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scuderiahoney · 5 months

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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

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 fanfic #f1 oneshot #f1 fanfic #Oscar piastri oneshot #pls be gentle I am tired #honeywrites #op81 #Oscar piastri #tangerine!verse

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luvring · 1 year

Text

WEDDING MOMENTS

gn!reader | kuroo, bokuto, akaashi, hinata, atsumu, osamu, ushijima hello everyone i'm back 🫶 these are more reception moments than wedding but y'know. give me a break man...

KUROO leans in and whispers in your ear as you dance, “is it bad i want to go home and just lie in bed with you now?” “why are you whispering as if someone can hear you?” you snicker back. tetsurou shoots you a cheeky smile. “so it looks like i’m saying something romantic.” you hit his shoulder, and he only laughs before pulling you into a tight hug. you wait for him to let go before replying. “idiot. but no, it isn’t. my back and feet hurt.” he hums, and you can feel his fingers tapping your back. “do you think it’s possible for newly weds to sneak out of their own wedding reception?”

BOKUTO is walking down the aisle again as everyone disperses to talk or get ready for the reception. you walk up to him, curiosity piqued as he bends down. “what are you doing?” “huh?” he drops a few petals that he was clutching. “crap—hi, baby. i’m just, uh, picking up some of the flowers to take with us. i saw someone do it online, and i thought we could press them or put them somewhere,” he explains softly, as if a little embarrassed. your heart flutters at the thought, and you smile before reaching down yourself. “we better get some flowers, then. and a ziploc bag or something.”

AKAASHI relaxes and rests his head against yours while you watch your guests mingling and dancing. you reach for his hand and intertwine fingers. “you okay?” he nods in response and presses a chaste kiss to your jaw. “yeah, i can finally calm down and not worry about something terrible happening.” “mm, something terrible could still happen.” “love of my life, can you please give your husband a break?” keiji blows air against your skin, eliciting a laugh from you. his tone is light, and you can feel him smiling even while you apologize.

HINATA takes one of the polaroid cameras that you got for the guests. you watch as he poses and takes a picture of himself before handing it to you. “do you want me to take a selfie?” he nods with a grin. “yeah! and also sign it so i can put it in my wallet, or maybe the back of my phone?” his sentence ends as a question to himself. you get your phone so you can check your appearance before mimicking your now husband’s pose. “sho, i swear if mine is bad i want a redo,” you say. he sputters as he looks at his forming photo. “well that’s good because i definitely screwed mine up. i’m like half in the frame.”

ATSUMU’s knee bounces as the video of your relationship the both of you got done nears its end. you shoot him a look, but he doesn’t seem to notice, gaze fixed on the scene. that’s when you hear a familiar voice, but unfamiliar clip start to play. “it’s, fuck, what day is it? november 13, and i’m pretty sure i need t’look for an engagement ring,” your now husband says into the camera. you gape, shock evident across your face. atsumu’s voice is soft as he says your name. “i love you, really. and if you’re seeing this then i didn’t fuck this up, and you decided to marry me, and i’m probably ‘bout to have a heart attack,” he nervously laughs. you turn to atsumu next to you, whose face is flushed red. “don’t look at me, the video isn’t done yet.”

OSAMU keeps holding your hand, and if he isn’t holding it he’s probably thinking of doing so. you don’t mind, finding comfort in the way he rubs the back of it. you’re sitting together when he silently reaches for it again. “i’m pretty sure you’ve held my hand more today than this entire week.” osamu rolls his eyes but smiles. you stare as he gently takes hold of your ring and fidgets with it. “sorry, can’t stop thinkin’ about how we’re actually married now.” you stare at each other, and he rests his chin in his palm. with his other hand, he brings yours up to press gentle kisses against the ring and your skin. “just another excuse to stay close t’you.”

USHIJIMA looks over when you poke his shoulder, and quickly realizes you’re trying to feed him some cake. “say ahh,” you sing song. it’s a half-joke, and you don’t fully expect him to accept, but he leans forward and opens his mouth, hand underneath the fork to catch any crumbs. despite his serious expression and stature, you can't help but think he looks cute. “i know we picked this flavour, but does it taste good?” you ask. wakatoshi nods. “it was a good choice.” he gets a forkful for who you assume is himself. but instead he lifts it toward you. “do you want to try now?”

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @dimslover @kuroaka @vampyrkookie @sunaslay @the-midnightskies @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @scill-a @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia @mitskiologist

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #hinata x reader #atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #ushijima x reader #kuroo tetsuro #bokuto kotaro #akaashi keiji #hinata shoyo #miya atsumu #miya osamu #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu multi chara posts u mean the world 2 me #when no one has my back...i know u do.. can i get an amen ?!

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swordsandholly · 1 month

Text

Steel Magnolia

Part 1

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!plus size!reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Mature/MDNI

Word Count: 2.1k

Author’s Note: I just recently got back into fandom spaces and reading fanfic again and looooove the uptick in fat Y/N characters. Ofc as a big girl myself I wanted to try my hand at writing one too.

Hopefully I’ll post this on AO3 soon. Whenever I get my invite so I can make an acc.

“Oh! Darlin’, did ya see those boys next door?” Mrs. Duprey gasps as you swipe the last of her Bubble Bath OPI polish across her fingers.

“Next door?” You cock an eyebrow. “No one’s been next door since Adam and Eve.”

“I saw them on the way in!” She grins, the corners of her eyes wrinkling pleasantly. “Strappin’ young men - y’should talk t’ ‘em.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure I will sooner or later, ma’am.”

“You’ve been single too long.” The nosey old bat contributes. As much as you love her she truly cannot leave well enough alone.

“And I’m perfectly content as such.” You give her your warmest smile.

The trailer home across from you has remained empty for as long as you can remember. It’s well kept - sometimes you see random gardeners mowing or going in an out with tool bags - but no one lives there permanently. You’d think in a beach town it would at least belong to some snowbirds. A timeshare, maybe. It’s none of those things, though. Just a well-maintained, perfectly empty husk.

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, probably.

Sure enough, as you walk Mrs. Duprey out of your little single wide trailer, you spot a black SUV parked out front of the neighboring double wide. One that is definitely *not* a repair man or worker’s vehicle. She coos at you to make sure to talk to them before waddling off to her own car. She really shouldn’t be driving at her age. You wonder briefly - futilly- if she’d sell you her car in exchange for rides.

You suppose she’s right - even if it is for the wrong reasons. You’re not particularly interested in flirting with the new neighbors. After all, don’t fuck where you eat is a saying for a reason, but it wouldn’t exactly be neighborly to not introduce yourself. Especially with all the people coming and going from your home for your nail tech services. The old Yankee’s catty-cornered from you still believe that you're a drug dealer. At least they only come down for a couple months of the year.

Despite your staunch decision not to flirt, you still find yourself adjusting your clothes. Maybe the sports bra as a top is a bit much…

Fuck it. If they live here now they’ll see you in worse.

You fix your lipstick and throw on your platform sandals. The ones that clip-clop as you walk. Maybe it will help announce your presence.

The screen door wraps quietly as you knock. You take two steps back on the front, wooden porch so as not to come off too aggressively. As the seconds tick by you debate on knocking again. Maybe they’re out. Or busy. They did just move in today, most likely. Maybe you should-

The door creaks slightly as it opens. A very, painfully handsome man pushes the screen door until it clicks in place. “Afternoon, lassie.”

You blink stupidly as he crosses his strong arms and leans on the doorframe. His eyes are a striking shade of blue - somehow both sharp and soft. His dark hair is shaped into a slightly grown-out, un-styled mohawk. It fits him oddly enough.

“I, uh,” you take a deep breath. Christ you need to get laid if just *looking* at a hot guy has you this off kilter. “I live across the way. Just wanted t’ say welcome t’ tha neighborhood.”

That lopsided smile on his face grows into a grin. You don’t miss the way his eyes catch on your chest. “Aye? Nice tae meet ye. Names John MacTavish. M’friends call me Johnny.”

He gives your hand an extra little squeeze after shaking it. That accent might as well have you on the floor. You continue to blink dumbly, watching the at the scar on his chin stretches as he speaks.

Christ almighty, you’re pathetic.

“Nice to meet’ya.” You give him a warm smile, tilting your head to the side slightly. “Ya’ll here for vacation? We don’t get many Europeans ‘round here.”

He chuckles. It’s low and rumbling and would probably feel wonderful with your ear pressed to his chest. “Little bit o’ business, little bit o’ pleasure. This an’ tha’.”

“Hello, there.” Another man pops up from behind Johnny suddenly. Fucking hell, he’s gorgeous too. Older, for sure, with a uniquely cut beard that would probably look rather silly on anyone less handsome. At it stands, he manages to make it appear dignified.

“Ah, jus’ about tae call fer ye, Cap. This is our neighbor.” Johnny gestures toward you.

“John Price.” The man steps forward to shake your hand. It’s firm and professional and thank god your grandad made you practice a good handshake as a kid or you’d be painfully embarrassed.

“Are all UK men named John or is this just some sorta cult?” You blurt, unable to stop yourself from snickering at them.

Older John chuckles at you fondly, his facial hair giving him a pleasant U-shaped smile. “Be easier to remember that way, wouldn’t it? No, we’re with two others. Kyle and Simon. They’re out at the moment.”

“Kyle and Simon.” You repeat, nodding. Johnny, John, Kyle, Simon. “Are y’all in town long?”

“Indefinitely.” Is all Price gives you. It’s a tone that even someone as dense as you can recognize as ‘don’t ask more.’

You clap your hands together and smile a little wider, ready to make your exit. “Well, I’m not here t’be a bother, just wanted t’ welcome ya and, uh, let y’know that I have a lot of people over throughout the day - I’m a nail tech. They shouldn’t bother ya but y’know.”

“Ye can come bother us anytime, bonnie.” The Scot hits you with that grin again and your face suddenly feels far too hot.

A loud, whining screech sounds off from down the road. You check your watch. Holy shit, three-thirty already. You begin to back off the porch. “Ah, nice t’ meet ya again! See ya ’round!”

As you jog down the little dirt road of the trailer park another black car passes you. It’s smaller, a sedan. You make very brief eye contact with a blonde wearing a surgical mask and another man with the sharpest golden eyes you’ve ever seen - even through the tint of the window.

*Kyle and Simon,* you think.

You make a mental note to greet them at some point and continue down the street. The school bus slowly stops at the entrance and you take up your spot in the small crowd of parents. IT’s a shabby old bus - chipping paint and break pads that sounds like they’re about ready to snap. It’s all they’re willing to send out to your little section of the city, though.

Shelby meanders over in your direction, her usual Camel Crush lit up in one hand and the other teasing her already well-lifted hair. “Afternoon. Saw there was some new folks across from ya.”

“Hm?” You keep your eyes on the bus. “Ah, yeah. Just vacationers, I think.”

“Lookers, though.” She chuckles.

“They’re from the UK.” You offer.

“No shit!” Shelby stamps out her cigarette as the bus doors open. “Accent and all?”

“Yep.” You grin.

Shelby tsks and fiddles with her hair again. “I best go over an’ make myself known, then.”

“There’s an older fella with a neat beard. Think you’d like ‘em.” You snicker.

She hums. “I’ll bring a pie.”

The children practically burst out of the bus doors, as always. Ready to be home and shuck off their backpacks to their respective adult. Shelby’s son almost knocks her over, offering a little “Good afternoon, ma’am!” to you before heading off with his mother.

You nod to him, shoving a hand in your pocket as you wait for yours. She’s always the last. Always caught up in a book or something and doesn’t realize it’s time to get off of the bus. Sure enough, the driver has to call back to her before the little girl comes dashing out. She jumps off of the bus steps, despite being told time and time again not to, and kicks a rock on her way toward you.

You bow low for her. “Welcome home, Lady Sophie.”

She giggles, dark curls bouncing as she skips over. “Ni-ni!”

You take her bag from her. The thing really does dwarf the poor six year old. Her hand slips into yours easily. Soft and round and somehow always so much warmer than yours.

“My nail color chipped!” She announces, holding up her ring finger on the opposite hand.

“Oh! Now we can’t have that. I’ll fix it tonight.” You smile, waving at old Mr.Chester as the two of you pass.

“Well now!” He calls. “How blessed am I to see two such lovely ladies!”

You both giggle, continuing on your way. He’s a good landlord - spotted you more than a few times when Sophie was a baby and you couldn’t work consistently. Honestly, as you look around, the little community that he’s managed to build in this shitty corner of the world should be praised. Housing just enough snowbirds to cover his property costs while keeping rent low for the full time locals. Maybe you could convince Natalie at the paper to run a little story on it or something.

As you pull up to your own home, the blonde man is outside leaning on the front of their double wide. Seeing him standing at full height makes your blood run cold. The man is built like a damn barn - tall and wide. Beyond solid. *Brick shithouse*. It’s a bit weird that he’s covered in clothing head to toe but whatever. Weirder things have happened before. The mask still covers his face, you wonder if he had taken it off before you came up or just flipped it up to smoke.

“Sophie, head on in. I’ll catch up.” You push her toward the door. She scampers in, the screen door slamming behind her as you march up to the brick shithouse of a man in front of you.

“Which are ya? Kyle or Simon?” You smile, holding out your hand to shake.

Dark eyes rake over you, stopping briefly on your hand, before moving back to meet yours. He stomps out the half smoked cigarette. “Simon.”

You let your hand drop. Bit rude, this one. “Nice t meetcha.”

The other man pops his head out of the trailer. Kyle, you assume. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hi.” You smile as warmly as you can, giving your name. “I’m assumin’ yer Kyle.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I’m guessing you’re the neighbor Price mentioned.”

You nod, about to speak again but Simon shoves past you, marching his way up the steps. “Let’s go.” He grunts, pushing the other man back into the trailer despite his protests.

You wrinkle your nose at him. What an asshole.

“Who’s tha’?” Sophie asks over the back of the old, worn couch as you let the trailer door slam behind you.

“New neighbors.” You say simply, glancing out the window. “Don’t go over there without me, yeah?”

“Okay!” She agrees, sitting back on the couch and bouncing, beginning her usual post school chant. “Bluey! Bluey! Bluey!”

You drop her backpack down beside the small coffee table. “After yer homework.”

“Nooo!” She pouts.

“Then no Bluey.”

Sophie pouts harder but crawls down in front of the coffee table and pulls out her little work sheets. At least the school doesn’t over run them too terribly with homework toward the end of the year. You glance at the calendar. Wednesday, May 22nd. Damn, she really only has about a week left. Though, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to this summer break with her. She’s old enough now that you can take her places like the arcade without having to wait on her so much. You’ll actually be able to play some of the two-player games.

Plus, this year, you actually have a little more pocket change to make it fun.

You turn to look out the window once more at the new neighbors. Their curtains remain closed, cars neatly parked out front. The door opens slowly, the hot Scot and rude blonde wander to the Sedan. Simon’s shoulders shake at something Johnny said - you think he’s laughing but its hard to tell with that mask. Johnny’s head turns, blue eyes meeting yours through the shitty glass windows of your trailer. You squeak and duck to sit next to Sophie, praying that he didn’t catch you staring.

#simon x reader #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #fanfic #call of duty #plus size reader #fat reader #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 #holly writes

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f1byjessie · 4 months

Text

HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81.

love is a wild ride, and logan sargeant's sister is about to find this out the hard way.

( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )

━━ part six.

Oscar looks as surprised as you feel— eyes wide, mouth parted slightly, frozen mid-step into the entryway. He’s staring at you, in fact, he’s focused entirely on you, but this moment doesn’t feel as magical as you had envisioned it would be. It doesn’t feel magical at all.

There’s no butterflies in your stomach, no teary reunion hugs, and there’s definitely no movie-worthy kiss.

He looks like a deer in the headlights, caught somewhere between wanting to turn tail and run away or being swallowed up by the floorboards— anything to be anywhere else in the world than right here with you.

And it hurts.

“Y/N,” he finally starts, clearing his throat when his voice cracks awkwardly on your name. He shifts from foot to foot, and clenches and unclenches his hands at his side like he isn’t quite sure what to do with them. “I, uh, didn’t know you would be here.”

You open your mouth to respond— to say the same. You want to explain that you hadn’t known he would be here either, and that had you known you would’ve waited up for him at the house instead of hitting the town with Lando, but before you can get a single word out Oscar is already turning to Lando and fixing him with a glare.

“You said you were at a meeting,” he says, words clipped and under-toned with frustration.

Lando steps further into his entryway and kicks off his shoes, not seeming to care about where they end up. “Technically,” he begins as he does so, peering over his shoulder at Oscar with a cheeky grin, “a dinner can be considered a meeting.”

Oscar’s jaw clenches. “You didn’t tell me it would be with her.”

Your brows furrow and you cross your arms. You feel startlingly sober now, and the shift away from the warm fuzzy buzz leaves you feeling cold and like the world has been brought into hyperfocus.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, bringing Oscar’s attention back to you.

He takes in your stance and the expression on your face, perhaps realizing how his words sounded, and sighs. “I just would’ve appreciated being told I’d be sharing the house with… with you before I got here.”

“So you could avoid me like you have been since the season ended?” It… isn’t what you had been intending to say, but the words rush out of you before you can reign them in and bite them back. You know Oscar isn’t the only party at fault in this situation— you know that you could’ve just as easily reached out— but you feel hurt and angry, and having him stand before you demanding to know things makes it worse.

He huffs and looks away from you, avoiding your gaze. “I would’ve liked to have known I’d be third-wheeling, is all.”

It’s a bitter comment, muttered just loud enough for you to hear. The implications are valid, you know they are, but they’re not true despite what your and Lando’s comment interactions seem like.

You don’t feel so confident in your dress anymore— it feels like just another thing Oscar could comment about as proof of the unprofessionalism of your friendship with Lando. You want to scream at him that it doesn’t matter that you got dressed up to feel pretty, and it certainly doesn’t matter that you had a night on the town with Lando, who has been more of a friend to you in the past month than Oscar has been.

You can feel the tears burning at the back of your eyes, and wonder briefly how possible it would be to get a flight back to the States in the morning so you don’t have to spend the rest of the week stuck being made to feel like you’re just getting in the way of Oscar’s time with his teammate.

As if he can tell you’re on the verge of breaking out into sobs, Lando steps in physically and verbally. He takes a step in front of you, partially blocking you from Oscar’s view. “Mate,” he starts, “cool it. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, it was meant to be a surprise. But Y/N isn’t at fault. She didn’t know either.”

Oscar goes to speak again, but before he can you clear your throat and draw their attention to you once more. “I’m gonna go upstairs and get changed. Thank you for tonight again, Lando. It was nice and I really needed it.”

You give Lando a curt nod, one that he mirrors back at you with a sympathetic smile. You feel bad for dragging him into all of this now, especially when he’d gone out of his way to have you both here presumably to get you to figure things out. You hadn’t meant for things to put a strain on their friendship as well. So much of what you’d done had been done so to avoid more complications. You’d tried not to tell Logan, because you hadn’t wanted it to threaten his closeness with Oscar, especially with how rough it had been for him to make friends on the grid. On top of that, you’d been hesitant to agree to Lando’s plan in the first place for a multitude of reasons, but mostly because he and Oscar are teammates, and though they’re rivals out on the track they are also the only allies they have when the race is going. They need to be able to trust one another— not be distracted by petty disagreements.

You avoid looking at Oscar, like he seemed keen on doing to you just a moment ago, and slip past both of them to the stairs. It’s hard to get up them as fast as you want with your heels, but you manage as best you can and are thankful for it when the tears stinging your eyes finally begin sliding down your cheeks as you’re fumbling with the door knob of your room.

A few hours later, you’re curled up in bed on the phone with Logan. You’ve been changed out of your dress for a while, now clad in a T-shirt that you’re pretty sure belonged to Dalton at one point and a pair of comfortable sweats. Your hair is still damp from the shower you took and it’s making you cold, but the warm steam had done wonders in keeping your eyes from puffing up after having a good cry and in getting rid of the tear-stricken remains of your makeup, so you can’t complain.

Mostly you just want to forget about it all, and that’s why you’ve gone to your brother.

“I just feel like an idiot,” you tell him. “All of this is my fault. If I had just never gone along with trying to make him jealous then maybe he wouldn’t be so upset with me.”

Logan makes a sound of disagreement. “That still doesn’t give him the right to talk to you like that.”

“He wasn’t wrong, Logie,” you answer. “As far as he knows, he would be third-wheeling me and Lando because that’s the impression we’ve given with our comments.”

He huffs and you can imagine him shaking his head and rolling his eyes on the other end, looking disgruntled. “Maybe that’s the impression you gave,” he starts again, “but that still doesn’t give him the right to be an asshole about it. I never got pissy with Alex when I was basically a third wheel to him and Lily half the time.”

“Yeah, but Alex isn’t using Lily to try and make you jealous so you’ll admit you have feelings for him.”

“Fair point,” he admits, grumbling. “But I digress. You’re my sister and that means you could kill a man and I would still defend you to anyone who tried to talk bad about you.”

You chuckle, and it’s the first time you’ve laughed since your encounter with Oscar which makes you feel a bit lighter.

“I think I might try to find a flight home tomorrow. I feel like I’ll just be causing more issues if I stay here, and I don’t want to make things difficult between them when they’re still driving together next season. I just don’t—” There’s a knock on your door. You relay it to Logan as you rise from the bed and make your way over to answer.

It’s Oscar.

You murmur a soft apology and then a goodbye to Logan and promise to text him later before you hang up and turn your attention back to the young man shifting around awkwardly in the hallway before you.

“Can I help you?”

He purses his lips and sheepishly meets your eyes, looking somewhat guilty which makes you wonder what, if anything, Lando said to him after you departed. “Lando said the other guest room is out of commission,” he starts, “and that, as friends, it wouldn’t be a big deal if we shared.” He clears his throat, and motions with a thumb over his shoulder back in the direction of the stairs. “I can take the couch if you want, but I just thought I could at least leave my luggage up here.”

The Oscar before you now looks drastically different from the Oscar you’d been presented with just a few hours prior. He’s dressed the same, in a loose hoodie and a pair of joggers, but he doesn’t look quite so desperate to disappear anymore. He looks ashamed. It’s closer to how you know Oscar to be from before everything happened in Bahrain.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you tell him.

He frowns. “I’m not gonna make you sleep on the couch.”

You raise an eyebrow at him and lean against the door. “I meant we could share, Oscar.” Then, partly teasing and partly wondering if he just genuinely doesn’t want to share a room with you, you frown and add, “Unless you really can’t stand the idea that much—”

“I’m fine with sharing.” He interrupts quickly, clearing his throat. “And… I’m sorry about the things I said earlier. I am happy to see you, I was just shocked is all and traveling made me a bit cranky so I didn’t handle it all that well. It’s not an excuse, though. And for the record, I don’t actually think I’ll be third-wheeling the entire time I’m here.”

The apology makes you pause. You hadn’t actually expected him to say anything because you hadn’t actually thought he was the one in the wrong. Sure, you’d been hurt, but you’d figured it was the least of what you deserved after making things so complicated. The butterflies that had been dormant when you’d first reunited with him suddenly make an appearance, fluttering in your chest.

“It’s fine,” you answer. Ignoring the pinched look he shoots you that says he wants to argue against it. “I know what it looked like,” you add.

You’re both silent for a moment, just looking at one another. His luggage sits by his feet, but he makes no move to grab it or try to enter the room, and you don’t try to open the door any further.

After another few seconds, you take a deep breath and ask— “Are we still friends?”

“Of course!” He exclaims, expression immediately melting into a mixture of confusion and concern. “Why would you think we aren’t?”

It’s obvious to you, but his genuine perplexity makes you wonder if maybe you’ve been overthinking this whole thing. What if he hasn’t been ignoring you at all? What if he just went off the grid for a bit? Drivers do that all the time, so it’s not out of place if he had decided to do so as well. Maybe he was just taking a social media detox? He only posted a few times, so a partial detox then?

You cast your gaze downward, watching your fingers fiddle with the drawstring of your pants.

“You would’ve known I was here in Monaco if you had looked at my Instagram,” you say with a shrug. “But you haven’t done that in a while, so…”

He shifts, and you look up just in time to see him make another face— a wince. “I—”

“I’m not trying to attack you, Oscar.” You interrupt, realizing how your words must’ve come across. And you’re not. It’s not an accusation, just an observation that you would really like an explanation for. “It doesn’t matter. I just feel like I’ve done something to make you upset and I don’t know the first thing about how to apologize or make it up to you because I don’t even know what I did.”

He stares at you for another moment and then heaves a sigh and runs a hand down his face, “You haven’t done anything, I promise, Y/N. I’ve just been in a funk lately, or something.”

You want to prod more— ask if he’s okay, if it’s something serious, or if it’s something you can help with in any way. But you feel like this particular interaction is an olive branch, and you don’t want the already tentative reconciliation to be torn to shreds by pushing too far.

“So we’re good?” You ask instead.

“We’re good.” He confirms with a gentle smile.

“Great,” you exclaim, clapping your hands together for emphasis. You swing the door open wider and then nod to his bags. “Then bring those in and turn the lights out already because I had a crazy night and it’s finally hitting me.”

His laughter behind you as you make your way back to the bed is the nicest sound you’ve ever heard.

━━ tags: @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry @aquangxl @bellezaycafe @peqch-pie @formulaal @chonkybonky @mess-is-my-aesthetic @flippingmyshit @peachiicherries

━━ a/n: a tentative reconciliation! there is still more drama to come, however, so don't worry, this isn't the end just yet!

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #logan sargeant #alex albon #lando norris #social media au

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xxblairexxss · 8 months

Text

Who are you p.3

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Fluff

Word count : 2.2k

Part 1 Part 2

Is the country’s gem boy turning into your knight in shining armour? Was it a coincidence or on purpose?

I wasn’t really sure about this one but at least it’s something for the Charles’s girls after what happened last night. Anyway, CarLando healed my broken heart! 🥹🥰

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"What do you want?!"

"I accidentally called you." Charles laughed, propping his chin on hand with the good angle of you rushing to get your makeup. "Wait, don’t end the call. I would like to see."

"There’s nothing interesting to see here." The pointy finger that was a second away from the end call button was drawn back as the phone was propped against your dressing mirror while you went back to your makeup to not argue any longer because you only had 40 minutes left to get ready.

"I would like to see if you would make it on time to work." He gave a smile when you glared while your hands went to clip your hair back. "You look pretty, though."

"I haven’t done my makeup yet." Your gaze went back to the camera when he didn’t say anything, only to find him staring—more like gawking at you with a silly-looking smile.

"Still pretty. I like how you do your hair."

The morning was silence; no podcast from Linda regarding her ex-boyfriend because you didn’t know how, but the gem boy is staying on the video call with you, not so discreetly staring at you like a creep.

"Do you.." His voice came, halting the silence contest.

"Do you always get ready in silence? Like completely mute? You always had something to say. Even when I accidentally hit you, your mouth was still moving nonstop." He saw you scowl and shrug before continuing his words. "Gotta keep on reminding you I didn’t hit you on purpose."

"Do you always drive fast? Because, you know, you drive fast cars for a living." You asked the question you had been wanting to ask ever since you knew he was a Formula 1 driver, thinking this could be the perfect time to ask the question since he didn’t look like he had anything to say other than looking at you. The foundation brush was pulled back a little so you could look at him.

"Not really. Sometimes, yeah, but I know my limit. Why?"

"I have this one colleague who loves to—sorry." The sparkle in your eyes was gone when you saw him looking away, seemingly distracted or unbothered with your attempt to talk.

"No, sorry. I always have trouble ripping this off. Finish the story. What happened to your colleague?" The newly opened protein bar in his hand was half gone as he took a bite.

"My colleague, he—" The coral blush in your hand made a soft thud sound against the dressing table as you burst out laughing.

"Yeah, that’s funny." His sarcastic laugh pulled you back to your senses as you went back to the blush, no longer in the mood to talk.

"Okay, okay! I’m sorry. But let me join you laugh! What happened to your colleague?" Another chunk of the protein bar was bitten off as he fixed his way of sitting, eyes still on you.

Though it was early in the morning and he had no obligation to wake up this early, he was listening to every story of yours, laughing whenever you laughed and smiling when he found you got carried away with your emotions. It was adorable to him.

"Are you going somewhere?" You asked, and the cap of the MAC lipstick was closed back as you pressed your lips together.

"Me? Nah, I’m going back to sleep after this." Charles replied, his eyes going back to the second protein bar.

"Am I keeping you up? I’m almost done." You stood up, getting your files, bag, and phone still in hand as you headed out of the house. "You can go back to sleep!"

"Do you have any plans tonight?" His voice came again through your phone speaker while you put on your heels.

"Yeah! I’m going out." The key pass was slipped into the bag as you headed to the elevator.

"With who?"

"My colleagues! They asked me to join them for a night out. It’s my first night out with them." After months of moving here, you would have thought you would get at least one friend from being born loquacious, but the language barrier set a limit to your friendliness.

"Where?" Charles asked.

It felt like being interrogated by your parents. The questions sounded like they were subtly wrapped in worry, but you were pretty sure he asked because he wasn’t expecting you to have friends. "Tch, it’s not your problem."

"Y/N, where?" His stern voice cut you off from your bantering mood.

"Jimmy’z! Got to go. Bye!"

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"Y/N! How will you go home?" You turned back, a little lightheaded from going over your limit today.

"Me? I’m going to walk! It’s not that far." You giggled, having been fully influenced by the alcohol.

"See you next week!"

"Bye!" You had your hand cave around your lips as you shouted back before waving to your colleagues before a soft thud from your back pulled your eyes away. "Oh, my bag." You mumbled, bending down to get your handbag that slipped off your arm, and let out another giggle.

There wasn’t anyone else in the street. The light barely shined bright enough to light your way. The time on your phone stated it was 15 minutes past midnight. It was a little scary for you to still be out here in a foreign country with a language you could barely speak at this hour, but at least you wouldn’t bump into strangers on your way home.

"Hey!"

You stopped, frowning, but still kept your gaze straight.

"You! The girl in the dark blue dress!"

The black-coloured sedan stopped by the side of the ride, moving a little as it copied your pace. "Me? Oh, hello!"

"Where are you going?" The window was rolled down as he peered from inside the car.

"I’m going home!"

"Do you want me to send you home?" The car was still left on, but he had hopped off and strode all the way to approach you.

"Oh, it’s okay! I can go home myself." His grip on your arm stunned you a little, but you were too drunk to fight back.

"I live nearby. It’s okay. Let me send you home."

"Oh, you live nearby?" He nodded to the question, which made you squeal in delight. "Okay, sure!"

The guy wasted no time and helped you get into the car while you kept on swaying, leaning against his body. You excitedly got in the car, thinking you were so lucky to not have to walk all the way home, when you realised your bag had fallen off, left at the side of the road where you were standing earlier.

"Wait, my bag." Groaning, you pushed the body that was hugging you earlier just so you could pick it up, but someone snatched it quicker than you. "Oh? It’s my bag! Give it back! Give it back, asshole!"

"I know! I know, it’s your bag, Y/N! Geez." Charles winced, and his free hand went to grab your wrist to stop you from hitting his chest.

"Charles Leclerc? Wait, you knew her?"

Charles switched his gaze from you in his arms to the guy who was standing at the car earlier. The guy who made him run like a crazy guy. Long gone was the smug on the face that he saw earlier, the guy be looking surprised to see him there.

"She actually came with me, so I’m taking her home." He replied, remaining calm with a smile while you leaned on him, mumbling whatever words he could barely hear.

"I thought she came alone; I was going to send her home. I’ll get going then." Charles saw it in the way he clenched his fist as he walked back into the car. Frustrated, probably, but he was too stressed to say anything because at least you were safe. No cut, no scratch.

"You scared me to death, Y/N." He heaved a sigh, eyes shut, while he tightened his grip on you. You had stopped punching, hitting him as he gave the handbag away, so he knew you might be falling asleep, more positive from your calm wave of breathing. His heart was still beating like crazy, too scared to imagine what would happen if he didn’t choose to go with his gut feelings tonight.

"I’m sleepy.." You whined, mustering every strength to push yourself away from the embrace so you could make your way home.

"I know. I know, Y/N. Let’s get you home." He spared no chance and picked you up as you leaned your head on his shoulder. It was a good thing there weren’t many cars or people on the road at this hour. Not that he didn’t want to be seen with you. In fact, he was actually happy to see candid pictures of you and him taken by the fans being uploaded on the Internet, but if it were at this hour, it would have caused everything but something beneficial, knowing very well you were here for an internship. He didn’t want to ruin anything involving your career or reputation.

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He jumped back when you sat up as soon as he put you on the bed. It was a good thing he managed to find your access card in the bag, or else he would have no other option than to bring you back to his apartment, and he was pretty sure if he did that, he might wake up the next morning barely alive because he wasn’t sure if you would remember what happened, and if you didn’t, he didn’t think he would have enough time to explain before your fist landed on his eye.

"Y/N, where are you going?" He grabbed your arm as you stood up, your head still too heavy for you to walk straight.

"My makeup!" You stumbled your way to the bathroom while the driver followed behind. His grip on your arm still stayed, though it went loose once you leaned your body against the sink.

He laughed, flipping open the packaging where it stored your makeup removed pad after seeing you struggling with it, and leaned against the sink, his arms folded as he looked at you in the eyes.

"Stop looking at me!"

"I have eyes. What am I supposed to do with it other than staring and judging people?" The driver leaned closer, now with a smirk plastered on his face as he saw you getting flustered.

"Okay, but I don’t need you to judge me right now."

"You are red." You took a step back when he moved his face even closer.

"I always get hot when I’m drunk." The cotton pad in hand was thrown into the small bin as you pushed him aside so you could wash your face.

"No. I don’t think so. I think you are red because you like me." He shrugged, and before you could walk out of the bathroom, he pulled you back by your waist, making you crash back into his body.

"Let me go! And I don’t like you. Maybe a little, but not much." The smirking face that was staring at you intensely with his arms around your waist made your knees weak. You would have dropped down on your knees here on the cold floor if he hadn’t held you up.

"Don’t do me like that anymore, Y/N. I’m serious."

You were going to step away from his embrace, but his words and his shift of tone snatched your full attention. "Do you what, driver?"

"Don’t scare me like that." The truth was, he didn’t have any other plans tonight. He was supposed to be in his apartment, playing truck simulator with George, but something in his heart kept on whispering, forcing him to head to Jimmy'z, and when he got there, he saw a guy tugging on your shoulders with a smug face that told him he had no other intention than to take advantage of your state. He nearly tripped; his face nearly fell straight on the path as he saw you getting in the car without any second thoughts, with a freaking smile on your pretty face, but thank God, your handbag slipped off your arm the last second before the car door closed. He didn’t know what he would do or how far he would go if he had to chase after you in the stranger’s car.

"Did I scare you?" You blinked, unable to grasp what he was trying to say.

"A lot. I kept on thinking about what would happen if I was a second late." His gaze on the bathroom floor was brought up to yours, and he ended up smiling after seeing your clueless expression.

"Would a hug help?" You were a little lost, actually, because you were so sure you didn’t do anything. Except for being blessed meeting someone who offered to send you home for free, but he looked fully disturbed by that, so you extended your arms, offering a hug.

"Yeah. A hug from you would help a lot." He brought his body closer, engulfing you in his arms, where he finally let his wall down. Charles brought one hand on the back of your hair, stroking it while he dipped his face on your neck, smiling when he felt the soft pat on his back from your hand.

"Thank you for taking me home." You mumbled against his shirt before breaking the hug.

"I’ll call you tomorrow. Get enough rest. I would like to hear your annoying little chatter about your first night out with your colleagues." He sent a reminder before taking his jacket back and heading out of the apartment. You were expecting a smirk and a cocky look on his face from earlier, but as he turned back, looking at you, you saw a smile. A genuine one that tugged at the strings of your heart.

✧.* tag list for p.3 @styles-sunflower @needtokeepfeelingsincheck @lexiecamposv @formulas-bitch

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagines #charles leclerc #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc fluff

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carolmunson · 1 year

Note

you would write the “hold me in their lap with a vibrator and ask questions” post as an eddie fic soooooooo well

thanks bestie 🥺 infact, here ya go. ft. switch!eddie. tw: small small small daddy kink.

he really hadn’t meant to turn it into a game. but you were soooo grumpy when you got home and you couldn’t find the words to explain it. slamming things, throwing your coat on the desk when you got in. you didn't even give him a kiss hello at first and when you did it was barely a peck.

‘i’m tired, ed, it’s fine — just, i wanna relax,’ you huff, ‘get off my back.’

he just wanted to make you feel better. cozied up on the bed with the tv on, he pulls you into his lap, letting you fall between his legs while he presses his thumbs to your shoulder blades. you immediately sink into the feeling of his strong hands kneading your shoulders and his heart swells — eddie ‘eager to please’ munson.

‘that feels really nice, baby,’ you mumble. his swollen heart thumps in his chest, flushing at the praise.

‘thank you,’ he replies softly, ‘c-can i um..’

‘hm?’ you ask, rolling your shoulders into his hands. the questioning hum was slightly clipped.

‘can i touch you somewhere else, miss? i promise you’ll feel nice when i do it there, too,’ he stammers out. you chuckle, low in your belly.

‘sure baby,’ you nod, still looking at the tv, ‘you can touch me there.’ 'you're so good, asking for permission,' you coo. eddie's boxer briefs tighten against his skin, filthy girl he thinks to himself. he'd been under you for the past two weeks, wrists bound to the bed with cuffs, tied up to the kitchen chair with his own bandana. edged and over stimulated, sucked and fucked, 'yes ma'am, yes ma'am, yes ma'am' for days on end.

his hand trails down slow between your thighs, you aren't wet yet which is discouraging. he brings his fingers back up with his mouth, coating them with spit while he free hand cups under the flesh of your thigh to spread your legs further and pull your panties to the side.

at the second touch, he feels the soft bounce of your hips in front of him, your quiet little gasp. 'that's good, miss?' he asks, your back pressing up against his chest. you let out a shaky breath.

'yeah...um, yes. yes baby,' you correct your voices posture quickly. but he caught it, that soft whine to start. he smirks.

'you don't gotta be so tough tonight, y'know,' he reminds you, ' pads of his fingers swirling deftly over your clit. a quiet 'mmm!' leaves your lips and he chuckles. 'why don't you tell me about your bad day, miss?' he asks, voice light and still laced with subservience. a soft 'schlick' starts to sound from under the threadbare blanket while you get wetter for him under his touch.

'well i um...' you start, voice lilting slightly. 'yeah?' he encourages, voice dipping slightly lower. 'everything when...unh, wrong,' you continue, one of his fingers dipping down to your entrance, circling it slowly. 'what went wrong, miss?' he asked again, voice dropping even lower, his register vibrating against your back. 'at work i...oh,' you sigh, hips circling in time with him while one of his fingers pulses knuckle deep inside of you. it's his turn to chuckle now, deep in his belly. he takes his fingers away and you try your hardest not to whine at the loss. he reaches into your side table for your wand, always kind to the both of you, setting it to a medium setting before running it along your inner thigh.

'maybe this will get you talking, hm?' he asks softly, chin hooking over your shoulder in the crook of your neck. you can smell his aftershave and feel the smooth slide of his chin against you, lips brushing your cheek when he speaks. you don't stop him, eyes already heavy lidded while his voice takes you over and the steady thrum of the vibrator on your thigh holds you hostage.

'take your panties off for me, miss,' he instructs gently, still calling you miss to not pull you all the way out of your control just yet. you needed to hold onto it until he knew you felt safe to let it go. your panties come off slowly, dropped off the side of the bed without care. he opens your legs again, fingers skimming your slit before settling the head of the wand over your lips.

'oh, oh my god,' you whine, hips shimmying away a little, but you only end up pressed closer between eddie with the toy closing in on you.

'what happened at work, angel?' he asks, free hand tucking the hair closer to him behind your back. the veins on his forearm raise as he presses the toy up a level. angel was one step down.

'assistant answered a...oh shit, oh my god...phishing sc-scam," you pant out, your hand finding his wrist. 'oh, that's awful honey. then what happened?' honey, middle of the road. he clicks the toy up another level, the buzz starting to fill the room. 'lunch g-got sto-stole...stolennnnnnmmmmm,' you groan back, orgasm starting to creep up on you, your grip on eddie's wrist tightening. 'poor thing,' he tutts, gliding the toy up and down your slick folds before rubbing it slow circles against your clit. your breath quickens and you spread your legs wider for him, whimpers pouring from your mouth. 'and then what, baby?' he asks, faux concern drenching his words. baby. he's slowly taking it from you, fire burns in his chest while you let him. '...and then what?' he bites.

'i...unh, mmm, i -- fuck -- i..." you babble out, unable to concentrate on the happenings of the day. maybe it wasn't so bad if you couldn't remember it. if getting this close to cumming would make you forget. maybe it wasn't such an awful day. maybe you were just doing too much and your boyfriend knows better, so you do this instead. he knows so much better than you, that's why he makes you feel so good.

you sigh, 'fuck, please more.' 'what a filthy mouth, princess,' he murmurs as a warning, a stern smack to your inner thigh making you jolt. princess. you're all his now, sunk completely against his chest, hips writhing below him. 'sorry, sir,' you cry out. 'that's not how you ask for more, baby,' he warns again, 'how do you ask me for more?'

white starts to build behind your eyes and you can't answer, thighs quaking while your orgasm overtakes you. it's silent but powerful, your grip on eddie's wrist tightening, only making him turn up the wand while your legs snap shut around him.

'how do you ask me for more?' he repeats.

'd-daddy, please,' you whine, 'please more.'

'that's a good girl,' he coos, voice deep and demanding, 'look at you, knowing your place so quickly. daddy's so impressed.'

he's more impressed with you, if he's being honest. but you didn't get to tell him all about your bad day until this next morning.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut

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wearyeyebrow · 1 year

Text

Worthy In Blue

Summary: You’ve been working on a little surprise project for Lucifer involving navy blue rope and a mahogany chair. You know Lucifer has a penchant for ropework, so what if you gave him an evening to put those skills, and your own, to good use?

Tags under the cut.

Tags: submissive lucifer, dominant MC, rope, restraints, MC is in rope, Lucifer is restrained, pegging, cunnilingus, gn MC, afab MC, mutual possessiveness, romance, established relationship, pre-nightbringer

Tonight is the long awaited Grimte Banquet where all the noble houses gather. Relationships are maintained, new ones started, and it’s all Lucifer can do to keep his brothers in line. Luckily, he has you to keep Mammon by your side and Beel full of food.

The night drones on spent managing many noble advances. He spares you a weary glance and you wink at him from across the hall. He can’t help the quirk of his mouth, a slight smile amidst everything. You’re impossibly charming.

A few moments later and he hears your voice in his ear. “Meet me in the coat room, I have something to show you.”

You slip away and disappear somewhere in the crowd. Eventually he manages a moment alone, horribly curious as he finds his way to you.

You close the door behind him, nearly hidden amidst coats of all sizes. “Hi gorgeous,” you wrap your arms around his waist.

"A coat closet?" He muses.

“I won’t keep you. Pretty sure Beel is looking for me too… Here.” You hold up your phone, “What do you think?”

You’re showing him a picture of… rope? “This is what you wanted to show me?”

“I could hardly send it to your phone right now, what with the entire royal court surrounding you. Plus, I’d rather explain its implications in person.”

“Implications?”

“Mm. Are you free next Friday night? Around 10pm?”

“I…” he allows himself a small smile, “I might be able to spare you some time.”

“Oh might you?” You smirk, “Well, if you’re too busy I completely understand. I’m capable of appreciating my own hard work.”

He acts affronted, grabbing you by the waist and kissing your hand. “Would a willing participant not please you more?”

“Isn’t that why I asked you in the first place?” He’s captivated by the crinkle of your nose, by the warmth of your smile.

“You’ve caught me,” he chuckles, “I’m all yours.”

“Then it’s a date. Do you like the color?”

You show him your phone again and he hums appreciatively. "Did you get it from Cloven Boutique? I didn’t think they stocked colored rope."

“They don’t, I dyed it myself."

“Truly?” He looks closer, in want of his glasses. “It looks like a professional job."

"Well, I had to get the color just right - I love the look of you in blue."

"Oh?" His tone softens.

“Mhm…” You appreciatively sweep your eyes up his body, lingering the gold peacock tie-clip you got him last month. You reach out and adjust his collar, “I love seeing you in things I’ve bought.”

“You have good taste.��

“Do you really think so?”

He frowns. “I wouldn’t wear something if it didn’t suit me.”

You laugh, “I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“You’re horrible.”

“I’m charming.”

He fondly rolls his eyes. “I suppose both descriptors are accurate. I will look forward to it all week.”

“I think it’ll be worth the wait.” You lean up and brush your lips against his, “Don’t dance with too many nobles now.”

“Haven’t you noticed? All eyes are on you tonight. It’s taken everything in me not to whisk you away.”

“Likewise, darling.” You wink at him again and his heart certainly doesn’t flutter.

Lucifer knocks on your closed door, waiting for you to beckon him inside.

The first thing he notices is an old mahogany chair in the middle of your room, stolen from the hallway. It sits odd against your comfortable furniture.

You make a show of locking your door, brushing against his shoulder as you pass by. Then you cast a noise canceling spell - nothing but an emergency could disturb you now.

When you meet his eyes you're delighted by his wanting expression, unguarded and open in his desire. "I wonder…" you walk over to him, "how much you've thought about this night, curious about what I've planned?" You straighten his tie, close enough to see him swallow.

"It has been on my mind." He takes your hand in his own and kisses your knuckles, looking every part adoring.

You chuckle fondly, "Especially in the evenings, when you think of me?"

His cheeks heat up but his gaze is steady. “I won’t deny it."

“Honesty suits you." He goes in for a kiss just as you pull away. "I want to show you something."

He makes a curious sound and you leave him to open your dresser drawer. "Now, you knew I'd be using rope tonight, but for what exactly I didn't tell you." You gather the rope in your arms, "It might not seem like much of a deviation."

"Oh?" He eyes the rope you've picked.

"You still like it?"

He turns the rope over in his hands, "It’s richer than I remember. How did you do it?"

"Blue mangled beetles - kind of like carmine, but the process is simpler. When dried and crushed they make a beautiful dark navy dye that doesn’t bleed."

"You did your research."

You chuckle and take the rope from his hands. "Only the best for you. Gloves off."

He slips off his right leather glove, finger by finger - wait. “Blue?” You look at him inquisitively. His nails are a rich navy blue, perfectly manicured and glossy.

His eyes flicker behind you, cheeks dusting pink. “I painted them a few days ago.”

You're confused for a minute, then it hits you. “Wait - because of me?”

His voice drops, “You - you mentioned-" He clears his throat, "I thought you might like them.”

"I love them, Lucifer…" You kiss his knuckles, his palm, his wrist, before pulling him in for a proper kiss. His hand cups your jaw and he makes a small, plaintive sound. He really had been thinking about your words all this time.

You pull away with reluctance. "It's time I tell you what we’ll be doing tonight. Shall we start the scene?"

He clears his throat again and sweeps his own magic over your door. "Let us begin."

"Any titles are allowed tonight, you can address me however you’d like. Red to stop the act, yellow to pause, and green for all good. Fire if you want to stop the scene entirely."

"Understood.”

“Then…" the glint in your eyes makes him a little weak in the knees. "I know you have a penchant for ropework. And I know how much you enjoy earning my praise. So, I had a thought - tonight I’d like you to use your ropework skills and tie me up, but I want full range of motion, you know, a design strictly for aesthetics.” You pull the rope taught in your hands, “And then, if you do a good enough job, I may reward you with some rope of my own. What do you say?” You hold out the rope to him.

You smile and oblige, settling into the cold wooden seat. He eyes you and then the rope, contemplative, before loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. He circles you, and you admire the focused, pointed look on his face as he carefully plans an intricate design in his mind’s eye. He’s completely in his element and you love to watch him work.

“What an intriguing idea...” He takes the rope from your hands with soft reverence, feeling the rough texture between his fingers. “You really got such a nice shine to it,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. He breathes out slowly and gestures to the mahogany chair, “Please dear, relax.”

“Ah,’ you suddenly realize, “This might help.” You lift up your shirt and drop it next to the chair before shimmying out of your bottoms, leaving you bare before him.

“Yes…” he murmurs as his eyes roam your skin.

You feel a pleasant tingle up your spine when he brushes his fingers through your hair, gently gathering until he can put it up properly above your neckline. Your body relaxes under his touch.

The first knot is an anchor tie just below your bust, he uses four strands and divides them into two, slipping each half over your shoulders and back down to meet your back. The rough texture warms you from the outside in but his careful touch is cool against your skin.

You watch him as he works, loving the interplay of shadow that falls across his sharp features. He catches you staring.

“Am I pleasing to look at, Madam?”

“Yes, very much so.”

Your pact mark sings and you chuckle, bemused at the sensation. “You like it when I compliment you, don’t you, my little black bird?”

His cheeks heat up and his eyebrows furrow, as he’s put off by the pet name, but the humming in your chest only continues. “I can feel it, you know? Honesty really does suit you best - your face is much prettier wearing it.”

The tips of his ears turn pink but he circles you, wrapping his arms around your midsection to finish fixing a knot in place. Suddenly his warm lips press into the crook of your shoulder. The deep undertones of his voice make you shiver as he whispers in your ear. “You will be the death of me.”

You turn to meet his eyes, coy mischief in your own. “I think you’ll survive.” He chuckles and you kiss him once, twice, just to make him simmer. He almost goes back in for a third but you brush your thumb over his bottom lip. “Not yet.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He kisses your shoulder once more.

Time passes in a lovely, hazy sort of way. Lucifer relaxes into the process as you'd hoped he would. It’s a gentle sort of focus where his mind is set on something, a place where nothing else can bother him or tear away his careful attention. He loves taking your direction, easing him out of his mind, constantly wound too tight.

Finally he kneels to finish the job, gingerly maneuvering one of your legs up and over his shoulder to wrap a strand around the back of your thigh. His eyes wander this time, following the line of your body until he lingers between your legs. As if he can’t help himself he kisses your skin, leaving a delicate trail up the inside of your thigh.

You cup his jaw in one hand and he kisses your palm, eyeing between your legs. “After you finish,” you murmur, “You’ll have to earn what you get tonight.” His eyes flicker to yours and he continues moving, finishing the tie he started.

“I believe I’m finished, will you stand?”

You do so, feeling the bend and flex of rope. Nothing feels too tight, everything is snug, hugging the curves of your body. You admire what lacing you can see, particularly the delicate design around your hands and wrists. He truly had taken his time, a glance at the clock proves that an hour has passed.

Finally you turn around and examine his work in the mirror. Your eyes light up at his intricate ropework. You’re beautiful, elegant, fully mobile and yet covered in faux restraints. You admire yourself, making a show of your appreciation. His chest puffs out and the pact mark on your chest rumbles. You gently circle your clit with one finger and enjoy how he shifts uncomfortably behind you.

You want more from him. Your body aches from an hour of foreplay.

You cup his jaw with one hand. “Kneel.”

“Yes Sir,” he murmurs, almost breathless.

His willing, almost eager demonstration of your power over him, of his own lack of control, further spurns you on, and you know he can hold your weight.

"Show me, then, devotion to your work." You prop one leg up on the hard mahogany seat, exposing yourself for him. Rope hugs your thighs, indenting and highlighting what he wants most.

His eyes flicker between your face and your clit. He licks his lips. "Thank you, Sir."

You run a hand through his hair and brace the other on the back of the chair. As soon as his tongue touches your clit you gasp, unable to help yourself. You’ve been on edge for so long now, throbbing at every new rope and delicate detail. You savor his mouth, rocking your hips into his face gently. "Yes…" he sucks and licks as you drip onto his tongue and he moans softly at the gentle tug of your hand in his hair.

You'll come quickly and you know it - you rock against him faster now and he wraps his fingers through the ropes on the back of your thigh before squeezing your ass and petting between your legs.

You look down at him, at his disheveled appearance, tousled hair, and too-tight pants. “Lucifer, darling, you - ah - you don’t have to say anything, no thoughts, no control, just take what I give you."

He groans and claws at the backs of your thighs, pulling you forward against his mouth.

You tilt your head back. "Good man, good job-" he whines and flicks his tongue with renewed vigor, "fffuck, right there…"

You fuck his face, shivering and shaking, chasing your orgasm. He holds you upright and supports your body, grasping at his own ropework. You moan and twitch. A glance at the mirror brings you closer still, “Look baby, look at you, making me feel so fucking good… shit-” Your grip on his hair tightens as you twist your hand, pulling him forward. He moans, high and breathy, harshly breathing through his nose.

His right hand supports your waist while his left squeezes your ass. Just a minute more, a second more, finally, finally his palpable desire sends you over the edge, and god how it fills the air. He takes it all and you don't fall, even as your legs lock and your grip falters. You shake and shiver in his tight grasp, palms holding tight to his shoulders. He keeps licking, just enough to keep you there until tension dissipates and you’re overstimulated. Only then does his grip loosen, following your body as you stand on your own, knees shaking.

There's an unspoken tenderness in his eyes - your baby takes pride in service.

You step away from him when you can, fixing his hair and cleaning your cum from his lips. "Sit on the chair, darling."

His knees crack when he gets up, stiff from his place on the hardwood floor. He sits, bulge straining against his trousers, watching you with rapt attention.

"I think…" you turn around, "You've more than earned your reward - as if there was any doubt in my mind."

“Oh?” He practically glows at your praise.

"And…” you walk over to your nightstand once more, "I'm not done with this yet." He swallows, gaze fixated on the rope in your hands. You smirk, "You like that idea?"

He shifts again. "Yes I - very much."

You reach into your nightstand and pull out a matte black silicone dildo, smaller, elegant even. You hold it up. “What about this? Are you up for it tonight?”

“Yes,” he nods, “I prepared myself for the possibility.”

“Perfect,“ you breathe, already excited. “Then…” your smile is nearly wicked as you regard him and his cock throbs in earnest. “Clothes off. Hands behind your back - hold your forearms.”

He acquiesces, knowing exactly what you want.

Soon he’s sitting naked on the chair, hands held behind his back, willingly at your mercy. Your ties aren’t nearly as elegant, but they restrict his movement and hug his body. You restrain his arms behind his back with a chest harness, carefully distributing the weight of the rope, adding just a touch of flourish. Even in such a simple design he looks lovely. Blue really is his color, you think, admiring him. He catches your eye.

“I was right,” you say, tilting his chin up for a chaste peck on the lips, “You look lovely in blue.” He groans and chases your lips this time. You let him, just once, and deepen the kiss yourself, before grabbing him by the hair, wrenching his head up. “Not yet, darling.”

“As you wish.” He’s breathless and kiss bitten.

You leave him and stack two large pillows on top of each other. You motion for him to stand before grabbing him by the restraints. “I will help you get into position,” you chuckle darkly, “I want you face down.”

His cheeks feel hot but he nods, “Yes Sir.”

“Good man. Lie down.”

It takes a moment since he can’t move his arms but you finally have him exactly where you want him, chest pushed into the bed, hips and ass raised by the pillows beneath him.

He tilts his head to look at you with one eye, eyebrow raised as you appear with more rope.

‘Can’t have you squirming too much, now can I?” He groans into the pillow beneath him and nods.

“Tell me if you’re ever uncomfortable or need to readjust, this position might get tiring after awhile.”

“I’m sure I can take it.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m not asking. Tell me.”

He shivers. “Yes Ma’am.”

“Good.”

You uncap the lube on your nightstand and snap a glove on. He shivers at the cold feeling of your lubed finger rubbing against him, but as your hand warms so does his body and he slowly starts to meet your gentle thrusts as you enter him. You love this part. It’s incredibly intimate, almost more so that the ensuing sex, because anyone else would have been thrown out long ago - he has only ever done this with you.

Once you’re up to two fingers comfortably you withdraw your hand and replace it with your lubed up strap. “Ready?”

“I’ve been ready.” You smack his ass and he gasps.

“What was that?”

“I apologize, yes I - I’m ready.”

“That’s better. One more remark like that,” you murmur, pressing in slowly, “And I’ll rethink your reward.”

He hisses, wiggling his hips, “A-Apologies - it won’t happen again.”

‘I know it won’t,” you smile, “because you love this too much.” Finally, finally you move your hips, slow at first, until finding a gentle rhythm. You use his bound legs as leverage, pushing deep inside of him as his low, desperate moans fill the air.

As his body strains against the rope it holds tight, digging into his skin - this heat, this pleasure, your power over him is dizzying. For a few blissful moments he can’t think, all he can do is feel you surround him and hear your haunting voice in his ear.

It is easy to admire him, Lucifer Morningstar splayed out before you, rocking his ass into your hips, wanting more, more. You grab the rope holding his forearms tight against his back and pull, arching his back against the sheets. He cries out, and you lean down, pushing all your weight on top of him.

“That feel good, baby? Heh, you love it don’t you?” Your hips are slow and deep, grinding on his favorite spot, “You love being fucked like this. Wrapped in my rope, under my hand-” He moans, long and debauched. “I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this, you belong to me, don’t you?”

“Yes-!”

You’re breathless above him. “We belong to each other, right, love?”

His eyes open and he gazes at you in the adjacent mirror, “Yes…” You dip and kiss the back of his neck, soft and sweet, "Hnn…" he takes in a shuddering breath and lets his head fall forward.

“That's right, no one else deserves to touch you, no one else is good enough, worthy enough.” You whisper in his ear.

He gasps your name and pushes his ass against your hips, pathetically fucking himself on your strap. Every slap of your skin sears welts into his body. You grab his hair and jerk his body up.

“Eyes open, look at yourself.” He didn’t think he could get any redder, but the sight of you behind him, fucking his ass with slow purposeful thrusts, restraining him while tied in his own ropework, it's too much, he can’t - he’ll -

You wrench his head up, “Keep looking,” you pant, “look at the face you make when you come for me.”

He can’t help it, he comes fast and hot, hips stuttering, mouth open and gasping. You slow but you don’t stop. He whimpers but dutifully stays, taking it all.

“Good man,” you praise him, “So. Fucking. Good-” you punctuate your words by digging your nails into his back. You slowly drag them downward and tiny specks of blood bubble to the surface. He hisses but his cock jumps beneath him. “You like a little pain, don’t you?” You slap his ass with an open palm. “Answer me.”

“Yes, yes Ma’am -”

“Yes what?”

"Fuck - more, please-!”

“Filthy.” You bite, before indulging him with another slap on the ass.

You run your nails gently over the welts and he sighs in bliss. In this moment of calm you use all your strength to hoist him upward again, until his back is flush against your chest. You wrap a hand around his throat and start to bounce him on your cock. His eyes roll back and he groans, reaching around to grab your hip as he rocks back into you.

“When I cut you loose,” you pant, “I want you to lie down on your back, legs spread, waiting and ready for me again. Do you understand me?”

He swallows breathlessly and nods.

You lean him forward and gently pull out. You untie his legs, and then his arms before dropping the rope next to the bed. His body is tinged red with slight rope burn, just how he likes.

He rolls over onto his back, finally making eye contact with you. You smile at him, gentle, and his pupils pin. “Spread your legs for me.”

Lucifer grabs his own knees, and spreads his legs while you refuse to let him lose eye contact. His red flush is delicious, and so is his twitching cock, clearly enjoying this.

You grab more lube from the nightstand and quickly reapply before holding one of his legs to your chest and slipping back inside. He groans and rocks his hips forward, savoring the feeling.

You slowly snap your hips forward, reaching deep inside him, you keep repositioning until he gasps and then you hold there. Little thrusts of your hips grinding against his ass. He gasps low, moaning sweetly in his deep voice as sweat trickles down his temple.

“Kiss me-” he croaks, reaching for you. You melt into him and grind against him as his hands roam your body. He doesn’t realize he’s whimpering and shuddering, or if he does he doesn’t care.

You continue like this for a while, enjoying his gasping deep moans in your ear, his lips and teeth on your neck. Finally, at your mercy, you gently trace your fingers over the head of his cock. The noise he makes is agonizing, and you have half a mind to continue neglecting him. But he has your heart as you keep up that gentle, light contact, and he doesn’t ask for more. His head is spinning, filled with thoughts of you, you, just you.

You speed up your hand as your hips get tired and he grips your back, rocking into you. Finally you feel him tense, feel his blunt nails dig into your back.

“There you go, my pretty bird,”

He gasps, light and beautiful, shuddering as he comes, keening as each slow, deep thrust of your hips milks another dribble of cum out of him.

You kiss again and again, covered in sweat, cum, and specks of blood, ignoring the passage of time.

Darkness blankets your bedroom, barely lit in deep navy shadow. Your fingernails fall up and down rhythmically over the rope burn on Lucifer’s back.

“I heard you were approached last week.” He murmurs.

“At the Banquet…? Oh, did Asmo say something?”

Lucifer chuckles, "He said something akin to "Everyone here is itching for their chance, don't let them out of your sight."

You feign exasperation. "And what did you do, you let me out of your sight. Now I'm in bed with a demon."

Lucifer snorts, "The very same demon you propositioned in a coat closet."

"What can I say? I know who I want," you kiss his temple.

Lucifer leans into you further, draped across your body. "Don't you have plans early tomorrow morning?"

“You yawn again, “Solomon said he has something important to talk to me about. What exactly, I’m not sure… he can wait until I've had breakfast.”

“That sorcerer…”

“He wants you so bad,” you chuckle, “I mean, it isn’t up to me, but I enjoy acting as if it is.”

“Rest assured,” he kisses your shoulder, “he’ll never have me, not like you do.”

Your smile is gentle. “I love you, Luci.”

“And I you.”

Lucifer closes his eyes and relaxes his sore body, satisfied and calm. He resolves to make you breakfast in the morning before seeing you off to Solomon.

Truly, he thinks, there's nothing he can’t face as long as you’re there when he wakes.

#lucifer obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me smut #sub lucifer #dom mc #my writing #wearyeyebrow #teeny tiny bit of nightbringer angst at the end #dom!reader #sub!lucifer #sub obey me

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neoflect · 24 days

Text

sharing some of my disorganized jojo musical thoughts now that ive had a week to sit on it and ive rewatched it several times over. i intended to wait to publish something like this until a subtitled version was available, but im not seeing any indication that thats happening any time soon so for now youll have to deal with my loose interpretations from my extremely rudimentary and rusty japanese… so take what i have to say about the finer points of characterization with a grain of salt. gratuitous spoilers below obviously, both for the original source material and the changes made in the stage production

my feelings are OVERWHELMINGLY positive. of course there are things i can criticize or that i would have personally done differently but oh man… i have literally not thought about anything besides this fucking show for a week. im 100% confident in saying this is a better adaptation of the source material than the tv anime. sorry to the davidpro staff, i respect their hard work and their love for jojo and their dedication to what is by any metric a pretty difficult property to adapt off of the page, but i dont know if i can ever forgive them for leaving half of the first episode’s storyboard on the cutting room floor in order to fit a standard half-hour tv slot, especially considering that what they cut is some of the really crucial character-building stuff. happily those scenes are not only reproduced in the stage version, some of them are expanded upon!

with the quick disclaimer that i’ve only managed to get my hands on the final 4/14 performance with shotaro arisawa and yoshihisa higashiyama, from what i’ve seen the casting is perfect. i’m sure there’s a rip of the 4/13 performance somewhere (i’ve seen clips) but i haven’t been able to find one… every single performer knocks it out of the fucking park, the cast chemistry is incredible and even the minor characters are loaded with charisma. and mamoru miyano… my god… mamoru miyano i owe you an apology. i was not familiar with your game. of course hes been killing it for decades at this point but i had soured on him a little bit recently because i felt like he was overcast in everything and i just didnt connect with his dnt reinhard at all, so when the casting was initially announced back in august i was underwhelmed, and of course my standards for the dio role in particular were astronomically high… i’ll go more into detail later in the post because i have so so many things to say about dio’s characterization here but mamoru miyano’s performance is like, life-changing. i had impossible expectations and he exceeded them.

sorry if im gushing. i am a hater by nature. its unusual for me to be so thoroughly pleased with something. im not even a musical theater guy. these are strange new feelings for me.

just to balance things out i’ll talk about a couple of the things that didn’t really work for me: first of all, the music is just ok. my initial draft of this post called the music “bad” but three additional viewings later i have warmed up to some of the songs. i don’t know if this is a shortcoming by dove attia as the composer or if it’s just me, as i said i’m not a musical guy and a lot of the genre conventions of musical theatre are not really the things i look for in music that i enjoy, but like… even at their worst they are serviceable. nothing here is sonically unpleasant to me. high points are “resolve of the ripple” (zeppeli’s hamon training song, a jazzy swing number - it’s simply catchy and fun to listen to) and the closer “phantom blood” (a sweeping ballad that reprises the earlier “light and darkness”/”golden spirit” leitmotifs into an epic duet between jonathan and dio as they join hands and walk off into the darkness together… made me cry! i wont lie! on every single one of my numerous viewings this one got me misty eyed!)

wait i forgot this is supposed to be the part where i’m being critical. ok my most loathed song in the musical is “dio’s world”. sorry dio nation. it doesn’t really work for me. i think this might be a case of my standards/expectations being too impossibly high because it’s not even really the worst song in the whole thing. and of course miyano eats it up so it’s not really his fault. i just find it kind of underwhelming… i find the melody a little grating, it’s kind of just a generic rock number, it’s just missing a particular je ne sais quoi…. the essence of dio isn’t there… lyrically though i am obsessed with the premise of dio recruiting his minions by selling himself as a kind of social revolutionary who is upending and inverting the brutal hierarchy of post-industrial victorian society with zombie blood magic. you win some you lose some.

the second sticking point for me is the costumes. they’re perfectly serviceable… adequate… but i mean when it comes to jojo “serviceable” and “adequate” costume design obviously falls well below what’s expected, right? a lot of the outfits have kind of a boxy, almost flat-looking kind of unflattering fit on the actors, which if i wanted to be generous i could attribute to the challenge of bridging the gap between these frail slender musical theater twinks and the two-meter-tall 250lb roided-out beefcakes theyre meant to be embodying. (bearing this discrepancy in mind a lot of the insane martial arts stuff in the second act doesn’t really land with the oomph that it should, but i also understand logistically why this kind of casting is not practical, and all things considered i think shotaro arisawa does a really incredible job of embodying jonathan joestar even though he kind of looks like i could snap him in half over my knee like a twig. he’s very cute. so i’m not mad about it.) of course, again, logistically, i understand that in a stage musical production, where actors only have minutes to complete costume changes, some sacrifices have to be made to the creative vision in the name of practicality. nevertheless this is jojos bizarre adventure!! i want to see some fucking baubles!!!!!!

which is all to say that… after carefully considering it for some weeks… i still have extremely mixed feelings about dio’s grink ass feather bathrobe look. it’s not that i dont think its something he could wear (the concept of dio lounging around in his gothic vampire palace doing re-animator style body horror experiments on the local wildlife in this “officer i have no idea what happened to my husband”-ass nightgown is nothing short of hysterical to me) but then he wears it into combat and i felt a little disappointed… it has the same unflattering fit issue as the other outfits in the show, and it is just such an un-araki-like design… where are the gaudy color combinations? the bizarre geometric patterns? the tease of an exposed boob/thigh/midriff? erina gets a stage-original dress design that i have fewer issues with because the excessive pleats and ruffles have more of an araki-esque sensibility, but every time i look at dio’s robe it feels like there’s something missing. i’m going to choose to be nice about it because it’s not at all a deal breaker and, again, mamoru miyano devours the look. it’s fine. it’s always fun to have a new dio outfit. if anything, the fact that the blu-rays are being marketed as “2024 cast version” gives me hope for the possibility of a future production with a new vision for the costume design. (although the fact that this was such a difficult production - with stunts and pyrotechnics and moving setpieces - that its entire first week was cancelled indicates to me that the prospects for a future production from a different company are impossibly slim. i guess there’s always hope?)

in terms of the writing and the changes that were made from the original narrative, honestly i don’t really have an issue with anything that was cut. sorry if there are any diehard stans of Poco’s Unnamed Sister out there who are steamed that their favorite minor late phantom blood character got the axe, i kind of understand how you feel because i’ve been malding over david pro cutting the Danny Lore for eleven years, but i think it was the right choice and the story flows so much better. the real juicy meat at the core of phantom blood as a narrative and the thing that brings it head and shoulders above so much of the rest of jjba is the character-driven drama - that deliciously pulpy victorian gothic family tragedy - and the relationship between jonathan and dio. the musical beefs up the character drama and slims down the action-driven second half by trimming out the extraneous battles. the only real downside i see to this is that the absence of tompetty and his prophecy makes zeppeli’s arc and death feel INSANELY abrupt, but tbf that’s not a deal breaker for me. sorry zeppeli. you were born to die.

okay. okay. i think 1500 words into the post is enough fucking around so let’s talk about the real reason why you and i both know we’re here

musical dio is SO fucking sad. he’s positively wretched, you guys. he was born in a wet cardboard box all alone and forced to eat cement when he was six. he cries even more than he does in the source material and even when he’s not crying he frequently delivers his lines as though he is moments away from bursting into tears. back when the musical first opened i was snooping on the reactions on jpn twitter and one commenter said they could see miyano’s tears and snot from the nosebleeds even without opera glasses, a remark i initially assumed was hyperbole but that i now think probably was not. araki’s dio is certainly tortured and a deeply pathetic crybaby beneath all the cruelty and posturing, but changes in the musical and miyano’s embodiment of the character bring this pathos to the fore. he is literally haunted: dario’s ghost lingers, a manifestation of all of dio’s traumas and insecurities that emerges from the recesses of his memory to taunt him with the reminder that he will always be his father’s son, all the way up until the very minute that jonathan breaks down the door to his vampire lair. i am OBSESSED with this - not only for the obvious reason that i delight in dio’s suffering personally but also because kong kuwata is a delight and he fucking kills it every time. also lends itself to a category 10 leitmotif moment at the top of the second act when dio emerges from the charred ruins of the joestar estate singing dario’s theme and calling out to jonathan - if i had to pinpoint this is probably the moment when this musical stuck for me as the Real Deal. they Get It.

the first solo number in the show is dio’s disney princess I Want song (amazingly, simply titled “dio”) where he weeps for his late mother and his wretched lot in life, and then - in a creative decision that made me clap my hands and hoot and holler at my screen in real life - there is a reprise of this number (delivered, naturally, through tears) when dio is almost arrested for murder and decides to become a vampire instead. so there’s this amazing hopeful uplifting inspirational orchestral music accompanying the onstage action of dio ruthlessly slaying jonathan’s dad and then getting pumped full of lead by a bunch of cops. it is brilliant. 10/10 no notes. it’s moments like this that i think really sell the “softening” of dio in the stage version for me, even though i am historically Not A Fan of fanworks that take a similar angle - like, yes, he is sad, but specifically he is narcissistically obsessed with the spectacle of his own suffering, he is boiling over with bitterness and rage for everyone around him who (by his own estimation) could never hope to have suffered as much as he has. this sensitivity and self-pity he wallows in are not expressions of a guilty conscience or a desire to change - they’re entirely the opposite - every cruel and monstrous deed dio commits is always justified to himself because he is simply the saddest little boy who has ever existed. he has been done wrong by the world and so there is no limit to the depravity he may reasonably respond with. i’ve seen several commenters describe this as a drastically different interpretation of the character from araki’s dio (and someone told me on twitter that mamoru miyano himself has also said this, but i cba to go digging for an actual source so take it with a grain of salt?), but i… dont think thats the case! dio’s obsession with his own weakness and his self-perception as the eternal underdog (as compared to jonathan) are certainly more exaggerated in miyano’s performance, but i don’t think this is an angle to the character that’s been manufactured out of whole cloth. the genre conventions of the stage musical force the melodrama up to eleven and dio’s incredibly repressed angst is the most rich vein to mine for that. hair-trigger sadist dio is still here, it’s the same guy, he’s still killing people mercilessly, you’re just getting to see him sing a big ballad about his feelings instead of confining those to an internal monologue.

if anything, the exaggeration of dio’s pathetic/cowardly/crybaby traits combined with his megalomaniacal aspirations and bottomless well of cruelty is just right. it’s perfect. fucking around, finding out, and then trying to weasel his way out of the consequences with crocodile tears just so you don’t see him drawing his knife to cut you clean open… yeah. thats the stuff. thats my one true blorbo. sad to say i will love him for ten thousand years.

i think that might be all i have to say… or at least all i feel like saying here… most likely ill come back and edit this post later. i certainly have some additional thoughts and some more esoteric/controversial takes but they’re not suited for a public blog. real ones will understand. im keeping my eyes peeled for somebody to translate this thing but to be frank i am kind of enjoying this little corner of fandom as it is right now: just the asians and the true hardcore phantom blood phreaks. i have not had this much fun in jojo fandom in almost a fucking decade. as soon as somebody publishes an english version my timelines going to get flooded with all the most deeply annoying “kono dio da” “speedwagon waifu” reddit guys and 15 year olds and my suffering will proceed. unfortunately this is my lot in life and i am doomed to be here forever because dio put a worm in my brain

#⚰️#jjba tag for blacklisting purposes but i dont want this in the main tag

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some-messed-up-writing-for-you · 8 months

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Wrong Place, Wrong Friends - Part 3

CW: captivity, implied betrayal.

I want to get back to writing these small stories, so here's a little treat! Requests aren't quite open yet, but they might be at some point soon, so stay on the lookout, I suppose! <3

Part 1 | Previous Part | Masterpost

~~~~

Civilian wasn’t sure how much time had gone by. Had it been minutes or hours? They supposed it didn’t matter in the end as the door of their cell opened once more with a loud creak. They jumped at the sound and tensed as heavy footsteps approached them.

The urge to struggle was strong once the lackeys grabbed them, but the civilian remained as compliant as one could in such a situation, letting themself be dragged somewhere unknown.

Within a few moments, fresh air brushed gently across their face like a long-lost lover’s hand. Gravel dug into their boots as they walked, and Civilian had never been more terrified of the outdoors than in that moment.

Were they being let go?

Were they being “taken care of”?

The frightening thoughts had their knees buckling, and just in time, too, as a car door flew open before them. The goons shoved them in rather unceremoniously, forcing them to lay across the backseats. The civilian’s face dug into the rough fabric until a familiar hand in their hair informed them of what was actually beneath their head.

“Hello again, Civilian,” their captor sounded from above as the car engine roared to life. “Hope you didn’t mind the wait.”

Realizing their face was in the stranger’s lap, a slight flush covered their cheeks, but they dared not pull away. Instead, they croaked, “N-No, it was fine.”

“Good, good!” the other laughed. “Now, can you guess where I’m taking you?”

Civilian gulped, a spark of nervous hope visible in their tone. “B-Back to my house…?”

“Yes, actually,” their captor unexpectedly confirmed. “You were unlucky enough to get tangled up in some… business I had with that “friend” of yours.

“My men didn’t find anything linking you to them, so I have no reason to keep you. You don’t even know what I look like, after all.”

“I-I see…” they stammered. “...Or hear, I guess.”

The risky joke earned them an amused snort, and the fingers in their hair continued lightly scratching at their scalp. It was almost soothing. Almost.

After a short moment of silence, Civilian’s captor suggested, “You might want to find some better friends after this.” They paused to hum in consideration. “Unless, of course, you like when people knowingly throw you into danger?”

“N-Not really a fan of that, no…”

“So I thought.” They twirled a strand of hair around their finger before tucking it back into place and clipping something to it. “Ah, would you look at that?”

The car drew to a stop. Civilian’s nerves shot through the roof once more as they were pulled up into a sitting position. The rope around their wrists was swiftly undone, and the door at their side opened.

Once they were ushered out, they couldn’t help but stand as stiff as the concrete under their feet. Many possible and terrifying outcomes raged inside their mind, but all were ultimately silenced by the stranger’s voice whispering in their ear.

“Now, once I let go of you, you’re going to count to fifteen,” they ordered, idly toying with whatever they had attached to Civilian’s hair. “And once you’ve finished, then you can take the blindfold off. Understand?”

The civilian mutely nodded, their throat feeling too tight to respond; fear of facing the barrel of a gun once their eyes opened still lay heavy on their thoughts.

With a satisfied hum, their now-ex-captor left one last pat atop their head and got back in the car. As they sped off into the distance, Civilian made sure to count extra slowly before shakily raising their hands and uncovering their eyes.

To their blissful relief, nothing but the door of their house filled their sight. And after a few nervous look-arounds, they fumbled with their keys and got inside. Their mind felt numb as they locked the door and wandered off until somehow finding themself in their humble little bathtub.

They blinked, barely bothering to question when they had gotten there, and instead pressed both palms against their face. A shaky sigh left them before the tears came back with a vengeance.

Despite their previous slight breakdown, they still had plenty of “stress juice” left in them. Time drifted alongside the salty tears now mixed in with the bath water until it turned cold. The late hours of the night traded places with dawn.

Somewhere outside, a bird made its presence known in the nearest treetops. The air filled with pleasant singing, and Civilian finally dragged themself out of the bath and into bed.

Work and other adult responsibilities be damned - they needed a fucking nap.

#writeblr #writing #writing prompt #short prompt #villain x civilian #hero x villain #hero x villain community #short story #story #smuwfy #some messed up writing for you #tw: captivity #tw: betrayal

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http-sheep · 4 months

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lonely

father figure!Miguel O'Hara & reader summary: You're his dead fiancé's daughter. You just lost your mother and now Miguel's drifting away. Contains: Mentions of death, bad parenting(kinda?), neglect, mental illness, angst. not proof read. WC: 942

part 2

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Five years ago, your mother fell in love.

When your mother first told you about Miguel, you had already decided you didn’t like him.

"Hola, chiqui. I’m Miguel.” You had to crane your neck to look up at him.

"I'm not chiqui," you spat with narrowed eyes, not bothering to hide your disdain with his existence. It wasn’t like he was mean or anything. In fact, he was quite the opposite.

No, it was the way he was looking at your mother like she hung the moon and how comfortable he was in her space - it was all wrong. He was trying to settle in a place that was already taken.

Your place.

A little voice told you that he was trying to steal her away from you. That if she started to love him more, she would forget about you. And then you’d be alone. Your mother was the only family you had, and it was supposed to stay that way. Just you and her.

For the first few months, you would glare daggers at him if he tried to talk or stand too close to you.

But he was persistent in getting you to like him, and eventually he succeeded.

"Oye, princesa," Miguel greeted after picking you up from school and got hit with the silent treatment. Again.

Miguel let out a sigh. "Vale, vale," he muttered to himself before pulling into the parking lot of the ice cream parlor.

He tried again when you were sitting down with your ice cream.

"You know... I love your mamá and you, sí? I'd never take her away from you. Never." He ran a hand through his hair. "I want to take care of both of you. I'm going to get a nice, big house for us. Gonna make sure you go to a nice college..."

In the midst of his rambling, you looked up from your ice cream, studying him. And you found sincerity. It was the first time you considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe there was enough room for your mom and Miguel in your heart.

And overtime, he had carved a place for himself in your life. He became family, in every sense except blood. Miguel wasn't your father, but he acted like one during the five years you've known him. Doing all the things you wished your biological father had done.

You never had a father growing up, but you imagined this is what other kids must have felt like. Loved.

—-

And one year ago you lost your mother.

When your mother died, that's when he started to become absent. At first it was subtle. During your conversations, his eyes would glaze over and he would give one word answers, like his mind was somewhere else. He would leave and you wouldn't see him for days. So you learned to wake up from a dead sleep at the quiet click of the front door unlocking. You were desperate.

Days stretched into weeks. Weeks into months.

Grief and loneliness followed you around like a storm cloud. Your friends slowly drifted away from your dark and gloomy aura until no one was left. It's been six months since you've had any sort of contact.

Six months ago you lost Miguel. In a fit of desperation to know he isn’t just laying dead in a gutter, you dig for answers. You find it in your phone, in the cloud storage that you both shared. That’s when you find the pictures, and videos. The proof that he was alive tasted like ash on your tongue.

Your hands shake as you uncover the hundreds of pictures and videos of Miguel with a woman who looks just like your mother and a little girl who isn’t you. The first one is dated seven months ago.

"What the fuck."

As you scroll through all the pictures of them smiling, you feel like you're suffocating. Tears blur your vision and roll down your cheeks, but you force yourself to scroll through them. That little girl is his daughter in another universe. His and your mother’s.

So this is where he went.

"Good job, princesa," he says in one of the clips as he helps her with her math homework. Just like he used to with you.

You sink to the floor and retch up the meager contents of your stomach. Your mind is a maelstrom of anguish, betrayal, hurt, and most of all - loneliness.

"It's not fair," you croak, pulling yourself up. It's not fair that you get to play house while I'm stuck here with no one.

And you were nowhere to be found in any of those clips. Your mother was family, this random child was family and yet... he could care less if you were in this universe or that one.. Maybe you weren’t in that universe. Maybe it didn’t matter.

Maybe you never mattered. You're not blood - that means you’re not family, right?

You sense yourself straying into dangerous territory. The isolation, betrayal, grief - they're all festering in your head, telling you to give up. That no one would even notice. In a moment of clarity, you realize just how unwell you are. Physically, you're malnourished after barely feeding yourself. Your skin is waxy and your hair is limp.

"I can’t do this," you whimper, over and over as you pack a suitcase. You leave the house in a daze and the sun blinds you at first after rotting in that lifeless house for so long. Your feet take you to the train station.

You don’t know where you’re going, you just know you can’t stay another second in that dead home.

#miguel o'hara #angst #astv #across the spiderverse #spiderman #fanfic #reader insert #miguel x reader #platonic

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blakbonnet · 2 months

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Artist of the Week!

So last weekend, I announced that I'd like to feature an artist every weekend for both new fandom joinees who might not have seen some of this art and older fans who like the nostalgia. This week's artist is Ash @aha-my-villainous-thoughts 💖 who also, wonderful that they are, agreed to answer a few questions for me!

Which App Do You Use To Draw When I’m at my big set up I use Clip Studio Paint, I love it so much. It’s very straight forward to dip straight in, has all of the bells and whistles you need from an elite drawing program, and the community elements where you can see assets and brushes is a lot of fun - although I still to this day have no idea how to earn coins to buy assets?! I use a XPPen Artist 15.6 Pro Graphics Tablet to draw into the program, although my best tip with graphics tablets is to get a screen protector, mine got covered in marks before I noticed. Recently I also got an iPad 10.9 to use as a digital sketchbook I can carry around, and while I am enjoying Procreate, I think CSP is a better art program overall.

Fave Brushes? On iPad I stick to the technical pen, studio pen and the soft airbrush, along with the textures and the light pen. I don’t think Procreate has great ‘painting’ brushes, whereas on CSP I would marry the Gouache brushes, I love how they blend and texture as you work.

Your favourite piece you’ve drawn? I’m a super self indulgent artist, I try to draw the kind of stuff I like to look at, so it’s a lot of colour, a lot of fabric and details. My fave piece for detail is the one I did for the OFMD RBB last year - Crescente Devotione, there’s a blushing sentient stool in it! For colour I’m in love with this sleepy time Ed in a lil negligee and a Holly Golightly eyemask, he's my lock screen because I'm trash.

Who harder to draw: Ed or Stede? Oh for sure Stede. I love Rhys Darby, but the man has like no lips. I stand by this meltdown.

One essential tip for beginner artists? Comparison is the thief of joy, don’t measure yourself against others - particularly when you’re finding your groove. Be self indulgent af. Also get a screen protector for whatever digital screen you draw on, and BACK. THINGS. UP. Whether in an online account, or on an external harddrive - or both?! BACK THAT SHIT UP.

Why OFMD? I’ve been in a few fandoms in the past, always as a pretty passive enjoyer, little fanart here or there, little fanfic sprinkled around, but there’s just something about the way this fandom feels? It feels like a group of friends who’ve got their own lives and their goals, but they still exist in each other's orbit, it’s like this feeling of returning home to somewhere you’re always welcome. There’s so many good moments in the show for both comedy and some gut wrenching pathos. Sign up for the hot guy in leather and get got by this beautiful delicate little love story. It’s something about queer joy of thriving, not just surviving. Something about finding love and romance no matter your age or what’s past before. Something about found family, and unlikely friendships, and community and silliness. I was already a goner when Taika put on the wig, but then when he teared up in a blanket fort while trying not to die? Excuse me sir, I did not need feelings that powerful. It was literally waking me up at night thinking about his last shot weeping in the nook - like are you kidding me?! I’m supposed to finish watching and be normal after that??

#artist of the week #everyone go follow ash and gear up for all the amazing art that would now be posted heheh

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slightlystupidhun · 10 months

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Clip Your Wings

WELL!! You all decided you wanted some Angel angst!! The runner up in the poll was going to be who I killed off so please enjoy! (Also I didn’t proofread because it made me sad)

Warning: Angst, Violence, Character Death, Major Character injury, owie my heart

Summary: The boys go out on a mission and Tank plays body guard. However the night doesn’t quite go to plan.

Angel had been pacing back and forth for about 30 minutes on a rant about who was better at games between Ash and Milo. Tank had watched them practically burn a hole in the rug with how much they had been pacing.

It was always funny, to Tank at least, whenever Angel would get into these fits. It would always be so hard to pull them out of it until they got a clear answer.

“Eh I think you should conclude that Milo is a bit worse than Ash. He’s okay but if you put him in a halo game, Ash has got him beat easily.” Tank yawned into their hand. “Not to mention if you put them in a horror game together.”

Angels eyes lit up with excitement. They had never thought of doing that but knew that it would be entertaining nevertheless. They walked over to the large leather couch and plopped down next to Tank.

“You really think we could make that happen?” Angels eyes beamed with anticipation. No doubt they were already scheming what to do next.

“I’m sure if he lost a bet we could.” Tank nodded and shrugged it away.

The night hadn’t been too bad this far. David, Ash, Cristian and Milo had gone out on a gig to help the department with some underground cult or something. DUMP needed brawn and the pay they provided was too good to pass up.

Since Tank was currently out of commission due to working the past two nights and refusing to tell Sam about a “small” ankle injury, David refused to let them go and instead had them stay with Angel.

Speaking of the Devil, or rather, Angel, they were now inserting a movie, it was Bambi. They loved the classic colors of the film and the adorable little cartoon animals.

~~~~~~~~

The small group of shifters blended in well with the department staff as they breached the cultist base. They walked through the cold cement building, it was only lit up by candlelight.

They soon arrived to a large wenge door, it was covered in scratches and red paint, making out faint markings of what looked to be a skull on a dagger. They slowly opened the large door to reveal the cult leader, who spun around in his chair in all evil villain fashion.

“Ah welcome, welcome friends.” He smiled at them menacingly.

“Blake. It’s over.” Sweetheart walked into the room, past the wolves.

“Maybe it’s over for now. But, not for me.” He let out a dark chuckle, glancing over to David. “You see I have been working day in and day out to…” he sighed. “Well if doesn’t matter anymore. I’m sure you wouldn’t care about me anyway.” He looked down, obviously trying to manipulate them. Then he smiled and made direct eye contact with David again. “But you do care for your precious Angel right?”

“Leave them be Blake, stop your short sighted tricks. It’s over.” Sweetheart said firmly grabbing their cuffs.

“Lets see if I remember your address… and if I don’t… maybe my shade will. He can clip your Angels wings”

~~~~~~~~

As the movie came up to the part (angels favorite part) where the animals find their “love” interests, Angel making plenty jokes about shifters doing the same thing, they heard a knock on the door.

It wasn’t a knock. It was banging. Loud banging.

That was when Tank got a call from David and immediately answered, already heading to stand between Angel and the door.

“Tank?” His voice called out frantically.

“Dav- what’s going on?” They asked, brows furrowing together and face scrunching up. They were preparing to shift if they needed.

“The cult they...” He took a sharp breath. “A shade, please get to somewhere safe and-“

Before he could finish Tank grabbed Angels wrist and took them down to the basement. Tank handed Angel the gun they always kept on them, in case they needed to defend themself.

“What’s going on Tank?” Angel said beginning to get scared.

“Anything comes down here you point and shoot.” They adjusted angels pose. “Just like this.”

“Tank, you’re scaring me… what’s going on?”

“A shade is here and I need to keep you safe.”

“What about you?” Angel asked hands shaking.

“I’ll hold him off until David gets here. I need you to stay here. Do not move from this spot okay?” Tank patted Angels shoulder and handed them their phone, Tanks screen lighting up with a text from Sam. “The code is 4321. Use it to call David if… just don’t move unless it’s to run away.”

With that Tank tan up the stairs, Angel could hear them locking the basement door and Tank shifting. The sound of wood splintering let them know that the front door was broken open. The large oak door seemed unbreakable to them, they could hardly believe it splintered, let alone broke at all.

They heard an ugly hissing sound, it must have been the shade. Then they could hear the sounds of fighting and growling. Angel had heard stories of shades from David. Tank really needed to be cautious… one slip up and they could-

Their thoughts were cut off by the sound of a table breaking and Tank yelping. They could hear the shifter take a large bite from the shade and another scream. Wait why did it sound like there were two shades? Angel swore only one was there a second ago.

They frantically texted Davey to let him know of what was happening.

Tank (Angel): They locked me in the basement. Tanks fighting two shades I think!! Davey please hurry!!

Davey: I’m on my way Angel hold on!

Sam: Hey Darlin how is your night going?

Darlin (Angel): Sam! A shade broke in, now there are two, Tank locked me in the basement and they are fighting them. It sounds bad.

Sam: I’m coming.

There were so many sounds happening. The sounds of Tanks phone flooding. The sound of wood splintering, glass shattering, a wolf yelping, shades screaming. It was all so overwhelming and suffocating. Luckily, the sound was getting quieter. Tank must have gone against one shade and won, but then they heard Tank yelp, a yelp similar to the one they let out when they rolled their ankle. Shit! They broke their ankle!!!

Angel tried to run up the stairs to go help but the door was locked and wouldn’t budge. The cold golden door knob now becoming their worst energy.

The sounds continued and the yelps got quieter, that was until it fell silent. Too silent.

Angel couldn’t tell how long it had been silent for. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? The silence was more deafening than anything and they now longed for the crashing and screaming and banging because that meant someone was still alive.

They sat against the door silently sobbing and curling up into a small ball. That was until the intense rush of footsteps ran into the house.

The basement door was very close to the front door. You only needed to take a left down the hallway. Footsteps, fast, and loud echoed throughout the hallway but Angel couldn’t stop themself from crying. The door suddenly flung open and Angel fell through to the floor, falling onto a familiar pair of hiking boots. It was David.

He gently picked them up and held them close to him. Cradling them and giving them soft kisses trying to comfort them. That was until Asher’s voice could be heard yelling from the kitchen.

“DAVID! DAVID HELP!” Asher sounded frantic and afraid. David stood up and ran over to Ash, fearing that his friend was being attacked. Angel followed behind David rushing through the hall.

Both of them froze upon arriving to the kitchen. There under Asher’s hand was Tank, a quickly fading Tank. Next to them, two dead shades. Their body was covered in blood and scratches and their ankle was popped out of place. Their face was becoming sickeningly pale and their lips were losing all color.

They smiled at Angle and gave them a sad nod.

“I won…” they said weakly coughing out.

“Hang on Tank! Sam is going to be here any minute! Please!” Angel said dropping to their knees at the shifters side. “You idiot! You should have run away! You shouldn’t have fought them… not for me!” They cried out loud.

“Hey…” Tank coughed. “I’d do anything to protect my Alpha.” They smiled softly.

David finally found his feet and moved to sit next to them. He tried to use his magic to heal them, he had taken a few classes after the last incident, but it didn’t work.

“Tank hold on please.” David said squeezing their hand.

“Davi…d T…Tell Sam… I love him… te…tell him he… he is the best… thing to…” their words got quieter and quieter and they began closing their eyes. David shook them, slightly slapping their cheeks.

“Hey! HEY! No no no no no You stay awake! You stay awake now!” David pleaded with Tank.

“You survived through all of this! You don’t get to die!” Angel cried out loud clutching Tanks hand.

“T…thanks for… for being… my family.” Tank smiled.

“Stop no final fair-wells! You don’t get to do that.” Angel patted their face. “You are gonna live! You and Sam are gonna get married, and I am going to force you to dress up, even though you will hate it.” They squeezed Tanks face and brought their forehead to touch Tanks cold skin. “Sam will look so dashing and smile at you like how he always does! You two will live a long happy life, and you will grow old, and be the godparent of any kid David and I adopt, if we do that.”

Tank chuckled which trailed off into a small fit of coughs. They felt so cold, so scared. They knew that it would happen sooner or later but god how they wished it wouldn’t be now. They wanted to live that life with Sam. To explore their new friendship with Angel. They wanted to be a part of the pack, to be a part of something that didn’t just involve fighting. They wanted to live.

But life was cruel. They learned that day one. They got colder and their eyes grew heavier. It was happening it was always gonna happen.

Angel remained in their spot. Their forehead pushed against Tanks.“Please! I need you to be here! You can’t die you can’t-“

“Darlin?” Sam walked in. The pit in his stomach grew and he felt physically ill. He immediately got down and tried to heal them but nothing seemed to work. They squeezed his hand and slightly shook their head.

They had talked about this, Tank wanted to live their natural life. They wanted to die when it happened. They didn’t want to be turned.

“Darin you know I gotta ask you one more time. Do you.. do you want me to.” He began to choke on his tears.

“Tank please…” Angel said sobbing out loud.

“Hey… I’m su..posed to… be th.. one cryn…” they looked back at Sam and shook their head. Denying his final offer. He solemnly nodded and lifted their head to rest on his lap. He ran his fingers through his mates hair as they drifted of to an eternal rest. “I… luv… y’all …” was the last thing they told the room before finally succumbing to their injuries.

Their lifeless body laid on the floor, in their mates arms, hands holding their Alphas and their best friends. Their family, Milo, Cristian, and Asher, stood in the corner of the room, holding one another.

This day would be one that broke Angel. They truly loved keeping company and being the friend of Tank. Watching tanks bored expressions during pack meetings always brightened their day. When they went to the first meeting without Tank… or Sam. They had to excuse themself to cry.

They moved out of the previous home they built with David and into a new one closer to the woods. They would go to sleep and still feel the cold wall of the basement, and hear the screaming and crashing and banging of their home.

They would hear tank screaming for help before dying in their hands, being suffocated by the loss. By the fact that they couldn’t do anything.

And in the end Angel never got over that feeling. Tank made them feel like they were strong. That it didn’t matter that they were unempowered. However, this situation reminded them of one thing. They were powerless. They were human.

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ninja-knox-ur-sox-off · 19 days

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More to Me

Pt 2 of Glaciated Memory AU | Master Of Ice Art | My Dearest Friend... (pt 1/prequel)

When Zane found the blueprints in his father’s old lab, showing his design and revealing what he was, he thought it would be the last major discovery about himself that he would find.

Oh how wrong he ended up being.

He always had dreams. Prophecies. Memories. Not quite to the degree that Lloyd began to have them, but they came all the same.

When they needed to discover more about the serpentine war, they became all the more vivid.

He was fighting. For his friends. To defend them. Ice wrapped around him. His dark hands, the only exposed skin he had reached and pulled his friend to their feet. “Watch your step,” he told them. The man who looked up bore a resemblance to Lloyd in a distant way. His hair was a similar colour and he had a serious expression set on his face in a similar way, too weary to be on the face of someone so young, just like Lloyd.

“Thank you. We must hurry.”

The sounds of battle crept up behind him slowly as they ran. He used his powers to create ice walls left and right to keep their assailants out. They were heading somewhere. They were trying to get to something but what--

Dreams were a funny thing when you did not sleep. Even stranger was waking up.

Zane did not need to recharge. He had a self-sustaining power source. Still, sometimes he would still need rest if he overused it, not unlike his human counterparts needing sleep. Sometimes he would close his eyes and other times he would lay down and stare up at the stars or relax and read. Sometimes his eyes closed on their own, and although it was not sleeping, it was very close to it.

In this case he woke up with something in his chest pulsing, not unlike a heartbeat he thought. He didn’t need to breathe but he breathed anyway. In and out. Long and slow.

In all honesty he had never wondered. But now, it was time to ask.

“I’m gonna be totally honest with you, dude,” Jay said. “I have no idea what this is.”

Zane sat on the metal table in their little room set aside for experiments on the bounty, his chest compartment open, wires and things clipped and plugged inside and hooked up to the ship’s computers. His power source pulsed like a heartbeat as it always did, its bluish white light reflected in the color of his eyes. He contemplated Jay’s diagnoses.

“Nya and Pixal could not explain it either.”

“Oh, I was the last person you came to, awesome. Love that. I feel very appreciated and properly utilized.”

Zane smiled. “I did not wish to interrupt your gaming.”

“Sure, sure,” Jay waved his hand dismissively. “You don’t have to lie to me. I’m not real active with this kinda stuff anymore anyway.”

“Do you regret not being involved in it?”

“Eh,” said Jay, “I’ve got other stuff to fill the time now.”

“You can always come back to it.”

Jay paused to stare down at the wires and pliers in his hands for a long while.

“Maybe.”

Zane smiled. “I am sure Nya and Pixal would appreciate your company.”

Pixal was always very digitally focused. Despite being a nindriod himself, Zane had never felt the same pull towards technology that she did. He always operated off of instinct.

When they discussed it one time, Pixal had been intrigued about how he interacted with technology because, in her words, it seemed as though he operated things through feeling rather than numbers or calculations. Which was a funny thing to hear considering he was known by the rest of the team as the most calculating of the bunch.

Zane connected with technology the way he connected with his elemental power. Instinct, practice. He didn’t know the logistics of how it worked behind the scenes, behind the instinct and feeling. It had been that way since his first days training with Master Wu. His ‘sixth sense’, they called it. Now there were numbers that flashed across his vision when he calculated certain things, when he felt who was close and who was far. Then, it had been nothing but a feeling.

What a silly and confusing thing it was to not be human but to operate off of feeling.

“You’re different, Zane,” Pixal told him.

“Well,” said Zane, “I am a nindriod.”

“So am I,” Pixal told him. “And you are still different.”

That sat with him for a few days. He pondered on it quite a bit. Turning it over in his mind again and again. He was different, wasn’t he? Even in the body of a young adult without his memories he had always acted older than his counterparts. He had attempted to imitate and enjoy things with them and he truly had, but it had taken some practice.

Still, what he was remained a mystery. Not even Wu could comprehend what powered him.

“When I look, what I see is the element of ice, contained within you.That is all.”

Which, in and of itself, was a curious thing.

How was it possible for a vessel of technology to hold an element? How was it possible for the element to dwell in that vessel when it was passed from parent to child, through destiny and fate rather than human engineering?

“I guess we could try taking it apart,” Nya said. “But we don’t know what that would do to you.”

His core wasn’t what it used to be. There wasn’t a piece of it that he could spare. When the original source was destroyed by the overlord--when he had been destroyed by the overlord--the only piece that remained belonged to Pixal, who Chen’s men had dismantled to retrieve the remaining piece of Zane’s core from and place it into Zane’s new titanium body. That piece now resided in Zane’s chest as before. Small and there was no telling what would happen if they split it another time or if they chose to experiment on it, so what it was would remain a mystery.

For now.

Zane kept dreaming. He kept seeing a battle, feeling urgency. He kept seeing his father’s face, younger than he ever remembered witnessing.

In the end what he chose to do was visit the site of the battle that he kept dreaming about.

It was in an eastern area of the Birchwood forest. A distance away from his father’s original laboratory in a still snowy but warmer climate. He placed his hand on the frosted over birch that felt so familiar. He felt as though he had woven through them before despite never having set foot in this area of the forest. His father had never explored this far nor bothered to leave the lab.

It was curious. That it felt so familiar. Curious that he felt… no, he knew he’d been here before, but according to Pixal no one had set foot in this forest since the war had ended.

He scanned his surroundings. He could feel when his titanium skin started to frost over after being there for a few hours.

“Have you found what you are looking for?” Pixal inquired, her voice settling comfortably inside his head as it had when she had no body to linger elsewhere. It was something that was familiar too. Something that was a memory that he knew he had experienced himself.

“I am not sure,” he confessed. “It’s a strange feeling, is all.”

“What will you do?”

“I will come back home.”

And he did just that.

“Find anything?” Kai asked him when he landed on the deck of the Bounty. He was sitting on the steps leading up to the control cabin.

“Nothing but old graves, I’m afraid.”

“Too bad. You’ll figure it out eventually. Just let us know if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Kai. I will.”

There were curious things about himself he could not put his finger on, but he would always have his friends there to help him discover and support him if what he found was not what he expected.

“I heard you’ve been having dreams.”

Zane glanced to see Cole leaning against the doorframe of his room. “Yes.” He watched as Cole entered, taking his response as the invitation it was. He came to sit next to him on the bed Zane didn’t need but still used.

“Have you talked to Lloyd about it?”

“Not yet. I was attempting to investigate first of all. If I were having visions of the future I would have initiated discussion with haste, but to my knowledge thus far they are things of the past.” Saying what he thought they were--the previous master of ice’s memories--felt inaccurate somehow. Saying they belonged to someone else didn’t feel right. And if Zane had learned anything from his time living, it was that his feelings often allowed him to see while logic blinded him.

He closed his eyes and breathed for a moment despite the fact he did not need to.

“What do you feel like it is?”

When he opened his eyes Cole was watching him. He was the first person to ask him that. Not what he thought it was. What he felt.

He remained still as he thought for a minute. “Something. I feel it is something.”

“It’s not nothing. It’s something,” Cole repeated.

“Yes.” Zane said.

“Okay,” said Cole. Zane could hear in his tone that he believed him. “So what next?”

“I follow where I feel.”

“Like always then,” Cole smiled.

Zane smiled slowly back. “Yes. Like always.”

It was comforting to know Cole trusted his instincts. That his family trusted his instincts. At times he did not feel he deserved such intense trust, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

Like Cole said, whatever this was, he’d figure it out.

He was Zane, Elemental Master of Ice. Titanium Ninja. And possibly, if his theories were correct… something more.

#Glaciated Memory AU #Ninjago #LEGO Ninjago #Zane Ninjago #Zane Julian #Zane is so neat actually i feel like im sleeping on his character sometimes #im gonna be real this is really half baked #the urge to turn this into a multichapter 50k slowburn reveal fic is real i like Zane so much rn #i'd do it so differently if i did that tho aaaaaaaaaaa #ITS SO HARD TO WANT TO WRITE THICK STUFF AND HAVING ONLY TIME AND BRAIN FOR PAPER THIN STUFF #;-;#</3

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