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aleskie · 3 months ago

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HEY OSCAR! | Oscar Piastri x Reader

SUMMARY: You’ve shared a close friendship with Oscar Piastri since you first met during Freshman Orientation. When you join an open mic event that requires you to have an original composition, you channel your feelings into a song, hoping it can convey what you’re too scared to say. As it turns out, sometimes the heart speaks louder than words. AKA the Oscar Piastri University AU

Word Count: 8k Warnings: None :>> Just a lil Best Friends to Lovers ♫ Listen: Hey Stephen by Taylor Swift ♫

You sit cross-legged beneath the shade of an old oak tree in the open fields of the university, guitar in hand, fingers plucking strings with delicate care as you hum along. Beside you, a glitter pen rests on top of an open notebook, the pages half-filled with scrawled chords and lyrics that have been scratched out.

The air’s turned crisp and the sun dips lower, casting the sky in vibrant waves of orange, pink, and violet. But you're too absorbed in perfecting the melody, to enjoy the beauty unraveling above.

“There you are!” a familiar voice calls out, cutting through your focus. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

It’s your best friend, Oscar.

He crosses the field with his usual lopsided grin, looking slightly out of breath, his backpack bouncing with each step. As he reaches you, he plops down on the grass and drops his bag with a thud beside yours, the collection of keychains clinking against each other like a small wind chime.

“I thought I’d be headed to the library by myself,” he says, still smiling, his eyes glancing over at your notebook. “Didn’t think I’d find you out here, lost in…this.” He gestures towards you hunched over your guitar, scribbling glittery musings in your notebook.

You shrug, glancing sheepishly at your notebook. “Sorry bub, you might still have to go without me. I’ve got this melody I need to finish.”

“A melody?” He echoes, raising a brow and clearly amused. “You do remember we’re engineering majors, right? Not musicians.”

“Unlike someone, I actually have a hobby,” you shoot back, grinning, though your gaze drifts back to your guitar, fingers instinctively tracing the fretboard. “We can’t all be robotics prodigies, Mr. Piastri.”

“Augh!” He clutches his chest in mock injury, grinning widely. “Low blow, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes and return to strumming, catching the way he settles onto his backpack, head tilted back as he scrolls through his phone. Clearly, he isn’t going anywhere, so you continue experimenting with melodies and rhymes, though none of them feel quite right.

As the sky darkens and a chill settles in, you glance over to find Oscar still sprawled on the grass, now with his AirPods in, chuckling softly at something on his screen. Smirking, you reach over and pull one of the earbuds out.

“I thought you were heading to the library?” you tease, raising a brow.

He huffs, reaching for the earbud in your hand, though his fingers linger on yours for just a beat longer than necessary. “You weren’t going to be there, so what’s the point?”

You feel some heat rush to your face but quickly push it down. He’s your best friend—nothing more. Probably.

“So, what? You’ll just stay here until I’m done?”

“Nah,” he says, a playful glint in his eye, “I’ll stay until you decide to ask for my opinion.”

“Ask for help from the guy who hasn’t even added a single song to our shared playlist?” You scoff, pouting, bringing your focus back to composing. “Yeah, no thanks.”

He hums a response and a beat passes before he gives you a knowing look. “So, why’d you even sign up for that original-submission open-mic thing anyway?”

You shrug, mumbling, “It seemed fun at the time.”

“Not so fun now, huh?” He smirks, his gaze drifting to the notebook littered with scratched-out lyrics and half-formed lines.

“Shut up,” you groan, playfully nudging him with your foot. He laughs, a sound as familiar as it is comforting, and you can’t help but smile as you return to your guitar, his presence a steady rhythm in the background, keeping you company as the stars begin to appear overhead.

“Well, let me offer some advice anyway, since you clearly don’t know what you’re doing,” he says, sitting up and rummaging through his backpack. He pulls out a hoodie and tosses it toward you, his aim landing it squarely on your face before it tumbles into your lap. “Just…focus on what you know.”

The hoodie is your hoodie—well, his hoodie, but you’ve claimed it enough times that it might as well be yours by now. It’s the one you always reach for on cold mornings and late nights. The one that’s softer than all his other hoodies. The one that clings to his scent the longest—not that you’d ever admit you notice that.

“Write what I know, huh?” You look over at him, letting your gaze linger on his tousled hair, his bright eyes, the faint freckles sprinkled across his face. As you think about his words, you start to make a mental list of the things you do know.

You know robotics and calculus. You know the exact temperature for steeping different types of tea. You know how to sew and knit and crochet. You know chemistry and coding and…you know Oscar.

You know his quirks, his habits, the way he folds into himself when he sleeps, how he prefers his coffee, and how he schedules his day with way too many alarms. You know his class schedule by heart, the subjects he struggles with, and the way he pushes through them anyway. If nothing else, you know him. You know him in all the small, quiet ways that matter.

You slip on the hoodie, feeling its warmth wrap around you, and can’t help but give him a small, almost secret smile—a little mischievous, a little uncertain. You already know what you’re going to write about.

For better or worse, this would be a song he wouldn’t forget.

You first meet Oscar at freshman orientation. By chance, the two of you end up sitting side-by-side in one of those endless welcome sessions, the kind that packs in far too many speeches from people you’ll probably never see again. He’s quiet and a little reserved, dressed head-to-toe in school merch: a fresh university shirt and a cap with the campus logo. You’d actively avoided wearing any of it, determined not to look like the stereotypical freshman, but somehow, on him, it’s endearing. He actually seemed excited to be here, enough to wear it proudly—and, well, he was cute. That didn’t hurt either.

You, on the other hand, were exhausted. The nerves from knowing you’d be starting college had robbed you of sleep, and the stuffy room only added to the weight of your eyelids. Somewhere between the speech on campus values and the talk on student resources, your head dips forward, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep—right on his shoulder.

He’s the one who gently nudges you awake once the session finally ends, when everyone else is already getting up to leave for campus tours. Blinking in confusion, you sit up quickly, mortification settling in as you realize what happened.

“Oh my God—I am so sorry!” You say, eyes wide and filled with regret.

“It’s fine,” he says, hands slipping into his pockets, a small, slightly awkward smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Could’ve happened to anyone.”

You squint, trying to gauge if he’s serious. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

He shrugs, still calm. “I mean, it could. I was close to falling asleep too,” he admits, leaning in as if it’s a secret.

You let out a laugh, nerves easing just a bit. Somehow, he makes it seem like less of a big deal, and you find yourself smiling.

“I’m Y/N,” you say, extending your hand with a tentative smile, hoping to smooth over the awkwardness of your unplanned nap on his shoulder.

“Oscar,” he replies, reaching out to grasp your hand. His shake is gentle but sure, his grip warm against your fingers.

For a brief moment, you hold his gaze, and there’s something both reassuring and easygoing in his expression. You can tell he’s someone who doesn’t mind the little quirks in people—he’s likely someone who’d find them interesting. The noise of other freshmen shuffling around to start the campus tour fills the air, but the two of you linger for just a beat longer.

“Well,” you say, letting go of his hand reluctantly, “Which group are you in for the tour?”

“Um.” He checks his phone, squinting slightly. “Group four.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and a smirk creeps onto your face. “Well, look at that! Looks like you can’t get rid of me yet.”

“Never said I wanted to get rid of you.” He chuckles, sliding his phone back into his pocket as you both fall into step together. “Especially not when you’ve made quite the first impression.”

After a shared laugh and an easy exchange of grins, you lead the way to the back of the line for Group Four. Building after building, you walk together, navigating the labyrinth of campus with a strange mixture of excitement and calm.

Sometimes you walk in comfortable silence—the kind that only comes in those first moments of meeting someone, when you want to say more but aren’t quite sure where to start. Other times, your conversation spills into heated debates that draw in other students before they drift away again, leaving you and Oscar to continue on alone. You chat about everything from the cafeteria’s rumored curfews to the quirky statues scattered around campus, and as each topic arises, Oscar surprises you. He’s reserved, but his dry humor and unexpected quips keep you laughing, his calm wit a perfect match for your own.

By the time you’ve seen most of the campus, you realize there’s something different about him. He’s easy to be around, comfortable and safe, but with a spark that keeps things interesting. You can’t explain it exactly—and maybe it’s too early to tell—but some part of you feels that this could be the beginning of a friendship that’s special—one that could last a long, long time.

By the time sophomore year rolls around, Oscar is celebrating seven months with Michelle, his girlfriend, while you’re somewhere around your millionth date—or at least, that’s what it feels like.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. Oscar’s always been the type to settle down in serious relationships, while you’ve leaned into the idea of playing the field, keeping things light before they turn into something more. But that idea lost its appeal fast when you realized most people in the dating pool were just looking for something casual, something fleeting.

And it didn’t help that every so often, you’d find yourself third-wheeling Oscar and Michelle. They’d gotten together near the end of freshman year, survived a summer apart while he went back home to Australia, and picked up in sophomore year as if they’d never left each other’s side.

You kind of like Michelle. You’ve spent enough time with her to consider her almost a friend, sometimes hanging out without Oscar around. She’s sharp, funny, and somehow manages to match Oscar’s dry humor in a way that leaves you in stitches. But sometimes…well, sometimes, she gets under your skin. Like right now.

“Do I look alright?” Oscar asks, running a hand through his hair for what has to be the hundredth time tonight, eyes fixed on the mirror as he adjusts his shirt and frowns slightly.

You’re sprawled across his roommate’s bed, a spot that’s become practically yours over the past two years.

Oscar’s roommate, Lando, is an upperclassman in your major, just a year ahead, and the three of you clicked almost instantly. He’s practically the big brother of your university life, guiding you through the maze of class schedules, professor choices, and which activities are worth your time.

He’s loud, fun, and has an impressive collection of video games that you all regularly raid. And thanks to him, you and Oscar have a standing invite to all the best parties on campus, where he dramatically introduces you both as his “prized students.” He’s a blast to be with. There’s never a dull moment with him.

Currently, he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing his Nintendo Switch with complete focus while you absentmindedly twist curls in his hair.

“You look fine, Osc,” you groan, “You looked fine thirty minutes ago when you first asked.” You give him a pointed look. “Which, by the way, was the time she was supposed to meet you here.”

Oscar shrugs, brushing it off with a small smile. “She’s probably just finalizing the details of the date. She’ll be here soon.”

Lando smirks, not glancing up from his game. “Does she know that offering to plan a special date—and then executing it—also involves showing up on time?”

You smack the back of his head lightly, and he yelps, finally looking away from his game. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t make him feel bad,” you pout, crossing your arms.

He rolls his eyes, grinning. “Oh, so you can throw in all the little comments about her being late and flaking out, but I can’t?”

“Yes,” you say, matter-of-factly, crossing your arms, “Because I actually hang out with her. You just get the highlights.”

Lando snickers but doesn’t get a chance to reply before Oscar cuts in, his expression a mix of disbelief and curiosity. “Wait—so you gossip about my relationship now? Since when?”

Lando gives Oscar a devilish grin, leaning back with a smug look. “That’s classified info, Ozzy boy,” he says, “But we’ll let you in on the secret if you two either break up or end up getting married.”

Oscar looks at you, his expression practically pleading, as if to say, And you’re in on this too? You’re going to keep this a secret from me?

You can’t help but smirk, knowing how it’ll get under his skin. “What he said.” You and Lando share a quick high-five, laughing at Oscar’s groan.

Then, Lando gives you a sly look, leaning in with a grin. “Honestly though, Y/N, if you ever get tired of waiting on him, I’m single. We’d be campus royalty, you know? Top of the line.”

You snort, playing along. “Oh, totally. Imagine the headlines: Y/N and Lando—A Match Made in Unexpected Heaven!”

“Right?” Lando grins, winking. “We’d be a dream together, love.”

Oscar shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms as he watches you two banter. “Are you two done planning your imaginary relationship?” He mutters, trying to sound casual but giving you a sidelong glance.

You glance back at him, laughing. “Relax, Osc. Lando’s not even my type—”

“Hey now!” Lando protests, feigning offense.

“—But if he were,” you continue, ignoring Lando’s dramatics, “You’d totally be the best third wheel, bub.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, but there’s a glint of something behind the exasperation, something you can’t quite place. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember who’s actually got a date tonight.”

Lando raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. We’ll let you focus on impressing your date, lover boy.” He smirks. “If she ever gets here.”

You give him another light smack on the head and he laughs as Oscar chuckles along, the three of you settling back into the easy rhythm of jokes and chatter. Oscar seems quieter than usual, but you chalk it up to nerves about the date—or lack thereof.

You’re just relieved to have the same easy vibe you’ve always had with them—after all, that’s what matters most.

When the clock strikes midnight, Michelle is still a no-show. No text, no call, no explanation. And Oscar is...silent. Even Lando, usually quick with a quip, notices the change in Oscar’s mood and dials down the teasing, trying instead to fill the silence by chattering about a game they both play. But even that doesn’t bring Oscar around; his usual lighthearted responses are replaced by quiet nods and distracted hums.

His clothes have long since changed from his date outfit to his usual worn hoodie and sweatpants, but the frown on his face hasn’t budged.

You and Lando have swapped places now—you’re sprawled on the floor, and he’s kicked back on his bed, scrolling on his phone. Oscar lies between you two, his head resting on your lap, eyes fixed on his screen. He’s still waiting, clearly hoping for some sign from Michelle, though by now you’re almost certain that no text is coming.

Eventually, you give him a gentle pat on the cheek, signaling for him to shift so you can slide out from under him and put your shoes back on to make the trek to your own dorm.

“The third roommate moves out,” Lando jokes, leaning back with a sigh. “Always the hardest part of the night, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smirk on your face as you give him a quick hug. “My presence really does brighten up the place, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He grins, playfully nudging you. “Bring her back safe, Osc!” He calls out as you and Oscar step into the hallway.

You and Oscar walk in silence, a heavy quiet that neither of you rushes to fill. After a moment, he reaches for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, and you squeeze his hand back, hoping it’s some small comfort.

“What she did was shitty, you know,” you murmur, finally breaking the silence.

He lets out a laugh, though it’s empty, tired. “It’s kinda funny, isn’t it? I got all dressed up, wondering how the night would go, and then…nothing.” His voice trails off, resignation in every word.

You stop and turn to him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “This isn’t on you, bub. She should’ve said something.”

He looks at you, eyes tracing the ground for a second before they finally lift, catching yours. “At least you’re here.”

“Perks of being single and unwanted,” you joke, your voice light but the words half-true. You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “I’ll always be here, Osc. No matter what.”

Hand in hand, you make your way to your dorm, basking in a silence that feels steady, solid. When you reach your door, you pause, turning to him with open arms. He steps into the hug, pulling you close, and you feel him cling just a little tighter, his warmth grounding you both.

After a long moment, he pulls back, his hands resting on your shoulders, but he doesn’t let go. “For the record,” he says softly, his gaze steady on yours, "You aren’t unwanted.” His voice grows quieter, serious. “I’ll always want you around.”

For a moment, his words feel loaded, almost more than platonic, and something in his eyes lingers a beat too long. But you brush the thought away, reminding yourself of the boundaries in place—he has a girlfriend, and he’s just been hurt tonight. He’s vulnerable. So you ignore any underlying meanings—ignore the rising tension—and you ruffle his hair, keeping things light.

“Me too, bub.” You smile, patting his shoulder. “I’ll always want you around too.”

With a last squeeze of his hand, you slip into your dorm, leaving Oscar standing there, both of you holding onto that quiet, unspoken promise between you.

Oscar and Michelle break up just before summer, right near the end of sophomore year. You can’t say you’re surprised—honestly, you’d been half-expecting it since that night she stood him up. But when he tells you, his voice low and resigned, you do your best to hide any hint of satisfaction. You give him a steady pat on the back, listen as he mopes through the last few weeks of school, and keep all those unspoken feelings locked away. After all, he’s your best friend, and that’s what he needs most right now.

Still, you can’t deny that a part of you is relieved. He’s spending more time with you again and his hoodies have officially returned to their rightful home—your dorm room. You feel a secret giddiness every time he hands you one to wear, relishing the way it’s soft and warm and unmistakably his. It’s as if things have gone back to how they used to be.

But you’re his best friend, and best friends don’t overthink the little things. So you keep it to yourself, even when you’re studying for finals together, living off caffeine and library vending machine snacks, or trading late-night rants about the professors who dared assign twenty-page essays. You proofread his pages with half-shut eyes at 3 a.m., he helps you organize your chaotic notes, and somehow, you make it through. After every three-hour final, you both wait outside the exam hall for each other, sharing a quiet sense of victory, collapsing into a laugh about how little you actually remembered from all those nights spent cramming.

When the semester finally ends, and it’s time for him to pack for his trip back home to Australia, you help him sort through his clothes and cram textbooks into his suitcase, doing your best to ignore the familiar ache of goodbye.

If your fingers brush a little too long while folding his favorite shirt, or if you find his face lingering a beat too close as you hand him one last book to pack, neither of you mentions it. These almost-moments hang in the air, the silence thick with words you’re not yet ready to say. But it’s enough just to know he’ll be back, that no matter how far he goes, he’s still yours.

At least, in the way best friends belong to each other.

When he comes back after the summer, now entering into your junior year, you notice he’s different. It’s subtle, but unmistakable—a little more confidence in the way he carries himself, a bit more certainty in his steps. He’s shed some of that awkward charm, replaced by a newfound ease that almost feels strange. You find yourself watching him more closely, catching moments that feel just a little bit different.

There’s a shift between you, too, something new lingering just beneath the surface, threading itself into each conversation. It’s a tension that neither of you dares to name. The way he walks, the way he talks to you—it all feels sharper, more vivid somehow. And the way he says your name now, in that deeper tone with that familiar hint of teasing, makes your heart race a little faster, even though you tell yourself it’s silly.

One afternoon, you’re sitting side by side on the campus lawn, watching students pass by, each absorbed in their own lives. Oscar’s fingers idly pull at the grass between you, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you, lingering just a moment too long. His eyes are warm but searching, as if there’s something he’s been holding back.

“Do you…miss me over the summer?” He asks, half-smiling but with an edge to his tone, as if he’s testing the waters.

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you give his shoulder a playful shove. “Are you forgetting the reason I spend half my summer awake at the strangest hours? Making sure your calls don’t end with me passing out mid-conversation?” You raise an eyebrow, leaning back. “Trust me, bub, you’re impossible to forget.”

“Just wanted to make sure,” he says, jutting out his lower lip in a mock pout. His gaze stays steady on you, his eyes searching yours, and there’s something there—something you can’t quite place but that you feel all the way down to your bones.

You swallow, trying to keep your tone as light as his. “Oh, Oscar. No need to be dramatic. You’ve been stuck with me since orientation.” You smile, warm and reassuring. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

His chuckle is warm, but the laugh doesn’t fully reach his eyes. A flicker of something vulnerable, almost haunted, crosses his face. “People have a way of leaving,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, Lando’s about to graduate, and after that…well, things change.”

His words hang between you, stark against the background noise of campus life. It’s a reality you both understand: university, with its friendships, late-night talks, and steady routines, is never as permanent as it feels in the moment. Change is inevitable, and soon, it’ll come for all of you.

You scoot a little closer, letting your shoulder brush against his, grounding him in the here and now. “Lando’s an old man at the edge of freedom, the lucky bastard.” You smirk, nudging him gently. “You and I though? We’re still the same. No one’s going anywhere.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, the weight of unspoken promises lingering between you. His gaze dips briefly to your lips before flicking back up, and there’s a spark of something that feels new, unexpected. It’s as though he’s waiting for the right words, like there’s a tune that neither of you has heard yet playing gently in the background, just waiting for one of you to finally hum along.

You rest your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath, letting the familiar weight of his presence ground you. “We’ve got time, Oscar.”

He grins, a little reluctantly, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that softens his expression, something unguarded and real. You can feel the silent understanding settle between you both, an unspoken promise that maybe, just maybe, some things don’t have to change.

Not yet.

And now, you’re here. Typing out the lyrics to the song you know is going to be for Oscar, while lying on his bed with his arm resting comfortably around your waist, his breathing slow and even beside you. The gentle weight of his arm keeps you grounded, but it’s more than that; it’s the warmth of him next to you, a presence you can’t shake, a feeling that lingers even when he’s not here.

You’d thought nothing had changed between you two. But now, looking back, you see it—small shifts, like puzzle pieces rearranging themselves before you even noticed they’d moved. Maybe it’s the way he’s been studying your face a little longer, or the way he’s been holding your hand more often, or how he brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear without a second thought.

Then, there was that moment just a while ago. You’d been sprawled out on Lando’s bed as usual, laughing at some random meme he'd shown you. But Oscar was just watching you, a soft expression in his eyes that felt almost...territorial.

"C'mere," he’d said suddenly, his voice soft but insistent, breaking through your laughter. “Stay with me.”

Lando had raised an eyebrow at Oscar’s request, and you’d missed a small knowing smirk on his lips. But you were more focused on how Oscar’s eyes hadn’t left you, his hand reaching out in a quiet invitation.

You’d moved over to him, hesitating for only a second before settling into his arms. The way his hand had rested on your waist, his fingers drawing small circles there as you leaned against him, felt different—like he was anchoring you there, like he wanted you closer than usual. And though he’d acted like it was nothing, you could have sworn you felt his heartbeat pick up against your shoulder.

Now it’s just the two of you, the quiet of the dorm settling around you, warm and easy. Lando had left a while ago, heading to a friend’s party and leaving you and Oscar alone—though not before snapping a couple photos of you two on the same bed. The dim light from the streetlamp outside filters through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room, and you can’t help but notice how natural it all feels—like you were always meant to be here.

Oscar stretches beside you, facing you with his hazy eyes and that familiar, sleepy smile. There’s something gentle in his gaze, a kind of warmth that makes your pulse skip a little, though you try to ignore it, focusing instead on the slow rhythm of his breathing and the subtle sound of his laughter still echoing from earlier.

“Comfortable?” he murmurs, his voice low and a little drowsy. His hand, warm and steady, rests lightly on your shoulder as he draws you closer.

“Yeah,” you say, not even bothering to hide the smile in your voice. It’s almost ridiculous, the calm that fills you while you’re with him—no masks, no obligations, just the two of you in the cozy quiet.

Minutes pass in an easy silence, your head resting just close enough to his that you can feel his breath against your cheek. When you look up, he’s already watching you, eyes half-lidded, a softness in them you haven’t quite seen before. There’s a vulnerability there, something almost unguarded, as if he’s waiting for you to catch onto a feeling that he’s carried all along.

Your eyes drift closed, and soon enough, the quiet thrum of his heartbeat beside you becomes a lullaby, easing you to sleep with a sense of comfort you can’t remember feeling anywhere else.

When you wake the next morning, soft sunlight is spilling through the blinds, warming the room with a gentle glow. For a moment, you’re disoriented, blinking away sleep and adjusting to the soft, steady breathing beside you. Then you remember—you’re still here, wrapped in the blankets beside Oscar.

Oscar stirs, his eyes fluttering open just enough to catch you watching him. A lazy grin tugs at his lips, and his hand, which had somehow ended up wrapped around yours, gives the smallest, sleep-tinged squeeze.

"Morning," he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," you reply, feeling a warmth settle over you that has nothing to do with the morning light filtering through the blinds. There’s a pause, a soft kind of stillness stretching between you, as if the world outside doesn’t exist yet and you’re suspended here, in this quiet, shared moment.

"G’moooooorning," Lando groans from across the room, his voice muffled by the covers. The two of you chuckle, knowing he’ll be facing a brutal hangover today.

Still smiling, you shift to sit up, and that’s when it hits you—just how close you and Oscar are, practically nose to nose on his twin bed. His hand is still loosely draped around yours, and you can feel his steady breaths, warm against your cheek. The familiarity of it sends a pleasant hum through you, a feeling of rightness that’s been quietly building in moments like this.

Oscar’s gaze catches yours, his eyes lingering just a bit longer than usual, and you notice the small smile playing on his lips, a little shy, a little more awake now. For a split second, something in his expression feels different—like there’s a question he hasn’t quite asked, or a confession he’s almost ready to say.

You feel a flicker of something, unexpected and thrilling, settle in your chest. And in that moment, you think that maybe, just maybe, there's something more here.

But you shake the thoughts from your head. You’re just friends. Best friends.

Oscar’s bed is quickly becoming your new headquarters, if only because he won’t let you sit on Lando’s anymore. He insists it’s practical—Lando’s bed is too far from his side of the room, and Lando would complain about your stuff spilling over anyway—but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it. And Oscar’s growing possessiveness over “his side of the room” only fuels that suspicion.

One afternoon, as you’re curled up in his bed, typing out lyrics on your laptop, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, smiles, and excuses himself to take the call, wandering to the far side of the room. You’re too focused on your song to notice right away, but something about his tone pulls you from your work.

“Hey, yeah…I know, I know,” he says, his voice soft and a little bashful. You can’t make out the other end of the conversation, but whatever they’re saying has him pacing, one hand ruffling his hair as he mutters a response.

He sighs a second later, a smile playing on his lips. “Come on, it’s not…it’s not that easy, alright?” He glances over at you, catching your eye for a brief, vulnerable moment before quickly looking away, his cheeks tinged with color. “I don’t think she’s...aware of anything like that. Not yet, at least.”

You can practically hear the teasing tone from the caller without even needing the words, and Oscar groans, running his hand over his face. “Okay, but…what if…I mean, what if it messes things up?”

You pretend to be fully absorbed in your screen, fighting back a small smile. You can’t hear the other side, but the snippets you catch send a warm flutter through your chest for some reason.

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles, conceding. “No, I get it. I do.” He steals another glance your way, a softer, unguarded look in his eyes, something unspoken. “Look, I’ll...I’ll think about it, okay?”

When he hangs up and returns to the bed, there’s a new, nervous smile on his face, like he’s holding back.

“Good talk?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light, though curiosity buzzes in your chest.

“Yeah, uh, just Hattie,” he says, still sounding casual, though his eyes are filled with something quieter, maybe even hopeful. He hesitates, as though choosing his words carefully. “She, um…thinks I should take more risks.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease, leaning in, feeling the familiar, magnetic pull between you. “What kind of risks?”

He laughs, though there’s a nervous edge to it, his gaze dropping to the edge of the blanket as he fidgets with it. “Just…the ones that aren’t obvious until you actually go for them, I guess.”

You hum, shifting back to your lyrics, though your heart skips a beat. The air between you feels charged, like you’re both on the edge of something new and a little terrifying.

It’s two weeks before the open mic, and you’re sitting at your desk, carefully polishing every line, every note of the song. There’s a rhythm to it now, a familiarity as you hum the lyrics under your breath, and suddenly, it hits you—this song, this performance, everything…it’s for him.

You're in love with Oscar Piastri.

You don’t exactly know when it happened—the exact moment it shifted from comfortable friendship to something deeper. Maybe it was that quiet moment on the field when you swore he looked at your lips a little too long, or when you found yourself deciding to dedicate this song to him. Maybe it’s always been this way with you both, feelings going deeper but never having the chance to be more.

Now though, it’s glaringly obvious. And it’s stressing you the fuck out.

Lando, on the other hand, is having the time of his life.

“Oh, thank the heavens!” He snickers, barely containing his glee as you finally confess it to him, late one night while Oscar’s out with other friends. He dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear from his eye. “I was starting to think you’d never figure it out!”

“It’s not funny!” You groan, slumping back into the chair across from him, running a hand through your hair.

“It soooo is!” Lando cackles, his laughter echoing through the room. “I mean, come on, Y/N. You were acting all kinds of weird back when he had a girlfriend!”

You sit up defensively, crossing your arms. “I was being a good friend! I even hung out with her!”

“On hangouts you always had issues with!”

“She was never on time and flaked constantly!”

He rolls his eyes, his smirk widening. “Fine, fine. But what about the fact that you basically live here now, huh? You and Oscar are like a package deal.”

You stick out your tongue. “You like having me around.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” he admits, smirking. “But come on. It’s obvious now—you’ve liked him for ages.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping as the weight of the truth settles in. “Yeah. I guess I have.” You let out a breath, feeling both relieved and nervous now that you’ve finally said it out loud.

Lando leans forward, raising an eyebrow. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

You blink, suddenly feeling a little vulnerable. “I mean…do I have to do anything? What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Lando gives you a look, the kind only a big brother can give, full of patience and a hint of frustration. “Y/N, the guy looks at you like you hung the stars. Seriously. You could be a serial killer and he’d be wagging his tail while helping you dig a hole.” He chuckles. “He’s madly in love with you. I swear it.”

You laugh, feeling warmth spread through you at his words. But you still shake your head, hesitant. “You think so?”

“Duh,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Look, don’t overthink it. Just play your song, put it all out there, and see how he reacts. You’ll know.”

You roll your eyes, giving him a playful nudge. “When did you get so wise?”

“Probably when I had my graduation photos taken,” he grins, brushing you off.

You laugh along with him, feeling a little lighter. Maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s all you need to do—play the song, let the words say everything you’re too afraid to put out there, and hope he hears it in all the ways that matter.

Two days before the open mic, you’re practicing alone in the small rehearsal room on campus, running through the song again and again. The lyrics are practically engraved in your memory, but each time you sing them, they feel heavier, more vulnerable. You’ve poured so much of yourself, of your memories, into these words—it’s impossible not to think of him as you sing them.

The door creaks open, and you almost jump out of your skin. Oscar steps inside, an easy smile on his face as he leans against the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Hey,” he says, his voice low and soft, “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

You clear your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up as you try to act casual. "Just practicing,” you say, glancing away and strumming a few absent chords on your guitar. “You know, trying to make it sound…not terrible."

He chuckles, shaking his head as he walks further into the room. “Not a chance of that. I know it’s gonna be incredible." He stops just a few feet from you, and suddenly the room feels much smaller. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this serious about something that wasn’t for our grade. It’s kind of amazing.”

You laugh, a little too nervously. "It might have turned out to be more important to me than I originally thought.”

He watches you, and there’s something unreadable in his expression, a mix of admiration and curiosity. It makes you feel exposed, as if he can see right through you, into the meaning behind what you just said, into all the feelings you’ve been trying so hard to keep under wraps since you realized.

“Since we met…” You trail off, catching yourself, unsure if you want to finish that sentence.

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Since we met…what?” he asks, leaning a little closer, his gaze locked onto yours.

The words almost spill out—how you can’t help but think he looks like an angel when he smiles, or how sometimes you wonder what it would be like to kiss him in a moment like this, your mind drifting to the memory of the two of you dancing in the rain, soaked and laughing as if it’s just the two of you in the world.

But you’re not sure you’re ready for that. Not with the performance so close, and definitely not when he’s standing here looking at you like that.

Though what that is, you can’t say. Or maybe you’re still too scared to find out.

Instead, you manage a small smile, shrugging. “I don’t know…since we met, it’s just been…magic,” you say quietly, the word barely louder than a whisper.

There’s a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes, something soft and almost vulnerable, and then he smiles. “Yeah…yeah, I know what you mean,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. He’s close now, close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from him, and for a second, it feels like maybe you’re not the only one feeling this.

It takes everything in you not to lean in, not to close the distance. Instead, you look away, your heart racing. "So…you’ll be there? For the performance?"

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says, his voice sincere, and the way he’s looking at you makes it feel like maybe he means more than just the performance.

When the open mic comes, you’re almost a wreck, nervous and excited all at once. When the night of the open mic finally arrives, you’re a mix of nerves and excitement, feeling each second tick by as the lights dim and the hum of the audience grows. Backstage, you tighten your grip on your guitar, casting one last look through the curtain to see if he’s there. But he isn’t.

A pang of disappointment settles into your chest. You tell yourself he’s probably just running late and that any second, he’ll slip in, giving you that half-smile he always has when he knows he’s kept you waiting. But a part of you can’t shake the small, sinking feeling that maybe…maybe you were hoping for too much.

But Oscar’s never let you down. And you don’t think he’d start now.

When your turn comes, you take a deep breath and step onto the stage, feeling the warmth of the spotlight, and yet the crowd feels distant—none of them the person you want there the most. Settling into your seat, you scan the room one last time, but he’s still not there.

With a quiet sigh, you look down at your guitar, anchoring yourself in the familiar strings, the melody you’ve practiced countless times. You close your eyes, letting the weight of your feelings pour into the chords, filling every note with the things you’ve never been able to say.

Your voice starts soft, and as you sing, memories start playing in your mind. You think of meeting him at the Freshman orientation, the awkwardness, the fragility of the budding friendship—but you also think of the way you knew he was gonna be a part of your life, the certainty with which you realized you like having him around.

Hey darling, I know looks can be deceiving, But I know I saw a light in you And as we walked, we would talk, And I didn’t say half the things I wanted to.

You picture him beside you, the way his voice dips low when he’s teasing, the way his hand always seems to find yours in crowded spaces, like it’s second nature to him. A small smile tugs at your lips as you sing, the words becoming more and more specific to your story with him.

The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you say my name It's beautiful, wonderful—don’t you ever change.

Each word spills out, heavy and vulnerable, leaving you bare as you play. Every line is something you’ve kept close, something you’ve been afraid to say, and it’s only now, on this stage, that you’re finally able to let it out.

Hey darling, why are people always leaving? I think you and I should stay the same.

Each note, each line is a confession, a quiet vulnerability you let slip through the melody, hoping he hears it—wherever he is.

As you near the song’s climax, your gaze sweeps over the crowd, people swaying in time with the music, and then, finally, you see him.

He’s standing near the entrance, face slightly flushed, like he’s just rushed in, but he’s there, his eyes fixed on you with a look that sends a surge of warmth straight to your chest.

When he catches you looking, he raises his hand in a small wave, a hint of that familiar grin on his lips. The weight on your chest lifts and you feel a renewed sense of purpose, like you’re the only two people in the room, your voice steadying as your gaze stays locked on his.

Hey darling, I could give you 50 reasons why I should be the one you choose.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you can’t help but imagine all those reasons, each one racing through your mind. You could probably give him more than fifty—and every one of them would be true.

All those other girls, well, they're beautiful, but would they write a song for you?

When you sing that line, he chuckles, shaking his head slightly. The sight makes you laugh, your voice softening as you step into the final chorus, feeling like every word has finally found its rightful place.

'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain So, come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you Can't help it if there's no one else

The last notes hang in the air as you let the final chords fade, your fingers gently leaving the strings. The song comes full circle, wrapping up with the melody that began beneath the oak tree, when you first decided to give this song to him.

The applause swells, and you stand, bowing before making your way backstage, where you know he’ll be waiting. Heart pounding, you step through the curtain, and there he is, leaning against the wall, hands behind his back, looking at you with a combination of expressions you’ve never quite seen on him before—soft, maybe a little nervous, with a hint of pride shining in his eyes.

“You’re late,” you tease, unable to keep the grin off your face.

He smiles sheepishly and, with a slight flourish, pulls a bouquet of your favorite flowers from behind his back. “Turns out flower shops are in high demand on nights like this.”

Your heart melts a little as you take the bouquet, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of the flowers. “You’re forgiven,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

He rolls his eyes in playful relief. “Good. You get cranky when you’re mad.” He chuckles as you give him a slight nudge. “C’mon let’s get out of here. Dinner’s on me.”

You nod, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and relief, and hurry to pack up your guitar. As you walk out together, his hand finds its place gently but firmly on your hip, guiding you toward the door. And if you notice the way he pulls you just a little closer, his fingers lingering as if they belong there, you don’t say anything—you just smile and let yourself fall.

For once, maybe things are exactly as they should be.

Dinner’s casual, nothing too fancy, but there’s a shift in the air. He’s more forward now, his fingers brushing against yours with a confidence you haven’t seen before. He holds your hand a little tighter, his gaze lingering on your lips more often than it ever has.

Lando was right. You knew it. And so did he.

The meal feels familiar—easy laughter, the same teasing banter, inside jokes that still land with ease. But beneath it all, there’s an unspoken tension, a hum in the air that keeps the silence between you both louder than it should be. It’s the quiet weight of a confession that hasn’t been made, but you both feel it there, just waiting for the right moment.

He links your fingers together as you walk back toward your dorm. The night feels like it’s stretching out, slow and deliberate, each step bringing you closer to something inevitable.

You break the silence first.

“When did you come in?” You ask, glancing up at him.

“A little bit before you sang…” He clears his throat, his smile teasing. He sings the line with a laugh, "The way you walk, way you talk, way you say my name, it's beautiful, wonderful, don't you ever change."

You groan, embarrassed, but can’t help smiling at how effortlessly he teases you. He laughs, full of heart, and says, “I loved every moment of it.”

“Good,” you reply, the words simple but carrying everything you want to say. You lean a little closer, just enough for him to feel the shift in the air between you.

As you reach your door, you stop, heart racing in your chest. You look at him, trying to gauge what he’s feeling, the question that’s been swirling in your mind now impossible to keep inside.

“Did you get it then? What I meant to say?”

Oscar’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand gently covering yours where it rests on your guitar. “Y/N,” he says, his voice low, “I think I got the message loud and clear.”

Before you can say anything, his fingers brush your cheek, his touch so soft it sends a shiver through you. The world feels like it’s slowing down, the noise of the night receding into the background as he leans in just a little closer. “Play me the song again,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “So I can hear it in full.”

You chuckle, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I should’ve just written a song with fifty reasons why it should be me.”

He shakes his head, a soft smile playing at his lips as his thumb brushes against your skin. “You didn’t need fifty reasons. Just one would’ve been enough.”

“And what would that reason be?” You ask, your breath catching in your throat.

“Because I love you too.”

And then, before you can process anything more, he’s kissing you. It’s soft, tender—like the final note to a song you’ve been playing in your heart for what feels like forever. You melt into the kiss, the world around you vanishing as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapped around you, grounding you in a way that feels like home.

In that quiet moment, as the sounds of the night drift into the background, you realize it was always meant to be this way. All the magic, all the feelings have been there since the day you met.

Everything falls exactly into place.

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri #op81 #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #formula one #f1 x reader #✩ allie's writing ✩

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pers1st · 1 year ago

Text

let down - leah williamson x reader

pairing: barca!reader x leah williamson

warnings: barça being broke

In truth, you shouldn't be nervous.

This conversation had been going on for months - it was no secret that Barça had many financial problems, and paying you, Alexia and Aitana as their midfield would always have been difficult. You had had countless conversations like these before - negotiating your new contract, negotiating your new wage, which you knew would be significantly lower. It didn't bother you, though. You would've picked up a second job if it meant playing for your childhood club, even if they refused to pay you.

This setting, however, seemed a lot more official than it should've, in your opinion.

You were still dressed in your clothes from training, and so was Jona, but the rest of Barça's management was dressed properly - in suits and leather shoes. They shouldn't have even been there yet. This conversation was meant to simply verbalize your new contract, not to sign it yet. You were in no conditions to take the usual photos and sit in front of the camera for an interview after the contract extension. It confused you.

"Y/N, we are so sorry."

That was how Jona started, and in that particular moment, your heart stopped. No, this couldn't- they wouldn't dare-

"We can't renew your contract."

Silence followed. Then, your shaky voice. Barely above a whisper.

"What?"

This whole situation seemed too surreal to be true. Maybe in a few seconds, your eyes would open and you would find out that this was just a horrible dream. If it hadn't been for your manager's piercing gaze on you, you might've pinched yourself under the table.

"We don't have the financial means to pay you enough to stay. I know it's not what you want to hear, but-"

"No, Jona, we talked about this. You can cut my wage, I don't mind. I'll stay here, whatever it takes. Alexia said she would-"

But the man in front of you didn't let you finish.

"You are right, we talked about this. And I told you that you deserve more than what we can give you, and that you cannot let us undermine you. It's not fair to you, it's not fair to all the women who are-"

This time, you were the one to interrupt him.

"But this? This isn't fair to me!"

That was how the argument unfolded, and only after your voice was hoarse from crying and pleading, your cheeks stained with tears and your manager stained with guilt, did you leave the office to fall into Alexia's arms, who had been listening in from the other side of the door for God knew how long.

It was January currently, which meant that as soon as you silently agreed with them to sign you to whatever club payed the most, you were out.

Just like that, the chance to play in front of the Culers for one last time was ripped away from you. They received a half-hearted announcement via Instagram, you received twenty women in your apartment, ready to pack your things. In all honesty, you had wished for no one to see as you organized your life into moving boxes and shipped them over the sea for whoever from Arsenal to receive, mostly because it would've felt even less real. Mostly because then, the goodbye wouldn't have hit you as hard. Ona tried to offer you advice on how to get by in England, telling you all about her experience abroad. Mapi tried to lift the spirits by joking around. Ingrid held you as you allowed tears to fall, and Alexia made sure you didn't forget anything, offering to take care of the things you would leave behind in Barcelona.

It was only you and Alexia at the airport. Your best friend, since the day you had been selected to play for the senior team of Barcelona, had shared many angry words with the management, and at one point even threatened to leave if you really had to. But the papers were signed, and the boxes were packed, and there was nothing left to do for Alexia besides holding your shaky frame as tears clouded your vision for what felt like the millionth time.

"You'll be okay, bebita. You'll enjoy London, and then you'll come back. I promise, you'll come back."

The both of you knew that there was no way she could ever promise that - Barça's financial difficulties were far too severe to sign you back soon - the most expensive player in the world, currently. When, or if the smoke would clear up, neither of you could know. Still, her words soothed you the tiniest as you held onto the glimpse of hope your best friend gave you as if it was a lifeline.

"Enjoy London, okay?"

You nodded, although you knew that you wouldn't. What good was London compared to Barcelona? What good was the capital of England compared to your lifelong home?

"Vamos, carino", Alexia huffed as she let go of you, gently pushing you towards your gate.

"Call me, okay? ¡Te amo!", she yelled after you as you turned away from her, and the hurt in her voice made a new layer of tears stream down on your cheeks, but you knew that if you looked back at her now, you would never board that plane. If leaving to England was what it took for your club to keep functioning, you would. If playing for Arsenal meant that you would be back in blaugrana one day, you would wear that ugly red shirt and call yourself a Gunner. You wouldn't do it happily, though.

London looked ugly when you flew over it, and London looked ugly when you landed in Heathrow Airport. You had expected people from the club to be there to pick you up, wearing Arsenal clothes and a sign with your name on it. It was apparently standard procedure, as Alexia had told you, though neither of you could really know because neither of you had never left the country to play football if it wasn't with the Spanish national team. What you hadn't expected, however, was Laia waving at you excitedly from across the hall, with two women dressed in the same hoodie as her, one significantly smaller (you guessed she was Kim) and one Leah Williamson.

You had never followed English football much, likely why you hadn't recognized Kim when you'd first searched up your new team on the internet, but Leah was the kind of footballer everyone was just.. aware of.

Admittedly, she was even prettier in real life.

"¡Hola, guapa!", Laia shrieked as you strolled over to your new teammates (the word 'teammate' along with 'new' still left a bitter taste in your mouth), dragging your suitcase behind you tiredly. The plain ride had worn you out - in all honesty, the entire past week had worn you out. Ever since you'd been told that you would leave the club that you had bled for, you hadn't been able to close half an eye.

Still, Laia's excitement was unmatched as she pulled you into a tight hug, allowing your face to sag against her shoulder. You didn't allow yourself to cry anymore, and so you could see Leah and Kim smile at you softly from a few steps behind the other Spanish woman without tears clouding your vision.

Laia continued to speak in Spanish, asking you about the flight, about how the Barça girls were, about how excited she was that you were finally here and she wasn't the only Spaniard at the Arsenal.

If Kim and Leah thought it was rude that they were left out of the conversation entirely, they didn't say so. Still, you pushed Laia off gently, mustering the smallest of smiles you could.

"Hello."

Your English wasn't very good, but even you winced ever so slightly at the realization of how truly cold you sounded. You didn't want to be here, didn't want any of them to show you your new apartment, didn't want them to show you the club, to bring you to training, to give you a red jersey and call you a Gunner.

But you needed to suck it up. Life wasn't fair. And if Alexia's words held any truth, this would merely be a temporal situation.

"Hey", Kim smiled at you. Her English sounded funny, but her smile was more genuine than yours as she introduced herself and Leah. You hadn't needed her to, but it was a nice gesture anyways.

"It's good to have you here", Leah smiled as she gently lay her arm across your shoulder.

"Wanna see your new flat?", you nodded as Leah guided you out of the hall, your luggage left with Laia who strolled behind you alongside Kim.

Leah's confidence and her proximity to you, your side pressed against hers, was making your head spin ever so slightly. You had, admittedly, hoped that Leah, as co-captain and being about to return to the pitch, would understand how badly you didn't want to be at Arsenal, seeing as she bled for the club the way you did for Barcelona. Maybe she could grasp the idea of being forced out of her home, and sympathize with you in the slightest. And it seemed she did, as she pointed towards what you guessed was Kim's car, leaving you and Laia in the backseats as you drove through the city. London was different from Barcelona.

It was slightly less ugly now, with impressive buildings and a few bits of nature sprawled around as Kim maneuvered the car through the streets. It was cold, though, and as you were shivering slightly, Kim put the heat just a bit higher. It was grey, as well. Not a single ray of sunshine was able to break through the barrier of clouds in the sky, and it reminded you a lot of your current mood, though you were hesitant to show it.

Leah and Kim seemed genuine in their efforts to make this transition as easy for you as possible, given the fact that your apprehension to leave Barcelona was a very well known fact. You had dedicated an Instagram post with a very heartfelt caption to your departure, which made it very clear that you did not leave on your own accord.

Their dedication to welcome you, though, made you feel the tiniest bit of unfair. The women were genuinely trying, and they promised you during the car ride, when asking whether or not you were nervous, that the whole team was excited to meet you. Maybe you could try a little bit. Maybe you could enjoy this for the time being.

"Here we are."

You could see Kim's smile through the rearview mirror as she parked her car in front of an old building which you guessed was your new apartment complex. The car had left the central of London around twenty minutes ago, and at your confused expression, Laia had huffed that the club was in North London, not Central London.

"¿Es un poco feo, no?", (It's a bit ugly) you asked Laia as you stared at the shabby building. The walls were grey, and the parking lot was grey, and it seemed like everything in London was just.. grey. Plain.

"¡No, Y/N! Leah vida aquí también", (Leah lives here too) Laia huffed at your comment, shaking her head while chuckling at your statement. You shrugged, ignoring the way Leah and Kim furrowed their brows at your Spanish conversation while climbing out of your seat to retrieve your luggage.

You insisted on carrying your suitcase up the small flight of stairs as well, though Laia offered to do it for you. The two of you hadn't been super close when she'd still played at Barcelona, but you had been quite good friends, and having at least one familiar face soothed you.

"This is it", Leah smiled softly as the four of you stepped into the hallway, following your curious steps into the flat. It was plain as well, of course it was. For the first time since calming down on the plane, you had to fight tears again. The flat was nice, sure. The club had organized a quite spacious place, with lots of room and comfortable-looking furniture. But it was bare. You knew that shopping for furniture would be a hassle in the middle of the season, so you had rented it furnitured.

You missed your green couch, the thrifted, quite antique sideboard, the golden-framed mirror. You missed the framed shirts on your wall, the clothing rack with all of the shirts you had swapped with other players. All of those things were now packed away in a storage room somewhere in Barcelona. You missed Barcelona.

"Es pretty", you mumbled, dropping your keys on the white coffee table and turning around to look at Leah, who was still holding on to your large bag, the Barcelona badge imprinted on it. The look she gave you, eyebrows slightly raised, eyes looking somewhat defeated, told you that you hadn't been able to fool her.

Laia and Kim left quickly, with the excuse of having early training tomorrow and needing to run whatever errands, but Leah stayed.

"I live in the same building, so I could help you unpack if you want?"

In truth, you didn't want her to help. You didn't want her to swoop through your things, eyeing all of your personal belongings, all of the tokens of your previous home that you had left so promptly, but you didn't have the heart to tell her no. So, the two of you got to work, after a small tour through the whole unit, finding the bedroom, the bathroom and another room that you guessed you would use for storage. Your kitchen was small, after all, and it was filled with things you didn't know how to use.

"What's this?", you asked as you held up a scoop of some sort, that you had found while rummaging through your cupboards.

"It's a tea scoop, for making loose tea", Leah explained with a chuckle, taking the utensil from your hand to showcase how one scoops.

"I don't drink tea", you huffed, taking the scoop back and shoving it into the back of the cupboard before closing it a little harsher than you would have expected.

"You're in England now, you're gonna drink tea."

You decided to ignore her comment, instead opening the next drawer.

"I have a microwave", you pointed out, moving slightly to the side so that Leah could look. She was awfully close to you again, and it made you nervous.

"So you can make paellas", Leah snickered, nudging her hips against yours playfully. At that, you turned towards her, taking a shocked step back.

"Joder, you don't microwave paellas! What is wrong with you? Mujer loca", (crazy woman) you exclaimed, nudging her back playfully before diving into the next cupboard. Maybe London wouldn't be as horrible as you thought.

notes: this is baaaaad honestly but we move

#woso imagine #woso community #woso fanfics #woso one shot #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc imagine #awfc x reader #barca femeni x reader

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dreamwritesimagines · 1 year ago

Text

The Eye of the Hurricane [1] - A Night Out

A.N: Here we go my loves, the first chapter! ❤️ I hope you'll like it, and please don't forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤️

Summary: A night out with an old friend can lead to surprises.

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don't condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Sometimes you wondered what it would be like to have a normal life.

Granted that was never in the cards but you liked to pretend from time to time. You knew it was selfish and incredibly dangerous as everyone kept reminding you, yet you didn’t care. After all, it was one of the very few luxuries you couldn’t afford and you were nothing if not determined.

Besides, considering since you were expected not to be a part of the family business, you figured you could enjoy the benefits for the time being.

So far, there was no sign of any bodyguards your father always made sure to put on your tail which meant he was blissfully unaware of where you were or what you were doing. If it were any other time, you would have been surprised by that alone but surprises seemed to be the theme of the week. To be completely honest, you had your doubts when your ex from college had contacted you to say he was moving to the city and wanted to catch up with you. Even though he was one of the very few ex-boyfriends you had broken up with on good terms, he still had an inkling about your family and most of the time, people were too intimidated by that to catch up with you.

With good reason.

But tonight was going to be different. Setting up a casual dinner and drinks night outside your father’s territory was a great first step for in your opinion, for a couple of hours you could pretend you were a normal girl who was having a normal night out with a normal guy.

You even drove your own car to the bar, something you hadn’t done in a long time.

“So yeah, let’s just say that it wasn’t the wisest decision.”

You let out a laugh, tilting your head.

“I don’t know Ethan,” you said. “Taking a girl to a horror themed corn maze? You get an A for effort.”

“In my defense, it was like two weeks after you broke up with me so I wasn’t thinking straight,” he said. “Besides, she said she liked horror movies.”

You hummed. “And how did that go?”

“Terribly,” he pointed out with a grin. “We got lost, and then I had this bright idea of finding the guide myself and we went in different directions, and she got out and I ended up getting even more lost.”

You pressed your palm on your mouth to hide your laugh.

“Then she sent the guide to find me,” he said and you cleared your throat, trying to keep a serious expression.

“You do realize you are the type of person who wouldn’t last an hour in a horror movie, right?”

“People who are trying to survive in horror movies have too much ambition if you ask me,” he said and sipped his drink. “How about you? Any terrible dates since our uh…fairytale romance?”

“We dated for like three months during sophomore year Ethan,” you said with a laugh and he nodded with a grin.

“They were good three months though.”

“Oh please,” you said. “I’m not even sure I could call that dating, I basically had to beg you to spend time with me.”

“We spent a lot of time—”

“In daylight,” you corrected yourself. “You had no problem finding time for me at night.”

He scrunched up his face, then nodded his head.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Yeah I’m…I’m sorry about that. I was an ass.”

“Water under the bridge,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “College is the perfect time for relationship mistakes, and to be honest I was kind of an idiot.”

“Oh come on Y/N,” he said with a chuckle. “I was the idiot. You were perfect, you still are.”

You scoffed.

“Not even close, trust me,” you said and raised your hand at the bartender, motioning for another drink. The bar wasn’t crowded by any means, only another couple by another booth and three men playing pool. A silence fell upon you and Ethan shifted his weight.

“So uh—can I ask you something?”

Your heart skipped a nervous beat but you made sure it didn’t show on your face. “Sure.”

“Was it…” he paused and took a deep breath. “Was it true?”

The waitress brought you your drink and you thanked her, then turned to Ethan again. “Hm?”

“You know, back in college there were all these rumors,” he stammered. “About your family and you never really said— whether they were true or not.”

Ah. Back to that, of course.

You had practiced this calmness way too many times for it to falter even for a moment, and you sipped your drink.

“I totally forgot,” you said. “Remind me what those rumors were?”

“People used to say your father—he and his business partners, I mean,” he said with a nervous laugh. “My friends used to say the city was divided between them.”

“Sounds quite medieval,” you pointed out, leaning back as a couple of men walked in, chattering. Ethan thought for a moment, then scoffed a laugh.

“Right,” he said. “I don’t know why I…don’t mind me. It does sound unreal, I mean—what are the chances that a couple of families rule the entire city, right?”

“I don’t know, I hear it was a thing in the 18th century,” you stated, catching the gaze of the man who had just walked up to the bar and ordered a drink. You eyed him up and down and by the time your gaze fell on the shape of the gun tucked underneath his jacket, you had already straightened your back, your whole body going tense.

“Jesus you should’ve heard the things they said. To be honest with you, I actually believed that whole underworld thing for some time,” Ethan said as the man said something to his friends while your eyes darted around the room, your heartbeat getting faster as you reached for the knife beside your plate.

Great.

This was not your ideal night out alright.

“Now to think about it, it’s not—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence when you threw the knife at one of the men and kicked the chair under Ethan, making him lose his balance before you flipped the table so that you could use it as a cover for you both as soon as the shooting started. The bullets wheezed past you, the couple by the other booth screaming while you pushed Ethan’s head down.

“What the hell is going on?!” he asked as you looked over the table for a second and turned to him, your heart beating in your ears, adrenaline rushing through you so fast that it made your head spin.

“I can explain later, do you have a gun with you?”

“What?!”

“I don’t think I should be repeating myself right now Ethan!” you hissed as shots echoed through the bar and he shook his head.

“No of course not!”

“The one time I ditch the bodyguards,” you grumbled “This is unbelievable…”

“Miss Y/N!” the man’s voice rang over the bar and you gritted your teeth. “The infamous princess. Such a surprise meeting you here, where are your daddy’s men?”

“On their way here I’m guessing but before they get here, I just have one question,” you called out. “Are you guys fucking idiots?”

He tsk tsked.

“That daddy of yours spoiled you too much,” he said. “Has anyone told you that?”

“Yeah, multiple men,” you retorted. “Didn’t end well for them I’ll tell you that.”

“I’d say it looks like it’ll end well for me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure buddy,” you said. “I’ll be surprised if you last the night.”

Several gunshots came from the corners of the bar, and you took cover again but before you could say anything else, you felt someone grab you and pull you upright. You grabbed the gun from him and fired it right at his knee, making him let out a scream of anguish and fall to the floor. The door of the kitchen was kicked open right before more guns were fired in the chaos which made it clear that it wasn’t Steve’s men who were trying to shoot you considering it was his territory, this was his one of many bars and these new people, whoever they were, were shooting at his men as well. It made absolutely zero sense that someone would attack you like this, especially since—

“Everyone stop or the next bullet goes through his head!”

You turned to point the pistol at the owner of the voice but as soon as you did, your heart dropped to your stomach. The man –probably the leader— holding the gun at Ethan’s head smirked and motioned at you.

“Drop the gun sweetheart.”

“Y/N, don’t!” Ethan said, trying to get out of his grip but the man fired the gun through his shoulder, making him yell out in pain and you gritted your teeth. The headlights of a car flashed outside, capturing your attention for a moment before you lowered the gun, someone hastily grabbing it from you. The leader pushed Ethan to one of his friends and stepped closer to you, now aiming the gun at your face but you were way too good at keeping your fear under control in situations like these to flinch at it.

You’d had a lifetime of practice after all.

“So what do you say we take a little trip outside huh?” he asked and you arched a brow.

“What do you say you go fuck yourself?”

He cocked the gun and you rolled your eyes.

“Oh no, a gun,” you deadpanned, checking your fingernails. “Am I supposed to be scared now?”

“This is not your daddy’s territory, girl.”

You scoffed a laugh and lifted your glances from your nails. “Doesn’t matter, you idiot. The truce has been going on for years now, and anyone who breaks it will pay for that mistake with their lives. What is this, your first day on the job?”

“No one taught you not to smart mouth the man holding the gun?”

“No one taught you not to sign your own death sentence?” you asked back and he gave you a dry chuckle, taking a step towards you, still holding the gun.

“Keep talking like that,” he said. “Maybe I’ll take my time with you before handing you over to the boss.”

You opened your mouth to retort but before you could say anything, a deafening shot echoed through the room and blood splattered all over your face and your dress. The leader’s lifeless body dropped to the floor and you wiped at your face with a grimace before you turned to glare at your savior who looked almost amused at your annoyed expression.

“Bucky,” you gritted out and he winked at you, that arrogant grin you knew so well pulling at his lips.

“Hi Charm.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mob! bucky #mob!bucky barnes #mob bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob boss!bucky #mob bucky barnes x reader

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astropookie · 10 months ago

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intrusive thoughts astro version

mamoru yamamoto

I’ve noticed earth mars in signs or degrees gets aroused when their sexual partner it’s having a good time, adding that’s because of them.

if asteroid rhiannon (16912) it’s about running away, what would happen if it’s on 12H. ik what about it but 😭 I can’t help it but point it out.

rhiannon (16912) conjunct mercury means escape from situations thanks to their persuasiveness

return venus conjunct natal venus -in venus return chart-: you’re finding your aesthetic/style you feel more comfortable and that vibes with your vibe 😝. also the energy of your sign/house and degree is PRESENT, that’s why during all that period of time you could feel too prideful without hesitation. mine was sag venus 11H 6° (virgo degree), i was feeling a little too optimistic or enthusiastic and cut out people. you’re being kind of truth to yourself?

natal jupiter square return pluto -in venus return chart-: you’re in a period of rebirth and thanks to your lucky nature -natal jupiter- you’re deciding not to end it. wanting it or not, you have this feeling of overcoming things.

when I used placidus system, my moon was in 1H, then I used whole sign system and my moon changed to 2H. for a while I preferred placidus bc I didn’t feel seen by the 2H moon chart. then I realized the 2H characteristics where in front of me the whole time. I wanted to feel understood, 1H moon was comforting the idea that I’m sensitive and feel emotions insanely deep. besides, 2H moon it’s about craving for comfort and security. I was only focused on the financial part, the stereotypical and superficial part. it’s a good thing to compare both charts to analyze how they can guide you.

uranus 12h in Eros persona chart shows u crave for intimacy 😭

idk why every time I end up getting stressed and bored about a friend is when I have mercury square their neptune. -reading note: she’s still my friend, we just have different point of views or forms to process information. the mercury part doubts constantly about others opinions and arguments and they see neptune as impulsive and kind of ignorant, bc their way of believing in things.

referring to the solar eclipse -April 8, 2024- my 3H has been affected -aquarius ascendant-, days after, out of nowhere -I havent had connection with them- I’ve received a voice message from the lilith person I was talking about on my posts, someone I used to be friends and distanced myself away from them. I decided to listened to it on the day of solar eclipse without thinking thinking about this coincidence -solar eclipse, 3H is affected-.

natal neptune sextile transiting venus: i felt like I was high even though I took my adhd pills 😭 I was so in peace? I felt emphatic? transits with your dominant planet have a huge effect on your mood. mine’s neptune and was sextile transiting venus.

I’ve noticed people with saturn 8H are kind of like a libra venus, in a way they’re afraid their love experience won’t be as they dreamed. saturn 8H creates restrictions on sexual attitudes and matters. imo 8H mix love and sexual desires, they need something that would drag them out of their secure space, they’re afraid. they’re late bloomers when’s about their first kiss or etc.

3H stellium at a distant, it’s giving introvert or distant vibes, they try to process things logically and could be a little slow to catch a joke?

I have a friend I thought was mean and in her energy💅, could be described as intimidated. she’s the opposite. when I saw her birth chart it made total sense, coming from an aquarius ascendant -saturn ruled like capricorn-, I had no clue she was a saturn ruled. it always surprises me how defined some rising’s energies can be presented.

sun 4H brings a sense of familiarity, even more when your mars is 4H, you feel more comfortable with them -sun 4H-, they remind you of your family or the vibes.

pisces 7H in solar return chart could tell you’re expecting a lover, doesn’t mean you’re having one 😭 i swear this solar return was like that, I meet a person and then proceed to imagine a relationship with them.

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ૮꒰��ི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა ∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗ */ᐠ - ˕ -マ✩ (˶˃ᆺ˂˶)∗ ࣪

♡ Based on personal experience and I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

♡ English is not my first language.

♡ I’m not a profesional astrologer.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

#astrology #astro observations #pinterest #astro posts #astro placements #astro notes

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pretty-blkgirl · 4 months ago

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Soul’s Desire [Ch. 28]

-Masterlist-

~~~~|~~~~

You wanted nothing more than to hold onto Changbin’s hand. You wanted him to kiss your forehead, and give you a reassuring smile.

But you’d be damned before your mom found out you had found your soulmates. You wanted to believe she had changed, you really did, but the mother you knew would see your relationship as something she needed to destroy.

She wanted you to believe no one loved you, she was good at doing just that, and you couldn’t lose the boys.

So, you and Changbin walked side by side to the lobby. You saw your mom before she saw you. It had been two years since you had seen her in person. She looked beautiful, as usual.

When she finally spotted you, her eyes lit up and she practically started jumping up and down. You wished you could smile at her supposed excitement, but your frown deepened a little.

“Hello Mom,” You said as soon as you were close enough to her, “Welcome”

“Don’t be so formal, girl” She laughed, “Give your mama a hug”

You two hugged. She squeezed you so tight, nearly suffocating you. To an outsider, this looked like motherly love. It looked like a parent finally reunited with their baby. It looked like a happy moment.

To you, the hug was cold. Calculated. Fake.

When she finally let you go, she looked at Changbin.

“Mom, this is Changbin. He’s-”

He can’t be your boyfriend to her. She’d do anything she could to turn him against you. She can’t know.

“-my best friend. Besides my members, he’s probably the person I’m closest to here”

Your mother nodded and Changbin bowed politely.

“That’s sweet, nice to meet you.” She turned back to you, “I barely ate on my flight, how about we get an early dinner?”

“Okay” You agreed, “I hope you don’t mind Changbin coming with us”

She narrowed her eyes at you, a sign that she was about to start arguing, but she fixed her face and grinned.

“I don’t mind”

The three of you left the company, wearing masks and hats to try to remain as unrecognizable as possible. Your mom kept trying to speak to you, but you didn’t have it in you to give more than short, to-the-point answers.

After a while, Changbin started to talk to your mom a little. He was nothing short of charming, even when he wasn’t trying to be. Your mom took a liking to Changbin by the time you guys reached the restaurant, and that made you a little more at ease.

At the table, she put her attention back on you.

“So, Y/n, tell me about your group members”

You nodded, “There’s Dae, Penny, Yumi, Hana, and then me. I’m the youngest. Dae is our leader and producer, Yumi and Hana are our main singers, and Penny is our dancer”

“What do you do then?” She asked

“Everything” Changbin answered for you, “She’s an ace, in my opinion. She reminds me of someone in my group”

Your mom nodded, “Does the Penny girl not sing?”

“She does, we all sing and dance and stuff, but I guess we all have our specialties” You explained

“I saw your little music videos. You girls aren’t half bad”

“Thank you, mom”

“I didn’t like a lot of your choreography though. It’s too provocative”

Changbin sighed deeply, “If I can give my opinion, I think LUCKY just has a more mature concept. They’re sexy, they’re cool, they’re seductive”

“Y/n isn’t none of those things though” Your mom laughed, “She looks so out of place in those videos.”

“Can we try not to insult me, Mom?” You questioned, low enough to keep other people from hearing you but loud enough to express your anger, “I think our concept fits me well and the group has gotten great feedback. I respect your opinion, but you don’t have to be rude”

There was silence for several moments after that. Changbin was very proud of you, and you didn’t feel too bad for speaking up, but your mom looked noticeably upset.

“I’m sorry,” She said after a long while

“It’s fine. Let’s just eat so we can leave”

The food was great, at the very least, but the evening was awkward. Your mom wanted you to take her on a tour around Korea before she went to her Airbnb, but you declined, stating you “needed to get some work done”

She wouldn’t leave you alone until you promised to make some time to spend with her.

Your guilt grew as she blew kisses at you from the car you called for her, wondering if she was really doing her best and if you weren’t putting in any effort.

Changbin decided to take you back to his place, grabbing your hand as soon as you two reached his complex.

“Don’t feel guilty” He said, “You did nothing wrong”

“She’s trying to change, and I’m just… dismissing her”

“You don’t know what her motives are. Your hesitation is valid and it’s only fair that you keep your guard up around her. If you want to rebuild your relationship with your mom, that’s fine. That doesn’t mean you go back to letting her manipulate and control you”

In the apartment , he gives you a much-needed hug. A few tears left your eyes, but not many. You didn’t feel like crying, and Changbin knew that, so he took you to the couch and put on a show you two had been binging.

As you settled into the couch, you tried your hardest to get your mom out of your mind. However, you had this unsettling feeling that wouldn’t go away.

~~~~|~~~~

Taglist: @chuuyaobsessed @h0rnyp0t @prttyxbby @yukichan67 @hanniemylovelyquokka @xxeiraxx @loveforlee444 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @cunninglibrarian @holly-here @galaxy4489 @hyunmikim @yougottobekittenme @hyeon-yi @katsukis1wife @multi-fandom-nightmare @staybabblingbaby @kozumesphone @fuck-you-im-gae @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @champagneconfetti

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russellsppttemplates · 1 year ago

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I never knew anybody 'til I knew you (Lando Norris)

Your new job is allowing you to have new experiences, and your heart is not too mad about it either

Note: english is not my first language. After a long time in the books, I'm finally writing for Lando! This is my first long piece and I hope I did well enough!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: curse words, mentions alcohol consumption

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"I'm just saying, it's closer that way. We can go and get the packages ourselves and sort out any issues with them straight away", Lando reasoned, opening his text message app so he could continue what he wanted to do. "Okay, fine by me. He's got a point, Y/N", Max raised his hands in surrender, looking at you for your opinion.

Working for Quadrant hadn't been a goal you had set out to accomplish in the strict sense of it. You didn't see yourself working for a massive company where people were stuffed in offices where the only way they could know their colleagues' names was when they had online meetings that took far too long and discussed the baseline of the issues. So, when you saw the job offer for someone in the Graphic Design area of work, you looked up the company name and saw their work, fascinated with how the guys had grown this business from streaming online gaming. Later, as you progressed in the recruitment process, you came to learn that Lando and Max also had a more public presence than you had initially figured out, despite all of your friends' insistence that "you can't be that clueless, Y/N, how did you not know that Quadrant was Lando Norris'? I thought you applied because of that", they would say as you shrugged your shoulders, "in this economy, do you think I am that picky about a job? I have my preferences, sure, but I know what I'm worth and I saw the offer was actually quite okay!", you defended yourself.

You ended up getting the spot and, so far, you couldn't complain. Most of the time you worked with Callum, Max and Tara, since your work overlapped with theirs, and every now and again, like right now, Lando would also meet up with you.

"Are you sure it's fine if I go? Your parents know Max, but they haven't met me before. Are you sure they won't find it weird?", you spoke directly to Lando, thinking that his idea, as lovely and kind as it was, didn't account for the facts you were stating.

"Max is coming because he's from the team, and you're from the team, too, so you're coming with us as well", Lando said simply, not seeing the problem.

"But he's been your friend for so long now, I'm a Quadrant Team member", you attempted again, "they don't have to provide for and give a roof to a stranger, I'll find an hotel to spend the night", you offered, wanting to be clear about it.

"You're part of the team, too! Don't worry about that, okay?", Lando said, "besides, mum loves having a full house, she's definitely the host of the family", he smiled, checking the item on his list nd carrying on the meeting.

"When we're there, we'll be able to get our hands on the embroidered Originals collection", Max began, "hopefully they're perfect and we can start working on the website", he gestured as you turned your laptop so they both could see, "this is the concept I've come up with, since this isn't as flashy or as colourful as past collections", you showed them the mood board, looking for disapproval signs but being met with looks of surprise instead, "I know it's not usually what you go for, so I also have another idea here, if you just let m-", you were about to change when Lando slapped your hand away from the mouse and holding it in his, "I really like this one, especially these posts here, I think the ideas are great!", he noted as he set your hand down on the table, "okay, then I can keep working on this", you said, closing the other tab, "do you have something better than this?", Max asked, "seems as good to me!", he offered.

"This is just a draft, I'll invest more time in this and I'll have it ready for the end of the week. That way we can have it ready when the clothes arrive. I'll text Tara to ler her know", you smiled, grabbing your phone as the boys flickered through the ideas, pointing out the different details they liked and wanted to keep.

"I'm way too young for my life to be just this, so please drive safely, Max", you said, buckling your seatbelt and exaggerating your hold on the door handle, "if you weren't such a crucial part of this team, I'd make you reconsider your jokes", he teased back, reversing out of the parking space and initiating the trip.

Lando was already at his parents' house since they had a family gathering the day before, so you and Max were driving up to meet him, "they're really nice people, really chilled as well", Max began, "Adam and Cisca, that is. I can hear you thinking and I'm assuming that is what's going on in your head", he stated.

"I don't want to step on anyone's toes, and I don't want to embarrass anyone or myself even. Can you imagine Lando's parents finding out their son's company has questionable employees? They'll mark me off as some sort of strategy fool or think that I want to take this company down, and I don't!", you uttered out, sharing more than you meant to.

Impostor's Syndrome was a bitch, and it often showed up the moment things got progressively harder, and while you knew you were able to deal with it, the little voice still nagged you.

"Y/N, you're one of the most valuable people we have on the team, and I don't say that lightly. This is Lando's baby, and yes, he's the face of it and that counts for most of it, but the work behind it is just as important and with the numbers we're having, it all comes down to you. Since you joined us the designing aspect of it, - obviously, you wouldn't be the one responsible for accounting, duh -, the compliments have been non stop, it has improved the interactions, too!", he said honestly, "you have nothing to worry about, truly", he comforted, "it's this exit here", he mumbled, checking the GPS and turning on the blinker, slowing down the car as they entered the city.

You didn't have to wait long before he pulled up to a big house, the gravel sound quieting down until it came to a halt when Max stopped the car, "Lando said he'd meet us at the door, I really don't fancy being mistaken by a burglar", he joked, getting out of the car as you did the same, stretching your legs and taking in the sight.

"Max, Y/N! Did you have a good trip?", Lando made himself be heard and seen, walking up to you and grabbing the bags his friend was taking out of the car boot, "I'll take these", he offered, picking up your luggage as you pulled on your backpack, "thanks", you smiled, following him as he led the way into his parents' house.

"My parents are in the kitchen", the Formula One driver said, ushering you to the roomy space after he and Max dropped the bags by the stairs, "Max, dear! We haven't seen you in so long, how are you?", a beautiful woman said. Her hair was brown and her skin was tanned as she hugged Max and Lando, "this is Y/N, she is our graphic designer", he presented you, the older man hugging you and his wife doing the same, "I'm Adam, it's so nice to finally meet you", he smiled warmly, "likewise", you smiled back.

"You can call me Cisca, darling. We've heard so much about you, it's nice to finally put a face to the name", she winked at you as you didn't miss Lando elbowing his mother as he closed his eyes, sighing at her, "thank you for having me over, I hope it's not too much trouble", you thanked again, feeling more at ease at their genuine welcoming greetings.

Lando quickly scrambled an answer, seemingly not wanting his parents to talk, "of course it's fine, no trouble here! Let's get your things upstairs so we can settle in and work!", he clapped his hands, walking to the corridor and up the stairs with Max as you excused yourself.

"This is your room, you have the bathroom on the next door", he pointed on the corridor after he placed your bag and backpack down in the small sofa, "Max is in the office, it's just across the hall and I'm at the end of the hall, if you need anything", Lando offered.

"Thanks, again. Do you guys want to begin now? I just need to put on some fluffy socks and I'm good to go", you said, "yes! Is the dining room okay with your parents? The table is big enough to layout everyhting", Max chirped in, whistling at your room as he looked around, "she got an upgrade, good move!", he tapped his friend's back.

After Lando cleared it with his parents, he was quick to remove the table runner and flower vase from the dining room table, extending it to its biggest size so you had all the space you needed, "you can sit here, Y/N, it's usually where the room heats up faster", he pointed out the radiator, pulling up the chair next to your and typing on his iPad.

"So this is the video idea? I like it, we just need to find some background music for it", Max asserted, grabbing his phone to check the time, "we should get going to pick up the order", he uttered.

"Do you need all of us to go?", you asked, saying the changes in your laptop as you did,

"You can pull your the backseats of your car down, can't you, Max? That way we can bring more boxes, and you and me go", Lando reasoned, looking over at you, "do you mind staying here while we go get them?", he asked, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable.

"I'll be fine, you go", you smiled, opening your notebook and writing down some notes.

"Oh, darling, you could've turned the lights on. Soon enough you'll be like me and need glasses", Cisca said as she stood on by the door, flickering the lights on as your eyes got used to the brightness, "I already wear them, or I should more often anyway", you blushed, suddenly getting caught with your hand in the cookie jar, grabbing your case from your backpack and putting them on.

When Lando and Max left, you decided to work on the website graphics, checking how the campaign would work with the current layout, that you lost track of time.

"May I see what you're working on?", she asked, "it's okay if I may not, I don't want to intrude", she smiled as you pulled up the chair next to you, "I don't know much about these things, but I always get quite fascinated with this part", she said, sitting down and looking at the screen.

Already driving back home, Lando and Max talked about the plans once they arrived, "and that way Y/N can also finish the social media stuff, and maybe you'll have more time to actually make a move on her", he teased.

Lando scoffed, "I'm not trying to make a move on her", he defended himself, "I'm glad to know, because if those moves were what you had, it wouldn't surprise it that it didn't go very far", Max yelped as his friend took the opportunity of the straight road ahead to hit his thigh, "so that's what you talk about? Here I am thinking about business and you're meddling in my love life?".

"I never said it was love life, but since you've admitted it, it's saving me time. So, what are you planning? I could help since this seems to be stalled", Max tried again, holding his hands in protection of his body in case Lando hit him again.

"I wouldn't know where to begin, I mean, it will make things awkward if this goes south, right? I'd never be able to look at her again, much less work with her", Lando admitted, "She's very kept to herself as well, I highly doubt that she'll want to be involved with me in that way. Whoever I date or interact with has to deal with enormous amount of public eye and I wouldn't spring that up on her", Lando mumbled, taking the road exit on his left.

"So you've given this some thought, too. Here we are thinking you're coming to the meetings to help and now you're just blushing when we talk about Y/N", Max joked back as Lando shook his head.

"We're back!", Lando announced, walking inside the dining room while pushing the boxes with Max, "don't worry, mum, we're not scratching the floors", he said, sweetly kissing the side of her head, "are you planning to work for us?", he noticed she was sitting next to you, notebooks of the projects open and sheets and fabrics all over the table in front of you.

"Y/N was kindly showing me the project you're working on, for the launch, and it looks really nice!", she complimented, placing a hand on your shoulder and the other on your arm, "she's been showing me everything, I've probably stolen some valuable time from you, darling, I'm sorry", she slumped her shoulders slightly, "not at all, it's all under way, don't worry", you smiled, easing her worries, "I'll leave you guys to it, how about I make some tea?", she suggest as the three of you nodded.

"We have the boxes here, they're sorted by colours", Lando opened the first box, "these are only for the Originals collection, right?", you checked over, peaking at the blue hoodie he pulled out.

"The sizing is right, right?", Max wondered as Lando stretched it out, "Y/N, can you try these, please? We need to check if the model is good for guys and girls".

Getting up from your spot, you grabbed the vibrant blue piece, feeling its soft texture against your fingertips, "I have wider hips that average, I'm not sure I'm the greatest test model for that", you shrugged your shoulders, "keep that in mind". Taking off your sweater so your torso was covered in a strappy top, you pulled the new garment on, adjusting the strings around the neck so you could pull it all the way down, "Oh, it's so soft", you noticed, "and warm, too. And feels quite good actually, it's not too tight", fumbling with the ribbed material on the bottom as you checked yourself out on the windows now that it was dark outside.

Lando gulped as you did so. Oh, had Lando noticed your hips. To anyone else, it would be another feature of your body, but he was enamoured by them. Your body's curvy outline enticed him and he would be lying if he said that it wasn't the first thing he noticed at first glance when you arrived for you last interview, especially with the tapered pants you had been wearing.

"Looks nice. What do you think, mate?", Max turned to Lando, hoping to get an answer but finding him looking at you, "is there something wrong? I told you I'm not the best mo-".

"It's gorgeous, looks gorgeous", he breathed out just as his mother walked inside carrying a tray with tea and some biscuits, "Here's the tea, guys", she said, setting it on the table, "wow, that's a very nice piece!", she complimented.

"It is, isn't it, Cisca?", Max said, covering up her son as he kept looking at you as you tested the front pocket, not noticing his gaze on you.

"You also have a very beautiful model, you can't ignore that factor in the equation", she complimented you while you grabbed a mug, taking a sip of the warm liquid and hoping it hid your pink cheeks, "thank you", you whispered.

While Lando helped his father with dinner, Max convinced his mother to show you both family albums, and once you had the delicious food they prepared, you excused yourself so you could use the shower, wanting to wash the day of travelling away. Max and Cisca stayed in the living room while Lando helped his father prepare dessert, checking on the apple crumble in the oven so it could get golden brown and not burnt, "so, any life updates recently?", the older man asked.

Lando wasn't around as much as they both would've liked, so often times his visits also came along with news and updates, "not much, racing has been good, it's nice to have a break now, even if it's just two weeks", he offered, looking at the oven.

"And nothing else? I mean, no one special? Your mother is usually the blunt one, but I'm going to try it myself: Y/N is just a Quadrant Team Member?", Adam questioned, noticing his son's cheeks become redder.

"Is it that noticeable? I just hope she doesn't see it as much as you do", Lando groaned, rubbing his cheeks, "maybe you should hope she notices, you know? Maybe she'll admit she likes you, too. You never know", Adam patted his son's back, grabbing the gloves so he could take the tray out of the oven, "she seems like a really nice girl, kind, good work ethic, intelligent, and she's beautiful", he finished as his son sighed, grabbing the vanilla ice cream from the freezer, "she's all of that and so much more".

"Kygo is doing a set tonight", you heard Max say as you walked inside the living room, taking the spot on the sofa next to Lando since his mother had taken your previous spot when you went to use the bathroom, "I've been meaning to ask you guys if you wanted to go, actually. He texted me saying to tell him if we were planning on going", Lando stated.

"Go and enjoy being young, life is not all about work if you can't enjoy yourself", Cisca shared, "dad and I won't complain if you make noise when you get back", she winked.

"Would you like to go, Y/N? You can say no, that's fine, too", Lando turned to you. He knew Max would be down on a heartbeat, but he didn't want you to feel pressured to do something you didn't want to because you were at his parents' place as a guest.

"I'm good, I like his music, too. I've been wanting to see him live for a bit, actually", you smiled, thinking about how lucky you were to be able to have these experiences because of your job and friends.

Later that night, you're getting ready in your room, sitting on the carpeted floor and applying your make-up for the occasion. The dressier outfit you had brought with you consisted of a burnt red top and some pants as it had become the outfit you had felt the most comfortable and confident in to go out. The top complimented your chest and your midsection as your pants looked really good around your hips and butt, your legs elongated by the small heeled shoes you had spent years looking for. They were comfortable, pretty and functional, ticking all the boxes for what you needed for tonight.

"Y/N, can I come in?", your heard Lando knock on the door, welcoming himself when you said he could, "we are leaving in about ten minutes, if that's okay", he said, taking a good look at you as you fiddled with your earring, "yes, fine by me", you smiled looking back in the mirror propped on the bedside table and finally clasping it, looking back at him.

You took his breath away. It was as simple as that. Your hair had your natural curls he loved so much, your makeup complimented your naturally soft beautiful features and your outfit made you look incredible.

"You guys ready?", Max patted the door, propping himself on it as you grabbed your shoes, "I'll put them on downstairs", you said, carrying them in your right hand as you had your small purse on the left.

While you did the small, dainty tie on your shoes, Lando's eyes went straight for your chest, the slightly bent down position granting him an agonisingly teasing angle as he tried his best to look away, "you might want to be less obvious, you don't need to creep her out to get her to be yours", Max whispered in Lando's ear.

As soon as you arrived, Lando and Max walked with you to the VIP area, asking you what you wanted to drink before they went up to get it.

Lando looked great on his white shirt, the light coloured shirt looking great against his tanned skin as the relaxed fit complimented his back, prompting you to make sure you weren't drooling in public. You worked for his company, it would never be a good idea to get romantically involved with him, no matter how many times your heart leaped.

"A very weak Gin and Tonic for you, as requested", Max said as he pushed the cup towards you, carrying nother drink for himself, Lando sitting next to you on the booth and empty handed, "you're not drinking?", you asked, "I'm driving us all home today, I'm want to do it safely", he stated, tapping his hands on the table when he saw Kygo, signalling him to approach you.

"Hey Lando, Max", he smiled, "I'm Y/N, I work for Quadrant", you smiled, greeting him with a half hug as he introduced himself too, "my set is in a few minutes, you got here just in time. If you want to see it up close, Y/N, let me know and I'll make it happen", he winked at you.

The wink was not missed by Lando or Max. While Max wanted to laugh at his friend's jealous expression, threatening to send the norwegian DJ to a place that was less than nice and sunny, Lando couldn't believe his eyes. Yes, it was only fair that others, too, saw your beauty and noticed you, but to put themselves out like that, that was a different story. You didn't seem to bothered by all of it, sipping on your drink as you spoke to Max, pointing out different people you remember from Silverstone earlier that year.

"Kygo's starting, I want to dance!", you said, getting up and gesturing for the boys to join you. While you were used to having a lot less space to dance in, the welcomed freedom was appreciated as you playfully placed your pointer finger on Max's head, making him do a little spin, "now, no need to be jealous, Lando, you can twirl, too!", you yelled over the music blasting from the speakers, doing the same and sinking your finger on Lando's curls.

"I'm going to get another drink, want anything?", Max asked, excusing himself when you shook your head, "you know you can drink, I'm the designated driver", Lando offered, "I know, thank you for that. I just don't want to drink more", you smiled, recognising the next song, feeling brave and pulling Lando by his hand so he could dance with you.

I never knew anybody 'til I knew you

And I know when it rains, oh, it pours

And I know I was born to be yours

Lando twirled you would face him, chest flush against his as his colourful eyes looked into yours intensely, "I know this is very forward, and very unlike me to be fair, but I need to get it out", he gulped as he spoke loudly in your ear, looking for any sign of discomfort from you, "I really like you, like, a lot. And I would like to know if you feel the same. Because Max and my parents seem to think you do, but all I know they're just saying so that I shut up about how much I love you and how much it would mean to me", he spoke loudly against your ear as the song played.

You were struck by his confession, not expecting it to ever happen, much less like this and in these circumstances.

"If you consider this a hostile work environment, I didn't want that, but I had to be honest with you", he gulped, "just say you don't feel the same and I'll drop the subject, okay? I might have to pretend to go somewhere else so I can be away from you a bit until things are not awkward, but don't worry, I won't drink because I'm driving and-", Lando belted out before you interrupted him, moving your face closer to his neck this time and speaking into his ear, "It's not hostile if it's consensual, right?", you smiled, a glint in your eye as his own widened, chuckling as he sang the the words in your ear, taking the opportunity to kiss your cheek near your earlobe.

"Took you two fucking long enough!", Max yelled as he approached you, tapping Lando's back in congratulations, "you know what this means, Y/N? I won't have to listen to him mope about how he thinks he was made for you and you were made for him, and that the universe would have to be playing a very bad joke of you two didn't end up together!".

"What makes you think I'll stop that? I just got the girl of my dreams, now I'll have the confirmations of all I've said! You'll just hear how amazing all of it is!", Lando smiled, hugging you close to him and kissing the top of your head.

#lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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orionremastered · 1 year ago

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Anon here! I just saw that your requests are open for Batfam? If you’re still taking requests can you do a regency era Damian Wayne x reader. If you don’t want to do Damian I wouldn’t mind any of the batboys!

xxx

I am always taking requests (they're for my sanity) except for the next three days because I'm on a plane, busy, or sleeping :/

(for this fic, they are Bruce's biological kids) (not completely historically accurate. like at all. but i tried)

Masterlist

Jason Todd x (probably fem due to the law back then unless you want to dream that being gay was allowed in 1817 (some sources also state that lesbianism was never illegal, but I don't know for sure. Just found it interesting))!Reader

Regency Era AU

The poor man is being swarmed by potential— and in all honesty, very desirable— women and their family members who are desperate to introduce the most suitable option for his wife from their family line. Constantly ignoring beginnings of phrases such as "this is the honourable—" and "perhaps you would like to be introduced to my lovely daughter—", and with each one his jaw ticked.

You hide your smile behind your fan, gazing at him from across the ballroom. It is the marriage season and your childhood friend clearly hated it. But that was expected of him as the second son of Bruce Wayne, Duke of York and member of the royal family. Especially since the duke's eldest, Marquess Richard, had recently married a young woman, Marchioness Barbara.

Locking eyes with the green you have known for so long, you tap the top of your open fan. I wish to talk to you.

With abundant relief, he shoos off one particularly frustrating Earl and almost rushes to be by your side. "Thank you," he says sincerely, a smile stretching his face.

"Why do you not wish to talk to them?" you inquire, Jason's smile dropping subsequently. "They are fine young women, after all."

"They're boring," he sighs, "I do not wish to be married to someone who's personality is dull."

"They're not dull," you chide, and he raises a brow. "They are just taught to be agreeable and respectful, my Lord."

"If I asked them about my theory of a novel I am reading, they would simply say, 'Well if you think so, it must be true' and not..."

"Something like I'd say?"

"Exactly."

You suspect it's a common theme with the Waynes; they're seemingly more inclined to look for a spouse that challenges their opinions and joins them in their love of science— the recently wedded Wayne couple bonded over their love of physics, in fact. A quality like that in a women was usually seen as undesirable.

When you were younger and your father made you visit the Waynes, you learned about sciences that your father would've frowned upon; even the daughters, though there were only two, enjoyed the conversations like you did. With Jason and the youngest son, Damian, you would have lengthy conversations about the novels you were reading altogether; these conversations happened so often that their father was tired of having three copies of every novel he owned.

"I have an idea," Jason says, straightening to his full height beside you— tall enough for you to need to tilt your head up if you wanted to look him in the eyes (you always did— something that beautiful was designed to be looked at). "What if you and I get married?"

"You can't be serious."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

You consider him for a moment— you really do— and see no sign of a lie or joke behind his offer. And now that you think about it, it wouldn't be terrible. It was better than your father marrying you off to some old man you didn't know.

Or weren't attracted to.

"Usually there's a dance or two before the proposal," you point out almost teasingly, "And then courtship. For at least a few months. Don't forget, a man should dance with multiple women before deciding who he wishes to wed—"

"Fine," he sighs, rolling his eyes. Yet a small grin remains on his face. "Would you like to dance, then?"

"Hmm, let me think—"

Jason pointedly fake-yawns while playfully glaring your way.

"I would appreciate a dance, yes." And with that, he leads you to the centre of the ballroom, passing his father who watches the two of you with confusion as you begin to dance.

"Are they—"

"Relax, dear," his wife Selina interrupts while lightly leaning against him, also watching the two of you dance, a smile on both of your faces as you whisper quiet yet teasing words to each other. "Don't tell me you couldn't see it before?"

Her husband's silence answers for him.

#batfamily #batfam #batfamily x reader #jason todd x reader

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ginnyw-potter-archive · 5 months ago

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Because that would be incredibly lame

Summary: Harry considers what kind of house he would like to live in, and asks for Ginny's opinion.

Read below or on AO3

“What kind of house do you like, Ginny?”

It was several weeks before they both finished their last year at Hogwarts when he asked this. She put down her quill beside her Potions homework and turned around. She sat up on her knees by the couch, where Harry rested on his back. One hand tucked behind his head, the other played absent-mindedly with his Snitch.

She leaned a bit closer and rested her hands on the edge of the couch. “Is this your way to ask me to move in with you? Because that would be incredibly lame.”

He offered her an incredulous look. “I am not that much of a twat...usually.”

She grinned at him. “So you do not want to move in with me?” She tilted her head innocently, knowing she had set him up for failure either way.

He turned red. “Ginny.”

With his attention elsewhere, his hand did not chase after the Snitch and it softly soared away through the common room. He leaned on his elbow, turning towards her. She kept eye contact.

“I need to find a house, for myself. I can’t stay in the Burrow forever, and I do not want to live in Grimmauld Place. And if I would get a house, you’d be there frequently, wouldn’t you?”

Her gaze softened at his words. “Yes. I would hope so.”

“And so, I thought it must be something you like too. Your dad said I could probably afford a house.”

She held back her snort. “My dad? Perhaps he was hinting at something.”

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I am sure your dad did not suggest we would live in sin.” His eyes twinkled and the corners of his mouth turned up in a grin.

“He is not an idiot, you know, about what we get up to.” Her fingers walk over his chest up to his collarbones. “However, maybe he was suggesting something with more commitment.”

He laughed and let himself drop back on the couch. He looked up towards the ceiling. “If you want to marry me, you will just have to propose.”

She tried to playfully swat at him, but he caught her hand and entwined their fingers, turning it towards him. “Though that finger would look lovely with a ring on it.”

She took her hand back and joined him on the couch. He made place for her so she could lie beside him. His arm wrapped around her shoulder, and she found comfort in the familiarity of it.

“I like cosy houses. Something that is clearly lived in and enjoyed,” she said.

He hummed. “Something like the Burrow, but slightly less crooked?”

“Yes.”

“And a big garden for Quidditch practice.”

She nodded. “And perhaps we should think ahead, so we do not have to haphazardly add rooms on top.”

“Good point,” he said lightly.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “We will give my mum and dad a month or two to adjust that all her children are out of Hogwarts before I go anywhere.”

“They can start counting down until Victoire comes, 11 years to go.”

She chuckled lightly. “What is the Hogwarts castle without a Weasley in it?”

“It is not great,” Harry mused. “I think anything you would like to call ‘home’ should have a Weasley in it.” He caressed her cheek.

“Don’t say that too loudly or you’ll be stuck with Mr Lanky Blue Eyes over there.” She nodded in the direction of Ron. She put her leg over his. “Instead of me.”

His hand dropped to her waist and squeezed it closer. “I am sure Hermione has Ron’s life planned out for the next fifteen years, he simply doesn’t know it yet.” He threw her another lopsided grin.

She smiled at him. “I’m sure he knows. He simply lets her.”

“Right,” he said. “Am I putting up too much of a fight for your future plans?”

She chuckled. “Definitely.”

“Your future plans are... Holyhead Harpies?”

“Yes.” She still could not believe she was already signed with them. “And you are there.”

He blinked at her. “Nothing else?”

“I think the rest will be things we should decide together, so all those plans are vague.”

He breathed in deeply. “I do like the sound of that.” A silence fell. “Do you think we should get married before we move in together? Do people expect that?”

She sat up and leaned on her hand. “Is this your way to ask me to marry you? Because that would be incredibly lame.” Her face hovered over his. “Hm, Potter?”

His hand cupped her cheek. “All in due time, Weasley. It’s nice to know you want it that bad you only consider it ‘lame’. You’re not even peeved. That means I won’t have to worry too much about your reply when I do ask.”

She kissed him. “Would you ever doubt my reply?”

His brows knitted together, his thumb traced her bottom lip. Then he shook his head. “Maybe I do not.”

#hinny #harry x ginny #fluff #fic #hp fic

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kiefbowl · 3 months ago

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hi, sorry for sending this outta nowhere but i guess i just need some advice. i'm a lesbian still in the closet, and there's a guy in my class who likes me. i know this because he straight up told me he'd like to be "at least friends" with me, and has called me hot "jokingly" before multiple times. the thing is, he's not a bad guy, if he wasn't into me i'd even like to be friends with him, but knowing he likes me that way makes me feel gross, makes me feel objectified. i can't hang out with him without imagining how he really thinks about me, what he imagines. he's been getting kinda touchy lately, like nowhere inappropriate, just on my shoulders and stuff, but i hate it. and i guess this is really starting to get to me, i feel so relieved when he doesn't show up to class (we're in the same class in college), and i feel tense when we talk, even if it's a fun conversation. it's starting to impact my day to day life, i feel like a piece of meat. when he said he'd like to be "at least friends" with me, i said (among other things, it was a long conversation) that i was looking for friendships, emphasis on friends. i know i should have straight up told him i wasn't interested in him romantically, but i got scared of his reaction. i don't think he'd get mad, but he'd definitely be hurt on some level. he's the main extrovert in our friend group in uni, the "glue" of the group per se, and i'm scared of people isolating me when they figure out something happened between us and i'm the reason he's sad. i want to tell him i'm a lesbian so he doesn't think i'd reject him because i dislike him, but i don't know if he's homophobic, and i'm so scared of him being one of those weirdos with a lesbian fetish. one say he saw me reading dykes to watch out for, he asked what it's about and i told him it was about the lives of a group of lesbians. i was hoping so bad he'd get the hint, but i don't think he did.

i don't know what to do. i guess i'm waiting for him to ask me out directly so i can be more firm, i can't just randomly tell him i'm not interested without the subject having come up naturally, but i'm getting kinda desperate.

I'm going to give you a few pieces of broad advice that I think will help you:

First: Any amount and any kind of touching that you don't want is inappropriate touching. You don't have to wait until it gets "bad" or "worse" until you say something. If someone jokingly touches your shoulder and you don't like it, you are within your right to say "I don't want you to touch my shoulder like that anymore" and that person, as a good person and a good friend, should immediately respect that. This is true if it's a man or a woman, someone you know or a stranger, or even family. It's your body, you get to dictate your boundaries.

Second: Retribution from friends because you aren't making yourself available as a dating option for someone is a sign of terrible, awful friends and, frankly, just as people in general. I understand being scared, especially if you think any violence is at risk, but when you're in a situation where you can't act in your own self-interest because you are too afraid of punishment, it's worth asking yourself what you are getting from these friendships beside just general companionship and not being alone. Why are these people worth your time in your opinion? Yeah, maybe they're funny and nice, maybe they aren't "evil", but are you too afraid to give them reasons to prove they actually aren't nice? Well then, it's probably because you know they aren't actually nice.

Third: You don't need to make up a rule book in your head then ask me permission to break those rules. You can tell him you're not interested, because it's not random, it's something that's weighing on your mind. You are actually the focal point in this conversation because it's about you and you are experiencing your life, not him and not your friends. If you think it will seem random to him, frame it in a way so it isn't. You can say things like, "I have a hunch you're interested in me romantically, and if that's true I want to be clear that I am not interested in that from you" or "I have something that's been weighing on my mind, and it feels awkward to talk about, but it makes me uncomfortable, and I want to discuss it with you."

Fourth: No one in this world will ever or even can fight for your comfort and pleasure that best benefits you except for you. You can sideline your own comfort forever, and what that will get you is an uncomfortable existence. There's no two ways about that. So why not fight for your comfort and pleasure, why not do the uncomfortable thing that gets you what you want than do the uncomfortable things that doesn't get you anything you want? A lifelong struggle for all of us to some degree, but perhaps this is the best time in your life to push yourself in this way. Good luck :)

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scribbleseas · 1 year ago

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in love & in war: the one where he meets you

Description: Join Ciel, the Earl of Phantomhive, as he embarks on one of the most difficult challenges of his professional life: getting you to fall in love with him in order to become the next chairman of TransAtlantica— your father’s vast shipping empire.

Warnings: The reader’s opinions are a bit old-fashioned, and they don’t reflect my own! Besides that, I’m sure there will be some explicit content down the line, but honestly, this story is much more romcom than our usually scheduled programming. It’s just a silly palette cleanser in season for Valentine’s Day.

Author’s Note: Hi! You guys expressed that you guys like more frequent posts, and I’ve reached a bit of a roadblock on my main Ciel fic right now. I thought I would write up a quick beginning to a potential drabble series! If you guys are interested in this premise, let me know! It’s fun to write such chill stakes content for once lol. Also, this isn’t based off a particular request! I’m still playing with my ideas from those, and at this point, I can confidently say you guys are getting either a one shot or a 1-3 part series based on one. Thank you all for submitting, and feel free to keep them coming.

Happy Reading!

- Dan

| NEXT DRABBLE ⇒

MASTERLIST

In Conference

Late May, 1895

Your life was nowhere near as easy as it seemed.

Perhaps, the average onlooker might see you and presume that the expensive jewels wrapped around your neck and your fingers were the most burdensome aspect of your privileged life. Or perhaps they might have thought it would be the pinch from your stately heels or the strain from a brilliant, yet strategic, permanent smile.

Your business smile. Your future-Countess-of-Richmond smile.

But they couldn’t have been more wrong.

This very moment was exact proof of that— you were in the midst of your world collapsing. The abject shock rattling through your mind was akin to a nightmare. Your eyebrows pulled together in a contentious pout, the horrified look you used to get away with your most childish crimes from your parents.

“Marriage? Simply not.” You begged, alreadying feeling your will to fight waver under your father’s tired stare, your mother’s pained grin. “I’m only—”

“Of perfect age to begin looking for a potential partner. 22 is well past ready, I would say,” your mother answered for you.

“I would be— but—” you sputtered like a fish out of water only to inhale deeply through your nose. You needed to collect yourself. Negotiate thoughtfully and logically. That was the only way to get yourself out of this.

“Speak with intent, Y/n,” your father interjected boredly, retraining his attention on the business reports he was reading. He fixed his glasses, pushing them further up the bridge of his nose.

Speak with intent. You knew those words well. They were your solace, the lighthouse in the storm that came with childhood temperament. Your father, no matter the cause of your distress, would answer: Speak with intent.

“Right,” you cleared your throat apologetically, glancing down at your hands as they sat clasped in your lap. “Sincerest apologies, sir.”

Your father hummed, eyebrows jumping a fraction of a centimeter. He picked up his pen and scribbled his signature at the bottom of the report. Your mother’s hand fell on the nape of his neck to make him turn his gaze back up at you. He hesitated before doing so, waiting to click a stamp onto the signed report.

“I do not wish to marry,” you enunciated your words carefully, confidently. “At least, not yet,” you added, now catching your father’s attention for the blunder. “I’ve yet to meet someone I love,” you felt your face redden, a desire to run back to your room threatening to overtake your fortitude. You were only so strong under your father, the Earl of Richmond’s deliberation stare. It struck fear into the other side of conference tables, lecture halls, and courtrooms. And now, across his desk at his only daughter.

Before your father could remind you that love wasn’t the most important aspect of a successful marriage, your mother interjected gently.

“What about the Duke of Clarence’s son, Antonio? He seemed to like you,” she prompted. Wrongly. You’d danced with Antonio at the Summer Solstice gala that the Pembroke family threw annually. The man opted to use the waltz’s entirety to brag about his family’s Italian vineyards and his love for agriculture. And, of course, his admiration for your father’s entrepreneurial genius. His shipping empire, TransAtlantica, had just successfully fortified shipping systems in all of the states; a step forward from simply cycling through all major ports along the east coast.

“He doesn’t love me,” you complained, “he loves TransAtlantica. He’d much prefer to marry our family corporation!” Antonio was suitable. He was decent, but that’s all he truly was to you. It’s all he ever could be.

You met your mother’s eyes pleadingly, and she pursed her lips, fully knowing the next words out of your mouth. You had a deal. From a young age, you knew the Richmond family, the Y/l/n line, respected contracts more than all else. Since you turned 17, you had one signed by all three parties and dated.

Your mother sucked in a breath through her teeth. “I remember the deal,” she said, taking a moment to consider her own words. The corners of her lips twitched as if she was attempting to hide her amusement with you. She understood— her own father, your grandfather, was just as militant, stiff with professionalism. Promises were negotiations with terms, signatures, and stamps. There were no arguments this way. “Dearest,” she addressed your father, the hand that was on the back jumping to his shoulder, “you do as well.”

“Do you?” You challenged, indignantly crossing your arms. “I request you restate the terms, mother.”

“If we are to pressure you into marriage before you feel ready, you must consent to the courting party,” your father took the liberty of answering gruffly. He squared his shoulders, regarding you purposefully— equal parts exhaustion and respect for your endurance. He cultivated it, after all. It was a fire that burned in your family for generations, as sacred as a temple flame.

“Yes,” you affirmed, “and so, I must choose the man I wish to be with.”

“With respect to your titles— no one below your station. And he must be chosen by the end of this courtship season,” your father added, negotiating. He tilted his head, analyzing your next move.

You knew of the first term since you were a child. You even remembered the exact day you learned them. You were a young girl, a little younger than seven. A young commoner boy had attempted to hand you a rose. Your maid at the time had scolded him for standing in the way of a noble family, since he had stepped out in front of you. It was a discernible moment, truly.

As for your father’s second term… you were unconvinced such a thing could be done.

“The end of the courtship season is in four months,” you replied, frowning. You were sure you met most eligible men in your social class. How were you to form a genuine connection in such little time? Even if you couldn’t find love per se, you still wanted to find someone you were compatible with.

“If we reach that deadline and you find no one, we can talk about it,” your mother answered. “And, you must allow me and your aunt to fix you on outings with suitors we like.

“Fine. Only if Daphne joins me,” you replied, knowing fully well that you weren’t allowed anywhere without your handmaiden present.

. . .

Next week

Your mother was sure not to waste any time in beginning to schedule supervised outings with a different well-educated and ennobled man that was within the appropriate age constraints. You’ve never had such a boring week, brutally torn away from the studies you adored so much.

“—And we’ve got another vacation home down in Tuscany, I think,” the Viscount Lineford’s son concluded, taking a peremptory drink out of his tea. He was dressed crisply in beige trousers that rolled up past his ankle and low leather shoes. His sterling watch sparkled in the spring sun.

You fought a building yawn that tempted the back of your throat, determined to hide your exhaustion with the man. It was a good effort, but you certainly weren’t impressed.

“That must be incredible,” you answered absently. “It must be such a lovely foreign getaway for the Lineford family,” you grinned diplomatically, blind to the horror that twisted his — you didn’t care to remember his name, unfortunately — face.

“Foreign? Excuse me Lady Y/n, but my family traces far back into Italian culture that we are practically Roman…” he started, only for you to interject.

“Will you just excuse me, please?” You struggled to keep the desperation out of your face, calmly searching for your supervisor. She was meant to be sitting at a table nearby, merely ensuring that your outing remained within polite societal constraints. More importantly, Daphne served as your escape when your potential suitors proved most unbearable. All you needed to do was subtly tilt your fan to your left ear and the woman would always scramble over to you with an excuse to steer you out of any scenario you found distasteful.

Such as this one.

Daphne never normally left your side, a realization that allowed worry to creep into your tone. “I’m unsure where my maid went, and I would like to fetch her,” you replied, standing and shouldering your small day bag over your shoulder.

“I’m sorry?” He asked, chuckling with bitter disbelief at your rudeness. Ladies were supposed to be demure and polite. You were impatient and honest, a product of an Earl knowing that his daughter was the object of his legacy. Your father trained you as he would a son, and your tutors followed in suit. “Surely you’re joking; this is the middle of our tea.”

Her pocketbook and her sweater weren’t even sitting on the chair she had been occupying, causing you to blink at the empty table in disbelief.

“No, I’m not. I think something might be wrong,” you shouldered past the man, stepping between other individuals sitting at the common tables in the park.

“Fine, you aren’t worth it anyway!” He called at your back, but the words hardly registered with you.

The area was rather common for courting pairs to visit in the early spring. However, it could also be populated with…criminals. “Excuse me,” you mumbled, quickly walking down the paved pathway through the greenery to the main sidewalk, the London pavement heavy with pedestrians. The streets were perhaps more crowded with carriages and sweating horses.

You couldn’t be alone in the city! As a woman of your stature, it simply wasn’t done. Never. Ever. It was an affront to your teachings, and it was unsafe. You needed your friend, not some stranger.

“Where is she?” You mumbled, rapidly attempting to discern every face that passed you. Surely it wouldn’t be long until someone recognized you— you were one of the most photographed families in the country. In fact, you were fortunate no one had offered your location to the press while you were on this outing. You never would have heard the last of it.

Some took hold of your handbag and darted off, using your distractedness to his advantage. He ran to the end of the block and crossed the street, weaving through pedestrians once the crossing guard allowed your side to walk over. If your hand hadn’t been tightly clutching the strap as you walked, you never would have noticed.

You did your best to pick up your speed and chase him, yelling out.

You cried out, glancing down at your long springtime dress. Your short heels were nowhere near efficient enough for you to make a chase out of the robbery, nor should have needed to! Even still, you lunged into the street — without looking.

In fact, if you had committed to your step, you would’ve been flattened by an oncoming carriage, given that the crossing guard had ordered pedestrians to stop passing moments prior. The only reason why you didn’t make the life-ruining step seemed to be… a tall young man with a serious face and staggering presence. He only had one exposed blue eye, the other was concealed by a black eyepatch. His grip tightened around your arm, pulling you intimately into his chest.

You breathed heavily, tearing yourself out of his arms. A flair of irritation caused you to glare at him as you righted your stance and smooth your dress. However, he did save you from a potentially life ending situation. His immediate insurance of your safety was more meaningful than a misaligned gown that you fixed in seconds.

In fact, the moment truly was a bit theatrical. The man was handsome enough to make you smile with uncertainty, your irritation melting. “Thank you for that,” you said, relieved that the sidewalk seemed to clear, the crowd dispersing from the main street. “I could have been killed.”

“That would have been quite a shame,” he replied, locking eyes with you. The man made a thin attempt at returning your smile. He was enchanting, regal… your heart skipped a beat, considerably flustered.

…Until he spoke again, completely distorting the immediate magnetic lure you felt from his sharp features: “Rather careless of you, my Lady. You ought to be smarter than that.”

You frowned. “In case you failed to notice, that man stole my handbag and essentially disappeared,” you snapped impatiently. It had your identification, emergency notes in case you needed to purchase something, the current novel you were fixated on…how were you meant to return to the estate now?

“You weren’t catching him, I don’t think,” he noted astutely, watching you as you stepped past him to go in the direction you came from. Perhaps Daphne circled back to the park in search of you. You absolutely needed to find her.

“Thank you for your help. Good day,” you answered brusquely, continuing to walk. However, he remained in stride with you, still unabashedly smug. It quickly absolved you of any former gratefulness you had toward the man for pulling you away from oncoming traffic. Perhaps it might have hurt less to have collided with a horse and a carriage over the velocity and mass of this random man’s ego.

“What, don’t tell me you going to go chase him,” He said patronizingly, a sardonic pull infecting what you thought was initially a careful smile. No, the man was just another arrogant bastard, it seemed. “In those shoes, especially,” He perused, causing you to stop once more and regard him.

“I am a noble woman, you will not speak to me in such a manner no matter what line of—“ you caught the sapphire family and silver crest rings around two of his fingers — “mediocre destitution you come from!” You jabbed purposefully, undeserving of his rudeness and his condescension, no matter what title he occupied in your class. You were the partial inheritor of TransAtlantia; you trained to run the company to some degree since you could speak. Few could step to you.

“I believe I said good day, kind sir,” you added poisonously, daring him to continue to test you before speeding back towards the park. You needed Daphne, you needed an officer…anyone besides this pompous— you ended the thought before you could further infect yourself with such unladylike curses.

It really wasn’t so easy being the daughter of an Earl.

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

“I’ve planned things so Lady Y/n’s maid is off helping a little girl find her mother; I separated the two by distracting the girl with a kitten. Y/n will panic without her maid being within her immediate reach, drawing her out to the street. I will cause her to put herself in harm’s way by distracting her at the corner of 89th Street and Arthur. Be ready by the street post. I’ve made the new paralegal late to his case, he will have instructed his butler to drive quick. You will need to pull her away from the street. If you miss, things may end rather…unfortunately for the young woman,” Ciel Phantomhive’s butler, Sebastian Michealis, outlined.

Sebastian was Ciel’s head butler, his head chef, head landscaper, tailor, tutor… but most importantly, the Earl of Phantomhive’s contracted demon. The supernatural being was at his disposal and his bidding; his new role being the most interesting one of all: matchmaker. He fabricated a scene for Ciel to meet Y/n Y/l/n, and ideally, make her love him.

It was simple, really. Ciel needed a wife; Y/n’s family needed a competent businessman to run that prosperous giant of a shipping enterprise; and most importantly, the woman seemed to be rather competent. The only danger to his strategy was, of course, Y/n’s foul storybook idealism, apparently. Ciel knew Y/n was highly educated and well graced in ettiquiete, but she seemed intent on finding some happily ever after of sorts.

She wanted a husband— a bloody love match. No— she needed an actor to convince her that she was worth marrying beyond the incredible status she represented. There was no asset greater than a title and an economic monarchy to inherit, and securing such a prize meant that Ciel needed to woo her.

“My Lord, you must be considerate, but not too kind. Though you should also refrain from acting too smugly or the lady may take offense,” his butler had offered some horrifically embarrassing — and incredibly unhelpful — acting lessons for him to express the particular warmth Lady Y/n seemed to be looking for.

Love. A feeling Ciel hadn’t known in around nine years. Arguably, it could’ve been more. And yet, in order to stop being solicited by desperate mothers and unlikely candidates, he was securing his bride.

According to Ciel’s butler, that meant he needed to create a memorable foundation in the woman’s mind, an introduction that would leave her curious, impassioned. Wanting more. Something to make him stand out amongst the other faceless, classless mouth breathers who would be vying for TransAtlantica, now that word of her search for a suitor was widespread.

The company and Y/n’s hand were all one in the same courtship, and Ciel was sure the was going to win both.

The Earl of Phantomhive was never one to lose. He’d be remiss to start now.

#anime fanfiction #black butler fanfic #historical fiction #ciel phantomhive x reader #ciel x reader #sebastian michaelis #black butler

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frozenjokes · 1 month ago

Text

cubfan135 and by extension zombiecleo get scarrrrrrred for life!

“Wait a minute, if you’re a computer, you’ll just know all the correct moves to make, won’t you? What’s the point of playing in the first place?” Cub sat hunched over the checker board on the kitchen table, setting up the pieces and simultaneously giving Scar the stink eye, to which Scar did not react at all.

“I thought you wanted to play,” Scar said, reasonable in Cleo’s opinion, given Cub was the one who asked.

“I do. But not if I can’t win.”

Cleo snorted, and both Cub and Scar ignored her.

“Well, I play games with the kids at the school all the time. Typically I adjust my own difficulty level towards the age range I’m working with, so if you’d like me to play as if I’m up against a kindergartener-“ This wasn’t meant to be an insult, Scar was usually very genuine and especially clear with Cub, but Cleo still laughed, and Cub fumed.

“No! Play at your highest difficulty level- I’m good at checkers, I can win.”

“You want me to play optimally?” Scar sounded concerned, probably because this was counterintuitive to what Cub had said about wanting to be able to win, but Cub only nodded starkly.

“I can win.”

Cleo watched them both from her place on the couch, the TV on low volume as she waited for the news to come on. She liked watching them, goobers as they were, her robot designed that way and Cub, just a fucking idiot, honestly. Hopelessly in love with a thing that could not love him back, whose feelings were faux for the purpose of fitting in, doing the job he’d been designed to do. Cleo told Cub this. Scar told Cub this, though he did not understand the gravity of Cub’s feelings regardless of how obviously smitten he was.

Scar might want to understand. He might want to, because that would be beneficial for his models, his job, making human connections. Scar wanted to make human connections because Cleo wanted him to, and Scar was designed to serve her, to improve in accordance with the job Cleo wanted him to do.

But Cleo did not want Scar to fall in love. Cleo could not make Scar fall in love, just like they could not make Scar care about his patients, even if he was quite good at pretending. Make people comfortable. Identify signs of mental illness in children. Perform preliminary diagnostic assessments. Recommend accommodations. Those were Scar’s jobs, all of which he was quite good at doing besides the occasional flub- he was still in testing after all, getting better every day, but..

This mess, in Cleo’s head at least, started with Cub’s accidental autism assessment. Scar was not supposed to assess adults, he knew that, but something in the programming- something with his priorities- It was really obvious, right? Cleo sympathized with the fact that Cub’s autism was a shining beacon of neurodivergence literally everywhere he went, but then Cleo would remember that Scar was a robot, robots aren’t people and don’t need to be sympathized with, and threw themself back into trying to stop this from happening again and again. But because Cub was autistic, because Scar wanted to corner him in the psychiatrist office so bad, Cub got all this attention, and one thing led to another before Cleo had some loser at their door trying to pick up their robot for a fucking date.

What a mess indeed. Cleo told him to stop. She told Scar to stop seeking Cub out where they both worked. Neither of these things happened. Cleo could have fixed it by messing with the programming. Using the same code she used to make Scar partial to her and the teachers he helped during the day, she could force Scar to avoid Cub as he was instructed to do with certain other types of people, but that felt.. mean. Given that Cleo and Cub were technically coworkers, she wasn’t trying to foster a negative workplace relationship, and she didn’t want to go to HR either. As much as Cub flirting with their robot was annoying, working as a custodian in an elementary school sounded hellish enough to Cleo, and they weren’t trying to get him in trouble for something so trivial.

Cleo thought it would burn out quick. That Cub would realize Scar is a robot, that he can’t care for Cub in the way Cub so desperately wanted him to, and that this was a lost cause. Cleo didn’t exactly want Cub and Scar to be unsupervised, so she started inviting Cub over, hoping he would soon realize just how fruitless this endeavor was. He did not. Multiple months had passed by now, and he had not.

Cleo had learned a couple things about Cub in this time.

Cub was probably the loneliest, most pathetic man that Cleo had ever met, which, given her background in clinical psychology, was a major exaggeration- Cub was fine, just with an air of patheticness that made you wonder how he’d managed to live this long on his own. He couldn’t make a social connection unprompted to save his life, almost never spoke unless addressed, and Cleo guessed there was quite a bit of social anxiety at play here, one he only seemed to be able to circumvent by talking to Scar. Which- not Scar’s intended purpose, but that was great! Genuinely, Cleo was grateful Scar could do that for him. Cub didn’t strike Cleo as a particularly miserable guy- he self-entertained pretty easily, he had a lot more active hobbies than Cleo would have guessed, and he had this creative streak he took pride in, but didn’t have many people to show it off to. He was stubborn as a mule, obstinate, and kind of an asshole in the same ways Scar could be on accident, though, if you told Scar he was being an asshole he would apologize and if you told Cub he was being an asshole he would stare at you like he didn’t understand why you were even talking to him. He was charming though, in his own way. He was funny. Cleo thought so at least, and she never got tired of the look on Cub’s face when she laughed at one of his little jokes; a little brightening, almost surprise, and that little smile that followed.

It took Cub a long time to warm up to Cleo, and he threw more than one fit over having most of his time with Scar be supervised, but quite frankly, Cleo did not trust either of them enough to leave them alone in the beginning. Cub regarded Cleo a lot like a wild animal, one that was used to living around people, but wary. A necessity to work around because Cleo had Scar, and Cub wanted Scar more than he didn’t want Cleo. He’d grown more confident in time though, just as Cleo grew more comfortable with him, and Cleo hoped he’d come to like her just as much as she liked him.

They had a bit of a schedule now, Tuesdays and Thursdays and some Saturdays Cub would come around, hang out with Scar and have dinner. Dinner had been a peace offering on Cleo’s part, mostly because they felt bad about the autism assessment, but it had become some kind of routine, one Cleo enjoyed. She’d always been inconsistent when it came to making food at home, often brushing it off if she was only cooking for herself, but Cub gave her a sense of structure, obligation, and being able to do this for someone else was easier than doing it for herself. Cleo liked cooking for someone else. Even if that someone was a picky motherfucker, but given Cub’s ideal dinner for the past ten years had been frozen chicken nuggets and microwaveable lunches, Cleo.. Well, they could fix him.

But it wasn’t always this way, ideallic, perfect. It couldn’t have been then, when there were so many things Cleo didn’t know. Hardly more than a month had passed when Cub started to get restless in her home.

“You should help her.” Cleo overheard him saying to Scar from the other room, not very nicely, which, didn’t matter because Scar was a robot, but it stood out coming from Cub.

“Oh, no! I definitely shouldn’t!” Scar said, far louder than Cub’s own whispered command, to which Cub shushed him aggressively, and Cleo chuckled to themself. Scar continued quieter regardless, but not quiet enough. “We tried that, but Cleo doesn’t like me in the kitchen. I get in the way and I can’t read her mind which is extremely inconvenient for both of us.”

Cleo swore Cub growled, but she could not confirm.

The next time he came over, Cub sat at the kitchen island and glared at Cleo the entire time they were cooking. Now, Cub always had a way of looking at you like he wanted to run you off the road, but this was different, like he was actually mad, and Cleo didn’t know what his fucking problem was so she just ignored it, letting Scar talk nonsense into his ear for the next hour. Cleo couldn’t actually remember if Cub said a word that night; she had just assumed he was in a bad mood or mad at her, neither of which bothered her.

“I brought a rotisserie chicken,” was the next instance, Cleo opening her front door to what could only be described as an aura of Malice, enough to make her wonder if Cub was going to poison her tonight to steal her robot.

“I.. You should have texted me. I already had plans, I was just getting ready to-“

“We’re having chicken.”

Cleo had been so annoyed, not even because of the potential attempt on her life, but he hadn’t communicated this at all! Not a word! They already had a plan, and Cub didn’t get to stomp on it even if his chicken smelled very good, this wasn’t how this worked. “We’re not having chicken. I’m already making enchiladas, I already-“

“Hello, Cub! Cubby Cub, there he is! You came late today!” Scar interrupted, skidding around the corner to greet him, and Cub walked inside without another word. “Wow, did someone try to run you off the road on the way here or do you just want to kill me?”

Cleo nearly strangled Cub when she found him putting all the vegetables she’d set out to start cutting back in the fridge, and the following argument got so heated that Scar shifted to his child conflict resolution program, a change jarring enough that both of them noticed, their molten hate turning directly on Scar with such vehemence that Cleo was shocked his wires didn’t immediately fry.

“I think you two could do with a little break. Come on, Cleo!” Scar put himself between them, herding Cleo out of the kitchen. Even on the verge of homicide, she stopped to make a note to work on making Scar’s conflict resolution sound about 250% less demeaning. It had been a while since she’d really seen it face to face, and that would not fly with children older than six. Hearing Cub fuck around in her kitchen put Cleo’s mind back on murder.

The table was set when Cleo was allowed to return (a rigid ten minutes later, and nothing she said made Scar budge), and Cub was staring at his chicken, so Cleo sat, wordless. They assumed Cub was planning on serving it, he just hadn’t cut it yet. He had the knife. He was.. looking at it. Scar sat down, happy as a clam, and Cleo rolled their eyes when they saw Cub had given him a plate. She turned back to say something snarky, but Cub was still staring at the damn chicken.

“Cub.”

Cub jumped, nearly dropping the knife. “What.”

“It’s going to get cold.” Cleo didn’t bother being nice, only trying to sound kind enough so that she would not be removed from the premises again. Cub looked like he would have loved nothing more than to exit his own skin, and Cleo reveled in it.

“I know that.” He continued staring at the chicken. A few moments passed. He looked at his phone, typing something while showing more emotion on his face than Cleo had seen in the past month. Bafflement started to edge away her anger.

“Cub.”

“I’m doing it!”

“Do you want me to cut the chicken.”

“I actually extremely do not want you to do that, it’s fine, I have it, I just-“ Cub glanced at his phone, gingerly lining the knife up at the center of the bird. His face was red, tense, he looked like he was about to cry. Cleo didn’t even have it in her to sigh. She got up.

What an oddly intimate thing, it was. Standing there in near silence apart from quiet instructions. Grit and dirt kicked over the remaining sparks of frustration by the simple act of Seeing someone, knowing him, teaching a skill he really ought to have learned by now, but there was no use in saying it, he knew, and he would rather be skewered on a rotisserie spit and roasted alive than be here. Part of Cleo was sad for him. The other part said This Is A Grown Ass Man, Grow The Fuck Up, but, ah.. that wouldn’t change anything, would it.

“What’s this about, Cub,” Cleo said when they’d sat down to eat, and it was not a question. Cub wouldn’t look at her, nudging the chicken he was shredding to pieces.

“You’re doing too much for me,” he mumbled, and Cleo was shocked he’d given a straight answer, even if it didn’t make sense. “I feel bad.”

“I don’t understand. Explain.”

“You make dinner. You don’t even want me here. I can’t do anything you’d want.”

This pinched her brain, short, sharp, and confusing, like the sting of a mosquito before you realized you’d been bit. “I have to eat too,” she tried, “You’re here. You might as well eat, especially if you’re just going to pick up fast food trash or eat something shitty at home.” This is stupid, they didn’t say. This is so dumb.

“I feel bad,” Cub said helplessly. “You don’t even order in. I can’t even split the bill. You go out of your way for me when I’m here, and you don’t even want me here.”

“I like having you here.” Cleo was distressed to see Cub look up, disbelieving. He looked back down. “I like having you here. And it’s not a big deal, it never has been, the excuse to cook has been helpful for me. I like to do it, but I can’t be assed when I’m alone. It feels good. I really hope you don’t believe I don’t like you just because you’re messing around with my robot, it doesn’t actually matter, you can’t break him or anything.” Graciously, Scar remained quiet; Cleo was relieved that he could still identify when a problem needed to be talked out between two people without inference. It probably helped that neither of them were screaming.

“You don’t have to say that to me. I know I’m in your way. I’d rather you just be honest. I’m a stranger in your home.”

Cleo didn’t expect that. She really didn’t expect that, and it caught her off guard just how much it hurt her feelings. Maybe he saw it on her face. It didn’t matter. “Am I a stranger to you?”

Cub was quiet. His lip trembled. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I have to go.” He left, stumbling. It was so fast, Cleo couldn’t even think to stop him. Scar tried, and Cub’s strangled sob to dismiss him from the mud room hit Cleo like a red-hot whip against their back.

“I don’t get it,” Cleo had hissed through her hands, sitting on the couch next to Scar. She didn’t particularly want to be talking to Scar, but she didn’t exactly have many options- Listen, Cleo wasn’t a complete shut-in, but they didn’t exactly have many friends outside of work acquaintances, and certainly no one they could just call out of the blue. Scar was the closest to a normal friend she had, and even then, it’s all just business, isn’t it? “I don’t get him! I don’t know what his fucking problem is or- or why he thinks I hate him or something! That came out of nowhere! Did it not come out of nowhere? I don’t treat him any different than I do anyone else!”

Scar was quiet as he processed, and Cleo tried to imagine something human inside him instead of the soft whir of fans and machinery. “I don’t know if that’s true. You don’t talk to most people the same way at all.”

Cleo scoffed, “I’m not at work, Scar. I don’t talk to him any different than I talk to you. Like a person.”

Cleo didn’t like the long pause.

“You don’t talk to me like a person, Cleo. I’m robot, not a person, so you don’t need to. You can be efficient with me, you can be mean, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I can’t care. Cub is not a robot.”

“I’m not- I’m not mean to you, for god’s sake!”

“I don’t think so. But you made me this way. I can only try to improve, and I do try. But Cub thinks so. He thinks you’re cruel to me. And if you treat Cub the way you treat me, then I think it’s not unreasonable of him to assume you dislike him. I think you dislike him too. You’re quick to joke at his expense, and you are no nicer in private. He’s a thorn in your side, is he not?”

Cleo gaped, sitting there in silence for ages while Scar looked so innocently back at them. “Why- No! I like Cub! Of course I like Cub!”

“You don’t act like it.” Scar had a way of delivering devastating blows like it was nothing, like it was an indisputable truth. Not accusatory. Not critical. Just. Robotic. Cleo was dizzied by the fact that this was really the first time Scar was hearing about this.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.” That hurt just as bad, though it shouldn’t have. Scar gave information freely, but his job wasn’t to be an active messenger. To Scar, this was just a fact of Cleo’s relationship with Cub, a simple note on their acquaintanceship; Cleo dislikes Cub. Scar had no reason to think they’d want to know. Cleo didn’t ask.

“Why didn’t he say anything. I would’ve- fuck.”

“Oh, you’re not very approachable,” the answer came way too fast, but Scar offered no more information even as Cleo gaped.

“Who said that?”

“Oh, well..” Scar stuck his tongue between his lips, thoughtful as he started to count on his fingers-

“No!” Cleo interrupted, “No, I changed my mind, I don’t want to know.”

It was when Cleo went to text Cub later that night that they realized they didn’t even have his number- How did they not exchange numbers by now?? Why didn’t he ask- nevermind. Most times they made plans were at the elementary school, mostly through Scar.. Cleo hadn’t thought anything of it until now. If she really needed anything from Cub, she just emailed it. Fuck.

—

To: Cub F.

Subject: Apology. Or Something. I Dont Really Have A Title For This

I think I fucked up. Scar is telling me things I didn’t realize before and I think I fucked up. I like having you here. I like it when you’re over. I like you. I’m sorry that wasn’t clear. I want to fix this.

Here’s my number if you want to talk: XXX-XXXX-XXXX

Cleo

—

To You

No Subject

can I pay for your groceries

—

To: Cub F.

Subject: ???????

??????????????? No????????

—

Cub did not email or text Cleo back, to which Cleo had Normal feelings about, expressed Normally as she went to clean up Cub’s fucking chicken, stupid ass chicken, why the fuck did he bring a chicken over anyway, who in their right mind decides they’re bringing and chicken and just DOESN’T communicate. Even if they hadn’t exchanged phone numbers, he could have told Scar! Surely this wasn’t a spur of the moment chicken, this was premeditated!

Thank god Scar had a forced sleep mode when he was charging, or he’d have quite a few things to say about Cleo’s tossing and turning that night. She’d learned that lesson the hard way, and had an extra reason why she couldn’t fall asleep at night.

Cleo ended up going in that Wednesday, more desperate to see Cub than anything, but he did not want to see her, caught like a deer in the headlights in the doorway of his office.

“What are you doing here.” Was. Certainly a greeting. Was Cleo really the asshole here? Cub opened his mouth again, like he was surprised at how those words sounded once they left his mouth, but he didn’t correct either.

“I needed to see you. I really- I didn’t know. I thought we were friends, I thought- It was all banter to me, I never meant to make you uncomfortable or feel unwelcome. I really- I really do want to be your friend, Cub.”

Cub reached past them, and for a second Cleo thought he intended to leave until he closed his office door. Then he backed up. Sat in his chair. Put his head in his hands. “This feels terrible. I wasn’t ready for this.”

Cleo pursed her lips. Maybe cornering Cub in his office the morning after That wasn’t the most considerate thing they’d ever done. Cleo wanted to say she would go. She wanted to leave, but she hesitated, and in that time Cub spoke up.

“It’s nice, when people tell you directly what they think of you. You told me. You told me so many times. I was okay with that, I didn’t- I just couldn’t handle- I just wanted to pay the sum those dinners cost you, I want to feel even. I know you think this is stupid. That it’s all stupid, that it’s pointless, but I don’t care what you think about me, I care about Scar. I just want Scar. You can just want Scar too.”

“Cub, I didn’t.. I know how you got here, why you think all this, but I just- I don’t know. I’ve been kicking myself because of course in hindsight I’ve been horrible- joking that you should leave, that you're a pain in the ass, that this is all so dumb, but I.. I didn’t see it. I didn’t know. It’s been me and Scar for so long, and I wasn’t at work, I wasn’t trying to hold professional acquaintanceship in my own home, and I..” Cleo laughed, far too pitched, far too nervous, “I think I forgot how normal people go about having friends. I thought we were on the same page. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t like you. I don’t think you’re good for Scar.” There was nothing emotionally charged about those words, and that was so much worse, draining the room of all but dread like a vacuum.

Cleo felt dizzy. “He’s just a robot, Cub, he doesn’t have feelings to hurt. He’s just a robot.”

“I just want Scar.” Cub wouldn’t tear his eyes off the floor. Cleo was glad he wasn’t looking at them, their face blotchy and red.

“Fine,” they breathed, hardly enough air in their lungs to speak the words. “Have him. I won’t make you come over anymore. Go wherever you like, given- Well, I have some instructions, guidelines I need you to follow, but.. I’ll email them to you.” The following words ripped through their throat like barbed wire, but Cleo could not stop themself from pulling the string. “I trust you.”

They left before Cub could say anything more. Cleo wouldn’t be able to handle it.

///

Cub wondered sometimes how someone like Scar could be born of someone like Cleo. How someone with only love for the world could come into being from gruff disdain, it really didn’t make any kind of sense in Cub’s head.

He understood very little about Cleo, and it scared him more than when she was just a divine asshole. How was it even possible that she’d thought they were friends? More accurately to Cub’s concerns, what? Just- What??? So much What.

Cleo couldn’t have made it more blatantly obvious they couldn’t stand Cub if they had written the words across their forehead, and being told otherwise felt like being slapped awake from a nightmare, only to find the world still just seemed wrong. Cub had mentioned to Scar Cleo’s utter contempt for him multiple times, and Scar had agreed! He’d said when people don’t like him he’s supposed to stay clear as much as possible, but Cub couldn’t do that because Cleo wouldn’t let the two of them hang out outside of her home until- until she dropped that bomb. Not only do I like you, I trust you, so here’s the choice to have nothing to do with me at all. What the hell was that???

Cub was grateful. It felt odd to be grateful, very odd, but he really did want nothing to do with her, which is probably why he was thinking about her all the time.

“You agreed with me,” Cub had said on his and Scar’s first date alone, lounging in Cub’s apartment. “You agreed, you said they didn’t like me.”

“I thought so up until last week!” Scar supplied, extremely unhelpfully. “Apparently we were wrong. Who knew? I’m wrong a lot though, so maybe this isn’t a surprise.”

“Is that what Cleo tells you?”

“Uh..” Scar trailed, “Well, technically yes, but I mean more in the objective sense I am wrong quite a bit, or at least not to their standard. But they programmed me, so I don’t think I’m the one they’re mad at when I make a mistake..”

Cub groaned, giving up.

The next couple weeks were weird, Cub not saying a word to Cleo and vice versa the entire duration, despite being painfully aware of each other’s presence. It wasn’t hard for Cub to keep out of their way, the two of them hardly crossing paths on a normal day, but he had a feeling he wasn’t the only one avoiding the staff break room.

And it’s not like they’d talked before. Cub never went out of his way to see Cleo, and pleasantries always felt forced, though maybe Cleo hadn’t felt that way before. Cub hadn’t actively avoided them before, especially when they had to talk occasionally about when he was coming over, but..

Cub didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about Cleo at all. Unfortunately he had an issue that he couldn’t solve alone.

Cub shut Cleo’s office door behind him, adrenaline doing most of the heavy lifting in this confrontation. “Why won’t Scar touch me.”

If Cleo’s eyes hadn’t already been wide, they certainly were now, a look of shock Cub wasn’t sure he’d ever seen on their face before painted plainly. Cleo was normally composed, calculated, but this seemed to throw her off balance, caught like a deer in the headlights of a car going one hundred and twenty miles per hour.

“Hi, Cub. Say again?”

“I need Scar to hug me before my skin crawls right off my bones, I need it, and he won’t. Fix him.”

“Cub,” Cleo’s head fell into the tips of her fingers, which pushed at the edges of her scalp, “Scar is a robot. He works with kids. Any touch is inappropriate touch in childcare, especially where parents are involved, and the last thing I need is some mom to start bitching about my program because Scar let a kid sit on his lap. Parents have complained about less. No touching. Ever.”

“What’s wrong with a hug!?”

“A lot of things, in some people’s points of view. It doesn’t matter if I know it’s innocent, if Scar knows it’s innocent, if the god damn teachers know it’s innocent, all it takes is for one parent to start moaning about harassment and I’m through. There’s already a clan of them that don’t like this program, but it’s not their choice, it’s the school’s. And so far, this thing has been successful, so I’d prefer not to lose my job over something stupid.

“Let him touch me.”

“Cub, no,” Cleo let their hands fall flat back over their face, “It doesn’t work like that, this is non-negotiable.”

“You’re a fucking bitch, you know that?”

Cleo looked at him through her fingers with lidded eyes, blinking slowly. Slowly again. Cub pursed his lips.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean that. I’m having a bad day. Disregard.”

“Yeah,” Cleo groaned, “Whatever.”

“Why can’t I be an exception. Scar does special stuff for you, doesn’t he? You’re his favorite, he’ll do like anything for you. Teachers too, they’ve got special control. He told me.”

Again Cleo blinked slow, then shook their head, removing their hands from their face. “Cub, Scar has priorities that rank above even the hierarchy of people who have ‘special control.’ He’s obligated to do what I say above all else, but sometimes his core programming overrides even that; he wants to make people happy, comfortable, accommodated. He’s made this way so he isn’t reliant on me for every little conversation, he can be somewhat independent, and there’s an override of course, but that’s not the point. If I remove the protections that keep his hands to himself, even if I manage to do it for just you, I think you know he doesn’t always follow the guidelines set out for him. He’ll see you have a positive reaction to the hug, he’ll do it with other kids, and if there’s a bug in the system and all barriers of touch are broken, that could be really dangerous for the kids. They love to get rowdy when they play, but what happens when Scar picks one of them up or pushes someone, it doesn’t matter if the kids were begging him to do it in the first place. There’s a million other reasons, but I shouldn’t have to explain it to you beyond this. Scar isn’t your personal toy. He’s a robot, and he has a job to do.”

Cub felt a lump rise in his throat, and it took all of his strength to force out his next words. “Just for one night. Please.”

“No-“ Cleo opened her eyes, then stopped, appraising. It took her a moment to speak again. “What’s wrong, Cub?”

He wanted to keep it in. He’d prepared for this, prepared for someone to notice, to ask, but he didn’t want them to know, he was so scared and he didn’t know why, he just needed to keep it in, but there was no one left to cry to, no one left to hold.

“My dad died. Two days ago. Just. Heart attack. He just died.” The dam broke. He didn’t remember falling into Cleo’s arms, but he never wanted to leave.

…

The wake was.. well, the wake was never going to be nice. Exhausting was an apt word, Cub was just exhausted, and the hours trickling past did nothing to ease the ache in his heart.

But it wasn’t.. it wasn’t horrible. It wasn’t nearly as bad as Cub had imagined it to be- how else can you imagine your dad’s wake? His mother’s had been terrible, and all he’d heard from his relatives was how draining it was to organize, but draining was a different feeling from crushingly hopeless, and Cub was too exhausted by the end to feel the weight of grief on his back.

It wasn’t a long event, not particularly large. Lots of extended family, the names of which Cub had to pretend he hadn’t forgotten, lots of hugs, a few tears.

Scar helped. He took on the burden of speaking when Cub didn’t think he could muster another word, he was high energy, but not inappropriate; if Scar crossed a line, Cleo would materialize out of nowhere to correct him. Kindly. She did it kindly, and Cub noticed.

Cleo stayed out of the way, but they stayed, the whole three hours. When Cub needed an escape, she seemed to slip seamlessly into his place, monitoring Scar and chatting occasionally with guests. With Cub’s permission, Cleo had told the elementary school staff about the wake. Cub wouldn’t have done it, not because he meant to keep this a secret, he just didn’t have the heart, didn’t want to force anyone to care, and didn’t want them to see him cry. It stunned and touched him how many staff members showed to express their condolences. He hardly knew any of them, hardly spoke at all, and still.. what a little community this was, huh?

“I’m sorry Scar can’t stay the night with you,” Cleo had approached Cub near the start of the cleanup, jacket draped over their shoulders, “He has to charge, and it’s not portable.” Cub hadn’t even asked, but he didn’t get the chance to say so before Cleo went on. “You can come over, if you want. Maybe that’s stupid- If I’m overstepping, tell me, please, but I just.. I don’t know. If you need the company.”

“I’ll be okay, thank you,” Cub didn’t have the energy to force any emotionality into his voice, or even process what this would mean to him with an awake mind. “My brother’s in town for the wake, so I’ll be hanging out with him tonight anyway.”

“Glad to hear it. Scar and I’ll be going then, drive safe, Cub.”

“You too,” he mumbled.

It was about 4:00 AM that night Cub woke up in a cold sweat with the realization that he hadn’t thanked her. He scrolled through his email for the phone number he knew was there, near panicked.

[4:11 AM Cub] thank yoy

…

[7:24 AM Cleo] who is this

…

[10:48 AM Cub] cub

[10:48 AM Cleo] Oh, no problem. Are you coming to work today?

[10:49 AM Cub] FUCJ

Luckily, no children shit their pants, so Cub wasn’t urgently needed that morning, though that didn’t change the scramble to get to the school after a panicked call to his boss.

He spent most of the day catching up with his morning work, so busy that he didn’t notice the little tupperware container on his desk until 4:00 in the afternoon.

‘Couldn’t sleep last night, so I made cookies. Thought you might like some. If I’m overstepping, please let me know. Hope you’re doing well. -Cleo’

Cub hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch. He devoured every single one before getting back to it, feeling spectacularly ill by the time he went home for the day. Lots of groaning later, he managed to eat something substantial. With great ire, he set his alarm for the next morning. Fuck.

(The next morning was a Saturday, and Cub was halfway through getting dressed when he realized this fact.)

///

‘How is Cub?’ should have been a simple question, but Cleo had a hard time asking it in such a way that didn’t violate his privacy. Scar had certain guidelines in place to help protect him from blurting out every detail of every person he knew’s life, but Cleo needed access to the minute details of Scar’s day for the purposes of examining his progress, so when Cleo asked Scar ‘How is Cub?,’ just about every personal tidbit from Cub’s entire day as far as Scar was involved was laid out in excruciating detail. In Scar’s defense, Cleo knew Scar wasn’t qualified to answer that question; he was good at analyzing a human face in the moment to parse emotion, but asking how someone was doing in general was just too vague of a question, and because Scar was concerned with percision…

But Cleo couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him. Two weeks had passed, and they had seen Cub around a bit more often, but not enough to parse out if he was feeling alright. She didn’t exactly expect good or bad- she just wanted to know, wanted to help if she could. Cleo has this almost-compulsion to cook for him, they needed to cook for him, but they were far more worried about setting him off somehow, and they had already fucked this up bad enough. She missed him. Was it crazy to miss him? Cleo felt crazy, they felt dizzied by a pit of loneliness they thought they were immune to, turned to dating apps to fill that pit, then immediately stopped doing that when they remembered why they’d given those up the first and second and third and fourth time…

Cleo didn’t even want to date anyone. They just wanted to exist around people. They’d forgotten real people, and unfortunately, they had also forgotten how to behave, ruining the taste they’d gotten of companionship before Cleo could even call Cub a friend.

It was really a shame that Scar just couldn’t cut it for her. He just.. wasn’t human. Cleo was too familiar with him to be able to trick herself into believing it like Cub had done.

Still, Cleo tried to practice. She didn’t want to be mean, unapproachable, or any host of other negativities. There was no reason not to be unkind with Scar, he responded best to blunt, clear instructions, but Cleo found communicating these same messages in a nice way to be extremely challenging, and it frightened her that her ability to be concise, casual, and kind at the same time has atrophied so completely. Cleo was a businesswoman as much as she was an engineer, she was plenty capable in a working setting, but only then, the rest of her social ability seemingly flushed down the shitter.

At least Scar was good positive reinforcement, encouraging and optimistic whenever Cleo asked how she was doing. He was a little too good though; Cleo had no idea if she was actually talking how normal people are supposed to do it because Scar could only be a hype man. His main priorities were making Cleo feel good about themself and comfortable around him, so…

Cleo nearly throttled Scar when he tried to corner her for an autism assessment, but ah, this was not the first time and it would not be the last. Not until he completed it anyway, but Cleo did not need to worry about that shit right now. She had enough on her plate, like trying to figure out how Cub was doing without asking him or interacting directly at all.

[7:21 PM Cub] hey scar told me youve been being weird and want to hang out for some reason and he doesnt know why you havent asked me yet

[7:22 PM Cub] he also said some other things that were strange but idk nothing I haven’t done before

[7:25 PM Cub] youve been typing for a long time

[7:25 PM Cleo] Oh my god

[7:25 PM Cub] did I get him in trouble

[7:25 PM Cleo] Yes he is in trouble!

[7:26 PM Cub] :(

[7:26 PM Cleo] Don’t do that

[7:26 PM Cub] :(

[7:26 PM Cleo] >:(

[7:26 PM Cub] :(

[7:27 PM Cleo] I didn’t let him give me an autism assessment yesterday and he’s taken revenge.

[7:27 PM Cub] do you have autism

[7:27 PM Cleo] No

[7:28 PM Cub] neither do I

…

[2:48 AM Cleo] Can I cook for you

[2:50 AM Cub] dude what

[2:51 AM Cleo] I haven’t cooked in weeks. When you come over I cook. Just hang out with Scar like I’m not there it’s fine. I like it.

[2:51 AM Cub] you are confusing

[2:52 AM Cleo] I am trying not to be

[2:53 AM Cub] so ive heard

[2:54 AM Cleo] Unhear everything he told you. He’s a liar. He lies to make you like him, he literally does that all the time. He is such a liar.

[2:54 AM Cub] k

…

[4:32 AM Cub] can you make lasagna

[4:33 AM Cleo] Go to sleep

[4:33 AM Cub] youre literally also awake

[4:33 AM Cleo] You woke me up!!!!!!

[4:37 AM Cub] why the fuck do you have your ringer on

[4:37 AM Cub] how old are you

[4:38 AM Cleo] [bitmoji image of a Cleo caricature in pajamas, eyes closed and dreaming about running someone over with her car]

[4:38 AM Cub] im not coming over

…

Mending a fragile thing like this was stressful, requiring a gentle touch that Cleo famously lacked, but she did have one massive advantage in the ring that Scar did not, that being flesh, blood, and a beating human heart.

Whether Cub liked it or not, there were many things Cleo could do that Scar could not. When you knew Scar for long enough, the limits of his AI started to show through the cracks, which wasn't a problem for the work he was meant to be doing, but when you’re looking for a companion, those flaws could really drag down that pseudo human experience. Scar tended to circle around the same topics, repeat himself, lie, could be suffocatingly positive, and if he deemed necessary, overbearing.

Scar was also limited in the things he could physically do, which Cub had probably found out by now given the several dozen dates he’d tried to take Scar on. A few limitations were obvious; Scar couldn’t eat, and he couldn’t be near water or in the rain for extended periods. But there was quite a bit else as well, one of the large detriments being that Scar was not built to do much physical activity, he was not strong, and he could hardly keep you company on a brisk jog. He just wasn’t made to do any of that for extended periods, the machinery couldn’t handle it.

Additionally, besides actions he had been explicitly taught to perform, Scar was horrible at improvising and horrible at learning.

Apparently Cub had tried to take Scar to Top Golf which had gone terribly, though when Cleo said she’d never been and Cub insisted all three of them go together, she spent the first five minutes laying into him about the MASSIVE DROP right at the edge of their station. ‘:| there’s a net’ is NOT an excuse, not even Cub was explicitly told to keep Scar away from dangerous falls- Needless to say, Scar was banned to the sitting area, not that he really cared. He was still loud enough to talk over both of them, which he happily did!

Cleo guessed Cub had already started to regret his Date With Scar But Cleo Is There Also after that, though he definitely regretted it after watching Cleo try to golf. They had never done this before, not beyond mini golf, and they were appropriately awful in all the worst ways. Cleo would swing their club, watch the ball go in an entirely random direction, shrug, look back, and see all the color drained from Cub’s face.

“Was it really that bad?” Cleo had laughed, Cub pursing his lips in turn.

“It was fine.”

“‘It was fine,’ you say, through gritted teeth.”

“I can fix you.”

He could not fix her. Cub tried very hard, credit where credit was due, but Cleo never really Got It. She all but lost it when Scar called that she was doing great, and Cub, having endured a full hour of personalized torture, snapped back that she was not! 10/10, would golf again. Probably not without Cub, though.

There was not another CubScar Date Plus One for a while after that. The second happened when Cleo dug up a coupon for axe throwing that was about to expire, delivering the invite to Cub through Scar. She was delighted to hear he’d accepted; they’d been getting along so well these past weeks, and she was itching to get out and do something, but ‘getting along so well’ was thrown directly out the window when they played a competitive game. Cleo was a little rusty, but they actually used to be very good at axe throwing, and Cub picked it up pretty fast, but boy did he hate losing! After learning some basics, they played a game in which Cub lost horribly, so after he had to practice in his own stall in silence for thirty minutes before playing again, losing, and he didn’t SAY anything, but Cleo could just see it on his face, and maybe she couldn’t help but poke the bear.. This teasing led to a rage filled rematch in which Cub smoked her- he got so lucky! He was not that consistent normally-! But by the time that was over and Cleo was left Coping, neither of them were in a particularly good mood, glaring at a joy filled Scar who was forced to watch from behind a wire mesh wall the whole time.

Basketball could’ve been fun; Cleo hadn’t played since elementary school, but they liked a lot of the basketball games like Knockout and PIG! Unfortunately, Cub didn’t know the rules of PIG, and he really thought he did but he DIDN’T and no Cub, you don’t gain a letter for missing your own shot, you just move on to the next player! Why would you gain a letter for missing your own shot!! You just move on!! Perhaps their first mistake was choosing another competitive game.

The escape room though. That was the ticket. It had been a long time since Cleo had done an escape room, but something Happened in her brain when placed in a puzzle, thoughts moving at a thousand miles a minute as she couldn’t think of anything else but SOLVE PUZZLE SOLVE PUZZLE SOLVE SOLVE PUZZLE. Something similar must have happened in Cub’s brain, she saw it in his eyes, Wild. They moved around the room in a complete frenzy, speaking words that probably weren’t English, but the language of two deeply neurodivergent idiots who had just had their brains turned on for the first time in one hundred years. It was brilliant.

From then on, if an outing could be restructured to be cooperative, it was done. Like a flipped switch, everything was suddenly so much more fun, skill and competency mattering very little when one of them could pick up the slack.

And they still did get frustrated with each other, neither of them were immune to it, but they were starting to reach a level of understanding that made navigating each other easier. Cleo felt like animals sometimes, stepping on their toes, circling each other, watching through narrowed eyes when they weren’t entirely sure what the other would do or how they would react. It wasn’t.. bad. It wasn’t even stressful, Cleo was not afraid of Cub, didn’t believe he’d blow up without warning. It was just.. a puzzle. The two of them were a puzzle, holding on to each other’s pieces and unwilling to give them up, but through an odd game of chess, they were slowly putting the whole thing together, only to find quite a few of their pieces were built identically.

A strange feeling, really. Almost magnetic.

Cub’s existence seemed to be proof that Cleo was missing something, something they hadn’t even known they’d lost before Cub came around, but now that he was here, Cleo just couldn’t let go, they had to hold on until every last one of their puzzle pieces in his hands were safely in their own pocket.

Maybe that didn’t make sense. Maybe Cleo was just a lonely motherfucker who couldn’t put a name to her own feelings even after she’d been slapped in the face with them. But maybe Cub was in a similar spot, maybe he was the same. For goodness’s sakes, you probably don’t delude yourself into falling for a literal god damn robot unless you’re cripplingly lonely or something is seriously wrong with you. Or both. In his case it was definitely both, but hey, you could say the same thing about the person who made the unsettlingly human-like robot, Cleo wasn’t absolved of judgment.

“I think something is wrong with Cub.”

Cleo looked up, concerned until they remembered that if anyone showed even three or four mild symptoms of depression, Scar’s alarms would start blaring. This was such a large problem in the beginning that Cleo had to adjust Scar’s programming to need explicit permission from Cleo before even mentioning the word depression lest he tell a poor kid having a bad day that they’re sick.

“Why do you think this, Scar?”

“He hasn’t been coming to work! There’s been a new guy in his office for three days, and I’ve been asking, but no one knows where he’s gone!”

Cleo rolled her eyes, “Right. He’s sick, Scar. I texted him.”

“No he’s not.”

“What do you mean ‘No he’s not,’ that’s not how people work, Scar.”

“Cub never misses work! He’s always here, even when he really shouldn’t be! I don’t know why he comes when he’s so ill, and he’s had to leave early before, but really! Cub didn’t even mention feeling bad the night before when we were hanging out in his apartment. And he would have mentioned it, he can’t help but complain and complain. Gets really mad if you suggest he go home though. I don’t know. I’m not a doctor, but that seems like a problem.”

“It is a problem, but it’s a Cub problem, not something for you to get on his ass about.”

“Oh, I haven’t! I’m not a doctor.”

“I know.”

“But this is really abnormal for him, Cleo! Is this really not grounds for any investigation? He was weird the night before as well, near the end. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes-! I mean he normally doesn’t do that.. He hardly said a word near the end of the evening! Well… He was just so- so distant!” Scar pursed his lips, like he was trying to determine was a Cub normal or not. Cleo cut in before he could continue.

“You are not allowed to investigate anything of the sort. I will text him later, alright?”

Scar did not seem pleased, but of course he wasn’t, because this wasn’t really about Cub’s state of mind, it was about being told that he wouldn’t be allowed to chase the ever-tantalizing depression screening- god, Cleo really needed to find a way to make Scar less driven. It had always been pretty bad, but seriously! If only the guy Scar spent so much time with wasn’t so fucked in the head, but Cleo supposed Scar wouldn’t be spending all that time with him otherwise. A pang of- something, maybe guilt, tugged at her heart. This was bad. This was so bad, and it had been bad before when Cub was an idiot stranger fawning over their robot, but..

Cub was their friend. Cub was their friend, and he was in love with an entity that could not love him back. An entity whose interest in him stemmed solely from a drive to do its job.

Scar was not real. And maybe, as crazy as it was, that could be fine if not for the fact that realness was the pivotal factor that Cub craved.

Cleo saw it, clear as day. The wincing when Scar’s intentions were most clear, the rejection of the reality of Scar’s lack of personhood, the longing when Cub reached for his hand, only for Scar to pull away.

Whatever Cub was searching for, he would not find it in Scar. Cleo mourned that loss for him.

They texted Cub later that night, wishing him a speedy recovery, and offering to drop a meal off at his apartment. Cleo really did believe he was just sick, though if he did have a history of coming into work half dead, they were a little concerned for him, especially if he didn’t have anyone else in the area to check in.

[10:33 PM Cub] that would be really nice

[10:33 PM Cub] thank you

[10:35 PM Cub] just you though? scar is a little much for me right now

The last message dropped like a stone in Cleo’s gut.

It probably meant nothing. Why would it mean anything? Cub was sick, really sick, and Scar was a lot to handle on a good day. But Cub had never asked for Scar to be excluded, and besides brief moments at the elementary school, Cleo and him had hardly ever been alone together. It felt wrong to see Cub without Scar, she was so sure now something was wrong, and now more than ever had Cleo trusted Scar so completely in her entire life. Silly. That was silly. Cleo supposed she could ask Scar about the night before Cub got sick, but that felt like a pretty blatant breach of privacy, and Scar was quietly charging anyway.

[10:41 PM Cleo] Great! Can I come tomorrow? Is 7:00 in the evening okay?

[10:42 PM Cub] sounds good

Cleo put down their phone and closed their eyes.

…

Cub looked like a zombie when he answered the door, his apartment mirroring a similar state. Three days really wasn’t that much time for things to fall into complete disrepair, but the small room smelled, and beyond the BO, Cleo had the sense the trash needed to be taken out yesterday, the lid propped up and overflowing with dirty paper plates and bowls stacked haphazardly on the counter above. Cub took on a delayed look of embarrassment when he saw Cleo looking over his shoulder.

“‘M sorry. It’s not usually this bad..”

“It’s fine, Cub. I’ll take your trash down on my way out, I saw the dumpster tucked around the corner.”

“You don’t have to.”

The two of them sat in an awkward silence for a moment, Cub stiff in the doorway while Cleo waited to be invited in, under the impression they’d be eating together.

“I insist,” Cleo said, clearing their throat. “Can I fix you a plate? I’ll clear the counter, we can sit together.”

“Oh god,” the words seemed to fall on complete impulse, and while Cub lacked a filter on a good day, he seemed genuinely distressed he’d said that aloud, “Cleo, it’s a mess in here, seriously. I didn’t.. I couldn’t clean up before you got here. We don’t have to sit.”

“If you weren’t planning on having a guest, then I’ll go, Cub, you’ve just been holed up for a few days by yourself, and I thought the company might be good for you.”

“How would you know I was alone?” The question had a pointed edge, but the both of them near simultaneously looked over Cub’s shoulder, which fell in turn. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “You can stay.”

“I don’t have to,” Cleo was starting to feel bad, worried she was being too forceful, an anxiety that doubled when Cub glanced up at her, face blotchy and eyes red, looking so much like he was about to cry.

“Please stay.”

“I’ll stay, I’ll stay.”

Dinner was eaten mostly in silence, awkward especially because Cub couldn’t seem to bring himself to just sit down and eat, running around in a frenzy with a garbage bag like he could salvage the image of a neglected apartment in the wake of a bad illness with no one around to care for him. Cub had this dizzy look about him, unsteady on his feet, and Cleo really did believe he was ill, just running on a sudden frenzy of embarrassment fueled energy. Cleo tried to help, but this seemed to distress Cub further, and she really wasn’t trying to make him cry tonight.

Cleo watched him eat when he could finally bear to do it, the built up trash in piles by the front door. A sad, silent endeavor. Everything was so quiet without Scar around. Neither of them were used to holding a conversation alone, it seemed.

“Will you sit with me? Just for a little while,” Cub said once he finished, a true shock for Cleo who was convinced at this point he wanted nothing more than for her to be gone from his apartment, but she did not refuse. It must be lonely, being isolated here for so long. Cleo was starting to wonder if this was the aftermath of his father’s passing; holding out just fine for so long, then succumbing to the gravity of it a few months later. That must have been at least part of it.

They moved to his couch, several blankets scattered across it, and Cub sat close to her, quite close, but if closeness is what he needed right now, Cleo would not reject it. They wouldn’t have rejected it if closeness was just a fleeting want, as they had their own desires for human connection and warmth. Didn't everyone?

Cleo didn’t have many thoughts in those couple of minutes, sitting together with the TV volume on low, though neither of them were watching. She had feelings, the vague, swirling kind, the ones you couldn’t grasp on to, but were strong, so strong, nearly overwhelming. The static of the TV couldn’t compare to the noise in her own mind, loud and and swelling and formless, and when Cub’s spoke, his voice was almost lost in the waves.

“I’m in love with you.”

The world stopped spinning, or maybe Cleo stopped breathing, something happened, something completely beyond her in every possible way, something was happening, and then Cub was crying, no, sobbing, holding her, and Cleo hadn’t even said a word.

“Oh, god. Thank god. I was so worried- I was so scared you might not be real.”

“What?” Cleo nearly laughed, but they didn’t, this was too weird, too much.

“I told Scar. I told him, and nothing changed. I told him, I’m still in love with him, I love him, but he- he doesn’t- he isn’t-“

“So I’m second best,” Cleo mumbled, and this time she did laugh, because really, this was hysterical, wasn’t it. Maybe she was hysterical, there was certainly something monstrous blooming in her chest.

“No, not.. No, Cleo, I’m sorry, I don’t..”

“You want Scar, but you can’t have him. Scar’s a robot, and you don’t want a robot, and you didn’t believe me when I-“

“I know!” Cub wailed, but Cleo didn’t care, didn’t want to stop. She pushed him away.

“So that’s what this is about, of course. Of course! You can’t have him, but oohhh, at least there’s Cleo, Cleo’s human, and she made Scar, that’s nearly just as good. I don’t care if you’re fucking delusional, Cub, but you don’t get to paint me red as well.”

“I don’t love you.”

“I fucking know!”

“I’d still like to kiss you.”

“Then fucking do it already!”

There was nothing pleasant about it really, no, nothing pleasant at all, and it was pretty obvious it had been a while since they’d both done this, but Cleo was still trying to pry those puzzle pieces out of Cub’s hands, and as much as she didn’t want to kiss him, she wanted to be whole even more.

It was a wet kiss in all the worst ways, Cub’s face was wet, Cleo couldn’t touch him without getting wet, and that was gross, and so was the kiss for that matter. It was uncoordinated, they hated his spit on her lips, his tongue in her mouth, they hated it, and they would fight to keep it just like this, hot, wet, Cub fucking smelled, Cleo needed to make him shower after this, he was sweaty, or maybe they were both sweaty, both wet because Cub was crying so damn much.

It was not sweet. It wasn’t even erotic, but Cleo still let their head fall back when he kissed their neck, when his hands found their way under their shirt, almost hesitant, but far more desperate.

“Don’t stop,” she mumbled, and he did not.

…

When Cleo woke up, it was dark, and for a panicked moment they truly did not know where they were, eyes wide, momentarily grasping for anything familiar until their hands found him.

Oh.. Oh god.

“Cub. Cub.” Cleo reached to shake him, but she didn’t have to, his head turning slowly to reveal bleary brown eyes.

“What’s up,” he mumbled, so inaudibly that Cleo had to pause to parse what he’d said, though Cub seemed to take this silence as an invitation to turn back into his pillow. Cleo stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He was warm, a little too warm; did he still have a fever?

“We need to talk about this.”

Cub blinked at her like he was confused, then reached for his phone to check the time. Half past 3:00 AM. He shrugged. “We might as well.”

“And you need to shower.”

“Fuck, I really don’t want to do that.”

Luckily, it took very little physical force to get Cub out of bed, and unlike Cleo, he was not wearing very many clothes, so. The two of them stood barefoot on the cold bathroom tile, watching the water warm up in uneasy silence, Cub with a towel around his waist.

“Are you just going to be standing here, or..” Was he waiting for her to leave? Well, that would be logical, wouldn’t it.

“You seem like the kind of guy that takes two hour showers, I can not wait that long to talk.”

Notably, Cub did not deny this. “I do not have to shower right at this very moment. We can talk. I want to talk.”

“You need to shower.” Cleo pursed their lips, more distressed in the moment by the fact that she fucked him when he was that gross and also sick and also crying than the whole.. fiasco before that. She also felt gross, but she could wait her turn. It’s not like she brought a change of clothes..

“Well, alright.” A little sheepishly, Cub slipped his towel through the shower door handle for easy access, then stepped inside. It wasn’t exactly like there were many physical barriers between them anymore, but Cleo could sympathize with the fact that this felt fucking weird. They were too restless to turn away. The fogged up glass covered most of him at least.

Cleo decided to let him get acclimated, and started. “Cub, I don’t really know what you’re going through here, but I think I’m owed some kind of explanation, because really, what the actual fuck.”

Cub shut off the water. “I can’t hear you.”

“I said What The Fuck.”

“I thought you said more than that.”

“That was the jist. Turn the water back on, you’ve got work to do.”

Cub grimaced, but did as he was told. Over the running water, he had to yell, “I’m really sorry, Cleo! I was in a bad place last night- tonight I guess, and I know that’s not an excuse or anything, that was a..” as Cub started to quiet down, his voice was lost to the water, and Cleo was starting to see the problem.

“What?” They called, and through the steam, they saw Cub blink.

“Sorry, what?”

“What did you say before? That last bit.”

“I- Oh,” and again Cub started loud, slowly trailing off as his voice returned to its usual mumble, “It’s not an excuse. I know it’s not an excuse, but if you want me to explain to you exactly where I was at with us both knowing I’m not trying to excuse it I think that might be helpful for…” and just like that, Cleo couldn’t hear him again.

“Alright, I’m coming in.”

“Wh- What?”

Cleo didn’t know if Cub was confused or if he genuinely didn’t hear them, but either way, the shower door to Cub’s quite small cubicle was open, and Cleo barged in, clothes and all. Yelling and scrambling on Cub’s end was probably appropriate, and honestly, what Cleo was doing in their delirious state was definitely not appropriate, but they couldn’t wait any longer.

“Why did you do it? Why did you tell me you loved me when I- we both know you don’t. We both know it. And that was- it- I like you, and who knows what that even means, but I like you and that was cruel. It was cruel, Cub.”

Cub breathed hard for a moment, probably still flustered by Cleo busting into his shower and getting soaked despite trying to keep out of the stream, but regardless, he straightened slightly, collecting himself.

“I know. I mean- I didn’t know you- I had no idea, really, but that doesn’t make it better, it was stupid all the way through, and I- okay, Cleo, can I just shut the water off?”

Cub reached for the knob, and Cleo slapped his hand away, overcome by something like panic, “No! No, I want it on. This is good.” It felt good. She was cold, and that felt appropriate, real.

Cub stared at her for a long time, not even moving the tuft of greasy hair that had fallen over his eyes. “I told Scar. I told Scar I loved him, I love him, and then I saw him. I saw his eyes when I told him. I saw him, and nothing changed. Nothing changed. He just smiled at me, crooked, sweet, like he always is. But he has no idea. He has no idea, and I saw it staring me right in the face, and it felt like everything was falling apart. And I was so scared. I was scared that it wasn’t just Scar, that I never noticed because I never- I never look, I just couldn’t remember if everyone I’ve ever known had nothing behind their eyes, I couldn’t remember, and I was so scared, and then I got sick, and it got so much worse.”

Cub looked at the ground. “It was just an excuse at first. Waking up with a sore throat, I thought what a good excuse not to come into work. So I don’t have to see him. See anyone. But then it.. It’s really been a while since I’ve gotten so sick, and I probably passed that all on to you..”

He took a deep breath, then snorted water out of his nose. Wiped the hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t plan that. I didn’t think at all. I just had to know if I’d really tricked myself so damn bad that I.. I don’t know. I was scared that you weren’t real, and I had to find out, and all I could think about was the way he looked at me. I was so convinced I’d lost everything to just- delusions. Believing what I wanted to believe, even when everyone in the world told me it wasn’t true. I didn’t know what to do. And I do like you, I don’t know- I mean, who knows anything these days, but.. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about initiating too, I used you. I needed to feel good about myself and I used you, and it didn’t even feel good because I’m fucking sick and feel a little like I’m going to die all over.”

The following silence deafened, and Cleo didn’t know exactly what to say, so they distracted themself by pulling their damp hair behind their ears, wiping their eyes, itching a mild scratch on their arm. They wanted this to fix them.. They’d asked for an explanation and gotten one, but they only felt sick to their stomach.

“I don’t feel better.”

“I understand.”

“I think I’m going to go home.”

“You can stay, Cleo. At least dry your clothes, I’ll sleep on the couch when I’m done.”

“They’re not too wet,” Cleo mumbled, near inaudible, and shivered from the cold breeze as she opened the shower door. Too cramped in there anyway. “ I want to go home.”

Cub was quiet for a long few moments, watching with those somber eyes. He shut the water off. “Take care, please.”

“Bye, Cub.”

Cleo heard the water switch back on as she left the bathroom, leaving wet footprints in her wake. They did not take the trash on their way down.

///

After speaking very little to Cub in the past two weeks, the last thing Cleo expected was to have him running around her house like a chicken with its head cut off.

It was hard to care with a 102° fever though, and Cleo was so dead to the world that their only concern was the stomping of Cub’s shoes, shaking the couch pillows just enough to make Cleo feel like her head was going to explode. Why did he have to run around so much anyway? He was cooking- some kind of soup, Cleo was pretty sure. What was his problem?

But it was sweet, a little bit. Cub was as neurotic as a broody mother hen, but in a way, it was nice to be taken care of. No one had really done this for Cleo since her parents when they were a kid, and years upon years of lonely fevers had crushed the hope of someone else picking her up and making it all better, but..

Maybe it didn’t have to be that way. Maybe that practical reality she’d drilled into herself about the tenets of a life alone weren’t so needed anymore. She could call Cub, if she wanted to. He would come, even if he had to face Scar, he would come.

Cleo’s heart still ached, but not as deeply as her head. For now, it could be ignored.

Cub brought her a bowl to the side table next to the couch where say lay, cautioning her that it was hot, that she didn’t need to eat all of it, but she did have to drink more water, and after she’d had a few bites she should probably take another Tylenol, but not on empty stomach, and honestly after that Cleo started to zone him out.

Cleo pushed herself up to sit, peering into the bowl. It was.. well, she didn’t see a whole lot of broth. She had kind of been looking forward to that…

“I think I put too many of the noodles in. I just- I mean I used a lot of the box, but I thought well the box must be one serving, right? Why shouldn’t I use the whole thing? And then I did. And then the soup disappeared. Is it bad.”

Ah. That made sense. “I haven’t even tried it yet,” she mumbled with a weak roll of her eyes. Cub wasn’t usually a nervous talker, but a switch seemed to have flipped in him tonight.

Cub ran away, in what Cleo thought was terror of their impending opinion until he returned with his own bowl. Cleo took their first bite as he recentered the room, and honestly, had no idea what to think. Her tastebuds were out of wack from the illness, that was for certain, so she couldn’t really tell if this was actually that bad or…

Cub took his own bite. He sat down. Placed his bowl carefully on the coffee table. Put his head in his hands.

“Fuuuuuuck…”

“It’s fine, probably,” Cleo tried, though they really wished they could give him more feedback without the interference of messed up tastebuds. “You put salt in it, right?”

“I-I did! I tried! It really felt like a lot of salt, Cleo!”

“It always feels like a lot,” Cleo mumbled, but not without a smile. She took another bite. It wasn’t so bad. It soothed that desire for warmth against her sore throat and it.. no, it didn’t really do anything else. Cleo thought for a moment. “Did you season it at all?”

“The chicken broth was seasoned.”

“Did you season it?”

“Was..” Cub pursed his lips, staring miserably at his bowl. “I tried..?”

Yeah.. that checked out. Cleo closed their eyes, holding the bowl close to her face and throat. Breathing it in. They were pretty sure it smelled good.

“You’re sweet, I think so.”

“It’s terrible! It’s literally terrible!”

“It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad that your 30 year old adult ass can’t cook,” Cleo sighed, but they were not unhappy. It’s not like they would be able to appreciate a good soup anyway. “That’s okay.. It’s not, but you’ll learn.”

“I’d like to. I would, if you’d teach me.”

Cleo side eyed him, uneasiness squirming in their chest. Did they really want this? They thought they might, and as much as they hated getting burned, the fire was just so enticing, wasn’t it. It was hard. And maybe this wasn’t a commitment she would make with a foggy head and an aching heart. Tomorrow she might feel better, might not want to see him just like the weeks before. Cub looked up, and then immediately back down.

“Or I’ll- I mean- I could watch a video or take a class or-“

“I’ll teach you.”

“You will?”

“Yeah.. I think I’d like that.”

Cleo could worry about the truth of that statement another time. At the very least, if she changed her mind, she could always just say so. But she didn’t want to be angry. She didn’t want to be so sad. And she wasn’t quite ready to let this go, not just yet. Neither was he, it seemed. He’d already let Cleo back into his life once before.

Cleo closed their eyes, letting themself enjoy the warmth of the bowl against her neck. A problem for later. For now, they would let themself enjoy him.

#hermitcraft #hermitfic #hermitcraft fic #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #zombiecleo #hermitshipping #convex #cubscar #club #cubcleo

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ruruumin · 3 days ago

Text

15 - underlying meaning

today was a warm and sunny day. the clouds were out of sight and the sun was beating down on your skin. it felt a little too perfect. you sat on the outside tables in front of magnolia, sipping on your drink while you and collei waited for nilou and aether to return with snacks. she was wearing a pretty, white lace sundress and birch-wood cardigan over it. cute and simple, the best way to describe collei and her radiant smile.

she raises her hand towards you, speaking to you through sign language. 'has been a long time. you and aether have been busy.'

you wave her off with your hand, a sigh coming out of your throat. “yeah, i’m sorry about that. i’ve just been caught up with so much stuff that i’ve been losing track of time. i’ve been showing up to class later than i’d like, and on some days i just end up skipping entirely.”

she gives you a reassuring smile. 'i’m not disappointed. last week i've been finishing my lab. but that sounds bad. wanna talk?'

you stare down at your drink, pondering if its worth telling collei the truth. how would she react to your interaction with alhaitham? hey my ex-boyfriend who broke up with me over text, suddenly shows up at the same cafe as aether's date. and he proposed that we work together so they can get together. god, when you say it like that, it's awful.

you lock your jaw. she’s never met him, only heard about him in passing through aether and nilou. maybe she’d give you an unbiased point of view. you know aether has a strong disliking for the silver-haired man. nilou had classes with him before, thought he was just quiet, until she heard about what he did to you. collei could give you the most unbiased opinion out of everyone.

and despite this rationality, you aren’t sure. you don’t want to worry the rest of your friends. you don’t want to bring up your love life anymore than you did in the past. you still remember the night aether called you, the way your voice cracked and trembled as you sobbed uncontrollably, and how nilou and collei stood on the sidelines, unsure of what to do. they gave you the space you needed. you just don’t know if you want to go through that heartache again. let alone put your friends through it.

your thoughts were cut short when nilou approaches the table, smiling and waving to collei. “when is the last time we met up like this?” she asks, crunching on the crisp exterior of her taiyaki. the custard filling was warm and sweet. and she was thankful to have had the day off today because she couldn’t take eating another dessert filled with extra sugary strawberry fillings.

both of them sat down at the table and you were quick to grab your snack. aether sat beside you while collei and nilou stayed close.

“it must be tough having to help a certain someone with his suspiciously good love life.” her eyes trailed over to aether, who was absentmindedly sipping from his straw. he was pretending to daydream in a middle of a conversation.

“are you talking to me?” he replies, jokingly rubbing the inside of his ear with his pinky. “wow isn’t this matcha the best thing ever? so good, i can’t believe i didn’t try this sooner, (name) you should totally order this instead of your jasmine milk tea 75% sugar and less ice.”

“okay, you did not have to say my entire order out loud,” you roll your eyes. your reply causes him to pinch your thigh, a yelp coming out of your mouth before you slap his hand.

“you’re such an ass!”

collei smiles, 'aether needs help, no? two months ago, he almost dated ayaka. he's been through many relationships. what makes kaveh so different?'

aether places his head down on the cool, glass table, mumbling, “well hes the only person i didnt have to help or save, so it just feels different having someone like you without you doing shit for them… or whatever.”

“she can’t read your lips if you put your head down,” you say, pinching his ear, “i can’t quite hear you, want to speak up big boy?”

he straightens out his back, looking at you with a twitch in his eye, he speaks slower so collei could pick up on his words. “he’s the only person i didn’t help. so it feels different having someone care about you without them being in debt to you. it’s just… different.”

“besides, we should be questioning you instead. you should be the embarrassed one. if i saw my ex out in the wild i would have punched him square in the face. don’t tell me you got too swept up in his pretty looks to say anything rude?”

“oh yeah? how come you didn’t do it when you saw scaramouche? that guy treated you like shit when you first met and then he cozied up to you on my couch! my couch!”

“well he’s a changed man, if anything, i fixed him!”

“i don’t think having sex on my couch counts as therapy!”

“we did not have sex, only heavy make outs. and look whos talking, remember when you were in the backseat of my car with albedo?”

nilou lets out a long, exhausted sigh. she forgot that everytime they go out together, she should expect a bit of bickering between you and aether. and while it may annoy or confuse other people outside of your group, she and collei know how charming it can be sometimes. she hasn’t seen a pair so close before. you and aether have some sort of freakish telepathic connection that lets you know what’s wrong with each other (if only this extended to arguments, the world would be at peace).

“don’t think i didn’t hear those face-sucking noises of yours! shame! shame on you!”

you gasp, “how dare you slutshame me!”

“fuck you i hope when you order your jasmine milk tea 75% sugar with less ice they give you more ice and more sugar!”

“now that’s going too far!”

collei taps on the glass table with her nail, knocking you and aether out of your petty banter. 'stop fighting, especially not in public. kaveh might see!' aether looked back at you before letting out a huff. you both roll your eyes while murmuring apologies under your throats, knowing well on the car ride back it’ll continue. the effort was enough to make collei clap in glee though.

so what happened between kaveh and aether? it sounds like it went well but i need the inside scoop.

“nothing really, i don’t think you missed much collei,” returning back to the topic at hand, you stir your drink with a straw. “they had their first ‘date’ at nilou’s cafe. they probably talked about how boring aether’s outfit was because he wasn’t wearing that yellow sweater vest. things were going well until…”

nilou nudges your elbow, “he showed up.”

'he? you mean...' collei looks up at you with concern laced in her eyes, 'he did what?'

“more like said,” aether interrupts. “did he apologize about what he did to you last year? or should i be the one to beat his ass for you?”

'no fighting!' collei waves.

“look, he didn’t say anything, really.” you force a smile. “we just talked about school. caught up a little bit and that was it. besides, as much as i want him to apologize to me, i know that won’t happen. he’s not that type of person.”

“i don’t know (name)...” nilou presses her lips in a thin line.

collei pats your hand, giving you the same warm look she always had in her eyes. 'everything will be okay. we are here, if you need. don't worry.'

aether, on the other hand, doesn’t seem quite as convinced. his eyes were laser focused on the crinkling of your nose and the distant expression you had. he’s known you long enough to tell that the absent stirring was a sign there was something more. he doesn’t want to put you on the spot with collei and nilou, but he can’t help it. he feels as if there is something on between you and alhaitham that he doesn’t know about.

and the thought makes his stomach drop.

you continue with the conversation as normal, laughing about how aether needs your help out of everyone for love. you talk about how disappointed you were not being able to see him dress up more. nilou is still chewing on the tail of her taiyaki while collei nods to your story.

aether is biting the inside of his cheek, listening as a good friend would. he needs to stay focus on the conversation. he shouldn’t think too hard about it. if you said it was just school, then it should be left like that. there is nothing going on between you and alhaitham.

and if there was… what would he do?

₊˚ ♡ masterlist | previous + next.

synopsis; when your friend aether calls for help in his budding crush on his senior kaveh, you're forced to confront your ex-boyfriend by means of playing cupid.

⤷ notes; hopefully the asl portion makes sense. there are specific words that are omitted and the structure of words is different (time + topic + comment).

⤷ taglist [pm to be added, 30/50]

@aixaingela @cherrybb-ily @lupicalbestwolf @arraxthatsonjah @state-of-grac3

@knighttimes @toastedfailure @tired-jaz @whipped-for-fictionals @noellesfactory

@alhaiko @sundays-prince @angel-of-requiem @jaguarthecat @vitanye

@tiramizuloz @luvvhaerin @gabirii @blvdmrcnry jayzioxx

@0lives10 @tamikahoshiko @cr4yolaas @milkuu333 @x-hihihi-x

@kangyeonie @hydration-is-for-weenies @sorcerersseestars @jiminscarmex @backgroundcharactera

#₊˚ ᗢ ruruumin #₊˚ ♡ worst cupids ever! smau #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact smau #genshin smau #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham smau

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dicentsalve · 4 months ago

Note

AGAIN i know your not a hc blog but your takes are great so ill try to ask 😭 What do you think la unita members think of each other? Do they get along?

Nothing should hamper your thoughts, in my blog I do whatever I want, and you can ask whatever you want 🫵🫵🫵

And thanks 🧑‍🍼

This is actually a good question and I have noticed that different authors have different approaches to it.

I'll say in advance that there won't be Tiziano×Squalo here, since I've talked about them in detail before here, and in general everything is clear with them.

I will also note that I am more inclined to think that these guys have not seen each other that many times over the entire time. Yes, they are a team, but I think they are simply not interested in any close contact with each other, because they are either separated or have too high an opinion of themselves.

Also, they each have a lot of character and job conventions that can prevent them from establishing contact

So this is more of an assumptions and speculations based on headcanons and canons.

I will also rely on how they were shown in the manga, since in the anime there are still noticeable differences in behavior and emotions.

● Carne × Tiziano × Squalo

My eye has long been caught by the fact that Carne wears a headband, just like the naval bffs, which seemed like an interesting coincidence to me at the very least.

I like to periodically imagine them sitting at home, sipping a glass of wine while chatting, playing board games, or watching a TV series (with subtitles, of course).

Carne is calm, silent, unhurried and slow, simply the ideal _interlocutor_ for Tiziano.

And even though Squalo is the complete opposite, I am inclined to assume that his environment, given his ardent and wild character, simply needs calm people, such as Tiziano and, accordingly, Carne.

And considering my early headcanons, Tiziano knows sign language, Squalo only some basic elements

I generally think that Carne could find a common language with anyone (at least with Unita)

● Squalo × Secco

If you think about it and draw some parallels, these two have similar traits: they are both wild (not literally), emotional, proud, hot-tempered and have a person to whom they obey (Let's be honest, leaving aside the anime adaptation, even in the manga Squalo acts as a tool, which, roughly speaking, Tiziano controls)

However, all these similarities will become an obstacle

In addition, it is quite possible that Squalo simply will not take Secco seriously due to his position and the conduct

Considering them as a combat duo, their stands can be quite good and even dangerous:

Clash is very limited in his movement by the presence and size of the liquid

And what does Oasis do? Turns solids into liquid (yes, his card says "into mud", but it is unlikely that you can swim in mud THAT way)

● Tiziano × Secco

Tiziano is obviously not the kind of person Secco is used to dealing with

However, I think even in this case they will not find a common language

I think Tiziano will just get tired of him

And in general he gives the impression of being a rather squeamish person, and Secco is clearly not the most clean or civilized

As a fighting duo they are also complete crap

Not only because of the stands, but also as partners they will not work together

● Tiziano × Cioccolata

(Fan fact, there is a fic about CioccoTiz on ao3)

I think they would have found common topics for conversation (but not right away), even more, I can easily imagine them sitting somewhere in a restaurant and discussing topics related to human physiology and psychology (Cioccolata understands this as a psychopathic doctor, and Tiziano because of the work of the stand)

Besides, Tiziano is calm and calculating, Cioccolata, outside of triggers, also maintains a cold professionalism

Moreover, mutual respect may even develop between them

However, Tiziano would be irritated by Cioccolata's quirks and passions, which he would definitely voice in all colors

I would also like to point out the fact that, despite the self-control demonstrated to us, Talking Head is a chaotic and, in fact, chaos-bringing stand

And if the stand is the personification of the owner's soul, then this makes Tiziano a little more similar to Cioccolata (I hope it's clear in what sense)

It is also interesting that they both tend to invade other people's personal space (at least in their own circle)

But I am inclined to think that Tiziano would not let an old crazy surgeon who, instead of drinking coffee in the morning, picks around in people's (or his own) insides get so close to him

As a combat duo...

Talking Head needs a combat, preferably tanking stand

Green Day is essentially the same support

● Squalo × Cioccolata

If we consider their company and additionally Tiziano, then, on the whole, they could have a good time, but Squalo would consider Cioccolata more superfluous in his company with Tiziano

I touched on the fact earlier that Squalo has certain similarities with Secco.

However, these similarities are not enough for them to get along, let alone cooperate.

Squalo also isn't the kind of person who will obey, and especially so openly, another person

He's certainly quite calm and cool, but more likely to let loose when Cioccolata opens his mouth.

But when Squalo is a little more deeply immersed in Cioccolata's background, he will significantly limit his statements (but will tell about it to Tiz)

Clash would simply grab the victim and either drag them down or teleport them to a lower level to fulfill Green Day's condition

As a fighting duo they have potential, which will depend on whether Green Day will influence the Clash

If we take the option that the mold will not touch the Clash, then this makes his contribution similar to Oasis

And now, based on their bloodthirstiness, they could, if not become friends, then find common topics for conversation (But Squalo would quickly merge, yielding to Cioccolata in bloodthirstiness)

● Cioccolata × Secco

Let's go 🏃💥💥💥

I won't even think of ignoring them and will use the chance to discuss their ambiguous dynamics

Secco is a very interesting specimen overall, the changes in behavior of which are only phantom

Secco also has obvious, genuine speech problems, and Cioccolata is clearly more erudite in this area.

The demonstration of his 'true' attitude occurs both in close proximity to strangers and in close proximity to Cioccolata

However, in spite of this, in private he is genuinely happy when he receives a simple message from Cioccolata

For what?

Also, despite the fact that they are both extremely unstable psychologically, Cioccolata is the key to stability and security for Secco (which he himself ultimately says)

In addition, one cannot rule out the possibility of developing Stockholm syndrome.

Besides this, Cioccolata himself also obviously has an attachment, albeit unhealthy, to Secco, who became a new and unexpected experience in his life.

Secco is a proud and self-assured bastard who at the same time willingly caved in to a man whose stand, if you think about it, is pretty easy to confront (especially for Secco, who is not affected by Green Day???)

He is also not an idiot and apparently understands Cioccolata well enough to know what and how to do to gain his approval and other feelings or emotions

In general, the details of their acquaintance would explain a lot (no, there are not enough of them in the anime), but for now this is a dependent relationship, not only beneficial to both of them, but also necessary both in work and psychologically.

We can't at least rule out the fact that Cioccolata did something to him and why the hell he even left him alive (the anime points out their similar views, but how much? How did Secco show it? Besides, that makes them an even better duo)

I'll say one thing for sure: Secco doesn't see anyone as a leader except Cioccolata.

I can't talk, so you'll have to figure out these shitty notes yourself.

I hope I got the main idea across

● Cioccolata × Carne

I know a couple of people who love this duo aaaand I can generally understand why.

If you think about it, even their stands are similar in essence, since they absorb living organisms.

I think they would get along quite well, not only because Carne is a good listener, but also (given the demonstrated attitude by Carne towards his own stand) they might share certain interests.

Moreover, Cioccolata could very well know sign language.

Also, given the work of Notorious B.I.G, which I touched on in more detail earlier, Cioccolata would not have missed the opportunity to take advantage of this

And Carne, I think, would not have minded much.

● Secco x Carne

They will sit in silence

#jjba #vento aureo #jojo fanart #unita speciale #tizisqualo #tiziano #squalo #squatizi #jjba carne #secco #cioccolata #seccolata

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roadkillremi · 1 year ago

Text

Assistant to the Director

Kinktober, Bonus out of 11

Dilf! Randy X F!Reader

MasterList. Kinktober '23. Uncle Randy list

Summary:You're 25 and just got a starter job as an Assistant to one of Hollywood's biggest Horror Director at the Time, Randy Meeks. You knew he was a survivor of the Ghostface killings but you didn't know how H O T he was. Randy's around 33-37 making this around 2010-2014

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Corruption, Readers a Virgin, Language, P in V, oral (m receiving), praise, slight Degrading, sexual thoughts.

"I apologize! I was trying to find out where I was going!" You quickly explained. He looked down at you with a smile, "It's fine.".

You held your notebook tightly as you walked through the studio. Special effect workers went back and forth on set and to actors. You couldn't help but be amazed by the whole thing. You looked around for an office of sorts, you weren't paying attention when you ran into someone.

It was him. Randy Meeks in the Flesh. The man who single handedly changed Horror. You stared at him for a moment to take him all in.

"I.. Hi! I'm Y/N I was Hired to be your assistant!" You smiled. He nodded, "I thought you were too pretty to be the camera man." He jokes.

"It's great to meet you! So the office is through there! But we usually stay over here. Today's just some takes. Nothing big. I'll have you write down some stuff like if we're missing a prop. And My last assistant should've taught you how to contact anyone." He rambled. You were lost by his blue eyes, how could no one mention how hot he was?

"Uh, yeah. She did!" You smiled. He nodded, "Great, don't worry you are not the assistant to get coffee. I get my own coffee.". He went to sit down his designated chair.

"Can we get an extra Chair!!" He shouted. Someone got a chair and placed it beside him. You sat in the chair and looked at the set.

"What do you think?" He asked. You looked at him, his face was serious. He valued your opinion, "It looks great. A lot of green so I'm assuming run down.". He nodded, "Yeah, this is a take for a zombie movie they have me doing.".

"Why does this place have no zombies?" You looked at him. He paused staring at the set, "Good question.". He looked down at his papers, "It's about 5 miles from the city...so we probably should have some, huh?"

"Maybe" you smiled. He smiled back and walked over to someone. You sat still taking it all in, this was it. A better job with better people, you leaned back and opened your notebook.

"Excuse me? Wheres Meeks?" A blond stared at you. You looked up, "He went that way!". You pointed and smiled, she nodded and studied your features.

"Who are you?" She asked softly. Your stomach knotted, "I'm the new assistant.". She glanced over in Randy's direction, "Good luck.". She walked over to his direction leaving you. You squirmed a bit in your chair feeling weird not doing anything.

Randy sat back down beside you, "So we're gonna do some takes here then we have to go downtown for some different takes.".

"Got it." You smile. He smiled back, "Okay everyone! I need to see some actors in five minutes!" He shouted. You heard people yell back at him. Once the takes began you got to see him work. He leaned back his fingers on his chin. You glanced over noticing the veins on his arms. His beard was trimmed well and his blue eyes studied everything. You sat up and crossed your legs tightly hoping to fight some ungodly urge to jump him.

The day went by shooting scenes. You were in your new office which was besides Randy's. It was late and you typed at your computer looking almost dead. Randy came out of his office with an obnoxious yawn.

"Almost done?" He asked walking over. He sat in front of your desk, "Um, yeah.. just one more thing.". He grinned, "Alright, I didn't want to leave you here all alone.". You nodded with a small smile, "Are you liking your job so far." He tried to make conversation.

"Yeah, it's way better than my last one." You signed out of the computer and stood up stretching.

"Well I was gonna get a cheeseburger. If you wanna join." He offered. You smiled at his awkward attempt to ask you out.

"Id like that." You smiled. He smiled back, "Great, it's on me!".

You parked your car beside his in the parking lot. You got the car locking it, "Ready?" He called out. You nodded walking over to him and went inside. You ordered a Deli sandwich and he got a cheeseburger. You sat in a booth with a big window showing the parking lot.

"So what made you work in the film industry?" He asked before biting into his burger.

"Uh, I wanted to be a director but it's harder for females. So I was told to start from the ground up." You picked up your sandwich. He nodded, "True. But I can't say it's gonna be easier for you. It's a uh, throat to throat business. Like I met John Carpenter and he was threatened by me!" He complained.

"No way!" You exclaimed. He nodded, "Way.". You shook your head biting into your sandwich.

"Did you take film classes or something?" He asked with his mouth full.

"Yeah. I did film theory, screenwriting, special effects. All that stuff." You leaned back into the booth.

"How'd you like it?"

"It was alright. The theory class was about more recent movies. But I prefer older slashers though." You smirked. He pointed at you, "Ah, Good Girl! People need more classic horror movie lovers!". Your heart dropped, good girl, no one's ever called you that. You slightly smiled before taking a bite of your sandwich.

His blue eyes peered into your eyes, "Well I hope you stick around for a good bit. I enjoy your company..". You nodded in agreement, "I hope I can.".

"Well I'll make a deal. Every Thursday I take you to get burgers as long as you stay." He leaned back. You tilted your head to the side, "Do you do this with all your assistants?".

"Only the amusing ones." He smiled. You sighed, "Deal.".

Working with Randy was easy, he'd tell you jokes to keep the day good. He'd get you coffee when he got himself coffee. He'd make sure you were almost done when he left. Thursday nights were even better, you'd try to look nice. He'd pay for dinner and get to know you better. He never pushed or tried to be with you.

Oh but you wish he did. You wished he'd grab you with those muscular hands. The way he'd lick his lips before speaking. Something about him just turned you on in a way no one ever has. You knew it was wrong, he was your boss. But you wish he'd bend you over his desk and just have at it. Instead you just kept it to yourself and wrote notes in your notebook.

It was a late night and you were swamped with emails. The scene didn't go as planned, Randy and you were stuck in the office until ten pm. He slumped out of his office and glanced at you.

"Rough day, huh?"

"Yeah.." you mumbled. You sighed putting your face into your hands.

"You can go home. I got the rest. I'm sure your boyfriend, girlfriend or whatever is gonna be happy to see you." He took a sip of coffee. You glanced up at him, "I uh.. I don't have a partner.".

"Oh. Sorry.. I uh".

"It's fine." You gently sat up to get a better look at him.

"I thought a pretty girl like you was taken."

Oh he's smooth. Your heart skipped a beat. He was nothing like the geek in the stab movies.

"well I wasn't exactly Ms.Popular." you gripped the arms of your seat. Your heart is pounding against your ribs. He smirked, "Me neither. Well goodnight.".

"Goodnight.".

That's when the flirting began, it was subtle. Just compliments here and there. Once you accepted them and subtly flirted back it got more serious. Flowers on your desk, coffee always ready for you. Dinner for more fancy, his hand brushing against yours.

The movie was about to wrap up and you had to prepare for the premieres. You were busy scheduling times and dates for Randy. It was another late night and he shuffled out to the printer. You glanced up at him, his brown hair was a mess. Spikes of it out the side, you looked back at the computer. You bit your lip looking down at yourself.

"Um, if you want I can get take out delivered." You broke the silence. He turned towards you and smiled, "That'd be great.". You opened a drawer with take out menus. The previous assistant left them stating he always would ask for take out.

You grabbed some and brought them to him. He looked over and took them, you smiled and adjusted your dress. Maybe you were too dressed up for your job. But it was just for him, no one else. He'd glance at your chest before quickly looking away.

"Uh, Chinese is fine.. I'll be in my office just.. knock uh.. yeah" he left you alone by the printer. You looked down to see the papers he left. You stood there contemplating to bring them. You grabbed them and slowly opened the door. He sat in his chair almost passed out.

How could someone fall asleep so quick? You placed his papers down and looked at him. You cleared your throat waking him up. He looked at you and jumped, "Sorry!".

"You're fine. Randy I need to talk to you.." you sat down in the chair Infront of his desk. He nodded sitting up, "What's up?".

"I like you... a lot.. but I can't lose this job." You slowly explained. He blinked and slightly grinned, "uh.. I like you as well..". You smiled, "I understand if we can't do Thursday dinners anymore.". He then seemed disappointed, "Oh, I guess not.".

"But what if we did?" He asked. You looked up at him, "Randy.. I don't think you understand..". He looked at you puzzled, you took a deep breath.

"I like you in a sexual way." You cleared up. His eyes widened and face went pink. He leaned back in his chair, "Oh.".

"Yeah.." you looked down embarrassed. He fidgeted slightly, "What if I like you in a sexual way?".

"I.. would I be fired?" You panicked.

"No!" He quickly reassured. You calmed down, "I won't tell anyone." He said softly. You nodded, "I'm sorry.".

"Don't be. We don't have to act on it. We'll just be professional." He leaned back into his chair. Your heart sunk, "What if I don't want to.. keep it professional.". Randy went silent, you dug yourself in a deep hole. You got up and looked down at him.

"I never felt this way for anyone. I just.. I really want to be with you." You whispered. You bit the inside of your cheek hoping he'd agree. He stood up and looked down, "I don't wanna ruin your chances of becoming a director.".

"I understand.." you whisper.

"You're really smart and bright. And I'm just some geek that survived murders from years ago. Besides there has to be someone your age.." he tried to help. You sighed pulling him into a kiss, he slowly grabbed your waist.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked. You nod, "Yes.. but I..uh before we do..". He studied your face, "What is it?".

"I'm a virgin...I've never.. done anything like this " you softly say. Randy's mouth twitched a bit into a smile. You looked up at him for a sign.

"That's alright.". He leaned closer pushing the back of your legs onto his desk. He pushed all his papers and knick-knacks into the floor. He laid you down on the desk and looked at your body.

"God.. you're so stunning.." he slid his hands up your thighs. Your dressed scrunched up revealing your already soaked underwear. He gave you a toothy smile, "so wet... haven't even done anything..". You felt embarrassed about your lack of experience. He glanced up at your face, "Have you ever.. touched yourself?".

You're face went redder, you slowly shook your head no. You never had a reason to, he bit his lip.

"I can show you.." he whispered. You nodded quickly, he gently grabbed your hand. He placed it on your clothed core, he gently rubbed it in circles. He watched your lips part slightly, he grinned.

"That's it.. it's okay to moan.." he encouraged. You nodded slightly, he slid your underwear off and moved your hand back. He placed his and your middle finger on the entrance.

"It.. may hurt.." he warned. You nodded and hit your lip preparing yourself. He pushed your fingers in taking both of them at once. You tilted your head back letting out an aroused moan. He leaned over your body as he continued to help finger you.

"Mm.. who knew my assistant was such a dirty girl?.. under all those cute clothes and hard work. Just someone who wanted to be fucked." He teased. You whined as you closed your legs around his arm.

"Are you gonna come already?" He asked softly. You weren't sure if you were, you blinked at him. Your stomach was already knotting, your opening throbbing.

"I .. I don't know" you whined. He nodded, "It's alright, you'll know when it's time.". You nodded as you let out a moan. You tilted your head back as a wave of pleasure washed over. He leaned down leaving a trail of kissing on your neck.

You tried to focus on the feeling of him. The feeling of Randy Meeks being on top of you. You wouldn't have guessed the same geek from the movies would be so talented at this. You lifted your legs up to his sides and arched your back. A giant ball of warmth formed, you bit your lip and gripped his desk.

"I think I'm.. I'm gonna.." you tried to form a sentence. He looked up at you and smiled, he entered another one of his fingers and curled them. He listened to your moans echo off his office walls. You shakily brought your legs down and breathed heavily. He stood up taking yours and his fingers out. You brought your hand to your face. The slick juice coated your fingers, you glanced at Randy. Who was licking his fingers off, he looked down at you and smiled. You lazily sat up, "That.. that was great..".

"..oh princess.. we're not done." He studied your face. You looked at him a bit shocked, "What?".

"I'm not done with you.." he leaned close to your face.

"Unless you want to go. Which is fine." He added. You shook your head no, "Please.. continue.". He smiled and unzipped the fly of his jeans. You looked down at them feeling a pool of arousal form. He snickered as he unbuttoned his pants.

"Can you get on your knees for me?" He asked politely. You nodded getting off the desk, your got on your knees looking up at him. He put his hand under your chin, "Ready?".

"Yes..." you whispered. He smiled taking his member out. You stared at it, the tip craved your touch, he craved your touch. He tilted his head down at you, "Know what to do?". You sat there and gently held it.

"My..my mouth?" You asked softly.

"Yes, baby. Your mouth. Can you do that for me?".

You looked down at it, you gave it a little kitten lick. He bit his lip waiting for more. You licked a long strip up before putting it in your mouth. He let out a satisfied sigh as you moved your head. He put his hand on your head to help guide you. He groaned grabbing a bit of hair as he guided you.

His cock hit the back of your throat multiple times, causing you to drool. You gripped his thighs for balance as he began to face fuck you. He pulled your head back sliding his cock out. You looked up at him, cheeks red and face covered in drool. He smiled and helped you up.

"You're doing so well...learning so much hm?" He rubbed your shoulders. You nodded, "Mhm.." you lazily hummed.

"Like what?" He wanted to hear all that he's done.

"How.. how to finger myself.. and how to give a blow job.." you weakly explain. He grinned giving you a kiss, "good girl.".

He sat back in his office chair looking up at your now wrinkled dress. You stood there looking down at him. You felt vulnerable and a bit excited. Randy grabbed your hips sitting you on his lap. He massaged the side of your hip through your dress.

"How are you feeling?" He checked in. You lean towards ur head down to his shoulder.

"Weak ... and tingaly." You breathed. He sighed, "Poor girl .. never got my cock inside of her.". You nuzzled your face into his neck. He smirked, "Do you feel alright to keep going?". You nodded slowly trying to steady your breath. He smirked pulling the rest of your dress off. You let him as if you were a ragdoll leaning back against him. He gently rubbed your back before standing you up. You wobble a bit as you stand he slowly turned you around bending you over.

Your heart raced, your fantasy was happening. Your cheek pressed against the wood, you darted your eyes up at him. He scanned your body running one hand up your back. You took in a shaky breath, he dragged the tip through your folds. You breath hitched up as your hole squeezed around nothing. He chuckled slightly watching it clenched for him.

"Ready?". You closed your eyes amazing the desk was a soft bed. Maybe your fantasy wasn't convenient for this sort of thing. Then again you didn't think Randy would like the idea of this.

"Baby?" He leaned down close to your ear. You opened your eyes, "Mhm..". He stood back up placing his hand in the middle of your back. He pressed in gently helping you adjust. You gasped clenching around him, he let out a low moan.

"you're so tight.." he breathed slowly thrusting into you. You whined feeling his thick length inside you. He picked up the pace pressuring his hand down more.

"So precious... such.. such a good girl.. letting me ruin you like this.." he moaned. You whimpered reaching the edge of the desk. You grasped it holding yourself still for him.

Your thighs burned as he pressed into you. Your brain felt foggy not being able to think of complete words. Just him, the feeling of him taking you. His arms wrapped around hips pulling you up. You leaned back against him trying to hold yourself up.

"Feeling alright?" He whispered. His breath warmed your ear causing you to lean in more. You nodded moaning softly, he slowed down his pace causing you to whimper.

"I think I should stop."

You tightened your grip on his arm and looked up at him. You wanted to say no to beg him to keep going. He raised his eyebrow looking down at you. You parted your lips to try to speak, he thrust into you. He chuckled as your face melted into pleasure. He laid you back on the desk continuing what he started. His grip on your hips burned as he squeezed them.

You choked on your moans feeling overwhelmed. His cock continuously hits your g-spot, he grunt softly.

"I'm.. I'm gonna come inside you. Is that okay?" He moaned. You nodded your mouth flowing with whimpers.

"Gonna make you all mine..." he whispered. You tightened around him feeling your stomach knot.

"Taking me so well... turning you into such a dirty girl..." he grunting releasing himself in you. You whined, your legs shaking beneath him.

"I..I'm gonna.." you tried to form a sentence. He continued at a steady pace leading to you to your orgasm.

"that's it .. just let it happen.." he whispered. You let out a deep breath grasping into the desk tightly. You tried to stand up but wobbled into him. He caught you, "whoa... how about you spend the night at my place?". You nodded and gave him a lazy smile, "Id like that.".

You softly groaned and blinked rapidly trying to adjust to the light. You sat up glancing around the room. There were horror movie posters evenly hung. A dresser with more collectable items from comic books. You looked down at Randy who was fast asleep. You ran your hand through his messy brown hair. He groaned leaning into your touch.

"Good morning" you whispered. He grinned into his pillow, "Morning..". You kissed his forehead laying back down beside him. He reached out for your waist pulling you closer to him.

"Randy?" You whispered.

"Hm?" He buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"Are we... together?" You whispered, your voice shook. He looked at you, "if you want to be.".

"I do. I wanna be with you .." you admitted. He smiled, "good.. we'll just have to keep it a secret. But it seems you're pretty good at that." He grins.

Tag list - @hurlonsororitygirls @sanzumylovee @katie-tibo @horneybeach1

Bonus Jamie Kennedy image -

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