You say it because you need him to hear it. To know. 

“I know. I love you too.” 

He whispers the next line of poetry into your ear and you know you made the right choice. Seungkwan loves you like doing so was his vocation. And first loves were powerful, yes– Vernon had been your all and that vulnerability could never be replaced, yet, there was something damning about soulmates. Seungkwan sliced into your life like water, and that was a connection first love could never break.

The tangerine trees are in full bloom and yielding fruit as your four year anniversary of moving to the countryside rolls around. 

Seungkwan thanks whatever God is listening for bringing you into his life as he lays beside you, ears in tune with the rise and fall of your breath. He soaks it all in: the birds chirping outside, the warmth of your arm pressed against his, the faint twinge of tangerine still lingering on your lips. 

You look, decidedly, his. 

“You’re staring.” You comment, eyes opening to meet his. 

He hums, tracing drawings on your stomach languidly. “Just admiring.” 

You turn to look out the window, at the tangerine trees in full bloom. “Your grove was just a plot of dirt when we first met.” 

Seungkwan remembers. “It’s not just dirt anymore, is it?” 

“What was it that you told me?” You reach a hand to tousle his growing hair. “Love is for the hardworking, the tired and the calloused hands.” You open Seungkwan’s palms to face the air, admiring the rough hands of your farmer. “And that tangerine trees grow with love, patience and song.” 

Seungkwan nods. “I did say that.” 

“Forever a poet.” You muse. 

“I wasn’t really talking about tangerine trees, though.” Seungkwan smiles at your confused expression. “Relationships grow with love, patience and song too.” 

You knew then, you’d grow old and happy by the countryside, in the arms of your lover and surrounded by tangerines. For there is beauty in the simple things, and with Seungkwan, you could want nothing more. 

[scuderiahoney]

Lavender Haze

Oscar Piastri x insomniac!reader

Masterlist / Tangerine Pt 1 / Pt 1.5 / Pt 2

Summary: Oscar can’t sleep. The two of you try to find a solution. // A continuation of Tangerine

Word Count: 4.7k

a/n: well. I wrote smut. I reserve the right to delete this later if I decide it’s bad. but here you go! more tangerine verse!

Warnings: insomnia, sexual content (smut)

18+! minors do not interact! thank you

It’s a Tuesday, and Oscar hasn’t slept in nearly 48 hours. You know this because you’ve been with him for most of those 48 hours, and you also haven’t slept. That’s not that abnormal for you, but you’re unsure of how Oscar’s functioning.

He’s just finished up a meeting, and you’re wrapping up the last of your duties for the day. There’s a knock on your office door, and Lando pokes his head in with a worried look on his face.

“Hi,” he says. “Cute office. Um. I think maybe Oscar could use a ride home.”

“I’m fine,” your boyfriend calls from the hallway,

You raise your brows. Lando sighs and kicks the door open all the way. Oscar is standing behind him, leaning against the wall. His hair is fluffy and disheveled. His hands are tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie. There are dark circles under his eyes. You wince.

“Thanks, babe,” Oscar says in response to the look on your face.

“Mate, you haven’t slept in two days, of course you look like shit,” Lando teases.

“You don’t look like shit,” you say, and Oscar forces a smile. “You just look exhausted.”

He was supposed to sleep on the flight back from Brazil to England. You’d stayed awake on the plane, unable to get your brain to shut off. Between the crazy schedule of the triple header, the changes in time zones, and his overall stress, Oscar had the same problem. Then, when the two of you got to his apartment, it had been impossible for him to sleep. His internal clock is all fucked up.

“I am exhausted,” he admits, rubbing at his eyes blearily. “Dunno how you do this all the time.”

He walks into your office, eyes darting around to all the corners. There are plants on the windowsill, a photo of you and Oscar in Tokyo pinned up on the corkboard. He smiles as he sits down in the chair across from your desk. Then he reaches and grabs the unopened Red Bull off your desk.

“Osc,” you scold, as Lando makes a noise of horror. “That’s the last thing you need right now.”

“I feel like a zombie,” he says.

“Right, and zombies can’t drive, so,” Lando says, pulling a set of keys from his pocket.

Oscar’s keys. You know Lando’s right when he hands them to you over Oscar’s head, and Oscar tries to grab them, but he’s about ten seconds behind. It’s like his brain is buffering with an insane amount of lag. Your heart aches for him.

“Okay,” you say, closing the laptop. “I think Lando’s right. I think we should get you home.”

“I’m fine,” he says, again.

He goes to say something else but gets caught up in a yawn. You reach out and take the Red Bull from his hand. He sighs. You turn to Lando.

“I’ve got him,” you tell his teammate.

“Thanks,” Lando says, and then he disappears into the hallway.

You lead Oscar out of the office shortly after that. He asks to make a stop in the break room for coffee, and you refuse. At work, the two of you are pretty hands off with each other, trying to keep things professional. But this time you grab his wrist lightly and lead him out to the parking lot. You decide to take your car and leave his here- there’s no way you trust yourself driving his car.

Oscar is quiet on the way to his apartment. He sits in the passenger seat- an odd occurrence for him. He takes your free hand in his and knits your fingers together. You brush your thumb over his skin soothingly. Normally he’d be mentioning things on the road, or pestering you about your driving, but he doesn’t. You’re a bit worried, really.

You don’t push him on it until you’re in the elevator up to his place. “You’re quiet. You okay?”

He frowns. “I’m just… this is what you feel like. Constantly.”

You sigh, your shoulders dropping. He squeezes your hand. You nudge your shoulder against his.

“Not always,” you remind him. “I slept really well for a couple weeks there. And Friday night.”

“I was really hoping that sound machine would work,” he says with a huff.

“I know,” you murmur.

The elevator doors open for his floor, and he follows you to his flat and into the entryway. If you didn’t already know, you’d be able to tell how tired he is from the way he leaves his things haphazardly in the hallway. He kicks off his shoes in front of the door, drops his backpack on the floor next to them, and tosses his jacket further down the hall. When you turn and give him a look, eyebrows raised, he covers a yawn with his hand.

“You should eat dinner,” you suggest. You reach to brush your thumb against his flushed cheek. “Why don’t you hop in the shower and I’ll start making us something.”

Oscar sighs, takes a couple unsteady steps towards you. He holds his arms out as he leans, trusting you to catch him. You do, your accompanying laugh muffled into his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you and lets out a long groan.

“Or we could just go to bed,” he says, voice scratchy.

“No, you need dinner,” you insist. “And a shower.”

“What, do I stink?”

“No comment.”

Oscar laughs and pulls away. He holds you at arm’s length. “Okay. Shower, dinner, bed?”

You nod.

“What are the chances tonight?” He asks.

You sigh and shrug. “Maybe a 7?”

“Not bad,” he says. “We can work with 7.”

He’d started asking you that question shortly after you first made it official. What are the chances you can fall asleep tonight? Higher numbers are better. A one means an all nighter, likely too wound up to even sit in bed with him. A 5 means you might doze on and off, likely after he’s already fallen asleep. A ten is laying down and passing out when your head hits the pillow. None of the nights so far have been a ten.

He wanders off to go take a shower, and you head to the kitchen to raid the cupboards. You still have your own apartment, but when Oscar’s here, you stay with him pretty often. You go to the races, but often fly out on different days than him due to promo events, so the two of you take your time together when you can get it.

Luckily, he’s had groceries delivered, so there’s plenty for you to work with. You cook some pasta and heat up some garlic bread, knowing if you get him to eat anything it’ll have to be quick. Plus, warm and comforting will be good, too. You hear the shower shut off just as you’re draining the pasta. You have it all plated by the time he makes it out to the kitchen, wearing a loose pair of sweatpants and a hoodie.

He walks over and steps up behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist and presses his face to your shoulder blade, letting out a deep sigh. You laugh and reach behind you, running your fingers through his damp hair. He makes a soft, satisfied little noise.

“Food, then sleep,” you promise.

He nods and pulls away, taking the plates to the table with him. The two of you eat quietly, his foot bumping against yours. He sits with his cheek resting on his fist, slouched over the table.

“Thanks for dinner,” he mumbles. “Didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

You laugh and nudge him lightly with your elbow. “I know.”

After dinner, he convinces you to leave the dishes for tomorrow. He takes you by the hand and drags you to the bathroom, where you brush your teeth together. You do your skincare routines together, and then he drags you to bed. You change into pajamas while he lays down, already burying himself beneath the covers.

You fall into your normal routine. You sit down with a book and a little reading lamp, turning off the overhead lights and the lamp next to the bed. You lean against the headboard while he lays down, his head on the pillow, one arm wrapped around your thigh. You run your fingers through his hair absentmindedly as you read, waiting for him to fall asleep, waiting for yourself to feel drowsy.

Neither of those things happen.

You look down after two chapters. Usually Oscar’s fast asleep by now. His eyes are closed, but he keeps shifting, and his fingers are drawing patterns on the bare skin of your thigh. You brush your thumb against his cheek, and he groans.

“Can’t sleep,” he says, opening his eyes and looking up at you.

You pout down at him. “D’you want me to turn the light off? I can go in the living room if you think that’d help.”

“No, the last thing I need is for you to not be here,” he says. “Just can’t get my brain to slow down.”

You hum, frowning deeper. You pinch his cheek lightly, then smooth your thumb over the spot. He crawls closer, nudging his head against your hip and letting out a deep sigh. Then he unwinds his arms from around your leg and stretches.

“It’s no use” he says, rubbing his face harshly. “I’ve developed insomnia by osmosis.”

You laugh, rubbing his back lightly. His cheek is squished against your leg, one eye closed. The other one is staring at you. You run your fingers through the hair on the back of his head and sigh.

“I don’t think that’s how it works, babe,” you say. “Come on, there’s gotta be something that’ll help. Let’s run through all the remedies, yeah?”

You drag him back out to the kitchen and start with chamomile tea. You turn on some calming music in the background, like a lullaby but for a grown man. He drinks the tea on the couch, and you sit next to him, running your fingers through his hair. It’s the best way you know to calm him. His eyelids don’t seem to grow heavy, though, so after a while you move on to the next one- warm milk and honey.

“If it’s all drinks I’m just gonna have to pee,” he says grumpily.

He’s leaning on your shoulder in the kitchen, like he can’t hold himself up. You know the feeling- your body gets heavy and tired but your mind doesn’t. So you hold onto him and will the milk to work. Of course, it doesn’t, and then you’re back to square one.

You find some lavender essential oils, buried in the bottom of your work bag. One of the reasons you hesitate to admit you have insomnia, to even call it that, is because of things like this. Everyone tries to offer you their foolproof home remedy, like you haven’t already tried all of them. But Oscar doesn’t have full fledged, capital I Insomnia, he’s just got a messed up sleep schedule, so maybe it’ll help. You tug the neck of his shirt down to rub it on his chest, and then you add some to his wrists too.

“Smells nice,” he says, softly. He blinks. “There’s lavender in your shampoo, isn’t there? Smells familiar.”

You blink right back at him. “Yeah. There is.”

It shouldn't be surprising that he recognizes the smell of your shampoo, but somehow it is. It’s endearing, sweet to think about.

The lavender doesn’t seem to help, so you move on. He’s already tried a warm shower, so that’s checked off the list, and he’s eaten warm food too. You pull him back to the bedroom and direct him back onto the bed. He lays on his stomach, which is what you were going to have him do anyways, but you make a little noise and tell him to sit up. You sit down on the bed next to him and shove at his hoodie.

“How about a massage?” You suggest.

It doesn’t take him long to take his shirt off after that suggestion. Oscar has Kim to help him stretch and loosen up during the race weekends, so you’ve never really suggested this. You wonder why you haven’t as he lays down and sighs happily. His toned back is spread out on the bed in front of you, the tan line painting a stark difference on his skin. You want to trace the outline of every muscle, but you refrain, even as he puts his hands above his head and you watch the way his arms flex. You grab some lotion, throw your leg over his hip so you’re straddling his upper thighs, and get to work.

You’re happy to have the chance to drag your hands along every inch of his skin, and it does seem to be working. That is, if the soft sighs and groans he’s letting out mean anything, or the way he begins to melt into the bed. You rub his shoulders and see the tension drain from his upper body. You press your hands into his lower spine and feel his muscles soften underneath your hands. His breaths even out and slow down.

You lean over and press a kiss to the back of his neck and whisper, “s’it working?”

He sighs, and when he speaks his voice is low and raspy. “It’s not not working, but…”

You frown. “But?”

He pulls one hand down from over his head and reaches for your hand. He tilts his hips up and brings your hand down to press against his bulge, and you gasp. He’s hard, probably almost uncomfortably so. You cup him in your hand and listen to the strained sigh he lets out.

“I was trying not to,” he says, “because I was actually starting to get sleepy. But your hands feel so nice, and I could feel you moving, and-“ you interrupt him with a soft squeeze of your hand, and he groans loudly. “Fuck, baby.”

“I can help with that, you know,” you say, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’d be happy to. Thrilled, even. Who knows, maybe it’ll help you sleep.”

He muffles his laugh into the pillow underneath his head. When you tug at his sweatpants and slip your hand past the waistband, he groans out a “Please?”

He rolls over under you when you tell him to. You settle yourself back on his upper thighs, letting your eyes roam over his exposed chest. His eyes are half lidded- from drowsiness or arousal, you’re not sure. You run your hands up his sides smoothly. He lets out a whine.

“Please,” he sighs again.

“What do you want, baby?” You ask, pressing your thumbs into the jut of his hips.

He sighs and snuggles down into the bed. He’s laying on top of the fluffy down comforter, and he seems to sink into it. He blinks up at you and props his arm behind his head.

“I want you to be wearing less clothes,” he says, voice heavy with exhaustion. “And then I want you to ride me.”

Heat rolls down your spine. There’s something about sleepy Oscar that makes him loose lipped and eager to tell you exactly what it is he wants. You grin down at him as you fiddle with the hem of your t-shirt.

“Please,” he says again. His brows furrow into a tiny v, and his face looks strained.

You start to tug his shorts down. He sighs happily, props the other arm behind his head, too. He’s already leaking precum when he finally slips free of the confines of his clothing. You reach out, run a light fingertip up the hard line of him. He shudders underneath your touch. You lean down to press a kiss to the tip, and he yelps.

“M’not gonna last,” he says, voice already raw. “Just want you.”

It doesn’t take long, then, for you to do as he asked- lose your clothes and get on top of him. He reaches down when you straddle his waist and slips his hand between your legs, groaning when he feels how wet you are. Normally, he’d insist on giving you at least one orgasm before he even thought about getting to this point, but you know he’s exhausted and you’re aching for him already. You take his cock in your hand and guide it to your center, and his breath catches in his chest when you start to sink down on him.

You know almost immediately he’s right- he won’t last. You can feel him twitch as he bottoms out, and you watch the way his abs clench beneath you. You let out a soft moan at the feeling. His eyes are screwed shut, mouth dropped open. You could stay right here and stare at him for ages.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasps, already panting. “So good.”

When you start to move your hips, he starts to fall apart. His hands fall to hold onto your waist, thumbs pressing into your rib cage. You draw moans and groans out of him,echo them back to him, and practically drool at the way he arches his back and neck and rolls his head against the pillow. Everything feels so intense, like it’s all turned up a notch. You think he’s feeling it too. It’s the lack of sleep, you think, absently. You should pull all nighters together more often. You’ll tell him later.

Right now, you lean over to kiss him. His tongue is in your mouth almost immediately, messy and uncoordinated but hot nonetheless. You have your hands planted on either side of his head, and he starts to meet your hips with thrusts of his own. His hand slips between your legs again, thumb pressing at your clit, and you know you’re a goner. From the way he’s squirming underneath you, he is too.

You fall apart on top of him, your orgasm washing over you in sweet, warm waves, and you collapse into his chest when you feel him follow closely behind you, his hips bucking up against yours. He wraps his arms around you and holds you close. You rest your head on his heaving chest and breathe him in.

Minutes later, when you try to pull away, he wraps his arms tighter and groans. You laugh.

“Osc, I can’t stay here forever, I’m not that flexible,” you mumble. “And we should get cleaned up.”

He lets go, albeit reluctantly. When you pull away and off of him, he lets out a soft whine. You head to the bathroom, clean yourself up quickly and head back to the bedroom with a washcloth.

He’s laid out on the bed, eyes closed. “M’not asleep yet,” he mumbles. “But almost.”

You’re gentle when you clean him up, even more gentle when you tug the blankets out from under him so you can tuck both of you in. You decide clothes can be forgotten about, and you press yourself against his side. He sighs happily, wraps his arm around you, and promptly falls asleep. For once, in a strange turn of events, you follow behind him without much of a delay.

You wake up the next day in the early afternoon. You’re thankful today is a day off, meant to be a break from the insane schedule you’ve held for the last three weeks. Oscar’s off too, so even though you’re awake, you snuggle closer to him and close your eyes while you wait for him to wake up. You drift in and out of sleep, drowsy half dreams dancing behind your eyelids. It’s the kind of sleep you normally hate, but after sleeping for nearly eleven hours the night before, it’s alright.

Finally, you feel Oscar start to stir, and you know he’s fully woken up when his hand slides down your bare side, his palm landing on your hip. He sighs happily and squeezes at your skin.

“We should sleep like this more often,” he says cheekily, voice still rough with sleep.

You laugh, turning your head to look at him. His eyes are still closed. “You wanted to fall asleep inside me last night,” you say teasingly. “This seemed mild in comparison.”

“Yeah, we should revisit that sometime,” he says, pinching your hip just to hear you let out a squeak. Then he rolls towards you and wraps you up in his arms. “Good morning, love.”

“Afternoon, actually,” you mutter against his skin.

“Yeah, yeah, we needed it,” he says. “Did you sleep?”

You nod. “Passed out right after you, woke up just a little while ago.”

“Wow,” he says, in that signature tone of his. “Impressive.”

The two of you crawl out of bed eventually, heading for the shower together. He’d suggested it once in a hotel room to save time, insisting that you could both stay in bed longer if you consolidated and showered together. You’d nearly been late, but it’s become a habit since. He helps you rinse the conditioner from your hair, and you do the same for him. When you get out and wrap yourselves up in towels, he presses his nose to your hair and breathes in.

“No wonder I sleep so well when you’re here,” he says. “You’re a walking sleep remedy.”

“The lavender didn’t work on you,” you remind him.

He shrugs, dragging a towel through his wet hair. “Maybe it’s just you, then.”

You spend what’s left of the day with him, having a late lunch and then heading off for a walk in a nearby park. It’s chilly, but not unbearably so, and he holds your hand the whole way. As the sun begins to set, you head home, have a light dinner, and settle in to watch a movie. Before it’s even a quarter of the way done, Oscar starts to yawn. By the halfway point, he’s nodding off, his head on your shoulder.

You pause it. “Osc, babe, time for bed, yeah?”

He nods sleepily and curls further into you. You’re amazed by it, honestly. You don’t understand how he can be this tired already. You drag him off the couch and to the bathroom, where you both brush your teeth. Then he takes your hand and pulls you to the bed.

You know before you even lay down that you won’t be able to sleep. But you humor him anyways, because you know he falls asleep easier when you’re there. You curl up in bed with him, careful not to tangle yourself up in his limbs too much. It’ll make it easier to slip away when he falls asleep. He closes his eyes, and you run your hands through his hair and watch him fall asleep.

This is the kind of nice thing about having insomnia- you get a free pass on watching your boyfriend sleep. There’s something so endearing about it- the way any of his stress melts from his face, the soft rise and fall of his chest. His cheeks are slightly flushed, and you pull the blankets back just a little, sensing he must be warm. His hair is getting long, and it’s begun to fall in his face, so you smooth it off his forehead.

You do try to go to sleep, laying there with your eyes closed, counting sheep. But it doesn’t work, and you get antsy, your whole body buzzing with energy. So you slip out of bed as quietly as you can, leaving him behind with a soft kiss to his forehead. It almost makes you feel guilty, even though you know he understands.

You close the bedroom door and head for the living room. You put the tv on, leaving the volume low. You have specific shows that you watch when you can’t sleep. It’s not that they help, but more so that you’re watching other shows with Oscar, and you don’t want to watch without him.

You half watch the tv and half scroll on your phone. You have to be careful when you’re up this late with nothing to do- social media sucks you in, and it can be a dark spiral. You and Oscar aren’t public, in the sense that the public hasn’t figured out who you are. But they have seen pictures of Oscar with a mystery girl, and they don’t seem to like you very much. You avoid twitter at all costs.

Eventually, you get bored with your phone and reach for your book. You turn on the little lamp on the side table and start to read. Around 1am, the words begin to blur on the page. You close your eyes for just a moment, wondering if you might be able to fall asleep, telling yourself if you start to feel drowsy you’ll go back to bed. But as soon as your eyes are closed, your thoughts begin to race. You sigh and head for the kitchen.

In Oscar’s fridge, there’s a supply of tangerine Red Bulls. You’re pretty sure he got them for free, because they have Max and Checo’s faces all over them, but you’re not going to complain about it. You reach for a can and spin it in your hands, looking for the permanent marker.

Oscar understands the whole energy drink thing a bit more now, but he still worries. He’s taken to leaving you notes on the cans, because he knows you’re often reaching for them in the dead of night, when he’s asleep and unable to help quiet your mind. This one says: U SO PRETTY <3 in messy scrawl. You think Lando’s been helping him come up with them. Or Logan. You’re not sure. You smile, snap a quick picture of it, and head back to the couch. Then you settle back in for more reading.

At 2:13 am, you hear a noise from the hallway. Oscar appears in the doorway to the living room a few moments later, rubbing at his eye socket with his knuckles. His hair is in a state of complete disarray, one of the ankles of his sweatpants hiked up much farther on his calf than the other. He covers a yawn with his other hand.

“Hi, sleepyhead,” you say, softly. “It’s the middle of the night, what’re you doing up?”

He shrugs as he stumbles his way to the couch. “Woke up. Reached for you. Went, huh, not here. Came to find you.”

You laugh at his stilted sentences, and the sleep still coating his voice. He grimaces when he spots the can of Red Bull, but doesn’t say a word. Instead, he collapses onto the couch, and in the process, onto you. He lays his head on your chest and wraps his arms around you, sighing happily.

“Better,” he says. “Can I stay for a little bit?”

You laugh and kiss the top of his head. “You can stay as long as you want.”

“Mm. How ‘bout forever?” He mumbles. Before you can reply, he speaks up again. “Will you read to me?”

“Yeah,” you answer, unable to wipe the silly grin off your face. “We can go to bed if you want. Just didn’t want to wake you up.”

He shakes his head and burrows closer. “S’okay. M’comfy here. And this way you have the TV.”

So you pull a blanket off the back of the couch, lay it over him, and wrap one arm around him. You try not to think too hard about the way he meets you halfway without you ever having to ask. You open the book with one hand and trace patterns on his back with the other. You read out loud, listening to the little laughs he lets out at the dialogue.

He falls asleep before you’re through a single chapter. When you realize he’s dozed off, you lay the book on his back and listen to the soft sounds of his breathing, feel the weight of him against you and the soft puffs of air that slip over his lips. You trace the shell of his ear, the line of his jaw. You close your eyes, knowing that between the insomnia and the caffeine, you probably won’t fall asleep. But for once, your mind doesn’t begin to race. You just bask in the warmth of him, and the comfort of knowing that even in the dead of night, you’re not alone.

a/n: thanks for reading! I missed tangerine!oscar tbh

taglist : @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @ggaslyp1

[aspenous]

As an absolute sucker for A/B/O Au's I love the idea of Kim Suho getting thrown into that kind of verse.

Imagine living your life, dying (?) And waking up to the concept of alpha, beta & omegas being the norm???

Plus the number of changes he'd have to deal with in his new body (omega!Lloyd hc).

This naturally brings only trouble for Javier (ノ^o^)ノ

It turned into a ramble more than anything tbh. Don't mind that <3 if there's anything plot vise I forgot/overlooked thru this it's cause my memory is A s s)

Javier POV lowkey:

Lloyd couldn't get any weirder. To add onto his sudden change in demeanor, he'd begun to get reckless with his scent as well. A scent similar to a Clementine or Tangerine that wafts in waves whenever Lloyd is particularly pleased with himself or got his way with another contract. Its a sharp contrast to the smell of booze everyone was used to, and it more often than not left a few townsmen sputtering when they spoke with him. Javier was left to deal with this change too, except he was beside his master 24/7. When that scent would hit him full force every morning, leave his nose twitching when Lloyd gets into the rhythms of his new work and when it calms into something comforting around noon; when the days almost gone and Lloyd decides to rest.

Javier first chokes up this lack of scent control to Lloyd's cold turkey sobriety. But it's been weeks now. Almost two months and Lloyd still hasn't tried to restrain his scent. Worse, others seem to be picking up on it as well. Loitering around the young master when they get the chance, chatting it up now that Lloyd wasn't defaulting to throwing chairs and yelling. Lloyd himself doesn't seem to enjoy it either; after a few minutes of chatter his lip would start to twitch and that scent of Tangerine (it was definitely closer to tangerines than clementines) would sour. Javier learns to take that as close enough a hint to pry his master away from the crowd, spill a white lie about how he's needed elsewhere and get Lloyd some air. He tries not to be pleased about how Lloyd visibly relaxes when it's just the two of them.

"Master Lloyd–" Javier is at his wits end. He's a patient man. Strong willed and resilient when it comes to most obstacles. His Master however? His loud , arragont, obnoxious at times master being this stupid? Javier is a patient man but he's a man nonetheless. A Knight who's had to deal with his masters turbulent scent that just doesn't want to leave him alone. And worse, Lloyd turns back to him with a genuine look of confusion (as genuine as it can be). Javier ends up questioning his master through a locked face and Lloyd in response looks bewildered. "The drinking must have hit me worse than I thought" is all he gets. Javier refuses the sleeping spell that night, throws a hand over his masters mouth before he can get a word in and declares to help him control his scent again. From then on they spend an hour every night before bed going through the motions, and Lloyd (after months) finally learns to control his own scent. Javier sighs in relief, and tries not to think about how he misses that familiar tangerine scent.

Master Lloyd seems to loose his filter as well. Not when around the staff, count or contracted men he's hired no. Only when it's just the two of them, in a moment of what Javier could've hoped was peace before his master opens his mouth. "You smell like mint." he says unabashed. "I'm safe when you're here aren't I?" He laughs with no shame. "I trust you." He declares. Javier understands this is comradery of some kind. A trust and faith in him that no one else has given him before. His master is far too good at feeding that quiet voice in the back of his mind, and Javier let's him. (Alpha instincts have low standards lmao)

It's after they get back to the estate that Lloyd gets his heat. It's not hard to notice. He asks for seconds during meals, sleeps late into the mornings, speaks more with his summons than with anyone outside the estate and avoids half the staff like the plague. It's rather obvious when that overripe scent of tangerine clings to his skin and his expressions screams dazed more than anything. The count had noticed, Javier had as well, but Lloyd hadn't. Despite being days into Pre-heat, his master still drags himself out of bed and goes about the motions, despite how miserable he looks. It ends up being Javier's job (once again) to pull him aside and question him. "My what-" is all he gets before Javier realizes he has more on his plate than he expected.

(+I like to think heats can be sexual and non-sexual given the circumstances!)

His pillow is missing. Javier turns his room inside out and still can't find it. He assumes he'd left it where he last slept; Lloyd's room. When he enters said room however, he doubts he would've found it if he tried. The beds drowned in pillows and blankets. The summons are jumping around in their own world until they notice Javier and greet him with small chirps and sounds. Javier ends up smelling Lloyd coming before the door opens. Sweet Tangerine and hints of earth that hit him when the door opens. He finds his pillow then, tucked under his masters arm as if it belonged there. Javier blanks out for a moment. "Ah Javier! Great timing. I was just looking for you." Lloyd smiles. Something often quiet in Javier's gut comes to life then and there. He doesn't end up on the chair that night. Lloyd doesn't let him. Spouts nonsense about how the chair isn't comfortable and how important sleeping positions are and only shuts up when Javier relents. He ends up in Lloyd's nest, the only barrier between him and the other being his own damned pillow. He falls asleep without the sleeping spell that night.

That's it for now? That's a lie my brains rattling with more HCs but I should stop here lmao. If people like this word vomit I'll make a part 2.

[he4rts-f0r-evang3line]

i already have 3 fics in the making but i have to write this-

+ this w any spiderperson from atsv 🤭

ayo let me cook 🙏🏻

[misfitsandmusings]

[dickpuncher420]

nsfw zukka fic recs

@zukkathirst weekend may be over now, but there's still a bunch of smutty fics out there for you to enjoy! if you want to increase your odds of winning the comment contest, why not try showing a bit of love to some older works?

this is only a list of some of my personal favourites—don't be afraid to go digging around for other fics! many of these authors have multiple E-rated fics, so if you enjoyed their work, make sure to check out their profile for more (and leave some more comments! i promise they will love it)

fruity beverages by crosspin, zukkababey | 15k

Against his better judgment, Zuko covers a shift at The Prince and the Fool. Sokka makes it worth his while.

Nip It in the Bud by ranilla_bean | 15k

Zuko gets his nipples pierced for ritual purposes. Sokka needs to get his mouth on them.

hands, knees, please, tangerine by leopardfringe | 7k

Sokka has work to do. Zuko decides that he's going to help out. But as his hands start working on his pant laces, Sokka has a feeling that it's not him that Zuko is trying to help.

nosebleed by nights | 5k

Zuko's worked up after weeks of bickering with his husband, and it takes an entire assassination attempt to break the tension.

Provide by foil | 1.5k

Zuko, recovering from an assault, navigates his sexual relationship with Sokka.

blaze it by architecture_in_f1ll0ry | 9k

Zuko is stressed and overworked and Sokka knows just the solution. Unrelated, Toph keeps getting herself banned from local establishments.

Courtesan by backwheniwrotefic | 2k

“I think,” Sokka says, when it’s late and his face is pressed against Zuko’s bare chest so hard that his cheek squishes up and muffles his voice just a little. “Everyone thinks I’m your courtesan.”

Light in the Dark by Lady_of_the_Flowers | 8k

At least there were still the stars, he thought, gritting his teeth and resuming his slow walk, feet crunching unevenly in the stiff snow. At least there were still the Southern Lights to mark the way home during the black days of deepest winter. It turned out you could get used to anything, even the absence of the moon, with time.

In the Crease by beersforqueers | 3k

Sokka is an NHL goalie and Zuko is the new forward for his team.

An Improbability by HisMomoness | 8k

Sokka must have already said all this on the ride, and he’s repeating it for Zuko’s benefit. It doesn’t have the air of a rehearsed speech, though. Sokka sounds genuinely impressed.  Zuko is foolishly, recklessly, a little bit in love. 

it's too cold for you here by badgerfrog | 5k

Their shitty apartment may be cold, but Sokka and Zuko are well-versed in ways to keep warm.

heat lightning by spqr | 9k

Zuko gets drunk and sexts his roommate, and things escalate from there.

Spare Me the Glow by chronicpainzuko | 70k

Ten years after Fire Lord Iroh takes the throne and ends the war, Crown Prince Zuko travels to Republic City to have his wedding portrait painted by Sokka, a gifted artist struggling to confront his past.

[ikkaku-of-heart]

@chatcambrioleur

Ikkaku was well aware that she was being rather bold, perhaps bordering on impertenant. This was the grove of a demi-goddess, meaning that picking a piece of fruit without permission could be seen as an insult, regardless of whether or not it was meant to be disrespectful. Deities were known to be fickle and vengeful. Ikkaku's own brother was certainly the latter. But Ikkaku was generally considered one of the more generous and kind members of the pantheon. Gods and mortals alike welcomed her company due to the aid she offered.

Aid she was willing to provide this young demigoddess, should she need it. Ikkaku glanced at the tree Nami indicated. A few centuries old. A blink for a diety, but for a demigoddess living among the mortals, time was much more tangible and painful. Especially if they had mortal family or companions. Ikkaku's heart ached a bit for her.

She smiled at the compliment she was offered. She knew she was beautiful, but it was always nice to hear. Well, at least when it came from someone like Nami. Some of the other gods...well, Ikkaku would prefer they kept their eyes and words to themselves.

"Thank you. You're quite the beauty yourself. I can only imagine the amount of mortals that have made fools of themselves trying to earn your favor," she giggled. Pushing away from the tree, she returned the polite nod. "Sorry for not introducing myself. I am Ikkaku, Goddess of Guidance and Light. I am called on by those who are lost, need inspiration, or could just use a little light in the dark." It was an extensive job for a single goddess, but no matter how exhausting, Ikkaku was always there for those who called on her, consciously or not. "I hope you don't mind me stopping in unannounced. There's a lighthouse not far from here that serves as one of my temples. I was accepting tribute from some sailors I had led to safety when I noticed this orchard in the distance. I confess the magic I felt coming off of it had me curious."

Reaching into her robes, Ikkaku pulled out some of the trinkets she had been offered. Silver charms, polished tourmaline, strings of pearls, and a crystal decanter filled with blueberry wine. She held out the wine to Nami. "Care to share a drink with me? I'd love to get to know you better. Demigods are quite the rarity, after all."

She wasn't used to other worldly company. She didn't much care for it, or other deities. For the most part, she tended to mind her own, in the land of mortals; it meant not having many close companions, but she was likely better off that way. Out of nowhere, it appeared the maiden had become a magnet for the gods and goddesses, and she wasn't particularly sure she liked the attention. Especially without tribute.

This one was beautiful. Voluminous curls that bounced so gracefully as she glided through the grove, even more beautiful features. She helped herself to the fruit --- and Nami supposed she wouldn't protest, though she would demand tribute, had it been anyone else who snapped one of her precious mikans off the vine. She acknowledged the goddess with a nod, a small smile curled on her lips. It didn't help, that Nami didn't trust other deities all that much; she would be sure to mind her words around Ikkaku, and any other company of the supreme variety. Mortals were boring, mortals were predictable, but they needed her, and they were easy to please. Most importantly, they stayed away.

How long had she been here? "A while," she answered, coolly, trying to place a number on the years. The redhead stood, leaving the plants she'd been tending to, behind. Her head tilted from the mikan tree, to the tall willow providing shade just past the orchard. Its branches extended wildly, reaching for the sky. 200 or 300 years had passed, and the tree remained; Nami remained. Her mother and half-sister did not.

"--- I remember when that tree was just beginning its journey, if that answers your question." Her attention turned back to Ikkaku. Trying to place her name and her realm. "My name is Nami," she bowed her head, raising with a soft smile. "You are lovely. I hope you don't mind me asking your name."

[mrs-johnson]

“Heaven Help Me”

Priest!Tangerine x Angel!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Romance, AU

Summary: “Forgive me Father, for I have..” “….Fallen?”

Tangerine wasn’t used to divine intervention.

Sure, he’d seen some things in his past life—before he traded brass knuckles for rosary beads—but nothing prepared him for you.

It started on a Tuesday.

Rain tapping on the stained-glass windows, the old church silent aside from the creak of the confessional door. He was organizing hymnals, muttering about how “no one bloody sings anymore,” when a soft rustle behind him made him turn.

You stood there.

A woman dressed in what looked like glowing white robes, eyes wide with wonder, staring at the candles like you’d never seen fire before. There was something ethereal about you—something otherworldly. And he, a man who’d long learned to hide behind cynicism and holy verses, felt the breath knock right out of him.

He blinked. “Are you… lost?”

You tilted your head. “No. I was sent.”

He frowned. “Sent by who?”

You smiled softly, folding your hands in front of you. “God.”

⸻

You were an angel. At least, that’s what you told him.

A real one. Wings and all—though you only let him see them once, in the soft light of early morning when he found you kneeling in the garden, dew clinging to your feathers like diamonds.

Tangerine was not built for this.

He was trying to be holy, damn it. This was supposed to be a quiet life. A peaceful one. Away from the chaos, the killing, the sins of his youth.

And now he had an angel—an actual, heaven-sent angel—living in the church loft, rearranging the altar flowers and humming songs that made his chest ache.

⸻

“Why are you here?” he asked one night, as he handed you a mug of tea in the dim glow of the rectory kitchen.

Your fingers brushed his. He pretended not to flinch.

You looked thoughtful. “They said you needed help.”

He scoffed, sipping his own mug. “Don’t need help.”

You tilted your head, smiling softly. “Then why are you so lonely?”

He didn’t have an answer for that.

⸻

The worst part wasn’t that you were celestial, untouchable, impossibly good.

It was that you were kind.

You listened to his sermons with stars in your eyes, even when they were clumsy and rushed. You giggled when he got annoyed with pigeons nesting in the bell tower. You held his hand when he had nightmares of the life he’d tried so hard to forget.

You looked at him like he was still worth something.

That’s what hurt the most.

⸻

He found you in the garden again—barefoot, halo catching the last of the setting sun.

“Oi,” he called, softer than usual. “What happens if… an angel falls?”

You looked over your shoulder. “They’re not allowed to fall in love.”

His heart stuttered. “Didn’t ask that.”

You turned, smiling so sadly it cracked something in his chest. “Didn’t need to.”

⸻

He tried to keep his distance after that.

Threw himself into work. Prayer. Sermons. Anything to distract him from the sound of your laughter. The flutter of your wings. The way your lips moved when you whispered his name.

But temptation? He knew that well.

And you were a holy sin he couldn’t resist.

⸻

“I think I’m in love with you,” he muttered one night in the confessional, not even sure if you were there.

“I know,” your voice came, soft and shimmering like starlight.

He stiffened. “That’s not— It’s not right.”

You stepped into the light, kneeling before the screen. “I’m not here to judge you.”

He exhaled sharply. “Then why are you here?”

You reached through the wooden slats, brushing your fingers against his once more. “Because Heaven didn’t want you to be alone anymore.”

⸻

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t fire or lightning or damnation.

It was peace.

Like something divine had finally found a home.

[xuterboo]

Kings of Hell and your illness. Their concern is for you. Part 2 ☕💊🛌

Part 1

Beelzebub:

By some lucky chance, he still ended up in his kingdom.

You met him at the threshold of the castle and immediately sneezed. Beelzebub suspected something was wrong. You had a blush on your cheeks and walked a little sluggishly. Without saying another word, he comes over and kisses you straight on the forehead

Yes, just as he thought. Heat. Grabbing you by the shoulder, with a cheerful smile, Belzebub drags you into the castle. But he leads you not to the bedroom, but to the kitchen. .

There he sits you down at the table, and starting to cook something simple but very tasty, the King of Gluttony says that there is no better medicine in the world than food. It gives strength to the body, especially the human body. It is so? Therefore, before you rest, you need to eat nutritiously and healthy!

The food was prepared quickly. Despite the strange Hellish dishes, or at least their strange appearance for you personally, the soup turned out to be deliciously delicious. Having eaten, you began to feel lighter, and Beelzebub dragged you to the bedroom.

Placed in a random room, Beelzebub will cuddle with you while you fall asleep and actually sleep. Inhaling your scent, holding your jelly-like body in his palms, Beelzebub wants there to be more moments like this

Part of the dialogue:

Bael: Damn... Why did you promise to come today, but now you don’t answer?? Have you put your phone on silent again? I hope he didn't forget about his promise...

«He angrily walks past the open door and suddenly stops, noticing a familiar bright spot out of the corner of his eye. Walking into the room, Bael's eyebrows rise. He sees Belzebub and MC sleeping peacefully on the bed. Sighing heavily, he smiles, closing the door»

Bael: Well... I'm glad he's here

Bonus: (I can't help but add this)

«Belzebub feeds you his own soup. Straight from the spoon, like a baby. MC expresses slight dissatisfaction because of this»

Beelzebub: Okay then. Take a spoon for mom, for dad...-

Beelzebub: A. Fuck

MC: Yeah, this is very fucking funny..

Lucifer:

It’s strange that you got sick, because in the Lost Paradise they provided you with proper preventive care and tempered you, among other things. But nothing can be done.

Seeing your condition, Licifer (who is probably well versed in medicine(?) seems like he should), I immediately understood the cause of my illness and sent you to rest. Buer and Marbas take care of your health. Lucifer silently watches this on the sidelines. He trusts his loved ones, so he doesn’t worry about you.

You would listen to his stories from the past, or terrible tales of hell that would hardly be read to human children. You listen to his gentle voice. He is so wonderful that he lulls you to sleep. Lucifer, although he does not know how to properly show his emotions, but he shows it well in caring. If he didn't care, he wouldn't do all this. I wouldn’t call you affectionately “Kid”, I wouldn’t stroke your head when you were about to fall asleep, smiling slightly. Looking at your closed eyes, Lucifer is glad that you are recovering quickly.

Part of the dialogue:

«Lucifer strokes MC's head, smiling slightly. This smile is noticeable, but makes you feel inspired. Buer, standing nearby, smiles, feeling happy for his king»

Lucifer: Well... You'll hear a better story

Suddenly the door opens and Gamigin bursts into the room, holding tangerines in his hands»

Gamigin: MC, are you sick??

Buer: Shhhh!!!

Gamigin: Oh, oh.. sorry..

Belphegor:

He didn't even know that you were sick until he found out from Gusion, who accidentally turned the phrase "I have to go to MC and ask how he/she is feeling". After that, Belphegor was silent for a minute, and then, half asleep, he asked, “What about MC?”

Upon learning that you are not feeling well, Belphegor will order you to be brought to his room immediately. It was unexpected. But as you sat on his bed, Belphegor sluggishly opened his eyes. Looking at you, he blinked a couple of times, and then called you over. Suddenly he pulls you into his arms. He sits half-sitting, and you lie on his friend. Your body is burning due to the temperature, which is why his body seems so cool.

You involuntarily reach out to him and soon you fall asleep in his arms. You and him will only be there for important matters. For you, these are medicines and food and water, but for Belphegor, important political matters. The remaining time you spend almost in one position. Long rest helped you recover.

Part of the dialogue (situation):

«MC lies in an embrace with Belphegor.Harumon sat comfortably somewhere next to them. He purred quietly, creating an even warmer atmosphere. They are both drooling over their 200th dream. Beleth cannot resist taking a photo of this beautiful scene. He sends the photo to the nobility. Someone was touched, but someone (Gusion) didn’t even answer because he was working»

That's all! I went to bed because after this ton of water my brain became like jelly.

It's my opinion. Thanks for reading!