#mars.writes
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How Sweet It is to be Loved by You - LN4 x reader:
Mars’ Notes: I’ve never ever written anything like this before, but after rambling at @love-belle for a stupid amount of time, i thought why not? surprised it ended up being for lando and not charles but if this goes well i might j start writing a bit more!! anyways, i’m excited, please lmk what you think <333
Warnings: None!! super super fluffy :)
Description: Lando comes home to you, and everything is ok again.
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Lando was exhausted. He loved his job, the roaring of engines, the loud shouts that always seemed to accompany the mechanics as they made any pre-race adjustments to his Mclaren, the screams of fans in the grandstands and during fan stages, but god, sometimes all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around your waist, bury his face in your neck and never leave. You were his peace, his moment of quiet in an otherwise hectic day. He missed you, and you were his rock during race weekends. He had spent the last week wishing you were with him and cheering him on from your spot in the garage.
“Lando? You ok, mate?”
Danny’s voice broke him out of his stupor, bringing his mind back to the private jet he was currently sat in, accompanied by the older driver. Just three more hours, and you can hug her all you want, he thought to himself.
“Yeah, fine, mate. Just wondering what’s for dinner.” he said, a smile on his face.
“If you say so” comes the reply, accompanied by a bright, dimpled smile.
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After a hectic run through security and the throng of fans that were waiting diligently for him at the gate, Lando had finally made it home, his hands trembling at the prospect of finally kissing you again as he pushed his key into the lock of your shared flat.
“Lando? Is that you, my love?”
Your voice floated through the hallway, and he visibly relaxed - he was finally home, he was finally with you, and there was nowhere he’d rather be.
“Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me. Were you hoping for someone else?” he teased, seeing you emerge from your bedroom, clad only in one of his favourite Quadrant hoodies, and fluffy socks, your hair falling around your face in messy waves, silver wire-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of your nose. You padded over, soft footfalls echoing, until you were stood in front of him.
“Oh shush and hug me, you muppet.”
He closed the gap between you, and wrapped his arms around your waist, melting into you.
“God, I missed you”, he said, his voice muffled by your neck. You giggled and reached up to hug him back, carding your hands through his hair and leaving sweet kisses wherever you could reach.
“I missed you more, love. Would you mind helping me with something quickly?”, you mumbled into his hair, “I know you’re tired, and it’s been a long day, I just think my brain’s gone to mush and I can barely read what I’m writing.”
He lifted his head, and simply smiled at you, brushing his thumb against your cheek, “That’s what I’m here for, remember? Moral support and grammar police” he said, winking at you in an effort to make you laugh. You looked stressed, and he could tell you had been working away at your essay for far too long already, the pressure weighing heavily on your shoulders. “I’m assuming it’s another essay for class?”
“Mhmm, the professor decided it would be a good time to assign a stupid essay two weeks before midterms.” Your eye roll and answering nod was all it took for Lando to toe his shoes off, leaving his bags and coat by the door before he dragged you back into the bedroom, dramatically flipping into the double bed that occupied the corner, landing amongst the multitude of stuffed toys that had migrated to his side of the bed in the short time he was away.
“Right then, Ms. L/N, get your pretty arse over here and read me this essay.” he said, posing and putting on his best posh British accent, earning a laugh out of you. This was what Lando lived for, these quiet moments of domesticity where all he could hear was your laugh and he could revel in the fact that it was him, him who made you laugh and him who had the pleasure of hearing it.
You grabbed your notebook from the desk you had set up opposite the bed, claiming that you worked better when you knew Lando was close to you, and walked over to the bed, climbing in and placing his head in your lap.
A reporter had once asked him a question along the lines of “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?” He had, of course, answered with the typical “on a race track”, the answer that wouldn’t have the Mclaren PR team screaming at him post press conference, but if he really had to pick, he would say with you. Anywhere with you was where he wanted to be, but he felt so at peace here, in your bedroom, with his head on your lap and your hand in his hair, your voice soft and sweet as you read him the opening paragraphs of your midterm essay.
Lando nuzzled further into your thighs, your nails now scratching across his scalp in a way that made him feel boneless. He could feel his eyes slowly slipping closed, the warmth and comfort lulling him into a peaceful sleep.
———————-
You were three paragraphs in when you stumbled on your words, struggling to understand a sentence you’d written.
“See, that’s the sentence I really don’t get. It just sounds so chunky and I really have no idea how to make it flow more, you know? I know it needs to be technical, it is an engineering essay after all, but it just sounds so hard to read and I don’t know how to make it sound better.”
You waited for Lando to tell you that you’d made a silly grammar mistake, or that you just had to split the sentence in two to make it more digestible, but you were met with silence. Looking down at your lap, you saw Lando asleep, smile painted on his face, a hand placed on your thigh, grip tight as though he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t move.
Lando had come into your life in the most unexpected way you could have imagined - cliché, but unexpected. You’d been waiting in line at a coffee shop, needing your daily dose of caffeine before your 9AM university lecture, and he had walked straight into you, a steaming hot Americano cradled in his hands, which had eventually made quick work of staining the cream bodysuit you had chosen for the day. He’d apologised countless times, turning back to grab a stack of tissues, even going so far as to attempt to rub the stain off, but had only succeeded in making it worse. You’d simply laughed, and told him that he really should go order another coffee, before the morning rush took over. He’d stared at you, open mouthed and speechless, before stammering through an affirmative and walking away. The next 5 minutes were spent throwing glances at each other through the crowd of people occupying the store, before he broke and asked for your number, stating that he at least owed you a new shirt, and perhaps even a date? It had been natural, and felt right from the moment he picked you up at 8 the following Friday, dressed in a suit and armed with roses.
You took one last look at the essay in your hands, and made the incredibly easy decision to call it a day. You placed the stack of papers on the bedside table, shifting in order to reach, only to have Lando grip onto you tighter, a mumble of “stay” escaping his pouted lips. Your heart clenched, and you couldn’t help but coo back that you weren’t going anywhere, my love, go back to sleep. You cleared as much of the bed as you could without disturbing your boy, and leaned back into the pillows you’d stacked behind you earlier in the day, Lando nuzzling further into your stomach, whining until you bring your hand back to his curls. As you shift, Lando reaches out to wind his hands around your waist, pulling you closer even in his sleep. You smile to yourself, and turn the small lamp on the side table off - your boy was home, and everything was alright.
#f1 x reader#f1 imagines#f1 x female reader#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris au#lando norris imagines#lando norris imagine#lando norris x reader imagine#lando norris fluff#fluff#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 blurb#f1 fic#f1 fluff#mars.writes
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davey with a s/o that’s always tired? like always takes fat naps midday and hates waking up early
ty i love your work!!
(a/n: handshake handshake handshake and tysm!!!!)
character(s): david x reader
reader's pronouns: unspecified
cw: none :]]
well i mean, you know david
he wakes up at the asscrack of dawn and tries his best to go to bed before 2am
so when he sees you, knocked out in bed at like 3pm on a wednesday?
he's dragging you out (affectionately)
"you're gonna ruin your sleep schedule if you keep falling asleep during the day"
though he won't lie, coming home to see you all cozied up on the sofa??
seeing you all wrapped up in a blanket on his side of the bed, your face buried into his pillow??
it does make his heart skip a beat or two
and he loves that you practically have bedhead all the time
he thinks it suits you
but despite his simp nature, he still doesn't want you to oversleep
"over nine hours is too much, angel. if you keep up this schedule, it'll just make you more groggy during the day"
he'll make you coffee every morning to help keep you awake during the day
and at night, he'll make you some sleepytime tea and give you some melatonin to help you get more rest when you sleep
if he needs to, he'll set your alarm for the same time as his
and take you through his entire morning routine
a punishment i wouldn't wish on my greatest enemy...
but he's too soft to follow through with that
usually it'll just end up with you, asleep, being carried in his arms as he goes about getting ready for the day
"next time", he says (spoiler alert, next time ends the same way. and every time after that)
@thephantomslibrary @theodorebasmanov @cryptixmoth @sunberrybush @myanettes @oliveid @bug-likes-monsters @dangergays
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A one-shot about orla’s Gay Awakening™?
In the darkness of the room Orla shared with her cousin she felt suffocated. It was that time of the night where everything was still and silent, which left her alone with only her thoughts to occupy her. She just wanted to scream.
Her best friend had came out to the group and she noticed everyone’s initial reaction - it wasn’t good. Orla was scared because of a secret she hid deep inside, something she had denied the existence of for so long.
So I like girls? Or am I just saying this to jump on the bandwagon?
Only the first thought was true. Ever since she was a child she found herself strangely infatuated by female singers and celebrities while the thought of a boy band turned her stomach. If anything, the boys were the people she envied because they were allowed to hold these girls, kiss these girls, caress these girls, love these girls, without it being frowned upon.
Her earlier hint towards her sexuality was when she was playing in the backyard with Clare and Michelle. They were chasing each other with sticks. As she was running away from Michelle she bumped head first into Clare who was hiding behind a brick wall - their faces collided, their lips met.
“Eugh! Gross!” they both said in perfect synchronisation, because that was what was expected of them to say.
Then later, in gym class, was the worst times for Orla. She kept her head down, even hiding in the shower cubicles to change because an alien feeling came to the surface every time she was surrounded by these soft-skinned and long haired girls. The only part of them that she could consider imperfect was the bruises and grazes on their skin from the rough contact sports they’d play, but even then, it added a bit of character.
She bit her lip and pushed the feelings to the back of her mind.
I can’t be. This isn’t me. I like boys...and only boys.
Across from their school was an all boys school, when they had to head home Orla would cross paths with a few of them. She rolled her eyes at their attempts to be funny while Erin would fawn over them. Their two reactions seemed such polar opposites and nothing made sense.
“Lesbians do exist!” she said proudly as she held up the newspapers. That’s when it hit her.
Lesbians do exist. Lesbians like me. I’m not broken. There is nothing wrong with me. I’m like her. I’m the wee lesbian too.
Then it was the day where she found out her best friend had been hiding a giant secret all of her life. The bravery of Clare gave her courage to be true to herself too.
As soon as the groups friendship was repaired - by them all dancing like eejits on stage - Orla had a confession to make as well.
Firstly she dragged Clare aside, “How did you know?”
“What do you mean?”
“What made you realise you were a lesbian?”
“I’ve always known,” Clare gave her nothing.
Orla looked puzzled and tried to rephrase her question, “So like...when you saw girls you just felt something there but nothing for boys right?”
“Essentially, yeah.”
“I feel the same way.”
“What?” asked Clare.
“I feel the same way,” Orla repeated.
“Are you sure? Is this not just a bit too much of a coincidence?”
“Maybe but, you’ve made me realise that it’s okay to be open about it. I need you to believe me,” Orla seized Clare’s shoulders and shook her a little.
“Fine. I guess I’ll just have to trust you.”
Orla let go and looked towards the group that was sat outside, “Should I tell them too?”
“Give it a while, they need to come to terms with me first,” Clare advised.
They rejoined the others and Orla kept her mouth shut about her revelation as they made their way home.
A month had passed since Clare had came out to the group and Orla felt it was her time to now come clean. She gathered them all in the kitchen, while the house was empty of parent and relatives, and offered various packets of sugary sweets.
“This seems like a very formal occasion, what’s the deal?” Michelle asked.
Orla looked towards Clare as if to ask for help, Clare mouthed something to her, she completely misunderstood - lip reading wasn’t her forte. She said calmly, “I’m a lesbian.”
Erin spat out her drink. Clare let her face collide with her hand, that was not what she mouthed.
“You as well?” Michelle asked, “Jesus, is there anyone in this group that is straight?”
“I’m straight,” James inputted.
Michelle scoffed, “Yeah dream on.”
“I mean it was only a matter of time...I could have told yous all that,” Erin commented and shrugged her shoulders.
“Wait, you knew?” Orla asked.
“We grew up together, of course I knew.”
The entire atmosphere was one of acceptance. Nothing about her had changed because this was who she always was.
#mars.txt#mars.writes#derry girls#orla mccool#clare devlin#michelle mallon#erin quinn#james maguire#sorry this took so long#Anonymous
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Maxie & 39
39. — heartache
Maxie kicks her legs back and forth for a moment, trying to sift through her thoughts.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, she tries to calm her breathing; she can see her chest rising and falling.
She can feel her heart pounding, thumping against her ribcage. Her heart feels heavy in her chest, and her face is hot from holding back tears.
Breaking up with Joshua Corduroy was not meant to hurt as much as it does.
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“Maxie,” there’s a knock her bedroom door, it was her mother, “Honey, please open the door...” Concern was etched into her voice.
“I’m fine, Mom.” Her voice was quiet, it trembled.
There was a pause. Did she leave?
“You’re crying, baby...” Rosie noted, patiently waiting. “Please? Open up...”
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Tentatively drawing her fingers up to her face, it was wet.
She was crying.
She took extra care to not touch her fresh black eye. Huh, Maxie thought.
After another moment of deliberation, Maxie unlocks her door. She looks at her mother, and suddenly feels so small.
“Mom, I-”
“Shh, shh, baby, I know...” she holds her daughter close, slowly running fingers through her curls. Rosie hums quietly.
Maxie was trembling. Shortly after, Maxie was sobbing. Sobbing in a way that Rosie hadn’t heard before.
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It was heartbreaking.
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Maxie held her mother tight, as if she were keeping her alive. Maxie cried in a way she hadn’t cried in months.
“I- I-” she started, hiccuping.
“Breathe, baby... you have to breathe... in... and out. That’s it. Just breathe...”
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She breathes.
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“I loved him, Mommy...”
“I know, sweetie...”
“He hurt me. He promised he’d never hurt me!”
“I know...”
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Maxie pulls away for a moment, to look into her mother’s eyes. She knew for a fact that her mother had been through what she is, and yet... pushing her hair behind her ear,
“He hit you..? Oh, Maxie... baby, I’m so sorry...”
It was enough to make Maxie cry again, and it did. Rosie held her tight, and held her close.
She did her best,
To shield her from heartache.
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Electric Love - CL16 x reader
mars’ notes: First off, wtaf??? i’m so so so happy that you guys liked my lando blurb that much, i was half distracted and incredibly anxious when i wrote it, so the fact that so many people like it is absolutely insane to me jnfruncr - anyways, here’s a cute little (not so little) Charles fic i had bouncing around in my head :) thank you @love-belle for listening to me ramble!! please please lmk what you think, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated <333
summary: 4 times Charles almost told you he loved you, and the one time he did.
warnings: none!! super fluffy (again)
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The first time Charles almost let those three precious words slip from his lips was during an unassuming pasta date the two of you had planned. You had gone to the grocery store earlier in the day, and had remembered the old, silver unused pasta maker that was stashed in the back of yours and Charles’ kitchen cabinet, and decided that it seemed like a good day to finally teach your boyfriend how to properly cook the Italian staple. You’d come home in a flurry of excitement, bags dangling from your arms and a bright smile on your face, stating that you were going to teach him how to cook so well that he’d rival Yuki Tsunoda, teasing that maybe that way he’d be able to get Pierre over to his house for a dinner date as well. He’d smiled, grabbed the bags from your hands and set them down on the kitchen counter, before winding his arms around you and kissing you softly, telling you that he missed you and couldn’t wait.
You were too full of excitement to wait any longer, turning on the old radio in the corner of the kitchen, the sound of an old 1950s love song filling the space whilst Charles got two glasses and a bottle of red wine from the rack in the living room. Once your glasses were full and your hands had been washed, you’d dragged him over to the kitchen counter and thrust a “kiss the cook” apron into his hands, instructing him to put it on so he wouldn’t get flour all over himself. He’d asked whether you had a matching one, to which you replied that you’d done this far too many times to spill any flour and that your outfit would be ruined with it. He’d let his eye roam your figure, taking in the sweatshirt you’d stolen from him yesterday, claiming it smelt like him, along with the cute giraffe print pyjama bottoms you adored so much; your hair clipped back messily, sleeves pulled up to your elbows, and Charles swore he’d never seen anything as beautiful.
He was elbow deep in dough before he knew it, hands sticky with egg yolk and flour, the substance sticking to his skin despite how hard he was trying to pull it off. You were standing next to him, your own ball of dough perfectly rolled and kneaded, hands free of any lingering blobs of dough. A piece of hair had fallen into your face, and you’d used your shoulder to attempt to push it back behind your ear again, huffing when it returned to block your vision. Something had just felt so right - he could imagine doing this after a hectic race weekend, coming home to you making a fresh batch of pasta to go with his favourite white sauce, love songs in the background and wine glass in hand. He thought of you standing at this very kitchen counter, flour smudged on your face as you taught a mini version of you how to knead dough, and how to use the pasta machine that he knew was going to come very close to sucking in his fingers.
“Charlie? You ok, my love? Pasta isn’t that hard to make, baby, you just need more flour.”
You’d looked over to catch him staring at you, cheeks red and eyes glazed, and it took everything in him to not spit out how much he loved you. He wanted to scream it from the rooftops, post it on every social media platform, say it over and over until your heart was beating as fast as his was. He watched as you leaned over, sprinkling more flour onto his hands, and all he could do was smile.
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The second time Charles almost confessed the inner workings of his heart was during a race weekend - Spa, to be exact. Spa was a race that was heavy with memories, good and bad. Antoine’s ghost still lingered at every corner, and the cheers of the 2019 crowd still rang in his ears during his track walk. It was a weekend that stirred up a plethora of emotions, contrasting and deep, and it weighed on him. He’d made it a point to leave flowers for his friend every year, joining Pierre alongside the track when they went to pay their respects. This would be the first time you would be by his side, at your insistence. He’d told you countless times that it was he was perfectly fine with just Pierre for company, that you didn’t have to drag yourself out there with him and get soaked, but you wouldn’t back down.
“I don’t care whether it’s storming or if people are passing out from the heat, Charles Leclerc, I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not. You’ve gone through enough on your own, and I’m not letting you do it again, not while I’m here.”
He’d stood in silence, gaping at you until your expression faltered and your hands fell from their resting place on your hips. You were halfway through stammering an apology, explaining that you just didn’t want him to be going through that alone, that you were always there for him when he surged forward and kissed you, hands cradling your face.
He was so overwhelmed in that moment, thoughts of Antoine floating through his head, a tiny voice in the back of his head telling him that it could be his turn this weekend, that he’d never get to tell you how he feels. He pulled back, thumbs brushing over your delicate cheeks, lips forming the words, when suddenly,
“Charles! You have a press conference in 5! Get a move on!”
Fred’s voice broke through the bubble, and you both jumped, startled by the shout. A weight settled in his chest, Charles desperately looking back at you, hoping that what he didn’t have a chance to say was evident in his eyes. You smiled back at him as if to say “me too”, and that was the end of that.
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The third time was during family dinner. His mother had invited the two of you, along with Arthur, Lorenzo and their respective partners, over to her cosy house in Monaco for an evening meal. You had spent the last thirty minutes stressing over whether or not you looked good enough to meet “the woman who gave birth to the prince of Monaco” and thirty minutes before that stressing over which wine to take, if any. Once a good enough Chardonnay had been chosen (a 20 year old bottle you had been gifted by your boss and had deemed too fancy to just open over a plate of pasta at home), and your hair curled and make up painted to perfection, you turned to look at Charles, smiling, shooting him a “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” and he couldn’t help but laugh.
The drive to his mother’s house was fairly uneventful, with him humming along to a French song playing on the radio, one hand on the wheel and the other situated on your thigh, slipping in between the slit of cherry red, silk dress you had chosen for the occasion. The windows were down, the wind whipping through your hair, and you were smiling and singing along with him, a pretty picture of contentment.
You had calmed down by the time the two of you had reached the front door, confident enough to greet his mother with a hug and a kiss to the cheek, laughing when she said that you looked “absolutely amazing, chèrie”. You had bantered with his brothers, giving as good as you got, helped set the table and pick the music, and had even taken over Arthur’s babysitting duties, spending time playing dolls with his little nieces. Looking at how well you fit in with his family made Charles’ heart beat out of his chest. He felt a hand on his arm, and turned to see his Maman standing next to him, a light smile on her lips.
“She’s the one, my boy.” she said, and all Charles could do was nod in agreement, quietly saying the words,
“I think I love her, maman.”
Pascale simply smiled, and turned to walk back to the kitchen.
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He actually got through the first word and a half the fourth time. It seemed like whenever Charles actually got the opportunity to tell you he loved you, something or the other interrupted him, and this time was no exception. He never thought he would end up here, in a dingy club bathroom, wine stain on his brand new white shirt, and you standing by the sink laughing at him.
He had just won the Australian GP, Carlos coming in a close second, and Daniel stealing the third step of the podium. The season had started well for the team, and in natural Ferrari fashion, they had all gotten dressed up and found their way to the nearest club. Drinks flowed, partners were found and dragged to the dance floor, sweaty bodies pressed so close that it was hard to figure out who was who. He had been walking back from the bar, his and your drinks in hand, making his way back to his fellow drivers and you in a pretty black dress you’d picked out earlier in the day, when someone had bumped into him, wine spilling and staining his shirt. You’d turned at the noise that escaped his throat, an embarrassingly high-pitched squeal, and had kept a straight face for all of three seconds before you were laughing.
You’d taken the now empty glasses from his hands, set them down on the table and looped your arm through his, pulling him in the direction of the bathrooms.
“You know, now might not be the best time for a quickie, mon ètoile, my shirt is soaked.”
You had simply looked back at him, and told him that that was “even more reason to get that shirt off him”, your tone insinuating that you wouldn’t be doing anything of the sort. Once in the bathroom, the door locked and lights on, you’d beelined for the tissues, soaking them in a little water and soap before turning back to him with a determined look in your eyes. Instructing him to hold still, you’d taken to trying to scrub the stain out, armed with tissue that was on the verge of disintegrating. He knew the stain wasn’t going to budge, a voice that sounded like his mother’s telling him that he’d need hydrogen peroxide or vinegar at the very least, but he let you grip his shirt regardless, perching himself on the lip of the sink and pulling you closer to stand in between his legs. His eyes roved over your face, taking in the slight crease in between your eyebrows, and your teeth biting at your lower lip. There was something so endearing about the way you looked trying to rub something as stubborn as a wine stain out of his clothes that made him want to never let you go.
Tell her now, you idiot, who cares if you’re in a club bathroom, it’ll make for an interesting story to tell your kids later, he thought to himself.
“Ma chèrie?”, he waited for you to look up from his shirt before continuing, “I lo-“
“Charles! Did you manage to get that wine out yet? We’re waiting to order the next round of shots, mate, hurry up!”
The banging on the door, combined with his teammate’s voice, had interrupted him, the moment well and truly over. He grumbled to himself, something about never having a moment of peace, before looking up at you, nodding his head towards the direction of the door.
There was always next time.
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It had been a quiet moment, just you and him somewhere on the coast of Monaco, yacht rocking with the waves, peaceful. The day had started the way it usually did, the sun streaming into his eyes as you curled into his side, screwing your eyes shut in a vain effort to try and sleep a little longer. He’d kissed you, slow and soft, before whispering a hushed good morning, smiling when he got a sleepy mumble in response. He’d pushed himself up to lean against the headboard, with you whining as he jostled you, only quieting down when he pulled you back into the warmth of his arms. The two of you had stayed there for another half an hour, drifting in and out of consciousness before your stomach rumbled, effectively declaring that it was time to get out of bed and start working on breakfast. Charles knew you didn’t usually like to eat in the mornings, claiming that it made you feel slightly nauseous, but that you were an absolute sucker for a good cup of coffee and waffles, so he set out to make exactly that whilst you were in the shower.
It was not going well, to say the least. He’d even pulled up a waffle recipe on his phone, specifying to Google that he needed one that was beginner friendly. It had started out well, with him grabbing all the ingredients listed, even going so far as to grab the measuring cups you used when you baked the vanilla cookies he loved so much; and then he actually had to start putting everything together. He’d ended up cracking the first egg with far too much force, causing it to spill all over his hand, with slivers of the shell ending up in the bowl below. Once he had fished out the infuriatingly small pieces out of the egg mixture and added the milk, he got to work measuring out the flour, only to misjudge how heavy the bag was, and spilling it all over the counter and himself. He was stood stock still, face stuck in disbelief when you had walked in, freezing as you took in the scene unfolding in your kitchen.
“Oh, my love” was all you’d managed to get out, before you were making your way over to him, brushing your thumb across his cheek and saying “You’ve got a little something there.”
Once the breakfast disaster was cleaned, and you had taken over to make edible waffles, the two of you had migrated to the living room, curling up on the couch under your favourite fluffy blanket, armed with snacks to start a movie marathon. Sundays during summer break were reserved for snacking on salted caramel ice cream and brain-rotting romcoms, and it was tradition for you and Charles to bicker over which movie was put on first. Charles knew he would give in after the first minute of arguing, when you pulled out the big guns and flashed a sweet smile at him, and today was no different. He was glad it was no different.
The day had passed in a haze of kisses, sweet fruit and good wine. The weather was beautiful, wonderfully warm with a light breeze, and Charles had stated that it was the perfect night for a picnic under the stars on his yacht, ushering you in the direction of your room, telling you to get dressed. He grabbed a few more bottles of the wine you had been loving in the last couple of days, cutting up fruits and cubes of cheese for your impromptu picnic, before packing it all up into a small basket you could take with you. You’d come out of the bedroom in a white summer dress, and Charles felt his heart stop at the sight of you. You looked ethereal, like his own personal angel, and he told you as much, before gently taking hold of your hand and leading you to his car, picnic basket in hand.
You had been out on the water for an hour or so when you had leaned into Charles, your head resting on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his. He’d looked down at you and smiled, all dimples and warmth, before leaning down and kissing you softly, his lips just brushing over yours. You’d settled in and were sharing your second bottle of wine, looking up at the stars and talking about everything and nothing, the topic of your conversation ranging from who could find the most constellations to new recipes you wanted to try out the next time you had the chance. Charles was watching you ramble about a new cake recipe that you’d seen (or was it pie? He was hardly paying attention, too caught up in the way your eyes lit up and the way your cheeks flushed) when he just blurted it out.
“I love you.”
You had stopped midway through your sentence, words suddenly sticking to the inside your throat as you gazed up at him. He was looking at you with glazed eyes, the stars reflected in them, and panicking because what if you didn’t say it back? What if he had misread the situation so badly and had ended up ruining a perfectly good day because he couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself like-
“I love you too.”
And just like that, the breath was knocked out of his chest. You loved him. Him, Charles Leclerc, you loved him. He wanted to hear those words every single day, every morning when he woke up, every night before he went to sleep, every day for the rest of his life.
“Say it again”, he begged, needing to make sure you were really saying that you loved him, and this wasn’t just some sick, twisted dream, a figment of his imagination. You repeated it in hushed whisper, again and again, watching as the dimpled smile you had come to adore grew on his face, before pushing yourself up and kissing him again.
Yes, today had been the perfect day.
#f1 x reader#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc#f1 imagines#f1 x female reader#charles leclerc x female reader#mars.writes#charles leclerc x y/n#charles leclerc drabble#charles leclerc imagines#f1 x you#f1 fanfic#f1#f1blr#f1 imagine#f1 blurb#f1 fic#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc x you#f1 smut
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i wanna write so bad but uni is already looking so so long 😭😭 send me requests for any f1 drivers so i can write blurbs!!! i’ll write anything :p mwah love ya!!
#f1 x reader#charles leclerc x reader#f1 imagines#f1 x female reader#charles leclerc#lando norris#lando norris x reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x y/n#f1 fic#pierre gasly x reader#formula 1#f1#lando norris fanfic#max verstappen x y/n#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen fluff#mars.writes
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OK IVE GOT SEVEN (7) REQUESTS TO WRITE LETS FUCKING GO!!!!!!!!
#f1 x reader#charles leclerc x reader#f1 imagines#f1 x female reader#charles leclerc#lando norris#lando norris x reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x y/n#f1 fic#mars.writes
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david x reader except the reader always wears baggy clothes and just starts stealing his??
-anon that wears clothes that doesnt fit them LMAO
(also make sure to take breaks and i love your page :>)
(a/n: HANDSHAKE EMOJI pls ,,,, all of my clothes are are least 2x bigger than me its great. and tysm :sobs and cries: dw im Very Good at takinf breaks 😎)
character(s): david x reader
reader's pronouns: unspecified
cw: none :33
this man is so confused when he looked into his wardrobe and found like, 4 of his hoodies and sweaters missing
he’s scouring through the clean laundry trying so hard to find his clothes
eventually he looks in Your wardrobe and finds three of them and is like “... what”
the fourth is finally found when he sees you walk in
wearing one of his older hoodies, so big on you that it reaches halfway down your thighs
y'all just sorta sit and stare at eachother for a minute
he’s not even mad. he’s stunned at how,,, good you look in it???
i mean it's not too surprising to him seeing as he thinks you look amazing in everything but . he adores the way the heavy fabric completely swallows you
how the sleeves need to be rolled up, or else they’d completely engulf your hands
how you bunch it up at the bottom so it doesn’t fit like a dress
he’s very heart eyes emoji
to the point where he almost prefers you wearing his clothes to your own
seeing his mate wearing his clothes, looking so perfect and comfortable and his!!!!!
it makes his possessive and protecting nature do backflips, especially if you’re wearing them in front of other people
to him, it just screams “this is my mate. back off.”
he’s used to seeing you in baggy stuff, but it hits soooo different when it's his
he WILL be buying more hoodies to bait you into stealing them and he’ll act like he hates it
(he’s a really bad liar though. telling you to quit stealing his stuff while he can’t take his eyes off of you isn’t exactly convincing)
will actually melt when you’re both out with friends and you start showing off like “look!! this is my boyfriend’s hoodie!! isn’t it cool??”
and he’ll melt 100x more if you do that. at a pack meeting. he doesn’t even care if milo and asher tease him about it
he’s down bad in every sense
@thephantomslibrary @theodorebasmanov @cryptixmoth @sunberrybush @myanettes @oliveid @bug-likes-monsters @dangergays
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healing is a process (hurt/comfort)
(summary: hi i really wanted damien's aftershock audio to be about the freelancer taking care of him after he was injured but,,, erik hates joy and didn't give us that (/lh) so i decided as the resident damien lover that,, who else if not me?? anyways. here. also im working on reqs i swear im just stressed with a capital s rn)
character(s): damien x reader (freelancer) /pl (gavin, kody and vega vaguely mentioned)
reader's pronouns: they/them
cw: inversion, mentions of wounds/blood, trauma and minor character death
"this is bullshit."
the freelancer sighed, wringing out the warm washcloth and bringing it to damien's chest, dabbing gingerly at his wounds. "i know," they started, "but you can't do this on your own". damien's protesting groan was cut off by a hiss as he recoiled from the freelancers touch. "shit, sorry," they muttered, focused in on trying to be as gentle as possible.
"i could if i needed to," he sighed, voice strained and quiet. his eyes travelled up to theirs, which were focused and dark. they trailed over his injuries as they bit down on their lip, a habit of theirs that he'd picked up on since the two met. it hadn't been long since it happened, only three days. fifteen hundred lives lost, and countless injured- damien among them. however, his wounds weren't fatal. they were still severe, sure, but not life threatening. not really. because of this, he was healed just enough to get him stabilized and instructed to let his body do the rest. it made sense, the healers had to save their magic for those who's lives were in danger. he understood, but he hated it. they both did; damien hated being so helpless. he was trying to get more used to depending on people, and he was getting better, he really was. but not like this. he's never had to lean on someone so completely, to the point where he needed help walking. and the freelancer hated seeing their best friend like this: hurt, frustrated, grief-stricken. they wanted to take it away.
"alright," they whispered, mostly to no one in particular. they placed the bloody rag back into the bowl of now-lukewarm water and reached for the rubbing alcohol and gauze, courtesy of the healers. their eyes met his as they poured the strong scented liquid into the cotton. they were bloodshot and sunken in, his dark circles much more prominent than before. the freelancer wasn't particularly surprised by that, though. they didn't look much better themselves, especially not after the disaster. the inversion.
damien made a noise that was as close to a whine as he'd probably ever get, "do you really have to use that? you just cleaned it with the rag". the freelancer breathed out a laugh at his borderline pouting.
"yes, you know i have to," they set the bottle down. "do you want it to get infected?"
damien averted his eyes, "... no."
"didn't think so."
they brought the gauze down onto the gash in his upper chest and he let out another hiss, louder than the last and the freelancer pulled away slightly, not wanting to hurt him any more. once his muscles had relaxed, they hurriedly finished cleaning the wound and disposed of the gauze. damien let out the breath he'd been holding as the freelancer finished applying his bandages, letting himself relax back into his bed. a few moments passed before they tapped his shoulder and held a cold water bottle to his lips, the condensation dripping down their wrist and landing on his chest. cold. refreshing.
"drink," they prompted. he may get on their ass for being irresponsible when it comes to taking care of themselves, but he had to admit that they were damn good at taking care of others. he sighed to himself. of course they were, always putting their own needs on the back burner in favor of helping others. but he knew they were working on it... and he also knew that taking care of others was a coping mechanism for them. he lifted his head and propped himself up on his elbows, sipping slowly from the bottle. the cold water chilled his throat as he greedily drank and the freelancer didn't pull the bottle away until it was almost half empty. standing up slowly, they swiftly checked on his other needs. "are you hungry? you haven't eaten since this morning."
damien hesitated for a moment. "not really, but i could eat something light. i probably should". they nodded and strode out of the room, off to the kitchen. damien wasn't a messy person by any means, everything in his apartment was neat and tidy... besides his bedroom. it always looked lived in, though. little bits of damien scattered here and there that brought the place to life. it made the freelancer feel cozy, comfortable, something that took them so long to achieve at their own apartment. even at a time like this, after what happened, being here with their best friend felt oddly safe.
around twenty minutes passed before the freelancer returned, a bowl of miso soup in hand. it's one of the first meals that damien taught them how to make, he mentioned it was a comfort food of his; that his mom used to make it for him when he was sick. the look on his face as he recreated her recipe made them feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and it was one of the first times they saw him completely stress-free. that is, until they sliced their finger while chopping up the green onion. "hey," they called, shutting the door softly behind them and making their way into the room. damien slowly and carefully sat himself up, smiling softly when he caught the familiar scent of the broth. after warning him about the heat, they watched him like a hawk as he tried it. "i know it's probably not exactly how you like it but i figured it's light and something you like, i just hope it's okay-"
"it's good," he interjected, mostly into the bowl. "really good". the freelancer perked at that, the fire elemental could just imagine a tail wagging furiously behind them.
"oh- good! good, i'm... i'm really glad". they sat quietly as he ate, checking their phone and responding to gavin's worried texts. he already worried about them after the vega and kody situations, and now the inversion? was nervous with them even going over to damien's on their own. after finally reassuring him that they were, indeed, safe- they tuned back into damien who was just finishing off his bowl. "here," the freelancer held out their hand, "i'll take that back to the kitchen."
damien sighed, still not used to being waited on hand-and-foot. he let his spoon clank against the detailed porcelain as he handed over the bowl, "yeah. thanks." they nodded and scurried off to the kitchen. when he heard them turn on the sink, he flopped his body back into the plush pillows and let his eyes drift closed. no surprise to him, he saw them again. the faces of those people, screaming for help. the people the he couldn't save. he tried, he tried so hard the help them- to do something. but he failed. for the first time, his flames wouldn't manifest. at the time he needed them most, he couldn't ground himself enough. he failed, he-
"hey," his eyes snapped open at their voice, forcing him out of his thoughts. concern flooded their features when they saw his eyes, glistening with unshed tears. "hey..." they rushed to his side, lowering themselves into the chair situated next to damien's bed. they knew better than to ask if he was alright; he wasn't. none of them were. none of them had the answers right now, and probably wouldn't for a while. all the freelancer could do was be there and offer a listening ear. maybe even a shoulder to cry on.
damien closed his eyes again. no matter how hard he tried to keep them open, he was far too tired, too drained. he needed the rest, as much as he hated to admit it. after a moment, he felt the freelancer slip their hand into his and rest their head on his thigh.
"what are we gonna do?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
they squeezed his hand. "we'll take it one day at a time. your meeting with the grief counselor is coming up, right? it'll take some time but... we'll get through this together. we all will."
damien squeezed their hand back, allowing himself to relish in the comfort their presence brought him. he was miserable, nearly every thought overrun with 'what ifs' and regrets. but a piece of him believed them. believed that they would find a way to heal from this.
"thank you, freelancer."
@the-phantoms-library @theodorebasmanov @cryptixmoth @sunberrybush @myanettes @sunsable @bug-likes-monsters @dangergays
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(a/n: uhhmmm mhey!!!!! im sick rn n i gotta close reqs while i work on the ones in my inbox!!! butttt i feel rly bad abt them comin out slow sooooo heres this!!! its a very self indulgent very ooc vega scenerio that i daydream about a lot!!!! um um um @free-boundsoul i figured id tag u bc brainrot buddies :33)
character(s): vega x reader
reader's pronouns: unspecified
cw: none!!
he's never known a human like you.
you were a perfect source of energy for him, sure. you were filled to the brim with anguish– pain and fear and anger that was absolutely delectable.
but you were different. you could sense him.
not in the way that empowered humans could. you couldn't sense his aura or feel his hold on you, but you could always tell that you weren't alone. you could always sense when you were being watched.
you'd talk to the empty space, not really expecting any answers. you'd tell him about your day, that funny thing your friend said, how you felt about the weather; all without knowing that he really was listening. he found it strange that you weren't afraid. you could clearly sense his form just out of reach, sense his eyes fixed on you in the night. in his experience, most humans take issue with being watched.
"maybe i'm just crazy..." you'd chuckle to yourself, but you never stopped talking to him.
it had been nearly a year since he began feeding on you, a little over eight months since you began talking to him... and about four months since he began to get attached.
attached? attached to a pathetic human like you? it was almost laughable. the fact that he'd come to care for someone so weak- but it was the truth, whether he liked it or not.
it was late. maybe early? it depends on how you look at it, but you were still awake. you usually were at this time, trying in vain to still your mind enough to drift off. just as usual though, you gave up after a while, opting to scroll on your phone as a distraction.
"you're here, aren't you?"
he paused. should he answer? it would be a breach of covert, but he could always just modify your memory if need be. he'd be a liar if he said he had no interest in actually speaking to you. he'd spent so long watching and listening that he knows nearly everything about your life. he knows about your job, that one coworker that never fails to get on your nerves, your favorite foods, your day-to-day schedule- hell, you've even told him about your family.
but he wanted to know you. he wanted to know you firsthand, not just as an outsider.
yes. i am here. i have been for a while now.
they jolted at the sudden voice in their head. it was one that they'd never heard before, yet it was somehow familiar. you should be afraid. you should be running, calling a friend, calling an exorcist or something.
but you were calm. and you were glad.
"so you finally decide to respond, huh? took you long enough."
vega laughed. it was deep and smooth and it echoed in every crevice of your mind. it was strange. but it wasn't unpleasant.
yes, i suppose it did. you'll have to forgive me, darling. i've been idle for too long, it seems.
now it was your turn to laugh. it was softer, quieter than vega's. but he found it captivating all the same.
you seem surprisingly placid, all things considered. i figured you'd be more unnerved? perhaps even scared?
"scared?" another small chuckle escaped your lips. "why on earth would i be scared?"
well, he started, humans aren't usually amenable to... supernatural beings in their homes.
"ah. well, what can i say?" you shrugged, rolling onto your back and gazing up at the ceiling. "i'm just grateful for the company, i guess." vega didn't respond to that, instead opting to sit in a moment of comfortable silence.
"so... are you gonna show yourself?" you teased, sitting up in your bed, "or are you just gonna let me keep talking to thin air?"
vega hesitated a moment before taking a breath. are you sure you want that, human? are you even prepared for the horrors that await you once my physical form is visible?
"ha ha, very funny. if you're so scary, why haven't you tried putting it to good use, hm?"
another laugh filled your senses. if you insist.
little by little, a cloud of black smoke began to appear in front of you, swirling around from every corner of the room. after a moment, it began to materialize into a form; a man. he was tall- way taller than he should be with two dark horns that made him look just that much taller and he had eyes that seemed to burn holes in your very being. he was intimidating and his presence was powerful.
but he wasn't scary.
"hey there, stranger."
stranger? vega asked, mock hurt spreading across his pointed features. i'd hardly call us strangers after all this time.
you moved closer to him, straining your neck to see his face in the dark room. "you forget that i've gone this whole time without even knowing you were real, right?"
vega mirrored your movements, taking a step closer to you. he had no need to strain in order to see you, though; as tall as he is, all he needs is to look down. but you always spoke to me. you told me everything.
"everything," you started, "is a bit of a stretch. plus, i was always the one doing the talking, never the other way around." you poked a finger to his chest. "from my perspective, you're a complete stranger standing in my bedroom who happens to know a suspicious amount of my personal life."
the demon hummed a response, bringing a hand up to trace along your jaw as a sinister smile spread across his face. even in the darkened room, his pearly teeth seemed to shine, definitely sharper than they should be...
would you like me to help you change that?
@the-phantoms-library @theodorebasmanov @cryptixmoth @sunberrybush @myanettes @sunsable @bug-likes-monsters @dangergays
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Could you do Gavin seeing the freelancer in his clothes for the first time 👀 (if not that’s a Ok)
(a/n: hehehwhbehwhehehe more excuse to write gavin heneheheheheeehe ty anon ily)
character(s): gavin x reader (freelancer)
reader's pronouns: they/them
cw: none!!
no one would be able to tell from the outside, but his heart is beating out of his chest
seeing his deviant emerge from the bathroom after a long shower, wearing one of his hoodies
if he wasn't so good at keeping his composure, he'd be down for the count
instead, he opts to shower them with a million compliments and teasing phrases
"oh? look at you, deviant. looking positively radiant, as per usual."
he can't keep his hands off them, caressing and tugging at the fabric, deftly slipping under just a bit
he didn't know how much he'd like the sight
but now he cannot get enough
from that moment on, he's leaving loads of his clothes around theirs as a subtle way of asking them to wear it
and he's absolutely deadset on taking them out somewhere or having their friends over while they wear his clothes
the thought of other people seeing them wearing his shirts and sweaters – really anything of his – makes his underlying possessive nature go wild
half of him wants to show them off as a silent "they're mine"
the other half just wants to keep them all to himself and offer up hundereds of compliments
in the end though, he finds a way to carve out time for both
safe to say he loves it
@thephantomslibrary @theodorebasmanov @cryptixmoth @sunberrybush @myanettes @oliveid @bug-likes-monsters @dangergays
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can I request some sam fluff pls :)
(a/n: yes ofc :)))
character(s): sam x reader (darlin')
reader's pronouns: they/them
cw: none :]
sam wasn't physically warm. he couldn't be, he wasn't alive. the blood that had once circulated through his body to keep his heart pumping had been replaced, as was his natural warmth. but as he held them close, darlin' could swear he felt even warmer– even safer than anyone they've met before.
"you fallin' asleep on me, sweetness? movie's hardly halfway through," his words were teasing, but his tone was soft and sweet. it usually was in times like this; quiet times where it was just them, curled up under a blanket in front of a low-volume movie.
"mmh... no," darlin' whined, burying themself farther into sam's neck, shifting to look at the screen again. "i'm awake, just tired."
they could hear the vampire huff above them, no doubt readying himself to spend the rest of the night on the couch. this was usually the way it went on movie nights– the stubborn wolf would swear up and down that they weren't falling asleep, then they'd be out cold in the next twenty minutes.
"if you say so," sam grunted as he adjusted their positions, him laying across the couch with darlin' on top of him, their head still in his chest. "'s this okay?"
darlin' hummed in approval, the sound coming out soft and tired. hearing it, sam couldn't help a smile from working its way across his mouth as he ran his fingers through his wolf's hair, the rest of the world fading away.
"g'night darlin'," he whispered into the crown of their head. "sleep well."
@thephantomslibrary @theodorebasmanov @cryptixmoth @sunberrybush @myanettes @oliveid @bug-likes-monsters @dangergays
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can i ask for david with a s/o who is like really stronk and can take down someone twice their size, idk i think people who can do that are attracted but it’s prolly cause i have noodle arms-
have a good day!
(a/n: hevevrveh yes absolutely also 🤝🤝🤝 strong ppl....... god pls marry me. and u too! i hope u have a lovely day!!!)
character(s): david x reader, asher appearance
reader's pronouns: unspecified
cw: none!
well that was not expected.
but god, he was not complaining.
the pack regularly roughhoused, it wasn't a new occurance by any means. normally started by asher, shoves and lighthearted jeers often turned into full-on brawls just for fun.
what was a new occurance, though, was that you were involved.
it was obvious asher was taking it easy on you– but with the way david must have been staring daggers into him, it wasn't surprising. the pack often underestimated you due to your size and sweet attitude, which only made it even more fun to prove them wrong.
a right hook from asher was swiftly dodged, and in a moment he was launched over your shoulder and landed with a groan on the carpeted floor.
"holy– holy shit!?" the wolf exclaimed as he hit the ground, his and david's eyes both as wide as saucers. asher wasn't a very buff guy but he was tall and watching you take him down with such ease filled david with some sort of shocked pride.
and something else?
as he watched you flex your, usually concealed, muscle on the dumbfounded asher, his mind began to wander.
could you take him down that easy?
... would that really be so bad?
@thephantomslibrary @theodorebasmanov @cryptixmoth @sunberrybush @myanettes @oliveid @bug-likes-monsters @dangergays
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Could you maybe do Gavin or David with an S/o that cosplays or something similar to that
(a/n: gavin would let u make a cosplay for him so you could do a couples cosplay. u cant change my mind)
character(s): david and gavin x reader
reader's pronouns: unspecified
cw: none
gavin
he's infatuated bro
he may not be one for changing his appearance
but he has so much respect for the people who can, especially if they do it without using magic
he thinks it's so very impressive that you can practically pass as any character you want, just with a bit of practice and makeup
and he adores your creativity
if you tell him about your cosplay plans ahead of time, he will absolutely binge whatever media the character is from before you finish the project
that way he can fully appreciate all the work you put in!
he also lets you use him as a wig mannequin
he doesn't mind if it makes him look silly, he wants to help you
and he's not really great with crafting; most of his experience coming from small projects with caelum
david
he wants to help!!!!
if you make your own cosplays from scratch, please please please let him help you with sewing
he's actually so very good at it and he finds it really relaxing too!
and if it's helping you with one of your hobbies? he's more than ready to lend a hand
he loves to listen to you ramble about whatever character you're cosplaying next, even if he's never heard of them
he doesn't add many comments or ask many questions, but please trust that he's listening
and you KNOW he's going to buy you whatever you need for any project
if you let him, of course
after listening to you complain about how expensive your hobby is, he's practically offering up his bank info
sugar daddy david ftw
@the-phantoms-library @theodorebasmanov @cryptixmoth @sunberrybush @myanettes @oliveid @bug-likes-monsters @dangergays
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shaw pack mate with tattoos (sun themed type tattoos and positive quotes and cute doodles on the left arm, moon themed tattoos some more cute doodles and quotes on right arm they can be full sleeves or scattered) when you have the chance take care of yourself!
(a/n: ofc!! and im sorry this took so long ;;;;)
character(s): david, asher and milo x reader
reader's pronouns: unspecified
cw: mentions of trypanophobia (fear of needles) in milo's segment
david
this dude loves tattoos idc
and even more than that, he loves the way they look on you
he's got a couple of his own– a crescent moon on his wrist and gabe's birthday on his shoulder blade
if you're still interested in getting more, he'll want to come with you and watch
not because he doesn't think you can handle the pain, of course
he just wants to keep you company
he really really likes your moon-themed ones
they make him feel like the two of you were somehow tied together, even before you met
"i don't mean like soulmates, you snot. i just mean like– god, i don't know. i just think it's cool, okay?"
character development i guess!
asher
ohhh he thinks they're so badass
he love love loves tracing them while he holds you
(and kissing them)
he's very interested in the reasons why you chose those quotes/doodles
if there even are any reasons
he thinks they're just as cool even if you got them "just because"
he's seen them a million times now, but he always inspects them like it's the first time he'd ever noticed
and if you're open to getting more, he'd absolutely adore having marching tattoos with you
he's always wanted one, but he never knew what to get
but with the idea of matching one with you, suddenly he's sketching up a bunch of cute possibilities
milo
they make him so squeamish oh goodness
don't get me wrong, he thinks they look really great on you
how could they not? its you. everything looks great on you
but he is so afraid of needles
so even the thought of you getting them– and so many??
he nearly fainted the first time you showed him
for the same reason, he has never even entertained the possibility of a THOUGHT of getting a tattoo for himself
but he loves how they just factor into your uniqueness
like asher, he really likes kissing them
(but mostly because he's nervous that they still hurt and will not listen when you tell him they don't)
@thephantomslibrary @theodorebasmanov @cryptixmoth @sunberrybush @myanettes @oliveid @bug-likes-monsters @dangergays
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"in your arms, i will find solace"
david x reader
reader's pronouns: they/them
cw: big ol' description of a panic attack and bad work experiences, fluffy ending though :)
today was not a great day.
days at work usually weren't perfect, but you could get through them without too many complaints.
but not today. today, it seemed like everything that could have 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 gone wrong for you, did.
to start off, you forgot that david didn't have work today, so his alarm clock didn't go off to wake you up on time. which means you were late. not terribly late, but still late enough to warrant a stern talking-to from your boss.
then, once you finally got into the office, one of the new interns ran into you holding the higher-ups coffee orders, spilling it all over your shirt and probably giving you first- or maybe second degree burns. but you didn't even have time to think about the pain spread across your chest as your coworkers informed you that one of your main servers were down. meaning you had even more manual work to do.
and on top of everything, there was an asshole client who just never seemed to shut up. after trying to reason with her about the server outage causing customer service to be slower than usual, she stormed out while spewing a mix of curses and just nonesense babbling.
plus, the roads were bad. and it was too hot.
so safe to say, today was not good.
no, scratch that. today was shit.
but now you were home. you announced your presence to the still house before finding a post-it note on the kitchen counter.
'gone to get groceries. be home soon.
xo, d'
okay. you could work with this. he'd be home soon. in the meantime, all you could do was try to relax. after changing out of your work clothes, genius struck.
tea! tea is a good idea. david buys lots of different blends that are supposed to help with stress and such. you hadn't tried any yet, but you figure now would be a pretty good time. you could turn this day around! and this oatstraw-lavender-chamomile tea would be the first step to that.
but the universe seemed to have other plans.
your mug was on the floor. shattered to pieces. your 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 mug. the mug david bought you for your birthday with the tiny cat paws on it. it was broken.
it was 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯. you broke it.
you tried to pick up the pieces with your now-trembling hands, cutting a finger on one of the sharper edges.
too much. too much had happened today. this on top of everything was far too much. you looked around the kitchen for the broom, but you stopped in your tracks. everything felt so loud all of a sudden. the sound of the neighbor's dogs barking, the sound of someone mowing their lawn. the sound of the mug crashing. breaking.
it all rang in your ears, echoing through your head. you could barely hear your own thoughts over all the noise. mixed with the pounding of a newly-forming headache.
𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥.
your legs gave out as you slid down onto the floor, curling into yourself. you tried scraping at the cut in your finger in attempts to ground yourself. that just made it worse, though.
it was shattered.
not just the mug. your entire being felt like it was breaking into a million little pieces as your heart dropped into your stomach.
it was just a mug. you could always get another one. why were you reacting like this?
"is it really that serious?" you thought.
but you couldn't help it. you were at your limit for today, and this broken mug just sent you over the edge. you couldn't breathe. your lungs felt like they were being pumped full of air. like they were going to pop any second.
you covered your ears and buried your face in your sweater. it was all you could do in this situation. getting up was out of the question, and trying to ground yourself didn't seem to help any. so there you sat.
—
you don't know how long you were sitting there. it could have been minutes... or hours. it didn't matter. all you knew was that there was a hand on your shoulder.
no. no no no that was too much. too much.
"get 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦."
"okay. i'm sorry."
your head snapped up. even through your tear-blurred vision, you could tell. it was david. david was home.
"davey?"
𝘥𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘺.
"it's me, angel. it's me. you're okay."
you took a moment to register his presence, then pointed at the mess on the floor, still desperately trying to catch your breath.
you spoke quietly, though it came out horse and scratchy, "i, um. i broke the mug. the one you got me for my birthday. i'm sorry. i'm really sorry. i didn't mean to! i was just not paying close attention and it slipped out of my hand..." you trailed off.
his eyes, however, fall on your trembling frame. you were trying to ground yourself, he could see; you right hand squeezing and rolling the fabric of your sweater. it wasn't working.
"angel, look at me?"
you complied. with the tears in your eyes threatening to spill over you looked at him.
"i'm gonna shift, okay? we can just sit here for a bit and calm down. is that okay?"
you nodded after a moment of hesitation and averted your gaze as he started stripping. before you knew it, a wet nose was nudging into the back of your hand. you turned back to face him and you could feel the corners of your mouth raise a bit as you saw his tail swishing against the counter. you never expected to find such comfort in such a large dog, but since he isn't actually a dog, it made more sense.
as you uncurled your body, he curled up in between your legs and rested his head on your chest. he was like a supersized weighted blanket. but ten times better since he was softer. and your boyfriend, of course. your hands instantly found his fur as you buried your face into it. he always called you a 'walking furnace' but in this moment, the roles felt reversed. your body felt so cold, contrasting with how warm his fur was against your cheek. you felt at ease for the first time today as you felt yourself drift off.
david had guessed that you would fall asleep quickly. you always did after you calmed down following instances like this. after checking to make sure you were out, he slowly removed himself from your chest and returned to his human form. quietly, he swept you off the ground and carried you to your shared bedroom. setting you gently on the bed, he pulled the covers over you and planted a soft kiss on your forehead.
"sleep well, angel." he whispered, careful not to wake you. "i'm proud of you for making it through today."
deciding to let you rest, he moved to the kitchen to clean up the broken mug. a part of him was glad that you valued his gift so much, but he wished you didn't have to go through that whole fiasco because of it. after making a mental note to buy a replacement, he threw away the porcelain shards and started on dinner.
hearing him work in the kitchen stirred you from your slumber, but you didn't move. you wanted to bask in the warmth a little longer.
maybe the day wasn't so great, but with the help of your lover, it seemed like it would be a good night, after all.
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