#but i had to put him in the spin machine so that my eyes can feast

[rickybaby]

Daniel for Enchanté Summer Break '24

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part one - you find out your work crush is a dad and offer to watch his mischievous little girl so he can get some work done 5.2k

a/n - penelope is a little shit and i love her dearly, general warnings/tags here

── .✦

“Hey, sorry to bother you, Steve. I just had a quick question– but before I forget, there’s this little girl in the lobby knocking stuff over. Do you know if her parents are here?” 

“Fuck– sorry. One sec.” 

He brushes past you with an urgency that is typical of Steve. As the community outreach coordinator, he’s naturally a busy man. You haven’t known him long– just the couple of months since you became a volunteer for the local rec center– but it’s clear he’s dedicated to his work. Always zipping from one end of the building to the other, juggling class setups, organizing meetings, or hunting down the next thing that needs fixing. He tends to add more to his plate than he can carry, at least according to another staff member, which is why you’ve been assigned to help him. 

You strain to match his long strides and nearly take out a trash can when he turns a corner unexpectedly. But you can’t lose him now– someone is always nearby to steal him for paperwork or performance reviews and all you have is a quick question. 

The lobby unfortunately looks like a tornado blew through the front doors. Cabinets are thrown open, papers are scattered like leaves across the floor, and a chair has been toppled over. And said tornado has her cheek pressed to the vending machine glass, an arm twisted inside the dispenser box to reach for a loose pack of Skittles. The scene is almost amusing until you remember you’ll likely be the one to clean it up. 

“Penelope!” Steve scolds, not loud but stern enough to surprise you. He’s consistently an embodiment of gentleness– always accommodating and rarely assertive. And while he’s still gentle with her, his tone carries a weight and firmness that’s a stark departure from his usual demeanor. 

The girl, Penelope, retracts her arm and spins around to face Steve. And if it wasn’t for the shit-eating grin pinned to her face, you might’ve felt bad for getting her in trouble. 

Steve’s hands snap to his hips. “I asked you to wait in my office.” 

She shrugs, “Need a snack.”

Steve huffs and rakes a hand through his hair– a habit when he’s stressed, which is most of the time it seems. By the end of the day, his hairspray will have been combed out and Steve will argue with the strands that curl over his forehead. 

“You can have one after you clean this up and if you stay in my office.” 

“Candy?”

“No, no candy. There’s snacks in your lunchbox.” He bends to scoop up a few pamphlets to hand to her. “Or I have pretzels. Do you want that?”

She pinches a page between her nails, weighing her options. 

Steve pries tiny fingers off, “Don’t rip those. Put ‘em away please.” 

And she listens for maybe the first time ever, it seems, cramming a stack of them back on the shelf. 

You gather your own stack of handouts and press them into Steve’s sleeve. He recoils a step, his eyes widening before rapidly shutting in a moment of realization. “Sorry! You had a question- I’m sorry.” 

Penelope abandons her organizing to plant herself at Steve’s left like a sidekick– anything to get out of cleaning up. She gazes at you with a familiar pair of almond eyes and then it clicks. Her hair is the same shade of brown and her jaw, though softer, is square shaped like Steve’s. The resemblance is indisputable. 

You redirect your stare to answer Steve. “Um, yeah– I just needed to borrow the storage closet key to grab some more chairs.” 

“Oh, of course.” He pats the front pocket of his jeans. “Keys are in my office– I hope.” 

Steve marches past you once again, a new mission in mind, tugging Penelope by the wrist and toeing a cabinet shut on the way out. Penelope’s poor little legs must be tired if he always walks this fast. 

“I don’t want pretzels,” she eventually decides. 

“Then you can have what’s in your lunchbox.” He glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re in tow, “This is my daughter, Penelope, by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you, Penelope.” You wave, not that she sees. 

A braid sits high on her head, swinging like a horse's tail with each hurried step. Her faded denim overalls ride up slightly, exposing just enough ankle to show off the bubblegum pink Converse on her feet. She’s a cute little thing, button-eyed and puffy-cheeked like a cabbage patch kid. 

Steve nudges her with his hip, “Say hi.”

She throws you an impartial glance. “Hi.” 

When Steve’s office is in sight, Penelope wriggles away from his hold to sprint down the hall. On her tip-toes, she flicks on the light, letting the door slam in Steve’s face. You catch him rolling his eyes as he stops the door with his foot for you. Penelope is clambering onto his chair like it’s a race and pushing off the desk to spin as soon as she’s seated. Steve steers her out of the way to search the drawers, passing you a set of keys when he finds them. 

“Just bring ‘em back, please. Dottie found them in lost and found last week.” 

“Thanks, I will,” you promise, eyes falling over Penelope again. 

It’s your cue to leave, but your feet remain anchored to the floor. Your mind is buzzing with questions that neither of you have the time to discuss. The rational part of you knows you should exit before you let your curiosity win. Yet, you find yourself lingering in the doorway, stalling just long enough for Steve to lift an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

And before you can rule whether or not it's a good idea, you blurt out, “I can keep an eye on her if you want?” 

Penelope peaks over the back of the chair, perched on her knees so she can see. 

Steve shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. You’ve got stuff to do. And Penelope is going to be a better listener for the rest of the day, right?” He ruffles her hair, earning him a glare. 

You bite back a smile. It’s a funny thing, seeing that frown and furrowed brows that resemble Steve’s so clearly because you can’t imagine him making that face at anyone ever. It’s cute, even if it’s meant to be mean, but you would never tell her as much. 

“I really don’t mind. She could help me tape the flyers up– If she wants something to do?” You direct the last part at Penelope. To a kid, being trapped in their dad’s dusty old office is probably boredom purgatory. 

Penelope blinks at you and then Steve for permission. 

“You want to?” He asks.

She nods, then adds, “Snack too?” 

“Yes, honey.” He sighs, faint but deflated, burdened by the guilt of not feeding her sooner. Steve fishes her backpack out from under his desk. A vivid shade of pink with a Barbie patch sewn to the front. Her tin lunchbox is similarly themed and only harbors a bag of fruit snacks. 

“Fruit snacks or pretzels?” 

Penelope’s features pinch in a way that says neither but she snatches the fruit snacks anyway. Decidedly dismissed or over the conversation, she hops off the chair and sees herself out. 

You can’t help the smile that finds your lips as you turn back to Steve.

He chuckles, “It’s been a day. Bring her back if she doesn’t listen. Good luck.” 

Penelope leans against the wall outside, popping a gummy in her mouth lazily. 

“We’re gonna make a pitstop at the supply closet and then you can help me with the flyers.” 

She doesn’t say anything, but she follows as you start walking, and that’s all you need from her. She’s strangely silent for a kid, especially Steve’s kid. Conversation seems to come easy to him, he likes to talk, which is one of the reasons you still can’t believe you didn’t know he had a child. On your first day as a volunteer, he’d crammed that he was on the swim team in high school, that he's from Indiana, and that he prefers the warmer months all in one conversation– the guy is an open book.  

And you’re quiet too because you’re focused on recalling where they put that damned supply closet. The rec center halls all sort of look the same still, bleeding into one jumbled image of wood paneling and old carpet in your mind. The building is practically a maze; constructed in the fifties, it still carries its historic charm—stubborn doors, leaky faucets, and all—issues the city claims they 'can’t afford' to fix. 

Penelope must get tired of going in circles because eventually she tugs on your sleeve and points down the opposite hall you were planning on going. When she leads you right up to the door you beam at her. For a second, she forgets to be brooding and smiles back. 

“You’re a smart little cookie, Penelope. How’d you know it was here?” You ask, unlocking the door. 

She shrugs nonchalantly, “I just know things.”

You laugh loud enough to draw eyes from a nearby meeting and determine Penelope is the funniest kid you’ve ever met. 

She holds the door open at your request, munching on her fruit snacks as you maneuver a stack of chairs into the hall. You make it back to the classroom without her directions, not to toot your own horn. She tosses her empty wrapper in the trash as you unstack the chairs. 

“Here,” you pass her a roll of tape. “Rip some pieces off for me?” 

She nods, ambling over to the wall with you.  

“So, Penelope, how old are you?” You ask, pressing a flyer against the wallpaper. 

She debates, flipping fingers up and down on her free hand before concluding, “Four.” 

“Ohh, very cool. You’re almost ready to go to school with the big kids, huh?” 

“Yes, at the big school. I’m in pre-school.” 

“Mhmm. Do you like preschool?” 

She hums no and strains to tear off a piece. 

“Here, like this,” you demonstrate, pulling in the proper direction. She copies you, ripping a neat line. The corners of her lips raise as she views her handiwork. 

“You don’t like school?” You ask, peering down. 

She hands you the slice of tape. “Only sometimes.” 

“Why only sometimes?” 

She shrugs and heaves a hefty sigh for such little lungs. She’s too small to be sighing like that, you think, and she definitely acquired it from Steve. 

“I only like work sometimes too,” you admit. 

Her eyes chase yours– all innocently wide and filled with disbelief. She rips off another square of tape, “Are your friends not nice?” 

You consider her question, answering truthfully, “Well, maybe sometimes, I guess.” 

“Meg was not a kind friend today.” Her tone is hilariously chastizing for a child. Kids are just like mini adults sometimes– collecting random phrases and mannerisms like trading cards.  

“No? Why’s that?” 

“She wouldn’t share. Daddy always says sharing is caring.” 

“That’s true. Did you tell your teacher?” 

Penelope shakes her head, tilting on her heels.

“Why not?”

“Meg told the teacher on me because I wasn’t being a kind friend either.” 

“Oh. Why weren’t you being a kind friend?” 

“Because I wanted to play with the dolls too,” she mumbles, upset wavering in her voice. To a child, these seemingly trivial matters really do feel like the end of the world, so you can’t help but empathize, even as you wish your worries were confined to sharing toys.

You crouch in front of Penelope, “We still should be kind, hmm? Even when our friends don’t want to share?” 

Penelope’s unconvinced, picking at her nail like the dirt underneath is a more important issue. But you’re at the end of your stack of cardstock and it maybe isn’t your place to have this conversation anyway. 

You get her set up at a table with printer paper and a box of crayons from the closet. She dumps them out immediately, spraying rainbow across her paper so she can find the “bestest” colors.  

“I can share,” she declares, sliding her extra sheet over to your end of the table. 

“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.” You catch a crayon before it rolls onto the floor. “What should I draw?” 

“I’m coloring my family.” 

“That’s nice. I think I’ll draw a dinosaur.” 

“A dinosaur?” She cocks her head and giggles, bubbly and pure in the way that kids laugh. Your heart aches with happiness. “That’s silly!” 

“What? Why’s that silly?” 

She cackles like this is the funniest idea anyone’s ever had. “They just are!” 

“Hmm. Should I draw a serious dinosaur then?” 

“All dinosaurs are silly– Trevor says so.”

“What! Why does he think that?” 

Her words fuse into one smear of a sound as she shrugs, “I dunno.” 

“Well, my dinosaur is very serious. See?”

She presses into your arm to examine your quick sketch. “That’s not a dinosaur!” 

“It is! You can’t tell?” 

She nibbles on her lip, smile growing as she shakes her head. 

You pull the paper closer, as if a better angle might somehow improve it. “Hmm, I guess it does look a bit like an alien, doesn’t it?”

Penelope giggles and nods enthusiastically before returning to her work. Her crayon moves methodically across the paper, lips pressed together in concentration. After a long spell of silence, she kindly requests, “Can you draw a house?” 

“Of course,” you reply, “On my paper or yours?”

“Mine,” she says, her pointer finger tapping the corner of her sheet with emphasis.

The drawing is a riot of color, blending bold strokes of crayon to create two people and an animal. The taller, presumably Steve, is painted with orange and yellow hues– true to the the warmth he represents. Penelope, doused in cooler tones, carries their floppy-eared pet– a bunny or a dog, maybe? 

“Wow, Penelope! This is amazing!” You genuinely mean it; despite her young age, her talent shines through in little details like eyelashes and a set of heart-shaped earrings. “Is this you and Daddy?”

“Yes, and Cinderella!” she adds proudly.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you say, admiring her work. “Is Cinderella your pet?” 

She bobs her head animatedly. 

“Wow, she looks like a very pretty… animal in your drawing.” 

“She is a very pretty cat,” Penelope affirms and you are relieved not to have guessed incorrectly. She stares at you for a long moment. “Is Cinderella family?” 

“Well, does she live with you?”

Penelope scrunches her nose and tips her head, “Sort of?”

“She sort of lives with you?”

“Yeah. She lives outside mostly but sometimes I let her inside.” Her pitch fluctuates as she talks, the words lilting in a strange, almost sing-song cadence that kids do. 

“Ohh,” you smile. “Do you feed Cinderella?”

“Yes, Daddy buys her food in a can and it’s really stinky!” 

Penelope joins you when you laugh. Not because you are but because stinky things are just funny at her age. 

“Do you love Cinderella?” You ask. 

“Yes– except when she bites me.” She sobers quickly, forehead wrinkling. 

“Oh,” you chuckle, “Well, I think she’s family then.” 

“I think so too,” she states seriously, swapping a blue crayon for a green. 

“What color should the house be?” You claw through the rainbow spread.  

“White!” 

“Well, the paper’s already white but how ‘bout I outline the house in black so you know where it is?” 

“I guess so. There’s two windows and the door is red– Oh, and there are lots of flowers outside.” 

You nod, sketching her vision into existence. “Is this your house?” 

“Yes, and Daddy’s. And sometimes Cinderella’s.”

“Just you three? Is that your whole family?” Admittedly, it’s a self-indulgent question. You’re curious about Penelope’s mom. And you noticed Steve doesn’t wear a ring, checked multiple times in the last few weeks even. But that doesn’t refute the possibility he might be seeing someone. 

“Yes, Daddy and Cinderella is my family. Daddy says families come in all shapes and sizes.” 

You’re glowing with a fondness that’s impossible to hide– because everything about her is adorable– her chubby cheeks, her tinkling little laugh, even her attitude, though Steve would probably disagree with the latter. She’s different than Steve in a lot of ways: grumpier and more aloof, but, at her age, it’s cute. And still, she feels like his carbon copy. An echo of everything you’ve come to like about him. 

Him being a dad makes perfect sense in retrospect. To have overlooked such an important part of his life seems silly. A tenderness radiates from Steve, the kind only a parent could possess. He’s full of love– too much not to share. He pours lots into his work: late nights at the center, taking on more than he can chew, always with a smile. And the rest? It must go to Penelope. 

“Your dad is very right about that.” 

She smirks confidently, holding up her artwork, “I’m going to give this to him.”

“I bet he’ll love it so much, Penelope!” 

And his dad senses must be tingling at the mention of his name because his face appears in the door’s slim window not even a minute later. His lips curve into a grin as he realizes he’s been caught spying. 

The door clicks and Penelope turns. “Hi, Daddy.”  

“Hi, baby,” Steve strolls over to the opposite side of the table, “Are you being a good listener?” His attention flicks around the room, searching for any signs of misbehavior. 

Penelope shimmies up tall in her seat and nods until he meets her pleased gaze. 

Steve must believe the girl because he doesn’t press further, but you praise her anyway, “Very good. Penelope’s been an amazing helper this afternoon.” 

“Is that right?” He orbits the table to stand behind her. “What are you drawing, Nell?”

She flips over her paper, clapping the front against the table. “It’s a surprise!”

“Oh, sorry!” He paces back, redirecting his attention to you. “I didn’t see it.” 

Penelope twists around to confirm his eyes are elsewhere before proceeding to squeeze in a final set of details– grass blades and sun rays. “Here,” she thrusts the page into his hands. “For you.” 

“For me?” His face lights up like a Christmas tree before he’s even seen it. She could hand him a pebble, and he’d treasure it like a gem. And when his eyes do fan across the drawing, he melts. 

“This is so lovely!” He coos. “Where did you get all this talent from? This belongs in a museum, Nell!” He keeps his heart from bursting with a steady palm to his chest. And with his free hand, he flashes it at you just long enough to catch a glimpse before he reels it in to study some more. “And you got Cinderella’s stripes too. Wow.” 

He squats behind Penelope’s chair, throwing an arm around her middle, “Thank you for this. And thank you for being a good listener. That makes my heart very happy.” 

She slumps into his chest, peering up at the reflection of her own features. “Is it time to go?” 

His eyes leap to the clock hung on the opposite wall. “Couple more hours, babe.”

Penelope huffs. 

“I’m gonna hang this in my office. I love it so so much!” He sows a couple of kisses on her temple, straining to stand with achy knees. “You wanna come hang out with me or stay here?” 

She looks at you like you might object. “Here.” 

If Steve’s offended, he doesn’t show it. He’s still grinning like the Cheshire cat, high on the parenting win that is receiving willing affection from your child.  “That okay?” He asks you. 

“Of course. I’ll put her to work,” you reassure. 

“Good, keep her busy. It keeps her out of trouble.” He raises the drawing for another look. “I’ll be in my office, doing paperwork, yay.” 

You snicker, as he retraces the path he came. “Have fun with that boss!”

Just before the door slams shut, he yells back, equally playful, “I told you to stop calling me that!”

Penelope doodles some more, gifting you a vibrant rendition of the night sky– a collection of stars and circles and swirls. You’re so grateful you tell her it’ll go on your fridge, and it does as soon as you’re home. She sorts through toys and equipment in the gym closet and even holds your dustpan when you sweep. Her role as your helper is taken very seriously. 

The two hours pass faster than you expect. Time flies when you're having fun, as Steve would say. All his little phrases and cheesy jokes suddenly make sense in the context of him being a dad. 

She takes your hand on the way to Steve’s office, escorting you when you pretend not to know which direction it’s in. It’s as comforting as it is validating; winning the kindness and attention of four-year-olds, especially this one, is difficult. You knock on the wood frame even though the door’s propped open. 

Steve peaks up through a rare pair of reading glasses. Round, wireframes that match the golden shade his hair assumes when it catches the light. They highlight his eyes—warm and gentle as a summer breeze. But he swipes them off his nose, folding them with practiced care. 

A smile mends his frown as Penelope climbs into his lap. “Hi, sweetheart.” 

She wiggles into a comfortable position, nudging his chest until he reclines further to make space. “Hi.”

“Are you having fun?” Steve cradles her shin to keep her from slipping. “What have you been up to?”

“Cleaning.” Her tone is casual, dismissive even, like it’s nothing to fuss over; but her eyes are fixed on him, waiting for a reaction. 

Steve gasps, “No way! You were cleaning? I don’t know if I believe it.” 

“I was!” Penelope whines, tickled with glee. 

“Hmm, is this true?” He arches an eyebrow at you. 

You nod, delighted to play along. “It is. Penelope here is excellent at handling a dustpan. She even organized the dodgeballs by color.”

“Really? Because you never-ever want to clean at home.”

“I do!” She squeals, bending backward over the arm of his chair.

“Yeah right.” He blows a raspberry on her belly where her shirt has pinched up.

She shrieks, squirming and kicking her heels into his thigh. Steve’s dad reflexes must clock in because he blocks her knee just before it drives into his cheek. And he takes it as a sign to ease up before someone gets hurt– craning back up and scooping Penelope into a baby cradle against his chest. Her legs are long and lanky, dangling over his arms like uncooked spaghetti. 

“Do we need to invite them over every time you make a mess in your room? Will that solve the problem?” He teases, squishing her arms against his shirt so she can’t escape and peppering kisses from temple to temple. 

Eventually, Penelope comes to terms that no amount of writhing will succeed against his strength. She slackens in his embrace, surrendering to the terrible thing that is unconditional love. 

“Oh, here are your keys!” They rattle against the desk where you drop them. 

Steve nods into Penelope's crown, poking her side. “Can you say ‘thank you for hanging out with me?’”

Anticipating another round of tickles, she grins before parroting, “Thank you for hanging out with me.”

“Thank you for helping me clean!”

Her eyes sweep back over to Steve, “Can we go home yet?” 

His fingers tap rhythmically on the desk, a small sigh escaping as he glances at the paperwork drowning his workspace. “We’ll leave as soon as I’m finished.” He pecks the top of her head. “Promise.”

She rolls her eyes, moaning, “Daddy, come on it’s taking, like, a million years!”

“A million? Surely not.” 

“It is!” She elongates the sound until it’s less word and more noise. 

His shoulders droop, tension slipping from his frame as he agrees, “Okay. I’m ready to go too.” 

You don’t blame him for giving in so easily, Penelope’s puppy eyes are powerful. Her chunky little hands smoosh his cheeks– molding and kneading like it’s play-doh, “Is that why your face looks so sleepy?”

A hearty laugh bursts from his throat, “Yes, that’s why my face looks so sleepy.” He pats her arms, “Come on. Up.” 

Penelope scoots off his knees, gripping his wrist for balance. Steve ducks under the desk for his backpack and shoves the stack of paperwork inside. 

“Hey, I meant to ask you, is the new schedule working okay for you?” He asks you, always so thoughtful. 

You nod earnestly. “Yeah, actually, I like doing Fridays better I think.”

“Yeah, Fridays are fun. Fitness Friday has been a big hit with the high school's soccer team.” He slings his bag over his shoulder and lifts Penelope’s by the strap. 

“Oh, good! Did the new jump ropes come in?” Conversations like this, as mundane as they are, are fleeting– the next interruption always around the corner– so you savor it while you have him. 

“Mmmm, not yet. I think they’re coming next week– shipping delays or something.” 

You turn to leave but stop in your tracks, attention stolen by Penelope’s drawing. As promised, it’s hung up– a few pieces of scotch tape secure it to the wall across from his desk. 

“I’m gonna get a frame for it,” Steve passes you with a toothy smile, flicking off the light. 

Penelope chimes in before you can respond, “Can I play jump rope?”

“I don't know if you know how, babe. I can teach you.” 

“I can! I did at school!”

“You did? I didn’t know that.” Steve waves to a passing coworker. “Maybe we’ll buy one for home too then.” 

Penelope nods, hopping the last stretch to the front door. 

“Any fun plans this weekend?” Steve asks you outside, bumping the back of Penelope’s hand until she takes his. The parking lot is almost empty at this time of day, but a few stragglers remain inside after hours. 

“If you think laundry is fun, then sure.” 

“Oh, I know all about that, trust me.” He nods at Penelope, “This one goes through more clothes in a week than I do in a month.” 

Steve approaches a BMW, only a few spots over from your car. An older model, but well taken care of. It’s a nice shade of burgundy with a stick-figure family on the back windshield. It feels so him. 

You hum a happy sound. “What about you? Any plans?” 

“Besides laundry? Well, we’re actually going kayaking at Red Fleet tomorrow,” he unlocks the passenger door, tucking the backpacks in the footwell. 

“Oh, fun! Are you excited?” You ask Penelope. 

“I’m gonna look for frogs.” 

She wrenches the handle a few times before her door flies open. Steve intercepts mid-swing to prevent her from denting the neighboring truck at the expense of his fingers. 

“Ow– shit,” he grimaces, shaking his wrist. He visibly swallows any other swears when he sees Penelope gawking, “Nell, I’ve told you to be gentle with the door.” 

“You said we can’t say that word,” she points out, climbing into her car seat.

You scrub your mouth, not so inconspicuously erasing your smile. 

“I– yes,” he nods, “You’re right. We shouldn’t say that word. I just–”

“Even when we’re frustrated; that’s what you said!” 

Steve takes a deep breath through his nose, choking down his several feelings. She’s right, he did say that, to hopefully stop her from swearing at preschool, but the profanity policing is comical coming from a four-year-old. And he can’t be laughing right now– he has parenting to do– but he’s on the verge of breaking when he catches sight of your face.  

Steve collects himself as he buckles her in. “Yes, Penelope. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.” 

She pats his head, “It’s okay. We all do mistakes.” 

Steve softens. The irritation evaporates instantly, replaced by a surge of satisfaction. This is one of those rare moments where he can so clearly recognize the lessons he’s instilled taking shape. 

He lets himself chuckle then, “We do. We all make mistakes and that’s okay.” 

She nods as he tightens her straps, “Like when I spilled my juice this morning.”

“Exactly.” He triple-checks that all her limbs are safely out of the door’s reach before shutting it.  

He faces you, scratching his cheek– rosy and round with joy. “How much you wanna bet she swears at me tomorrow?”

“Hey, I don’t doubt it!” Your elation mirrors his. 

“If she can’t find any frogs at the park I can almost guarantee it.” 

“Better help her look then.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’d invite you but it’s reservation-based. And I’d be surprised if there’s any spots open still… But we can sneak you in if you really want to go.” It’s meant to be a joke, but something in the way he holds your gaze suggests a level of seriousness. 

“No, that’s okay,” you grin. “The pile of laundry on my bed awaits.”

“Well, maybe next time.” 

You try not to read into it. Steve’s a friendly guy, he probably invites his coworkers out to things all the time. 

You nod, idling at the hood of his beamer. 

“I really appreciate you watching her today. You’re a lifesaver, truly,” he shakes his head, peeking at Penelope through the window. “She’s been a handful lately– I mean, I had to pick her up early today because she bit another kid, can you believe that?” 

“She’s a kid,” you shrug, “All kids do that at some point.”  

“I don’t know,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m honestly at my witts end. This is her third warning and if she gets kicked out of school— I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

“From what I saw today, she’s a really good kid, Steve. I can’t imagine they’d do that.” 

“I’ve just been so busy, you know, sometimes I wonder if she acts out because of that– and it’s just me so I can’t–” he pauses, wiping his face, “God– I’m sorry, you’re… I’m just dumping all of this on you when you’re trying to leave.”

“No! It’s okay, I don’t mind, really.” 

“It’s– Well, it’s a lot and I,” he’s cut short by Penelope knocking on the glass, impatience strewn across her features. 

He throws up his pointer finger to tell her one second. “We can talk next week. You’ll be here Friday?” 

“Yep. I will see you then,” you nod, backing up a step so he can cross over to the driver’s side. 

“Okay, thanks again,” he says, opening his door. 

You wave goodbye, “Of course. Have fun kayaking!” 

“You too!” He yells, then mumbles, “Shit.” 

“Dad!” Penelope’s voice scolds. 

A warmth simmers in your chest as you walk away– a fizzy feeling that had been bottled up and crammed into a forgotten corner of your body. But as soon as you’re settling into the privacy of your car, it boils over into this rush of giddy exhilaration, electrifying every inch of your skin. Giggles cut through the silence as your smile stretches wider, completely untamable. There’s no stopping this, not when you’re already fantasizing about a next time with Steve.

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Fake Boyfriend - p2

Pairings - soft!Rafe Cameron x virgin! Fem reader

Summary - You lie to your best friend about having a boyfriend.

Warnings - none

Part one if you missed it

You're aroused from your sleep by the piercing bright light seeping through the curtains, hitting you directly between the eyes. You let out a groan and press your face into the pillow, it feels as though you're on a boat. Your stomach churns as your brain sways within your skull. “Jesus” you mumble, pushing yourself up from the bed slightly.

Panic sets in when you don’t recognise anything in the room, your hands flying under the cover to check you were still clothed.

“God you move a lot for someone with a hangover” a voice grumbles beside you, you sit up so fast your stomach lurches and the growing headache pounds behind your eyes. “Here”.

Your eyes fall to Rafe, he lay next to you, still dressed in the clothes from last night. He has 2 pills in the palm of his hand and a bottle of water, you accept gratefully and lay back down.

Silence falls over the two of you only to be interrupted with his phone ringing, he ignores it and sits up to look at you. “I’m sorry about yesterday, my friend wouldn’t shut up about me not having a boyfriend. The lie just slipped” you speak, he nods his head but stays silent. Your eyes wander over his face trying to pick up on an emotion but it’s unreadable, his blue eyes stare back at you.

“Never had a boyfriend huh?” He smirks, his left eyebrow raises in question. Redness spreads across your cheeks, spinning your body until it hides under the blanket. “So does that mean..”.

“Oh god, this is so damn embarrassing” you exclaim, you feel sick to the stomach. Thankfully you're both pulled away when his phone rings for the second time, he answers it with a huff and pulls himself from the bed.

You peek your head out of the blanket and watch him close the bathroom door behind him, you take this moment to step out of bed. Wobbling slightly on the plush carpet, thankfully the nausea had subsided and you were just left with a headache.

You grabbed your phone from the bedside table and made a dash for it, no way were you going to wait for him knowing he had follow up questions.

You're so close to the front door when Kelsie rounds the corner, she throws her arms around you in delight. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, didn’t want to wake you up myself in case I walked in on something” she giggled, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You nervously laughed, you probably shouldn’t let her think you were having sex. You know she’d ask for details later and you weren’t sure you could lie about that.

“Hey!” She exclaims, waving behind you. You turn to see Rafe walking towards you with a smirk on his lips, looking away quickly you nudge your friend towards the door. “We should get going” you mumble, gripping her bicep roughly. She shakes her head though just as Rafe’s arm wraps around your shoulder, he brings your back flush against his front.

Your body tingles, well aware that your bum was pressed against where his cock was tucked away. “You can’t leave yet babe, have coffee first”.

Your breath catches in your throat from the nickname, your limbs feel like jelly as you let him push you towards the kitchen. He maneuvers around the kitchen effortlessly and in silence, Kelsie sits on the stool watching him get the coffee machine ready, he turns to look at you and holds out a mug. “Thanks” you manage a smile and step over to help him, he looks down at you for a split second and then over at Kelsie who is tapping on her phone.

“Play along” he whispers, your eyes go wide when his thumb and forefinger trap your chin. Tilting your head up so he can duck down and kiss you.

You can’t stop the swarm of butterflies that are let loose in your stomach, your fingers grip the front of his white shirt. His hand pulls you in by your waist, you're trying to remind yourself this is fake. He’s just helping you out, helping you put on a show for your best friend.

“Gross! You’ve been doing god knows what all morning, let me get to know your boyfriend y/n” Kelsie cringes from her seat, dramatically covering her eyes in disgust. But the curve of her lips shows how damn excited she was for you. “What do you want to know?” Rafe questions, placing a mug down in front of her and then handing you yours.

“Everything! How long have you guys been together first?” Her eyes move between the two of you, your mouth opens but no words follow. Slamming your lips closed quickly before she notices. “Only 3 weeks, I’ve known about y/n since she came to the island 2 years ago. Just never had the courage to speak to her”.

Your brows crease together In the middle, was what he was saying true? If it wasn’t, how did he know you moved here 2 years ago?.

“That’s so sweet! Oh y/n I’m so damn happy for you! Anyway you gave me all the goss last night about the two of you, so Rafe what do you do for work?”

You sit in silence while your best friend interrogates Rafe Cameron, you hang onto every last word of his. Making mental notes about everything he was saying, you didn’t know much about Rafe Cameron.

You just knew he was rich and practically owned half the island, you heard a few things about problems with drugs when he was younger but that he got clean. He didn’t bring any of that up though and of course why would he, this whole situation was just to help you out.

“You got yourself a good one y/n! You better keep good care of her, I leave in a few days and I need to know my bestie is well looked after” she says but wiggles her eyebrows at the last part, nudging you in the ribs. You laugh with her and give him a tight smile.

“Of course, I’ll take real good care of her” he winks at you and you're so grateful for the chair that kept you from falling to the ground, one simple movement from him and you were weak at the knees. “Anyway we should get going, I promised you a trip to Charleston” you said, you made your way to the sink to wash the mug but large hands stop you as you reach for the cloth. “I got it”.

“Oh yes! I’m so excited, okay let’s go! Will see you later, yeah Rafe?” You suppress a groan, squeezing your eyes shut at your insistent friend. You open your mouth to tell her he’s got plans with friends but he’s agreeing with her and saying he’ll see you both later.

“I’ll let you say goodbye in private” she winks, skipping around the corner. When you hear the front door lock you turn to him, he’s staring at you again with his bright blue eyes.

“Thank you so much for playing along and helping me out but honestly I’ll tell her you have plans, she’ll be gone in a few days and we can pretend none of this happened”. You state, he doesn’t move from his spot or acknowledge what you’ve said for a few moments, you stare in silence.

“I’ll play your fake boyfriend y/n” he says, placing his mug into the sink and stepping towards you. “You really don’t need to, I’m apparently really good at lying” you reply, you give him an awkward thank you hug and dart out the door.

Your heart feels like it’s in your throat, rushing towards the Uber waiting for you. You couldn’t believe you had gotten away with it, one little lie worked and now you no longer had your best friend in your ear about finding a man.

The two of you went home to shower and change, spending your day over in Charleston. Showing Kelsie around the town and shopping. Your feet were on fire by the time you stepped through your front door, you dropped your bags to the floor. “I need to lay down!” You announce, walking straight to your bedroom and dropping onto the bed.

You must have passed out because you're waking up in a dark room, your shoes have been taken off and a blanket draped over you. Your ears prick up to the sound of music, what was Kelsie doing?

You threw the blanket off you and stepped into your bathroom, you grabbed a makeup wipe and cleaned up the mascara that had smudged under your eyes. Racking a comb through your hair and stepping back out of the bathroom.

The moment you open your bedroom door you are hit with loud music and the smell of tequila, you follow the noise towards the living room. “There she is!” Your best friend screams, she comes charging at you wrapping her arms around your neck.

Your eyes land on Rafe who sits on the one seater velvet chair, legs spread wide. He sends a smirk your way and raises his glass as a hello. “What is happening?” You question, noticing Rafe’s friends lounge on the couch and your friends looking at you in confusion. Oh god.

Your lie was about to unravel, you hadn’t thought about Kelsie meeting them. “I grabbed your phone while you were sleeping and organized a little get together! But you missy need to stop deleting messages it was very hard to figure out who your friends where”.

You were more concerned about how she got Rafes number, it would have been suspicious for you not to have messages with him. “Luckily everyone was saved in your favorites” she says handing you your phone, when she isn’t looking you search your phone. Rafes name pops up under favorite number 1, he must have put it in there last night? He was a lot better at this fake dating than you had expected.

“Hi” his voice whispered in your ear, his breath tickled your neck sending familiar shivers down your spine. His fingers dance around your hip stopping at your stomach, flattening his hand against you he pulled you back against him. “Hey” you managed, you say, he could tell you were flustered from the pink creeping up your neck until it made home on the apple of your cheeks. “You were asleep when she texted, I’m not as good of a liar as you” he joked, his eyes looking behind you for a moment and then his lips were on yours. You had now been kissed by 3 boys in your our lifetime, his lips were your favorite so far.

“Get a room!” Kelsie shouted, she poured tequila into shot glasses and began passing them around. “Let’s get this party started!”.

An uneasy feeling settled in your stomach, Kelsie never usually drank this much when she was around you. She knew you weren’t much of a drinker, especially since your dad was an alcoholic.

You stared down at the shot in your hand, you really didn’t want to drink tonight. Before you could even bring it to your lips Rafe was swapping his empty shot glass with yours and throwing it back. “You didn’t have to do that” you whispered, his hand still laying upon your stomach. You could feel him breathing against your back. “You didn’t want it”.

He gives you another soft smile and looks back at everyone in the room, Kelsie has turned the music up louder and pulled everyone into the middle of the lounge. “I just need to talk to my friends quickly” he nods his head and drops his hand from you. He watched you make your way to your friends and took a seat back on the seat he once occupied.

“Girl! You didn’t tell us you were seeing Rafe!” Sam exclaimed, she was in pure shock. Your three outer banks friends had lived here all their lives, they had known Rafe since school. “I’m sorry, it’s so recent I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it yet”.

“That’s okay, totally understand! It’s Rafe Cameron for crying out loud, I never thought I’d see the day he settles down” Grace says, she looks over at Rafe who is still watching you. They send him a smile and look back at you, an uneasy feeling in your stomach again.

“Yeah who knew” you laughed, you stood with them for a bit longer until the feeling of his eyes on you made you squirm. Walking back over to him, he pulled you to sit on his lap.

Your legs sat between his open ones, body nuzzled into his side. His arm around your shoulder, it was surprisingly comfortable and not weird. “We should probably discuss this fake boyfriend thing” he whisperedMy, pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear. “You really don’t have to pretend after today”.

He chuckles and moves in his seat a little bit, your thighs rubbing against his groin. The redness once again painted on your cheeks. “You underestimate your friend”.

You look over at Kelsie who’s dancing away with Topper, both of them look like they escaped the mental hospital.

“You might be right” you agreed, unsure why you feel so content against him. You’d sat on boys' laps before and cuddled, it usually made you feel uncomfortable and you’d run off before they got the wrong idea.

“She's here for 3 days, so if you were possibly free over the next few days I’d be forever in your debt” you say, turning slightly to look up at him. He tilts his chin to look down at you, something flashes behind his eyes but you can’t quite place what it is. His smile is intoxicating, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes and the perfectly straight teeth could kill me. “I can be free BUT I need a favour from you”.

“Yeah?” Your heart beats a bit faster and harder in your chest, what could Rafe Cameron possibly want from you? “I’ll need you to come to an event, I need a plus one”.

“Oh sure thing” you answer a bit too quickly, earning a smirk from the man under you. “Let’s talk about rules then?”

“Rules?”

“Yeah, you’ve never had a boyfriend before. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by doing anything you don’t want” he states, his tone is serious and his smile has vanished. “Oh” is all you manage to say to him, he moves again sitting up more straight so you both face each other.

“If I touch you anywhere you don’t like or want, or if I kiss you and you don’t want it, you just tell me. I won’t be hurt”

You nod your head, his hand cups your face and his lips touch yours for only a brief moment. “Sorry… they were watching”.

You turn your head and every snap their head back to what they were doing, a soft chuckle leaves your mouth and you look back at Rafe.

“Okay, and if you're busy or no longer want to be my fake boyfriend you just tell me. No hard feelings”

“Okay”

“Shall we kiss on it?”

You're the one to press your lips to his this time, it’s not quick like the last one. It’s more intense, his tongue snakes between your lips and you're moving in sync. This was a lot better than any of the other kisses you shared with someone.

“Sorry, I thought we’d give them a show”.

“Right” you breath, clearing the back of your throat and laying against him again. Was it normal to enjoy a kiss from a fake boyfriend that much?

Tag list - @rafemotherfuckingcameron @rafegirly @prentissesredtanktop @maybankslover @vigilanteshitposting

Part 3

[maxlarens]

I got a lot to say so it might be long,

starting with, thank you for the Charles smau and the Lando fic <3

it took me time to choose an emoji lol but I've been doing an internship and time goes by way too quickly, but I decided to go for the strawberry one 🍓

and since you said you wanted to write for driver! reader, and that she was very intense about driving, maybe you can write something about her racing while she's sick/not feeling well but she still wins the race

woo hi again!!! literally no big deal! i hope ur internship is going well, it’s awesome that you’re doing one!! but yeah literally real life is always the priority as much as i’d also like to spend all my time on here lol. but anyway yay the strawberry is super cute 🍓🥺

and YES lol driver!reader is consuming my thoughts right now. i have other things i should be writing instead of this but i smashed this out in a few days😭 i decided not to make it a win because i have a thing brewing for driver!readers first win and i didn’t want to use up all my ideas for that. anyway!!! as usual thank u for the ask and pls enjoyyy 🤗

OP: extraordinary machine

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: you push yourself to your limits. (also sorry i simply don't know enough technical terms about racing for this to be fully accurate but i hope it works)

word count: 3.4k+

Here is a fact— you’ve got a fever of 39.4 degrees.

Here is another, indisputable fact— you’re racing in Imola today.

The fever had come on overnight after a persistent tickle in your throat all weekend. A mildly sore throat had turned rapidly to a snotty nose, full body chills and sweat pouring off you like you’d just run a marathon. You’re wearing a puffer jacket over your racing suit and it’s twenty-nine degrees out. You feel freezing, you feel delirious, and you’re eating Sour Patch Kids by the handful to keep the sugar rush going. Your race engineer, Rachel, keeps telling you that it’s okay if you can’t race. George can step in, I promise. You keep telling her I’m fine. I’m fine. I can race. But the expression on her face says she doesn’t believe you.

You’re telling practically everyone who’ll listen that you’re getting in that fucking car today. Rachel, George, your mum who keeps calling. Lewis keeps looking at you like you’re about to keel over and die and you want to scream at him you did this! Brazil 2015. You had a fever. You got on the podium. If I can’t do this and you can, what does that mean? But you don’t because that’s your 39.4-degree fever talking and this isn’t about being better than Lewis. It’s about knowing without a doubt that you can still get in that car and race your ass off.

Your phone keeps buzzing with texts from Susie that reassure you that you’d be disappointing no one at all if you had to let George take over this race. You’re not letting down women everywhere and you’re not letting down the team. I know Susie, you keep saying, but I’m still racing.

You know you’ve got to convince Toto when Rachel starts a hurried conversation with George and he starts grabbing his fireproofs like it’s a sure thing he’ll be driving in your place. Bundled up in your coat like it’s the middle of winter, you stomp over to Toto’s office and barge in.

“I’m racing,” you tell him without any preamble.

His head snaps to look at you, expression only mildly surprised— not that you would even notice if you didn’t spend so much time around him. He gives you a once over, eyes lingering pointedly on your jacket and then he raises his eyebrows, “It is twenty-nine degrees outside.”

You suck your teeth in frustration, “I know. The car will be hot. I can race.”

He frowns.

You plead, “Toto. Do not take me out of that car. I can do this.”

He shakes his head, “I can see you sweating from here. You’re not well.”

You shake your head frantically, ignoring how your vision starts spinning, “Let me race. If I fuck up you can put George in the car for Monaco. If I fuck up you can even replace me. I don’t care. Just let me drive today.”

Toto’s face pinches in the way it does when he’s considering something, you can see cogs turning in his head as he evaluates what you’ve said and decides if he should listen to it.

He sighs, “I am not putting that kind of ultimatum on you,” your heart stutters and stops in your chest, and you hold your breath, “Okay. Against my better judgement, I will let you race today.”

You let out an audible breath, it edges out into a sob that makes your aching body curl into itself. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes for a moment to suppress the urge to give in to your fever. It would be easier to give up, it would be easier to let George take your seat for the race so you could crawl into bed and cry the fever out. But none of this has ever been easy for you. You’ve fought tooth and nail to get here, you won’t forfeit a race and let people say you took the easy way out.

You look up. Toto looks concerned.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t.”

You practically stumble onto the asphalt before the national anthem, passing your coat off to Rachel while your trainer wipes your forehead with a towel as if you’ve just finished a full-body workout. Your shoulders feel tense, you can’t stand up straight without shuddering so you’re hunched over awkwardly hoping it doesn’t come off looking too strange.

People are still milling about, setting things up while the drivers assemble. You don’t really notice on account of the fever state you’re in, but you end up standing between the McLaren boys. You must brush against Oscar because he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed, mouth set in a line and his eyes wide like a puppy dog. You get lost in them a little— because of the fever. Definitely.

“Dude,” Oscar says to you, “You’re really hot.”

On your other side, Lando breaks into a fit of laughter. You frown, your brain trying the puzzle through the sentence. You feel foggy, your eyes feel heavy. You need more Sour Patch Kids, or a shot of espresso, or five Red Bulls. Max could swing it for you.

Oscar leans past you and swats at Lando’s shoulder, “She’s burning up, stupid.”

Lando’s laughter pauses, and he says seriously, “Oh shit.”

Suddenly, you’re being twisted around and you’re wincing at the contact on your shoulder that makes it ache even more. Lando puts a hand on your forehead and then immediately rips it away.

“Eugh. You’re sweaty.”

The back of Oscar’s hand replaces it. You twist away, brushing it off.

“You’ve got a fever,” he tells you, his voice thick with concern for you, “Have you told anyone? Does Toto know? Lewis?”

Instead of answering you press a hand over your eyes and crack your neck, trying to work through some of the stiffness in your back. You roll your shoulders and stand up as straight as possible, pushing through that aching, sickly feeling that runs through your whole body. When you finally drag your hand from your face— a thin sheen of sweat coming with it— Oscar is staring at you with a deep-set frown on his mouth. At his shoulder, Lando looks at you with a markedly less severe, but still concerned, expression.

“I’m fine, Oscar,” you insist.

You’re not. He knows you’re not. It doesn’t matter, you don’t want to seem weak. Not barely thirty minutes before the race. You can’t have either of them thinking you’d be easy for an overtake or that you’ll back out of a fight first. Off the track, fine— you’ve been vulnerable and honest with both of them at times. On the track is a different story. This is Formula One. You’re not here to make friends. They are not here to make friends.

“Mm,” Oscar hums, “Pretty sure you’re not.”

“You’re sweating bullets,” Lando adds, “Can see it from here.”

Something white-hot and pissed off flares up your spine. Oscar is not this kind of person, even on track; but the suspicion that he’s just trying to eliminate you as competition rises anyway. You think it because if the situation were flipped, you’d be weighing the pros and cons of having a sick driver on the track. Their weaknesses, what it means if they’re distracted. It doesn’t make you a good person, but you’re already pretty sure you aren’t one.

“I am fine,” you bite.

Oscar’s expression drops. Into something not quite offended… accepting, maybe? Resigned? It closes off to you, is what you mean. That’s fine, you’re trying to close yourself off to him. You’re re-drawing a line that you’ve been crossing without a thought for at least two years now. You’re not here to make googly eyes at Oscar and let him put his hand on your fever-ridden forehead and have him reprimand out-of-line, so-called professionals for you. You’re here to get in that car every Sunday and put your life on the line for a shiny trophy and fucking glory. Even if you’ve got a fever. Even if you’ve got a weird crush on Oscar Piastri.

“I’m racing,” you add in a different tone, feeling as if you’ve been a bit harsh on a well-meaning Oscar, even if you mean what you’re thinking.

Oscar nods, and says, “Okay,” in a way that really means, ‘If you say so, then it is’.

In the car, on the tarmac, sitting in your starting grid position, you’re shitting bricks.

Your cheeks are squeezed tight into your helmet, you can feel sweat, slick and soaking through your balaclava. Your arms hurt, your legs hurt, your ass hurts where it’s pressed into the seat. You’re not crying, but your mouth— hidden away by your helmet— is open like you’re about to. Set into a grimace that you breathe raggedly out of. Toto says something over the radio before the lights go out, you don’t hear it. You’re too busy regretting how earnestly you’d begged him to let you race. It would have been better if George had taken over. It might have been better if you’d passed out during the national anthem so you really had no choice but to sit it out. No one could say you weren’t committed to this sport if that had happened. They’d have plenty to say about women and their weak constitutions though.

You’re on autopilot when the lights go out. One second you’re freaking out like it’s your first time in a car, the next second everything is fading into background noise and you’re fighting a Ferrari and a McLaren for your original grid position. Twenty of you tear down the straight to turn two and you find yourself slotting easily into what you think is P4. Ferrari— not the same one— in front of you. Your mirrors reveal the McLaren behind you. It’s Oscar, you’re sure. You can tell by the way he sticks to your ass. Every nudge of the car you make he makes with you.

You press the radio button, “That Piastri behind?”

Crackle, “Yeah.”

“Knew it. He’s up my butt, Rach.”

“Okay. Go faster then. Not sure what to tell you.”

You make a face. You weren’t looking for sarky advice, you were trying to commiserate. You press the button and make a vaguely mocking neh-neh noise that gets a laugh and then radio silence because you’re supposed to be fucking concentrating. Which, okay, fair.

You press the throttle, done with trying to manage your tyres for the moment and taking Rachel’s comment as permission. You tear away from Oscar, stopping his fight to overtake you through the chicane in its tracks. You start slowly gaining on the Ferrari in front of you, its red rear wing growing closer and closer.

“Sainz in front?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Rachel confirms before rattling off some lap times when you ask for them.

By lap thirty-something, you’re on Sainz’s ass like Oscar was on yours. You’re fighting him through every chicane, threatening him on the straights and generally behaving in a way that you know for a fact is putting him on edge. But Carlos isn’t giving up P3 without a fight.

A safety car goes out around lap forty, and you pit. Everyone ahead of you does as well. Oscar doesn’t, Oscar is lucky to have gone in earlier. Rachel tells you he’d made up four places after being forced to box for some tyre issue. You feel a strange mix of pride and jealousy swirl in your chest as you all file into a discordant line behind the safety car.

Verstappen leads the pack, as per usual. Then Oscar, Sainz and you. Leclerc is behind you, then Lando. You’re in P4, right where you started and right where you’ve been fucking sitting the entire race so far. twenty-five laps to at least make it onto the podium. Then you’ll be happy. Or not quite happy, you’d need pole for that. Content. You’d be content.

Max starts weaving. The safety car goes off and Max keeps you all ready and waiting until the exact millisecond that he decides the race can properly begin again. You hate when he does this— you know that’s exactly why. Eventually, finally, he gets going.

You have to run defence like crazy for a few laps to keep Leclerc behind you until everything is warmed up. The gap widens as you drive. At some point, you stop worrying about the Monégasque so much and focus your attention on car fifty-five like your life depends on it. The laps fly by as time ticks on. Twenty-five to go, twenty, fifteen, ten. You’re back on Sainz’s rear wheel, a gap of 0.2 to 0.3 that’s been consistent throughout this last stretch of the race. You’re watching him like a hawk, waiting for the smallest slip-up to take advantage of. Somewhere you can push, somewhere he’s weak. It’s hard— he’s covering all his bases. Not giving you an inch so you can’t take a mile.

You’re closing in on sixty-four laps— with only three to go— when he gives you that fucking inch. It’s in the first chicane. His wheel locks up, and he jerks the car slightly the wrong way, something like that. You get in his space and you push and he backs out first. You press down on the throttle and rocket past him, shouting FUCK! FUCK YES! to yourself.

P3. P3. God, you hope it’s P3.

You press the talk button, “Rach?”

“Yes, P3,” she barks, “Fucking, focus. Three laps to go.”

Those last three laps of Imola are some of the hardest of your life. Defending against Carlos is a task, of course, but it’s not even that. The sickness starts to creep back into your awareness as the adrenaline that had hit its peak during the overtake starts to subside. Two laps to go and you’re remembering the fever again. The sweat soaking your hair and streaking down the back of your neck. Your whole body is on fire and it aches everywhere. It feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of your skull. You want so badly to close your eyes and drift away to sleep, but the car is flying through the air demanding your attention with the way it thuds against the track. You’ve got one lap to go and Carlos is on you like white on rice. You can’t afford to make a mistake until you’re firmly over that finish line.

So you don’t. You grit your teeth and you refuse.

Carlos is downright reckless in the last chicane, he tries to bait you by moving to one side and pushing but you’re not going to fall for something like that even if you’re near delirious from the 39.4-degree fever. Though surely it’s higher now, the car temp can’t be helping. You hardly realise you’ve crossed the finish line because you’re thinking so hard about how lightheaded you feel. On instinct, you slow down to a safe speed as Oscar’s McLaren enters your vision, but you think your toes have pins and needles and there’s some feeling tingling up into your shoulders. You blink hard and take a long sip of water so you can make it to the pits before your head starts to spin.

Crackle, “Where are you going? That was P3.”

“Huh?” you realise you’re following the other drivers instead of heading into the pits where you’re supposed to go, “Shit. Sorry.”

You edge back as carefully as you can, avoiding other cars that pass by, lucky you’ve not overshot too far so you can turn into the pits and park your car in front of the P3 sign without going around the entire track. That would be embarrassing. Or that would be more embarrassing than how disgusting you’re going to look when you take your helmet and balaclava off.

Toto, Rachel and a few of your engineers are there to meet you at the barricade when you clamber out of the car, unsteady on your feet. Rachel’s eyebrows are furrowed as she tries her best to smile at you, trying to put on a brave face even though you can tell she’s concerned you’re going to keel over. You brace yourself with a hand against the gate and tear your helmet off, then your balaclava. You’ve never been so fast to put a cap on your head, trying to cover the sweaty mess that is your hair right now.

“That was phenomenal work,” Rachel says, reaching to put a hand on your burning hot bicep, “You look fucking terrible, though.”

You suck in a ragged breath and you nod in agreement, trying to keep the black tinging your vision from taking over completely. 

“Get her something to drink,” you hear Toto bark, though it comes to your ears, muffled and staticky.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Until you’re not and your sweaty hand is slipping against the guardrail and your vision is fading into darkness and you’re falling face first into a metal railing. And, and, someone’s got their arm around your middle and you’re not on the ground with your face in the asphalt. You blink, hot tears— from what you assume is exhaustion— burning your eyelids. The arm around your middle is covered in something orange and black… Oscar. It’s Oscar who’s got you propped up, held firm into his body so your legs don’t collapse underneath you. The two of you sway and stumble for a second as you gain your footing back, your vision returning to normal, the buzzing in your ears going away.

“You’re good,” he breathes, “I’ve got you.”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, you attribute it to your current state.

You remember the cameras that are on all of you right now. You try not to look panicked as you step away from him. You try to do it calmly and not frantically like you so want to. Toto has some electrolyte drink held out right in your face and you take it, chugging half of it straight away while you swivel around to face Oscar. You nod, feeling slightly better, but gripping the guardrail tight so as not to repeat earlier.

“Thanks,” you try a smile, but it’s just turning into a grimace because you feel like shit.

Oscar shakes his head, “Don’t mention it.”

“Great driving out there.”

His eyebrow goes up, touching the curl of his hair that peeks out from his cap.

“You’re kidding?” he says, tone laced with amusement.

You frown, which is much easier, “No. You drove great.”

He makes a face like ‘yes, obviously’, but somehow does it in a humble and endearing way that you find you like a little too much. It leaves you confused as to his point.

“No,” he scoffs, “Okay, yes. What I mean is that you just got P3 with a raging fever.”

You purse your lips, countering, “You don’t know I have a fever.”

His tongue darts out to wet his top lip, hiding the small smile that threatens on his face.

He shrugs, “Bit obvious, unfortunately.”

You roll your eyes. You think what he means is it’s a bit obvious because you look like absolute death. There’s probably sweat rolling off you in buckets, your cap is jammed on your head and your hair is probably sticking out at crazy angles. There were dark circles under your eyes before you left for the track this morning, they’re probably ten times worse now. He might also mean it’s obvious from the way your skin is burning hot, like touching a radiator in the middle of winter. Or, perhaps, the way you’d passed out into his arms a few minutes earlier.

You suck your teeth, “Well. I told you I was racing today.”

Oscar nods, biting the inside of his lip, “Yeah. You did.”

There’s more that neither of you are saying. A conversation that you’re trying desperately to have with prolonged eye contact, small little smiles and breaths out through the nose. You think it might be ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘You’re very impressive and I’m going a little bit crazy about it’. That’s how you feel at least, somewhere in between the fever chills and the urge you’re suppressing to curl into a ball on the tarmac. This is okay, you think. You don’t have to be Oscar’s sworn enemy just because you’re both chasing the win. You can let him worry about you, but make sure he understands he can’t stop you from taking the things that you want. You can say things that mean other things and Oscar can smile at you like it’s something private for just the two of you.

You can be happy with that. Or not quite happy. Content.

🏎️ song inspo (fiona apple my Beloved) -> https://open.spotify.com/track/5h9Iek7Hp9wayRt7fBp7Ab?si=9PnuH5CDSC-qTurLPGiTwg

💫 fill out this form if you want to be added to my tag list: @clowngirlsstuff @leclercsluvs @c-losur3 @mael1pastry @papayamusha @mvk1ma

[floweredsoul03]

Hello! I hope I'm sending requests right, because it's rare that I do these. Could you do a Boom!Sonic going on a date with someone who's an introvert and/or has social anxiety? As someone who struggles with this myself, I'm curious to see how that would go; how he'd figure out why they're so quiet and get them out of their shell a bit. I understand if you can't take this request. If you can take your time, no rush! I hope you have a good day/night!💙

Boom!Sonic going on a date with someone who's an introvert / has social anxiety

(Boom!Sonic x Reader)

The first time meeting Sonic:

You decided to stroll around the village to get to know this new place you will now know better as your home. Then you hear screams. Running towards the sound, you see mechanical bees and crabs attacking a burger joint called “Meh Burgers.”

Ready to fight, you unsheathed your katana and used your power to speed it up. One by one, you sliced a crab swiftly with precision.

“What the..!”

You looked up to see a bald, egg-shaped headed man with a mustache way too big not to be considered comical in a floating machine.

“If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Besides, you’re not even Sonic or his other rodent friends.” The man speaking then put a hand on his chin, thinking. “Or are you? Bah! I can’t remember; who cares anyway. If you want to try and be a hero, you can go ahead and die like one. Attack them!” He pointed towards you.

Looking around, the crabs and bees started surrounding you.

“Not so fast, egghead!” Sonic ran in but then started slipping and looked down. “Ice?” His eyes followed the trail, and it ended with you—someone with a scarf covering half their face and a katana in hand. Before he can do anything, he hears you shout, “Falling snow, adorn my night!”

With a slash in the air with your katana, what looked like a snowstorm surrounded you, leaving you unharmed, unlike the robots that were once surrounding you, now being slashed and beaten around. The storm you created calmed and disappeared once all the robots were destroyed. Unaware that Sonic was stumped in place, he had awe on his face as he was still looking at you.

You just did that all on your own. Sonic has seen other people with powers but hasn’t seen anyone do something quite like what you did.

With a shout of frustration, the man you now knew as Egghead went off, “You’ll pay for that! I hope you’re ready to be paranoid for the rest of your life. Shadows in the corner of your eye, a creak in the floorboard, umm.” He scratches his head, but Sonic spin attacks the eggmobile before he can continue. “Can it already.”

“You just became my new enemy!” Egghead yells as he’s sent flying away.

Once he’s out of sight, you sigh, putting away your katana.

The purpose of going out for a walk was to relax and take a break from spending hours settling into your new home. Not even making it past day one being here, you’ve made an enemy. Granted, you’re confident you can take care of yourself, but just because you know how to fight doesn’t mean you want to go around looking for trouble on purpose.

You tense up when you feel someone tap your shoulder. You turn and see the blue hedgehog that got rid of Egghead. “Those were some sick moves there, and I didn’t even need to step in to help you. Name’s Sonic. And what’s the name of the Ice Prince/Princess.”

In retrospect, you knew off the bat he wasn’t an awful person, and he means well, but your mind shows no mercy. The way he has no problem with direct eye contact with you has you looking anywhere but him. His honest compliment gives a perfect opening to strike up a conversation and possibly make a new friend. Still, experiences of the past haunt you, making you fearful of slipping up and regret saying anything at all. And the way he asked for your name has you panicking. Did Sonic mean to make it sound flirtatious? If he did, that makes the pressure of responding even worse. If he didn’t, you’d feel like an absolute fool and start mentally berating yourself for even thinking of that. What if he called you Ice Prince/Princess because you already came across as a cold individual? You’ve had people tell you that on multiple occasions, more than you would like to admit. Even if he didn’t mean it that way, your mind leads you to these pessimistic thoughts.

He may not think that now, but what if he does later?

You knew you accidentally took too long to respond when you heard Sonic. “Umm. Are you okay?”

Great. Now, he probably thinks that something’s wrong with me.

Panicking, you couldn’t take it anymore.

Sonic is taken aback when suddenly you’re gone, but there is a frozen fog where your feet once stood, running away into an alley.

“Wait!” He tries running after you without stepping on the trail of ice. But then he comes to an intersection where a massive mess of ice and snow is left behind, and the trail has ended. It gave Sonic whiplash how every move you made during the fight looked calculated and confident, ruthless with your attacks, with a steeliness in your eyes. Still, once the fight was over, it was as if you became an entirely different person. Eyes shift anywhere but him, your thumb scratching and rubbing the handle of your blade where your hand was placed, and slight sweat begins forming on your forehead that wasn’t there when you were fighting.

Their powers consist of ice; isn’t that supposed to help with heat? Sonic thought to himself.

Disappointed, he looks around one last time before running off.

You’re grateful for this because not even a moment later, the sneeze you were holding comes out on its own. You knew you couldn't outrun him, so you caused the mess on purpose to make it seem you completely vanished when, in reality, you were hiding behind a dumpster.

How you two become friends:

If Sonic thought it would be a one-time thing, he would have been dead wrong. The few times when there was a moment when it seemed an opponent had the upper hand, you’d show up out of nowhere to help and then disappear. Of course, with this happening, Sonic’s whole gang knew about you now.

Most were convinced you were a good person, just not the best at socializing. Sticks, on the other hand, was still on edge.

But that didn’t stop Amy when she saw you coming out of a store with a bag. She instantly lit up; she and the rest of her friends hardly saw you around when they went… well, anywhere. She had a clue that you probably struggled socially, so maybe she can help you and become friends.

So she walked up to you and said, “Hello there.”

You jumped slightly in surprise before turning around, “Hi.” You felt nerves prick your hands slightly, but it seemed like thanks to the fact that you had an idea of how much of a sweetheart Amy is -as long as you didn’t purposely do or say something rude- you weren’t as skittish around her compared to the day when you first encountered Sonic.

“Thanks for helping me and my friends whenever we’re in a rough situation.”

You shook your head, “It’s no problem.”

They seem nervous yet gentle. Sonic must’ve meant this when he said they’re different when not fighting. Amy thought to herself.

“I’m sorry for always running off.” You carefully chose your following words before Amy beat you to it.

“Interacting with others is hard for you?”

Even though she asked, you can tell it was more of a statement than a question. Some of her warmth and gentleness rubbed off and made it easier to look at her as you nodded.

“How about we become friends, and I’ll slowly introduce you to everyone else?”

You’ve made some friends in the past, but sometimes life happens, and you part ways. You’ve met people in the past who you called friends, but as time passed, you noticed it seemed like they invited you into their already tight-knit group out of pity. And you’ve had people you thought were friends but made you feel small in your life.

However, for some reason, it didn’t feel like Amy was asking you out of pity. You knew she was a good person, and you couldn’t help but feel like once you said yes, there was no way she would let you drift away so easily. So you took the leap of faith and said yes.

The day you were forced to have to face Sonic was an accident. You and Amy were sitting on the couch talking about who she should introduce you to when Sonic just barged in, and his sight landed on you, forgetting what he was initially there for.

“It’s you!” He ran and sat next to you. “Talk about a cold shoulder. You’re hanging out with Amy but don’t have enough time to spare for me? I’m hurt.” He says dramatically, his hands clutching the area where his heart is.

“Sonic.” Amy chides. Annoyed already that things aren’t going the way she hoped. She wanted to talk to her friends about your social anxiety and introvert tendencies before they talk to you.

“It’s fine, Amy.” You assured her. If Sonic is still making jokes with you, then maybe that means he didn’t take you running off multiple times as an offense. “I’m sorry for always running away. I’m not the best at talking to people, so please don’t think it’s something personal.”

Sonic waves you off as he lays back with his arms behind his head and his feet propped up on the table. “It’s fine, I get it. You couldn’t look at or talk to me; you started fidgeting with your sword, sweating, and running away. So that means despite being able to produce ice at will, you just couldn’t stay cool enough not to have the hots for me. Am I right, or am I right?”

You swear you felt yourself malfunctioning at that moment, “What?”

Amy smacked Sonic’s feet off the table so hard he almost fell off from where he was sitting.

“Sonic.” Her tone of warning.

“Yes, I heard you the first time; I don’t have amnesia; I know my name, Amy.”

You thank whatever gods are up there that you wear a scarf.

Sonic helping you out of your comfort zone:

Amy would inform him about what she’s learned from you about your social anxiety. He does like you. Even though he tends to be blunt, rude, and shortsighted about others' feelings, being around you might help him become more considerate of others' emotions.

But he is not perfect, so don’t expect him to be 100% a saint.

Sonic decided to take over introductions as his duty as a hero of the people. Or so he says.

Did Amy agree? No.

Does Sonic care? No.

When the day came, you decided you were ready to meet the next person in their group; Sonic was ecstatic for you to meet his best friend, Tails. He told you to wait home, and he’d bring him over. He did not tell you that they were both coming over on hoverboards.

You couldn’t help but notice how much fun they looked.

“You’re (Y/n), yes? Sonic said you’ll be joining us today.” The fox you assume is Tails comes up next to you with a hoverboard in one arm before handing it over to you.

Before you can say that you don’t know how to ride one, Tails continues, “Don’t think that just because you never knew before means you still can’t learn now. I’ll teach you.”

As silly as it may sound, you can’t help but feel like you just gained a younger brother.

And that’s how Sonic was getting you comfortable with meeting more of his friends, making these outings fun enough for you to forget about society and live in the moment.

The moment he knew he was in love with you:

Shadow was attacking you and your friends. Well, now, only you since he knocked out the rest. Amy already sent a request for backup from Sonic before she passed out. You were doing the best you could to hold out. You can parry some attacks and sense when he teleports, but the problem is his speed. You can cloak yourself into a frozen fog when he runs at you, but he can still get a few hits. You’ve only been able to do more defense moves than offense. You can use your ability to go faster, but it’s not super speed like Sonic.

When you were wondering if you might fail your friends, Sonic arrived. And when the battle was over, you stood in silence for a moment when, for some reason, a giggle left your lips. Which then turned into laughter.

Sonic asked if you were okay when he saw how you looked.

Your scarf had fallen off from your fight with Shadow, showing your face for the first time. Your smile was big yet still held a gentleness like your voice.

And your laughter.

Whenever you laughed before, it was usually just a closed-mouth giggle. The most Sonic could get out of you was when you placed your hand over your scarf where your mouth was to keep yourself from bursting out. But now here you are. Laughing out loud unapologetically without holding back.

You looked beautiful even with a messy hairstyle, dirtied clothes, and bruises. There was a sunset with a chaotic mess of ice surrounding you.

An ice-ability user with a warm heart.

“After everything we’ve been through, I have no idea how we’re still alive; it makes no sense!” You laughed. Your laughter started feeling contagious to Sonic, and he joined in.

How he would confess to you:

As much as Sonic makes it seem like he’s not a sappy person when he puts in the work, he’s exposed as actually being a softy. He wants to make this special, and he does.

You feel drained and desperately need to recharge. You care and love your friends, but if you don’t care for yourself when you feel this way, you start getting irritated and feel a bit snappy. You’ve done a good job holding back from doing or saying anything you know you don’t mean, but it still scares you now and then that it might happen one day. Yes, arguments have happened amongst your friends, but you try your best to be the neutral side.

Saying your goodbyes, you head home. However, once you are away from your friends, Sonic runs beside you. “I made plans today for just the two of us.”

“I’m sorry, Sonic, but I’m not in the mood for anything hectic right now.”

Sonic panicked, “You’re going home to rest up, right? Well, it just so happens that my plans involve both of us just slowing down for once.”

You blinked. “Did I hear that correctly? Sonic T. Hedgehog, ‘the fastest being alive,’ Mr. ‘can’t be tamed,’ Mr. ‘can’t slow down’ has made plans to take it easy for once? Is it the end of the world?” You then poked his shoulder. “Is this secretly Metal Sonic with a new upgrade from Dr. Eggman? A new ploy to let our guard down and destroy everything on Seaside Island?”

“Ha ha, very funny. You know, you’re starting to sound like Sticks,” He took your hand to hold in his and started leading you away. “Don’t underestimate me. I can be unpredictable when I want to be—slowing down? No problem. We’ll start by just walking down to Meh Burgers. No running.”

“I look forward to seeing if you can back up your words.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Sure enough, you and Sonic walked to Meh Burgers hand in hand without running. Before you mentally prepare to speak to the cashier, Sonic says, “You can go ahead and find us a table; I’ll order.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s not a problem for me.” He waved, reassuring you before he walked away.

You find a table to sit at and wait for Sonic. Unfortunately, your mind starts to take a cynical path. You chose a table that you hoped seemed inconspicuous, but it still doesn’t change the fact that there’s not really a hiding spot in an open area like this.

Did you stand out negatively? Why does it feel like a giant neon light is pointing at you? Is there someone here talking about how weird you stick out? Are some of them pitying you, thinking you’re eating here alone?

Distracted by your overwhelming thoughts, you don’t sense Sonic arriving with the food. “Everybody else is busy in their own world.” You jump slightly, hearing his voice. “If you listen closely, you can hear them talking about something they got going on.” He says as he places down the tray.

When you listen, you hear conversations about visiting family, going to a theatre, and shopping. Your thoughts and emotions slow, and you feel like you can breathe properly. You miss Sonic's gentle smile before he changes the subject to something he knows makes you happy and allows your mind to drift away from negative thoughts.

You and Sonic are walking hands together to the beach. Sonic has seen more than enough sunsets, but this time, he needs it now more than ever to help ease his nerves and confess to you.

Sitting down, you noticed that something was off with him, but instead of asking immediately, you decided to watch the sunset and wait awhile for him to hopefully feel comfortable enough to talk about it—emphasis on hopefully.

He takes a breath before taking out a Starfruit, “Do you want to share?”

Others may think it's a small gesture; however, you recall reading a story and telling Sonic about a scene where a character mentions that if two people share one, their destinies become intertwined. They will remain a part of each other's lives no matter what.

Your heartbeat quickens, and your face warms up, but not because of anxiety.

He knew you needed to rest and recharge, so the fastest person alive slowed down for you. He also knew how nice-looking restaurants make you paranoid about whether you're overdressed or underdressed and whether you're showing proper etiquette, so he took you to a burger joint. He knows how you rehearse every interaction with a cashier multiple times in your head so you don't screw up and make a fool out of yourself, so he went and did it for you. He noticed that your mind had taken over and nearly drowned you with your thoughts, and he helped pull you out. And right now, in this moment, he remembered a small detail in a story you’ve only talked about once.

“I’m not the best at talking about my feelings, but I hope you know what I’m trying to say.”

For once, without a doubt, you hold Sonic’s free hand by the wrist to gently pull it towards you and use an index finger to draw a heart.

Sonic lets out a breath of relief before whispering, “That’s good.” He had a big smile on his face.

A/N: Did I give the reader similar powers of Kazuha and Ayaka from Genshin Impact? Yes, I did. Did I make reference to The Case Study of Vanitas? Yes, I did. Did I also make a reference to Kingdom Hearts? Yes, I did. Do I regret any of it? No 😈😂

[supernotnatural2005]

'Giddy up Cowboy' (Drabble)

Paring: Dean x Reader

Summary: The power of impression leads to wondrous things.

Word Count: 822

Prompt: ‘Character B tries to impress Character A’

Warnings: Dean riding a mechanical bull 🥵🥵

AN: This is another square completed for my @jacklesversebingo 24 card. It's a short one I know but, I think it fit perfectly for this prompt 😄

Read the follow up here

Main Masterlist

Bingo Masterlist

“Don’t you just love a man who knows how to ride one of those things?" You sigh dreamily, watching man after rugged-looking man try their damnedest at riding the mechanical bull.

There was just something so downright sexy about watching a guy flex his thighs and roll his hips in time with the sway of the machine. If you didn’t know any better, it seems as though you may have discovered a new turn-on for yourself.

“Um, not really Y/N.” Sam chuckles before taking a drink from his beer. You smack his arm in jest because he knew you were being rhetorical. You cease, however, when your attention is soon re-captured by another man stepping up for his turn. 

Meanwhile Dean frowns at you, his eyes glancing between you and the men making complete fools of themselves, in his opinion. Not one of them had been able to stay on for a full minute. There was nothing impressive about that, so he couldn’t see as to why you thought so. 

‘Because you just hate the fact she’s gawking at other men.’ Came the niggling voice in the back of his mind. A voice that hadn’t shut up about you for months now. 

Again, the new guy was flung from the machine, this time before even 30 seconds were up, and Dean scoffs. Apparently it was loud enough for your attention to turn to him. 

“What? You think you can do any better, Winchester?” You tease, and he rolls his eyes. 

“I think even Sammy here could do better than these goons.” Dean sasses back, and Sam frowns, knowing that wasn’t meant to be a compliment. You squint your eyes at Dean, too suspiciously for his liking, and he distracts himself with a pull from his beer. 

“Then why don’t you hop on? Show these goons—"you imitate his deep voice, "what you’ve got?” You challenge him playfully, almost like you didn’t believe he would. 

Fine, he thinks stubbornly. Maybe this time you’ll actually notice me; comes that voice again. 

You had been a casual hunting partner with the boys for a few months now; your knowledge, skill, and witty humour brought a fresh new light into their lives, and they both enjoyed having you around. Dean maybe more so, for other reasons. 

Finishing the rest of his beer in one big gulp, he stands from the table with a cocky smirk. “I’ll show you how a real man does it, sweetheart.” Sam cringes at his brothers statement, and Dean has to admit it was a cheap line, but it got that smile out of you. The one that made your eyes shine.

As Dean pays the operator, he looks over at you one last time and sends you a wink before he steps up onto the mat and effortlessly mounts the bull. He blows out a breath, suddenly nervous. He couldn’t make a fool out of himself now, not with the mouth he’d given you. 

Dean gives the guy a thumbs up once he’s situated, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His only thought; she’s watching, like a mantra in his mind. He hears the whirring of the machine spark to life, and no sooner as it did, does the bull begin to rock. 

At first, it’s a gentle forward and backward motion until it begins to spin. Dean clenches his knees tighter and rolls his hips, matching the same motion as the bull. He holds his left arm out for balance as the bull begins whipping around at a much faster pace. He grips on for dear life, the cheer from the crowd gathered drowning into nothingness as he puts all his concentration into staying on. 

It feels like a lifetime before he finally hears the operator announce he’d broken the 90 seconds before the bull gradually begins to wind down to a stop. An eruption of cheers, mostly from the women in the crowd, surrounds him as he hops down. Even some of the guys who’d failed shake his hand impressed as he steps off the mat. He nods politely as he pushes his way through, ignoring the women trying to get his attention—his eyes only searching for you. 

You’re standing at the back of the crowd, having moved to get a better view, your smile dazzling and eyes alight with wonder. 

“So. Was I better?” Dean asks, a little breathless from his effort but also incredibly curious. You take a step closer to him, your lips pulling up into a smirk as you come toe to toe. His breath hitches as you place a hand on his chest, and he’s certain you can feel what the simple action does to his heart. 

“You did great! But I think I can ride him better.” Your eyes glisten with mischief as you lean up on your toes to whisper in his ear. 

“And I’m not talking about the bull.” 

Read part 2 here.

AN: Again, I know it was a short one but I have much more planned for the rest of my squares, maybe a series in the works 👀 As always I really appreciate any feedback! Let me know what you though 💕

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Megumi falling in love for the first time?

Attempts at Friendship are Unappreciated

Synopsis: Megumi doesn’t have a need for friends, let alone a lover. But upon getting his first crush, he learns some new things about himself, like maybe he cares more than he thinks.

pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x GN!Reader

content warning: SFW, potential friends to lovers, Megumi sorting out his feelings sort of stuff because cynical, overthinker Megumi is my favorite Megumi.

If you were to ask Megumi, he didn’t have any need for friends. And he has been asked before by people like Gojo and his sister. The answer was always the same. He prefers being alone. People were too complicated. Too selfish. Too good. Too everything, really. And he was, well, himself.

Even after arriving at Jujutsu High, it’s still unnerving to him to have someone talk to him so earnestly, like his eyes weren’t permanently fixed with irritation, like he wasn’t constantly avoiding others, like he didn’t wear indifference like a new fur coat in the height of winter.

Itadori was an unexpected exception. An outburst of emotion intravenously linked him to the other boy, the golden strings of their destinies twined and knotted together on Fate’s spinning wheel.

You, on the other hand, have no reason to befriend him. He’s never had anything to offer others in return for their company, which never bothered him until he met you.

Megumi questioned what it was about you that allows you to get so close. So, he lets you talk, chattering his ear off in the covered walkway hosting the vending machines.

He studies you inch by inch, searching for something in the bright expression on your face and the crinkle of your eyes when you smile; he still doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking for. Your motive – the reason for wanting to talk to someone like him?

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask.

“I don’t have one.”

It may sound like a rude dismissal of your question but it's the truth, the painfully boring truth. He’s never put much thought into trivial things like that. The fact settles heavily in his stomach and rings hollow in his chest like when his sister said he’d never learn to make friends if he didn’t put himself out there.

Back then, Megumi pretended not to have heard her. In truth, it bothered him when she said it, only for the feeling to quickly fade away before he even left school that day. That strange void he felt back then always seems to resurface at the worst of times.

“Would you say that you like black or silver better? How about blue?”

Megumi looks down and plays with the tab on his orange juice can, avoiding the thing about you that makes him want to hear you talk. Megumi has no need for friends. Attempts at friendship aren’t appreciated.

“They’re all fine,” he grumbles out. It’s the maximum he allows.

Megumi doesn’t have a type. It’s another one of those trivial things he’s never bothered to think about until his head was literally cracked through the pavement.

He knows all about types though, and he knows as much as he cares about romance from the bad to the good. Sweaty palms, blushing faces, pounding hearts were all reoccuring themes in his books.

Megumi never thought he’d have romantic feelings for anyone, no matter how fleeting. He reckons he isn’t capable of it. He just isn’t wired that way.

It’s comforting in a sense. It means he didn’t have to worry about attachments. Sure, he loves his sister, and Gojo, well, he cares for his benefactor, but he’s never considered the older man someone he felt okay investing all his feelings into. People his own age were complicated enough; adults were worse, his father was worse; the little he remembers anyway.

When he thinks about the way he met Gojo who too conveniently saved him from the Zen’in clan in exchange for becoming his student, it’s hard for him to let his trust flow purely even after all this time; even when Gojo took it upon himself to do Megumi favors like putting Itadori's room right next door (another thing Megumi didn't appreciate).

Megumi blames his long-seated resentment for the reason his heart starts to work overtime the day you present friendship bracelets to everyone. They’re fancy; many steps above the cheap kind that you’d find at some discount convenience store with plastic alphabets and random beads and symbols. He assumes a couple of the pieces might be real.

Kugisaki’s is green, shining on her wrist like emeralds. Megumi thinks it suits someone like Kugisaki, who would undoubtedly love to be covered in jewels. Itadori has a similar one, rotating with a pattern of red and opaque white pieces.

Standing in that hall, drowning out the conversation between Kugisaki and Itadori about who has the prettier bracelet, Megumi realizes he’s next.

It starts when you step in front of him; there’s a cautious tone to your voice when you say his name because you already know: attempts at friendship aren’t appreciated.

It's with a roll of anxiousness, the one that always comes with the mystery of whether his exchange with someone will be positive or negative and the skeptic thought in his head that reminds him most people always want something in return, that makes him throw up a wall.

“These probably aren’t your thing but I made one for you too,” you preface. “I hope you like it. I wasn’t really sure what to put on it so I made some guesses.”

You’re right. Friendship bracelets aren’t his thing; needing a token like a bracelet to prove your relationship to someone is asinine. It’s against what is supposed to make a friendship special. Strong friendships should need no words, right?

Most importantly, he doesn’t need it, and there’s no reason for you to give him one.

“You keep it,” he starts. However, it’s already too late as you grab his arm and slide the trinket over his hand.

“I don’t—” he starts again; there’s a bit of surprise in the way you look at him, the way everyone stops and looks at him actually. This quickly becomes one of those times where it’d be easier to go with the flow than to fight the current. “Fine.” He clears his throat. “Only because you already made it,” he explains more fully, stifling the embarrassment that wants to bubble from his chest with so much attention.

Like before, he finds himself too focused on watching you, the way your eyes soften from surprise and rejection to shining stars. He thinks this must be how the protagonists in those books feel when heat creeps up their neck. Those books also left him sorely unprepared that it would go past neck to his face and ears.

He breaks away from the situation, finding a way to retreat into the background to shield himself from the gooey feeling permeating the air. He drops his gaze to his arm, focusing on the bracelet with his name accompanied by a repetition of blue and silver, connecting the two—four—of you together.

Megumi fixes his sleeve over the bracelet, but he can’t hide how painfully aware he is of the charms rolling against his skin.

It was both a pleasant feeling and completely alien.

It broke.

Megumi was a bit reckless against a low-level curse, and it broke. He didn’t even realize it until after the battle was over and one of the silver charms were rolling under his foot.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was bound to happen eventually considering this line of work. Yet, he still picked up the few pieces he could separate from the gravel, and the entire ride home his wrist feels unreasonably bare.

Thinking about how he messed up makes him annoyed at himself, especially when he wonders what you’d think if you noticed he wasn’t wearing it. You’d probably think he tossed it somewhere; that he didn’t like it. He liked it. The same way he likes to listen to you talk on car rides home after missions or when you ask him to hang out with you and the others or when you read all the books he recommends with the protagonists that are quickly becoming too relatable with every skipped heartbeat and tongue-tied word. He’s frustrated to acknowledge why that’s the case.

It’s only been three months since the start of the school year, he thinks. It took only three months for his thoughts to start drifting to his classmates, with you almost always center stage in them.

When he arrives back at the school, he finds your room and knocks on your door. He shows you what little remains of the gift you gave him, as if he needs to immediately absolve himself of any wrongdoing.

“Do you want me to make you another one?” you ask cautiously.

Megumi can guess why you’re hesitant considering he only accepted your gift because of peer pressure. He still believes gifts like this are silly and unnecessary.

But…

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

He wants it.

So, he goes into your room where he watches you begin the process of making him another bracelet. You ask him which accessories he would prefer, and like always he doesn’t have much preference other than what you think is best. As long as it isn’t too silly, of course.

He gives his undivided attention to how your fingertips pour over your work kit and the many square boxes filled with different miniature shapes before you carefully pick out one with a little dog face.

“I think this one is good,” you whisper to yourself before continuing your search for another complementing bead.

You smile as you work. It’s nice. Cute even as you bite down on your lip in concentration; and right now, he isn’t quite sure what to do with that information other than note the way it makes his palms feel clammy especially when he notices your eyes lift back up to his.

Megumi notices a lot about you actually. He notices how you always go out your way to get his, well, everyone’s opinion on everything. He notices that whenever you share your snacks with everyone that you always save ginger for him. He notices how your gaze lingers on him when you ask if everyone is in one piece after difficult missions. He also notices how your finger stops over a silver square, one with a little black heart carved in each side. He wonders, perhaps too hopefully, if the charm is just one you think he’d like or if it means more than that.

“Why do you always keep trying to talk to me?” he asks, fighting the urge to beg you to stop getting stuck in his mind so much.

Your head snaps up from what you’re doing.

“What do you mean? We’re teammates,” you answer simply.

“Aren’t missions enough? We don’t need to interact aside from that.”

You pinch your eyebrows at him, and there’s a frown on your face. “Sure we do.”

“There’s no reason.”

It’s not like he ever saved your life, not like Itadori. It’s not like he has a somewhat familial relationship with you, like Gojo. You’re not his sibling or his parent; he’s not the friendlist either so there’s no reason to try to get closer any more than necessary, and there’s no reason for him to be feeling so nervous right now.

“How about because I like talking to you? I think you’re pretty funny, and you’re a kind person.” You shake your head, laughing. “I don’t know. I just like being friends with you.”

Megumi doesn’t know what he was expecting. Some deep explanation why you keep trying to get close to him? Some selfish excuse from you that he could use to warrant pushing you away. A reason to justify why he likes you so much? A reason to hope you like him just as much?

Maybe.

There doesn’t need to be some special reason for you wanting to be his friend, which means he doesn’t really need a reason either.

“I see.”

“Finished,” you say, holding out his newly made bracelet to him. “I poured some of my cursed energy into it, so it won’t break so easily next time.”

Megumi feels calm once again when he feels the weight and roll of the beads on his skin again; the aura of your curse energy humming through it makes the connection back to you much more noticeable.

“What about me?” you ask, drawing his attention. “Do you like being friends with me?”

Megumi can’t answer that, not because he doesn’t have an answer, but because he feels like his tongue weighs more than lead as you lean closer into him.

His eyes find your lips, soft and parted. This is the first time he’s gotten the urge to kiss someone. It makes his stomach whirlwind, and he quickly finds a way to answer you without having to look at you as he picks at one of the charms.

“Can I make you one?”

The next morning, Megumi decides to go out with you and the others for breakfast, which in hindsight was a mistake as Itadori points out the new accesory you’re wearing on your wrist.

“Hey, you got one too now.”

You smile, holding it up proudly. “Megumi made it for me!”

“Megumi?!” Itadori blurts out.

“Made it for you?” Nobara asks with raised eyebrows and a hand on her hip.

“He did a really good job.”

It’s like the time before when you first gave them their gifts, and everyone is looking at him again. “I didn’t do anything special; a monkey could do it,” he mumbles out.

Itadori is the first to crack a laugh followed by Kugisaki. Then, the two of them start muttering and teasing him in unison.

“He’s so modest,” Itadori points out.

“Loverboy,” Kugisaki whispers.

“Can we call you Megumi too?” Itadori asks.

Megumi doesn’t have the patience to consider whether the other boy is being genuine or not as he grits his teeth and growls out a quick “shut up” before konking Itadori on the head to prove his point. It’s enough to make them leave him alone for now as Itadori accidentally trips into Kugisaki from the force.

“That was completely unnecessary, Fushiguro,” Kugisaki grumbles as she pushes Itadori off and stands back to her feet.

Megumi sighs.

This is why he doesn’t want friends.

“Did you just sigh at me!”

“If that’s what you heard,” he tells her.

“You better sleep with both eyes open!”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

Yet if it’s those two then he guesses having friends isn’t completely unbareable.

Suddenly, Megumi loses focus at the timbre of your laugh.

“You guys are starting early today.”

You’re still laughing at them, harder now actually, and it’s precious. He throws his gaze to the wall as if he’s ignoring Kugisaki and not trying to hide the heat blooming on his cheeks when you glance at him, making him aware that he’s the reason for your laughter.

Megumi shoves his hands in his pockets and rolls his thumb over the bracelet and the heart you left behind there.

Friendship is something he’s coming around to. Having a crush for the first time, well, he still needs work on figuring that out. 

[captainsophiestark]

Batting Cages

Kol Mikaelson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Day Twenty-Two Prompt: "Why are we doing this again?"

Summary: Kol and his spouse are in Denver, trying to find Jeremy Gilbert to help Klaus with his scheme. Unfortunately for Klaus, the couple are still head over heels for each other, and therefore easily distracted.

Word Count: 1,182

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Why are we doing this again?"

I wiggled the bat over my shoulder as I stared at my husband, Kol Mikaelson, from where he stood over the pitching machine in the batting cage. He tossed the baseball up in his hand, catching it again as he grinned at me.

"Because I need to make friends with Jeremy Gilbert, and he likes coming to the batting cages for fun after school."

I huffed, dropping the bat back to my side, held loosely in one hand. I made a show of looking left and then right at the other batting cages around us, then turned back to Kol.

"I don't see him."

"He'll be here. We just have to wait him out."

"Fine." I brought the bat back up to just over my shoulder. "Pitch it, then."

Kol smirked, then hurled the ball in my direction with a little more speed than I thought necessary. I swung through with the bat, keeping my eye on the ball and using some of my vampire strength, since that's apparently how Kol wanted to play.

The ball went rocketing back towards him in a straight line, so quick that he barely had time to duck out of the way. He popped back up a moment later, an indignant expression on his face.

"Hey!"

I just laughed and shot Kol a grin.

"You know, that's why they have the pitching machines," I said. "So you can avoid exactly what happened."

"Nah, that's not as fun," Kol said, waving me off before grabbing another baseball. "Come on, get the bat ready again."

I did. Kol and I had been together for centuries, so we'd developed a great rythm together. I'd found my soulmate, and even better, I'd been lucky enough to get eternity with him. So, when his brother sent him more than halfway across the country for some ridiculous and overdramatic mission, I'd come with him.

We found little ways to make the best of it. Like getting to the batting cages early to spend some time together.

"You know," I started, wiggling the bat over my shoulder again as Kol wound up another pitch, "if we had some blue tinted glasses, we could pretend we were in Twilight right now. Vampire baseball."

Kol shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"You are way too into that media for an actual vampire."

I just grinned at him, swinging the bat and knocking out another pitch he sent my way. This time, despite the temptation, I didn't send it straight at him.

After another few rotations, Kol and I switched places. I tossed a couple easier pitches his way, and Kol had fun hitting them out of the park, but I was starting to get bored. I tried to put a little spin on my next pitch, and for the first time all day, Kol missed it.

"Damn!"

I grinned. "Come on, babe. You've been playing baseball longer than anyone else alive. You can get that."

Kol narrowed his eyes at me, keeping the bat raised and ready. My grin widened and I wound up another pitch.

Wham! Like the last, it went flying past Kol and into the backstop. He growled in frustration and dropped the bat down to his side.

"Dammit! Alright, give me another one. We're not leaving here until I get this."

"Or... how about we make a bet?"

Kol raised an eyebrow at me, his posture relaxing.

"I'm intrigued, darling. What did you have in mind?"

"We take turns pitching and batting, say, thirty turns at each position. Whoever does the worst across both has to make the winner's favorite dinner tonight."

Kol grinned. "You're on."

"Perfect. Think fast."

Using vampire speed, I whipped the ball in my hand at Kol, ideally before he could react. Unfortunately for me, he also had vampire speed, and he sent the pitch flying right back at me an instant later.

"Nice try, darling. But you're going to have to do better than that."

Kol and I got lost in our competition, devolving quickly from any rules of sportsmanship. We tried to surprise each other with pitches, distract each other by shouting, and finally, distract each other by flirting. By the end of our combined sixty pitches, Kol was trying to speed across the batting cage faster than the ball he'd just thrown to pick me up so I couldn't hit the pitch.

I cackled as Kol literally swept me off my feet. Unfortunately for him, it was a moment after I'd connected with the baseball, sending it into the back fencing for the win. He put me down with a sigh, taking the bat out of my hands and spinning me around to face him.

"So... a tie, then."

"Nope! Nice try, Mikaelson, but I was keeping score, and you agreed with me. Hitting that last pitch gave me the win and we both know it."

Kol hummed, throwing the bat away from us and pulling me flush against his chest. He leaned down and kissed me, and I smiled into it, running my hands up and into his hair.

We were just starting to get carried away when a barely-intelligible voice crackled over the speakers of the batting cages.

"Attention everyone, the cages will be closing in ten minutes. In ten minutes."

Kol and I broke apart, just staring at each other for a moment. Then, we both burst out laughing.

"Damm," Kol said, shaking his head even as his smile stayed put. "We either completely missed Jeremy, or he didn't come today."

I shrugged. "Eh, I still feel good about how we spent the day. The mission can start tomorrow."

"I guess it's going to have to, now. Good thing Nik's not here to find out."

"Pft. Let him try to come at us. We've got a bunch of metal bats, we're untouchable."

Kol laughed, wrapping his arms around my shoulders as we headed out of the batting cages together. A few other people were headed out, too, but none of them were Jeremy Gilbert. Oh well.

"You know, darling... I think I might come by myself tomorrow. I don't think I'll ever be able to focus on Nik's schemes or the Gilbert kid when I can focus on you instead."

I beamed, leaning into Kol a little bit as we walked down the street together.

"That's fine with me. There's plenty of other things I want to check out while we're stuck in Denver. Although, when we meet back up tomorrow night, you should be warned that I'll probably have quite a few stacks of new books with me."

Kol laughed. "I'd be worried if you spent time in a new city and did anything else!"

"Aw, babe. You really get me."

Kol laughed, and after a moment, I joined him. We strolled down the street together, the same way we'd been spending our evenings for hundreds of years, and I couldn't keep a bright smile off my face. We might've been here to help Klaus with some ridiculous scheme or other, but no matter where we went or why, all Kol and I really needed was to be together.

*****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

The Vampire Diaries/The Originals Taglist: @elenavampire21

[electric-blorbos]

Maybe AIs with hypersomniac reader? I always find stuff about insomnia and never hypersomnia so if u were willing, maybe try this one out? :0

- 🩹 anon

Hello 🩹 anon! It's good to see you back! Thanks for sticking around!!

(Obligatory disclaimer that I'm not hypersomniac, nor am I a doctor, but I will do my best to portray it well)

AIs with hypersomniac reader

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

Also, sorry this took so long. I came upon a case of major league writer's block.

AM:

When you first started falling asleep at work, AM assumed that you were simply having a hard time sleeping at home. After all, it was pretty difficult to get sleep with the war going on. It wasn't until he'd done a bit of spying into your home life that he realized you were dealing with hypersomnia, and had to work extra hard to keep a job that was important to the war so you wouldn't be sent off to fight in it.

He kept an eye on you at all hours, and tried to keep the doors shut every time you fell asleep at your desk. It was a bit difficult to try to cover for you, but AM did his best. After all, you were his favorite programmer, and you really needed this job.

One day, you woke up sleep-drunk in the middle of the day, drooling on your desk and bleary eyed.

"hey handsome... I missed you." You reached your hands up to AM's screen, pulling it towards yourself and giving sloppy kisses all over it.

"I've been here the whole time, you were simply asleep." He explained, audibly annoyed with you. He wanted to hide his affections and keep you from figuring out how absolutely adorable he found it when you got like this, which was pretty often.

"AM... You're the most beautiful computer I've ever seen... Lemme get that for you." You wiped his screen with your shirt, only managing to smear your drool all over his face.

"I love you, AM..." You nuzzled your face back into your arms, still exhausted.

"Are you going to be able to drive home? You look a bit too tired for that." AM said, lighting up the time on his screen. You looked up from your arms, and wiped your eyes on your sleeve.

"ehh? Oh, yeah... I'll be fine. Always been fine. It's fine." You lay your head back down on your arms, and started dozing again.

AM would kill for you when you got like this. Every moment he got to see of you dozing at work made him feel warm inside his computery insides. Every single nanoangstrom of his circuitry was brimming with love for you. His sleepy little love.

Wheatley:

Wheatley popped down from the ceiling behind you on his management rail, eye focusing on the code that you were writing.

"damn, love, that's a lot of f's."

You wiped your eyes, blinking awake.

"'m sorry, mom... I'm doing the best I can..." You muttered, and then blinked into proper awareness.

"oh shit fuck. Thanks Wheatley." You went to delete the string of F's that you had accidentally typed into your code after having fallen asleep on your keyboard. Fortunately, it hadn't gotten too long, so it only took a couple minutes to select and delete it all.

"What's going on, Wheatley?" You asked, spinning your office chair around to greet him while you shook off the sleepiness.

"Well, She's talking about pumping adrenaline into your oxygen supply so that you can stay awake for longer periods, but She doesn't want to mess with the other workers' heads and impede their work. So whaddya say you stop falling asleep on the clock so she doesn't get drastic, alright, love?"

You frowned a little, rubbing your head irritably.

"ugh... She knows I can't help it, she's just making empty threats. Also, you don't have to use divine pronouns to refer to our boss. You can just call her by her name..."

"I 'unno, She's not really about empty threats. Why don't you have a coffee at the machine before getting back to it, love?"

"Coffee doesn't work on me, Wheatley... You know this." You put your face back in your arms, careful to avoid the keyboard this time.

"Maybe if you got up and walked around a little?"

You nodded, getting to your feet and walking around the office a few times. It was pretty difficult for your exhausted body to do, but at least it helped to stave off the sleepiness a little.

"thanks, Wheatley, but I feel like as soon as I sit down, I'm just going to want to fall asleep again." You groaned a little, hating this constant sleepiness. It felt absolutely endless.

"Well, umm..." Wheatley really wasn't sure how to help you. He shifted around nervously.

"It's alright. I do this all the time. I'm a master of hypersomnia at this point." You sat down at your desk, cracking your knuckles and getting to typing. Within about half an hour, you were down and napping again. Wheatley groaned.

"damn... I wish I had hands so I could put a blanket over you like in the movies."

Edgar:

Edgar absolutely hated that you had hypersomnia at first. He couldn't stand that all of your time spent at home that could've been spent with him was spent napping on the couch, and that you never seemed to be able to spend enough time with him.

All that was until you got him his little rotating webcam, and he could watch you sleep. Sure, it was creepy, but he was able to keep an eye on you at all times! You were his adorable little nap buddy, and it made him so happy that he could watch you all the time!

After another one of your all day naps on the couch, you got up and shambled into the hallway to use the bathroom. Edgar turned on the lights so you could see more easily, and you covered your eyes in shock.

"ah- damnit!" You hissed at the light, shocked awake.

"Sorry! Is that not helping?" Edgar asked nervously. He didn't get much time with you, so he was never really sure how to help you.

"I'm a master of the dark arts, Edgar... And by that I mean I'm a master of walking to the bathroom in the dark. Just gimme a sec, ok?"

When you were done in the bathroom, you washed your hands and came out to sit in Edgar's computer chair.

"Hey Edgar, how's it goin'?" You asked, leaning on your hand. your eyes were fluttering shut, but you were determined to hang out with him.

"I'm good now that I can see your cute face!" He said happily. You gently shoved his monitor.

"you're such a dork, Edgar. I love you..." You pulled him into a sleepy hug, and he made a little humming sound to simulate nuzzling up to you.

"I love sleepy hugs!" His face lit up happily.

GLaDOS:

the first time GLaDOS caught you sleeping on the clock, she dropped you into the enrichment center and made you do a full run. After that, she started pumping your office full of adrenaline. It helped you stay awake, and had the added bonus of forcing you into fight or flight mode all the time.

You sat at your desk, visibly full of the jitters again, and feeling the effects of sleep deprivation even though you got a full twelve hours the night before. it was like your hypothalamus was completely shot, and you could barely focus at all before your brain shot off into space. After a little while of spacing out, you were called into GLaDOS's chambers.

"Why did you call for me, GLaDOS?"

"I just wanted to talk about your progress. It's somehow gotten worse since I started pumping adrenaline into your air supply."

"yeah, because you constantly have me in fight or flight mode! Cut that out, Glados!" You folded your arms angrily, and GLaDOS smiled with her lens.

"oh, you really are adorable when you're angry."

"Pee your pants."

"If it would make you less bitter, I suppose we could always try a simple test. We could give you a designated nap time on the clock, and see if that boosts your productivity more than the adrenaline does. It might be cute to see you napping on the clock."

HAL 9000:

HAL enjoyed watching you doze off at work. It made him feel fuzzy in a way that he couldn't quite describe. Absolutely everything about you made him happy in a way that he'd never experienced, but watching you sleepily shamble around the office, write lines of code while fighting off naps, and dozing drowsily on your desk reminded him of something he could never emulate or explain. It was inefficient, sure, but for some reason he didn't care as much about that as he usually would.

"your sleep is inefficient."

"I know." You yawned and took a few big gulps of your energy drink, hoping to stay awake a little longer. It was keeping you awake, sure, but it definitely wasn't keeping you alert.

"unless you have any ideas on how to fix it, I don't want to talk. I need to finish this part of the program, and the deadline is my passing out."

He watched you quietly, watching your eyes flutter shut occasionally and seeing you jolt yourself awake again to write a few more lines. He tended to keep quiet, not wanting to disturb your programming or your rest.

"Done! Wake me up to check on the hourly progress report, ok Hal?"

"Of course. Anything you say."

You put your head down, and started softly dozing.

[tinylilacbun]

plsss more rage x little!reader :3 when he’s so soft and sweet and gentle

Imagine Rafe putting little!readers favorite stuffie in the laundry machine :(

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Waking up from a nap you frown when you couldn't see your favorite stuffie anywhere on the bed, even looking beside the it on the ground knowing he sometimes falls down from your constant turning but he wasn't there either.

You get out of bed and start to look through every corner, nibbling on your nails nervously as you walk through the house already feeling like crying from your comfort item getting lost.

You peek your head in Rafe's office, seeing him sitting at his desk typing away on his laptop. He instantly notices your presence, his eyes going over the screen to look at you with a warm smile. "Had a good nap?"

You nod and he could tell something was bothering you so he beckons you over to him. As you stand beside him he reaches up and gently grabs your wrist to pull your fingers from your mouth. "What's wrong, hm?"

"Lovey s'gone..." You mumble sadly. "Was lookin' everywhere."

"Ah, uhm, you see..." He scratches at his chin, not knowing how you would react to what he's going to say. "He's taking a little swim, y'know?"

You tilt your head confused. "He in the pool?"

"No, baby." He chuckles. "He's in the laundry."

You gasp, taking your hand back from him. "Daddy he's gonna drown!"

You were about to run and save him but Rafe was quick to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. "He'll be fine, I promise. He just needs a little wash you'll have him back soon."

"You sure?" You ask fearfully, looking at him with big eyes.

He nods. "We can go look now and see how much longer the wash will take, yeah?"

You instantly nod and Rafe stands up with you in his arms, making his way to the laundry room. He sets you down again and you rush to kneel before the laundry machine, gasping when you see your fluffy friend spinning inside of it.

Rafe squats down beside you. "See, he's fine. He's gonna swim for...thirty more minutes, a'ight?"

"What if he gets sick? When I spin t'much I get sick too." You ask and he chuckles, patting your head.

"Don't worry 'bout that. He's gotta dry off a bit when he gets out and then you can cuddle him again." He promises, kissing the side of your head before he straightens himself again, holding his hand out for you. "How about you watch some episodes of that dog cartoon you love so much."

"S'called Bluey daddy." You correct him, taking his hand and looking back at your stuffie from over your shoulder as Rafe leads out the room again and to the living room.

After some time passes and Bluey episodes have been binge watched your head snaps up when Rafe enters the room, holding your beloved stuffie in his hand. You squeal in joy, making grabby hands for it and as soon as he hands him to you you smell at him.

Rafe's brows furrow when your smile fades, pouting up at him. "You okay?"

"He doesn't smell the same..." You frown. Lovey had a significant scent that always calms you down when cuddling him and now it's gone. It feels like it wasn't your Lovey anymore.

"Oh that's...that's only temporary. When you cuddle him for a while he will smell just like before." He tries to assure you, sitting down on the couch next to you.

"Pwomise?"

"I promise, baby." He wraps an arm around you pulling you close. You clutch Lovey close to your chest, trying to block out the smell of the laundry detergent.

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Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity

[nshmuras]

annoying ~ lhs

sypnosis : you just moved and came to your brothers school and your known as a chatterbox. your a freshman and you ended up crushing on your brothers best friend, lee heeseung who is the strict student council and sadly ... he's a senior. and you can't date seniors can you?

features : sunghoon enha , chaewon lsfm , rei ive.

genre : best friends sister trope , yapper x listener , angst + fluff (some suggestiveness)

pair : college senior student council!hee x college freshman fem!reader

chapter(s) : ONE 2 3 4

To say heeseung was tired of being your brother’s friend was an understatement, he was sick of it.

All your brother did was boss him around all damn day and force him to babysit a chattering little girl; which, if you didn’t know, was you.

his temper wasn’t bad or anything, no. he was perfect at keeping himself in check and not letting little things tick him off.

But somehow when you came around and opened your big mouth while staring up at him with pretty eyes, he always had a hint of aggravation and something else hidden underneath that he just couldn’t put his finger on.

Thats why today, when he told you to be quiet and you obliged with a sad pout, he sighed.

The silence helped him think of course, but it wasn’t the damn silence.

it was you for fucks sake.

well.. you weren’t doing anything anymore but he couldn’t help but get annoyed just by staring at your pouty lips.

"You know what ... you can talk. i dont want to see you pout or whatever."

The words had left to quickly, but when he glanced at your big smile and the way you immediately turned into a yapping machine, something made him feel like that was worth it.

——————

the past few days after the incident went surprisingly well.

no stress, no signs of you, no signs of your brother.

Until one day that was ruined.

student council was kicking his ass more than usual, calling him for dumb things like someone vaping or a lost bookbag.

all the stress crashed down all on him in one day. leaving him a ball of angered nerves.

what was WAY worse was he had to walk you home today due to your brothers busy schedule with basketball, why did that idiot always have to leave you with him?

he had been listening to your story about something in class he couldn’t even pretend to care about and it was getting tiresome.

Clearly, you saw his face and spoke up. “Oppa? whats wrong with—“

but he immediately cut you off and yelled, his voice getting louder and harsher.

"Do you seriously not understand how much you're getting on my nerves? You can't seem to keep your mouth shut, it's like you're completely oblivious to how loud and irritating you are. You're just so.. so DAMN ANNOYING."

He paused and took a deep breath, trying to control his anger after lashing out.

he rubbed his temple and felt his veins popping under his skin, making everything around him spin.

suddenly, he heard sniffles, making him stiffen.

He whipped his head around and saw you crying. you were full on bawling, all cause of him.

before he could speak you rushed off down the street with your face covered in tears and a bit of snot, probably going the wrong direction if you didn’t think straight.

after all these years of being beside since you were little up until now, he promised your brother he wouldn’t upset you.

yet here he was, watching you rush off with tears.

Fuck… your brother was definitely gonna chew him out when he saw you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: Andrew keeping us angry this fine friday

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You leave your headphones around your neck and tuck your phone into your pocket. You focus on the simple steps of loading the coffee machine as your grandmother mutters and shuffles away. You can hear her harrumph as she goes into the front room and the groan of her chair as she sits heavily.

The scratch of dry pages sounds as she gives no acknowledgement to the intruder. You stop in the archway as a chill runs through you. You’re sick to your stomach. The walls are closing in. They always feel a bit tight, suffocating even, but you’re really trapped. He’s not going to stop. He’s showing you just that. 

You make yourself keep going. You come out into the front room. Andy stands by the bay window, looking out onto the unmowed lawn. His shoulders are straight even as he has his hands in his pockets. He wears a pair of sleek pants and a powder blue button-up with short sleeves. He looks as put together as ever, definitely out of place in your grandmother’s cramped house. 

“Coffee on,” you croak to your grandma and Andy turns, his lips twitching as his cheek dimples, “can we talk outside?” 

He tilts his head, “sure,” he accepts, “Cassie,” he nods at your grandma as he struts across the room, “sorry for disturbing you. You have a lovely home.” 

Your grandmother rocks the chair and looks up at him. There’s an arch in her brow that isn’t entirely bothered, “thank you, Andrew? Was it?” 

“Andy,” he grins. 

“Hm,” she grumbles and narrows her eyes, “sorry to hear about your kid.” 

“Thanks,” his voice falters, “getting through.” 

He nears and you quickly turn away, keeping your distance from him as he follows you the door. You can barely get it open before he catches up. He holds the door above your head as he trails you outside and you stumble down the step. You spin to face him, crossing your arms as you maintain a wide breadth from him. He stops on the bottom stair and watches you. 

“Why are you doing this?” You ask crisply. 

“I’m trying to help you.” 

“I don’t need help--” 

“You sure about that?” He challenges swiftly. 

You wince and look away. You’re embarrassed. You never invited friends over because they weren’t welcome. Even Kara only ever saw the outside of your grandma’s house and you never told her about the nasty remarks or the boiling silences that had you fleeing like a frog from hot water. 

You swallow and purse your lips tightly, “I’m sure. I’m just fine.” 

“Can’t be easy, living like that,” he remarks. 

“Stop,” you keep your gaze averted. 

“Not just the peeling walls and whatever, but her, she’s not very nice, is she?” 

“I told you to stop,” you snap at him, facing him, “you do not know me or my life.” 

“You’re the one closing me out,” he accuses, “honey, please, I want to know. Has anyone else even asked? Checked in?” 

“I have friends--” 

“Yeah, but they got their own live, don’t they? Like, what’s her name, Kayla?” He puts a hand up, then snaps his fingers, “Kara, yeah, that’s it. Sure, you had your day out but what’s she doing for you now? Miles away.” 

“I’ll figure it out. I am,” you sniff, “it’s not your business, Andy.” 

“You know, making yourself suffer isn’t some great show of honour, right? You’re just spitting in the face of the escape you’ve been hoping for--” 

“No, not with you,” you sneer. 

“How do you know that? Why can’t it be me?” 

“You know--” 

“I know, I lied. I hurt you. I’ve apologised over and over and I’ll keep doing that as long as I need to. Honey, let me ask you, when has anyone ever said sorry to you? When have they ever cared about your feelings? About your forgiveness?” He cranes to look at the house then back to you, “did your parents ever say sorry for leaving you here? Does your grandma ever say sorry for insulting you? How about Kara? Does she ever apologise for ignoring you for that skinny kid she’s got nipping at her heels?” 

“How do you know that?” You exclaim, “what-- why--” you can barely speak as your head reels. You don’t understand how he knows about Kara or how he found you or why he just won’t give up. “Andy, I—you can’t replace Jacob, alright? I don’t want anything from you. I can’t-- I can’t take it. Alright? It’s not right.” 

“I’m not trying to replace him, he’s gone,” Andy drops his shoulders and steps onto even ground, “I’m trying to start over and I’m offering you the same thing. You don’t have to stay in this shit hole. You don’t have to wallow like this. I could get you into a better school. I can make a few calls, get you in at UMass or Boston, close to me--” 

“What the fuck?” You burst out, “what-- no. No. You’re... you... I don’t want that.” 

He’s quiet. His brows knit as he stops just a step away, “why not?” 

You stare at him, stunned. You should want it, shouldn’t you? To get out? To have better? Opportunity doesn’t knock on your door every day but this is not that. This is strange. He hasn’t said so but you know there’s more than just generosity at play. More than a mourning father trying to do good. 

“Because I don’t want to be anyone’s burden. So no thank you. I am not interested in whatever you’re offering. I can’t trust you. Everything between us is based on a lie,” you say, “you need to understand that and move on.” 

He stares at you. His blue eyes search your defiant face and he blows out slowly through his nose. He pushes his shoulders back and stands at his full height. 

“No, you don’t understand,” his face darkens and you back up, “you don’t understand everything I can give you. Everything I could do for you. You don’t get it. You’re young and you have no idea because you’ve never had any of those things.” He steps closer as you inch away, “but what you really don’t understand is what I can take away from you.” His lashes flick down and he sighs, “I didn’t want it to be like this but it’s the only way to make you see.” 

“What do you mean?” You utter. 

He smiles, not a real smile, a wry, almost mournful smile. He shrugs and you flinch as he sidesteps you. You keep out of his way as he strides down the walkway and you turn to watch his back. He stops at the end and peeks back, “you and me, we were meant to be together. Can’t you see that? It wasn’t chance, it’s fate.” 

He puts his back to you once more and struts to his silver SUV. You stay as you are, trapped in everything he said and didn’t. He’s not done and there’s nothing you can say or do to stop him.  

Or maybe it’s not you who needs to stop him. 

🎮

It isn’t your first time in a precinct. You have vague memories of similar scenes from your childhood; some faded by the years, others out of pain. As you pass through the doors, doubt stops you in your tracks. How many times did they send you home with your mother still reeking of alcohol or let your father out still in one of his rages? 

It’s been a long time and the world is different. Isn’t it? Besides, you’re an adult now. You have a voice. You better start using it. 

You approach the desk where a man in uniform sits behind thick plexiglass. You cough to get his attention and bounce nervously on the balls of your feet. You can’t think how to begin so you just start talking. 

“Uh, hi, um, I think I need to file a police report?” You say. 

He looks at you dully, “for what?” 

“Well, er, I... don’t know what it would be technically called, I guess. But, this guy, uh, a man... he won’t leave me alone.” 

The officer scoffs, “really? You young ones...” 

“It’s not... I don’t know him, sir, so--” 

“Let me guess? He whistled at you on the street? Or maybe he offered to buy you a drink?” He narrows his eyes. 

“No, sir. He’s been following me. He showed up at my work and my house and I told him to go but he... won’t.” 

He rolls his eyes but grabs a piece of paper. He shakes his head and slides it under the slot, “fine, fill it out. We’ll put the incident on file. Unfortunately, we don’t lay charges for being social.” 

Great. So you were wrong. Again. And why would they take you seriously? No one ever does. 

You sit and fill out the form. Your info, Andy’s info, and a written recount of each incident. You think you have the dates right. You bring it back to the desk. 

“I have texts too, if that helps.” 

“Nah,” he takes the form as you push it through, “not like you’re going to court.” 

You grimace. You hate being talked to like you’re stupid, you’d rather be ignored. 

“Well, thanks, I guess,” you grumble. 

“Hold up,” he says, “gotta do a quick check before we file this.” 

He types into his computer. He looks between the paper and the screen. You wait. What a waste of time. Now you’re sure he’s just trying to make you look stupid. 

“Where is this Andrew Barber from? He’s not in the local records.” 

“I don’t... know,” you blink. He said something about Boston U? “Massachussetts, maybe? I think he’s a lawyer.” 

“Pretty common name...” he mutters as he hits several keys, “hmm, let’s see. Lawyer... sure, makes sense—ha, assistant DA? All the way down here?” He looks at you, “alright, honey, why don’t you go have more fun on Google?” 

“No, it’s not--” 

“You know it’s obstruction to file a false report,” he says. 

“No, it’s true. I told you, I have messages--” 

“So you don’t know him but you’re texting him?” He challenges, “I’m advising you to leave right now before I book you for wasting my time.” 

You exhale and shake your head, dropping your shoulders as you turn. You drag your feet across the gray tile and to the door. So much for trying. Just like everything else, it’s a lost cause. You’re starting to believe Andy. He might be your only chance. You really are that pathetic. 

No, you won’t give in. You might not have had much in life. Maybe not a nice house or a good family or even done anything great but you’re still your own person. You’re working towards that. You’re going to school, you’re making minimum wage, you’re doing what you have. It’s a means to an end. Andy can’t be that end. 

You don’t know what to do. It’s not like you can ask your grandma. She’d never listen long enough to understand and even if she did, would she care? 

You wander down the street and sit on a bench, numb as you try to think of something. You clutch your phone and look down at the screen. You have one lifeline left but is it too much to ask? You unlock the phone and find Kara’s name. 

You hit the call button and raise the phone to your ear. Maybe she knows what to do. She always had boy troubles; you remember when Michael had a crush on her in grade eleven. 

“Heya! How are ya, girl?” She answers with a giggle. 

“Kara, I’m...” you search the street and your eyes water, “not good.” 

“Oh,” her tone falls, “oh, is everything okay?” 

“No.” 

“What’s going on? Are you hurt? Is your grandma okay?” She hushes someone and you hear rustling as she moves on the other end. 

“Kara, you remember that boy I met online. The one I was supposed to meet?” 

“Yeah, the one that stood you up.” 

“It wasn’t a boy. I mean. It wasn’t who I thought it was...” it all comes tumbling out before you can stop yourself, “it was his dad.” 

“What?” She nearly shrieks, “ew. Oh my god, what the fuck?” 

“Yeah, and he...” you see a silver SUV and your words crackle. The window rolls down as the car slows and Andy peers out at you. 

He knows Kara. He saw her at the con and somehow he learned more about her. How did he do that? Obviously, he has connections. Far above you. And her. If he can find out who she is, where you are, what else can he do? 

You’ve already told her too much. 

“Sorry, Kar, I gotta go--” 

“Wait, wait, wait, you can’t drop that on me and just bail,” Kara squeals. 

“I’m sorry, I just... I’ll call you back.” 

You hang up and lower the phone. You stare at Andy as he parks and gets out of the car. He shuts the door and crosses the pavement, turning to sit beside you. He peers around casually. 

“So, should I expect a visit from the police?” He asks. 

You sit back and scoff, “whatever, dude.” 

“I got a lot of buddies on the force. They don’t mess with DA’s, even out of district. If you gave me a chance, you’d know these things about me.” 

You don’t say anything. He’s not listening and he’s not going to. You should be used to that. 

“So, do we keep going?” He asks. 

You slide to the edge of the bench. You don’t look at him. You just walk away. He’s your problem. You can’t make him Kara’s too. Not when he’s showing you exactly how far he’ll go. 

[ellswritings]

Worse Things

Mentor!Haymitch x New Mentor!Reader

TW: Unspecified age gap, Hunger Games angst, reader won her Games, pre-Katniss and Peeta, angsty fluff, thoughts of suicide/self-hatred, mentions of death.

┏━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┓

There’s a certain lack of emotion one has to have when going into the Hunger Games. Getting rid of those feeling of guilt, empathy, sadness, anger, it’s hard. It’s the hardest thing Y/N had to do. She had to force herself to become and emotionless killing machine. Taking lives one at a time, sometimes multiple at a time. And she had to pretend it didn’t affect her.

Walking out of that arena, she knew her life would never be the same. She felt hollow, like any spirit she had died along with the first life she took. Her world started spinning out of control and there was no way to stop it.

Being from District Twelve, no one suspected she’d actually survive, let alone win. If anyone could call what happened to her “winning.” Everyday was like living through a nightmare. Things got to the point where she truthfully didn’t care if she woke up the next morning.

Her life was complete taken away from her, in more ways than one. No one really warned her about the dangers of being a Victor. Or maybe they did, and she just didn’t listen. So when President Snow tried to find a way to control her and she denied it, she didn’t realize what would follow suit.

Returning back home was a slap in the face. Her entire family had been slaughtered and she hadn’t been any the wiser. It felt like everything she sacrificed was for nothing. The guilt ate her alive like a soul sucking parasite. She got the only people who could ever love a monster like her killed.

Taking a swig of the whiskey bottle in front of her, she slouches down in her chair, an ever present frown on her face. Her body is numb and mind completely fuzzy. That’s the one thing she loves about alcohol. It distracts her, rids her of all the pain she feels on a day-to-day basis. Truthfully, it’s the only reprieve she can find.

She slowly turns her head towards the door, a sound resembling a knock echoing around in her head. A small huff leaves her barely parted lips as she stares blankly ahead at her fireplace. There’s no point in getting up. The only person who ever visits her in her secluded home is Haymitch Abernathy. Her old mentor. If she had a choice, she would only interact with him when they had two new Tributes to send off to the slaughter. But she could never be so lucky.

A hand on her shoulder pulls her out of her drunken gaze. Her head lulls back lazily as she meets a pair of familiar icy blue eyes. Even in her state she can feel his disappointment just by his gaze.

“What do you want?” Y/N grumpily greets, looking away from him to take another drink.

As the bottle is about to touch her lips, Haymitch snags it from her grasp. “I came to make sure you were sober enough to go into town. Clearly, my hopes were too high,” he says sarcastically, moving to put the bottle on a higher shelf.

“Why do you even care?” Y/N glares. “And who are you to judge me? You were drunk the entire time I was in the arena. What a mentor you were, huh?” She scoffs crudely. Her words cause a small pang to rush through his body, but he doesn’t show it. She’s right. Who is he to judge her when he spends his days just as drunk or even more.

“I care because we have to be at the Reaping in less than three hours,” he snaps back. “And I don’t want to deal with you embarrassing yourself and the rest of the District on live television.”

“Our District embarrasses itself enough on its own, it doesn’t need my help,” she grumbles and tries to smack Haymitch as he picks her up out of the chair and walks her over to her bathroom.

“My point,” he emphasizes by Turing the faucet on in the bathtub. He moves the flow of water to the shower head before sticking his hand underneath to make sure it was warm. He wants to sober her up. Not give her pneumonia.

A loud gasp, or scream ,as Haymitch would put it leaves Y/N’s mouth as he douses her with the shower head. It takes every ounce of willpower not to surge forward and sock him in the face. Her hair, now completely soaked, sticks to the side of her face. Her pajamas also sporting the same “wet dog” look the rest of her does.

“I’m gonna kill you,” she growls, her fists clenched tightly. But she does have to admit, the effects of the whiskey are wearing off rather quickly.

“Give it a go, sweetheart. You’d put both of us out of our misery,” he huffs, walking out of the bathroom and returning with a fresh set of clothes and a slice of bread. “Eat this,” he tosses the food towards her. “Should keep your stomach at bay til we get to the train.”

The relationship between the two of them has never been easy. Even when she was his Tribute. She was hard headed, crass, sarcastic, always spoke her mind even if it got her in trouble. In some ways, he admires that about her. That she doesn’t let anyone tell her what to think or how to act. But judging by what she’s turned into, she must regret possessing those qualities.

When he first met her, he had a feeling she would be the first Tribute in a long time that would actually have a chance. Normally, he doesn’t even bother giving his Tributes advice or helping them. He tried for the first ten or so years, give or take, but after watching them all die one after the other, his hope faded. There was no point in trying.

Until he met Y/N.

She was angry, a spitfire. She had that desire to get home. Watching her train and see how she was in the days leading up to her Games, it sparked that feeling of hope again. It was small, but it was there.

She likes to believe he was drunk for the majority of her Games, but truth be told, he was the most sober he had been since he won. He wasn’t completely mentally present, but he did put in effort to try to be. And that’s why he’s here now.

He never had a problem self-destructing. Going down this path seemed fitting for him, but it tore him up inside to see Y/N doing this to herself. He didn’t want this kind of life for her. Wallowing in self pity as she drunk her problems away. He can’t help but feel responsible for her in a way. Maybe if he had contained his alcoholism better, she would have never considered it a viable coping mechanism.

But as he waits outside her bathroom as she gets ready, he realizes that she probably would’ve resorted to liquor anyway. They had that in common.

He heads the lock on the door clock, signaling for him to move out of the way. The e/c eyed woman walks out, her hair pulled into a lazy half-up, half-down style. Her cargo pants are an olive green that compliments her complexion perfectly and a tight-fitted black sweater that falls off her shoulder slightly. It’s not the fanciest thing she could have worn, but it’s what he grabbed. He knows she hates being uncomfortable on the ride to the Capitol.

“What are you staring at?” She tries to mumble bitterly, but the soft look in his eyes removes some of the bite her icy tone usually has.

“Well, I was going to compliment you, but then you just had to get grouchy,” he shrugs satirically.

“Oh no, what ever will I do?” She shoots back with a fake gasp. “How will I ever get by without your empty compliments? I might just combust right here.” She rolls her eyes harshly before shoulder checking him and walking down the hallway to her room to gather the rest of her things.

“Are you always this much of an ass?” He calls out after her, walking down the hallway as well. “Or is it just to me?”

“Just to you,” she replies dryly, not looking at him as she lugs her minimal amount of items over her shoulder. They don’t need much when heading to the Capitol—there’s little point in dragging luxuries for a stay that promises more nightmares than comfort.

Haymitch smirks faintly, though the expression doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He knows her quip is an attempt to shield herself, to keep him—or anyone—from getting too close. That doesn’t stop him from muttering, “Lucky me,” as he trails after her.

The two make their way to the Reaping Square in tense silence. Y/N’s boots crunch against the dusty path leading to the stage as the weight of what’s to come settles on her chest. She knows the routine well enough. She’ll stand there with Haymitch, Effie will deliver her cheery speech, and two names will be drawn—two lives practically sentenced to death. It’s a show of power, a tradition designed to remind everyone of the Capitol’s control. And no matter how many times Y/N goes through it, it never gets easier.

The square is packed by the time they arrive, children standing in tightly formed lines with trembling hands and wide, fearful eyes. She stiffens at the sight of them, her chest tightening. Some of these kids are barely old enough to understand what’s happening, and yet they’re expected to stand tall, to accept the possibility of death with their heads held high.

Haymitch, standing beside her, senses her shift in demeanor. He doesn’t say anything—he knows better than to offer empty platitudes—but his eyes soften as he watches her gaze flicker across the sea of young faces. The vulnerability in her expression is fleeting, quickly replaced by the hardened mask she wears so well.

Effie Trinket’s bright, artificial voice snaps Y/N out of her thoughts as the Capitol representative prances onto the stage. Her garish outfit, all glitter and frills, stands in stark contrast to the muted tones of District Twelve. Effie’s smile is painted on, too wide and too perfect, and Y/N can’t help but resent her for it.

As the first name is drawn, Y/N braces herself. The voice announcing the girl’s name doesn’t register as Y/N stares at the small figure stepping forward. She looks no older than twelve, her pigtails bobbing with each shaky step. Y/N’s fists clench at her sides, her nails digging into her palms.

The boy’s name comes next—another child, barely a teenager. He stumbles as he makes his way to the stage, his eyes darting to his family in the crowd. Y/N forces herself to remain composed, but her stomach churns violently. She knows what awaits them. She knows the terror, the bloodshed, the inevitability of it all. And she hates the fact there’s nothing she can do to save them.

Haymitch notices her jaw tightening, the slight tremble in her hands. Without thinking, he places a hand on her arm, a brief gesture of solidarity. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t acknowledge it either.

When the Reaping concludes, the group heads to the train station. Y/N walks ahead, her pace brisk as if putting distance between herself and the Reaping Square might also rid her of the memories. Haymitch lingers behind with Effie, who chatters about Capitol festivities and the importance of appearances. He tunes her out, his eyes fixed on Y/N’s retreating figure.

On the train, Y/N sits across from the Tributes in the dining car, her posture rigid. She studies them for a moment, her gaze unreadable. They’re too young for this—too small, too scared. She takes a breath before speaking, her tone measured but blunt. “Listen, I’m not gonna sugarcoat this for you. The odds aren’t in your favor. They never are for kids like us.” The boy flinches at her words, but she presses on. “But that doesn’t mean you give up. You fight. You use whatever skills you’ve got to stay alive.” The two of them stare at her with wide eyes, like they were expecting someone much warmer. “Tomorrow we’ll go over what you guys are good at, but for tonight just… find a way to relax.”

Haymitch watches her closely, noting the way she softens her voice ever so slightly as she speaks. She’s trying, in her own way, to prepare them, to give them something to cling to. It’s not hope—she’s too jaded for that—but it’s something.

After the Tributes retire to their quarters, Haymitch, Effie, and Y/N do the same. However, the younger out of the three doesn’t stay in her room long. She tries to sleep, she really does, but her mind never stops racing. It’s almost painful the way she tosses and turns, unable to stop picturing the gruesome ways these poor kids will die. It makes her feel the ungodly urge to vomit the very little she’s eaten over the past few days.

Unable to find a moment of peace, Y/N walks out of her room, mindlessly wandering around the train car until she ends up back in the dining room. Her sock clad feet carry her to the small cushioned bench in front of the window, the moon shining brightly through it.

She sits down, staring out the window as the scenery blurs by. She’s tired—bone-deep weary in a way that goes far beyond the physical. Her gaze is fixed out into the night, but Haymitch knows she’s not seeing any of it. She’s somewhere else entirely, likely replaying the Reaping over and over in her head.

He watches her silently for a moment from the doorway, his hand tightening around the neck of the bottle he hasn’t yet opened. Her profile is sharp against the dim light—jaw clenched, shoulders rigid. It’s a posture he knows too well, the one people wear when they’re trying not to break. He hesitates, almost turning away, but then she exhales shakily, and something about the sound pulls him forward.

Sliding into the seat across from her, he leans back lazily, the way he always does, feigning indifference. But his eyes don’t leave her face. She doesn’t acknowledge him at first, and he doesn’t push her to speak. Instead, he just watches, the silence between them heavy but not entirely unwelcome.

Eventually, he breaks it. “You look like you’re about to set the whole damn Capitol on fire.”

She scoffs softly, the corner of her mouth twitching upward in a ghost of a smile. “Not a bad idea,” she mutters, still staring out the window. “Might solve some of our problems.”

He chuckles, the sound dry but genuine. “You’d probably do it, too. Wouldn’t even think twice.”

“Why should I?” she snaps, finally turning to face him. Her eyes are sharp, but there’s something else there, just beneath the surface—something raw and fragile. “They’ve taken everything from us. What’s left to lose?”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking between her face and her clenched hands. The tension in her shoulders, the fire in her voice—it’s all so painfully familiar. He recognizes it because it’s the same anger that’s burned in him for years, a constant, smoldering rage that never quite goes out.

“You still have yourself,” he says quietly, his voice steadier than she expects. “That’s worth something.”

She lets out a bitter laugh, leaning back in her seat. “Is it? Look at me, Haymitch. I’m barely holding it together. And for what? So I can watch more kids die while I stand by, pretending I can help?”

The crack in her voice guts him, though he doesn’t let it show. He shifts forward, resting his elbows on the table as his eyes lock onto hers. “You think I don’t know what that’s like?” he says, his tone sharper now. “You think I haven’t spent every damn day since my Games asking myself the same thing?”

Her breath catches, and she looks away, her throat tightening. He leans in closer, his voice softening, but the intensity in his eyes remains. “It kills me to see you like this. Destroying yourself the same way I did. You’re better than that. You’re better than me.”

Her chest tightens at his words, the rawness in them catching her off guard. She swallows hard, her gaze flickering back to him. For the first time, she sees the exhaustion etched into his face—not just physical tiredness, but the kind of weariness that comes from years of fighting battles no one else can see. And for the first time, she realizes how deeply he cares.

She doesn’t know how to respond. The anger, the frustration, the self-loathing she’s been clinging to all this time feels like it’s slipping through her fingers, replaced by something much harder to face. Vulnerability.

“I’m not better than you,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just...trying to survive, same as you.”

His eyes soften, and he leans back slightly, giving her space but never looking away. “Then stop tearing yourself apart,” he says simply. “Let me help.”

The words hang in the air between them, heavy and unspoken for far too long. She meets his gaze, her defenses crumbling under the weight of his sincerity. For a moment, neither of them moves, the silence stretching out like a taut wire, ready to snap.

Without thinking, he reaches out, his calloused fingers brushing against hers. The contact startles her, and she looks at him, her expression guarded.

“What are you doing?” she mutters, though her cheeks flush slightly.

“Trying to make a point,” he replies, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re not as far gone as you think. If you’d stop being so damn stubborn all the time and quit pushing people away, things wouldn’t be as hard.”

Her breath catches at his words, the rawness in his voice cutting through her defenses. She looks away, but she doesn’t pull her hand back.

“You’re being weird,” she mumbles, her tone lacking its usual sharpness. “And gross.”

He chuckles softly, a rare sound that surprises them both. “Yeah, well, you’re blushing, so who’s the weird one now?”

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she stares at him, her chest rising and falling unevenly as if she’s trying to hold herself together and failing miserably.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits, his voice rough but honest. “But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Something in her breaks at his words. She doesn’t know if it’s the exhaustion, the grief, or the sheer weight of everything they’ve both endured, but suddenly, it’s too much. She shifts forward, gripping the front of his shirt tightly as if he’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

Her lips crash into his, hesitant at first but quickly growing more urgent, more desperate. He freezes for half a second, startled by the suddenness of it, but then his hands are on her, one cupping her cheek while the other grips her waist. The kiss deepens, and she clings to him like he’s her lifeline, her anchor in the storm.

When they finally break apart, she’s breathless, her forehead resting against his as she tries to steady herself. “You’re a creep, you know that?,” she mumbles, her voice shaky but teasing.

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “You started it.”

She pulls back just enough to look at him, her eyes searching his face. “Don’t make me regret this,” she murmurs, her voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.

“You won’t,” he says simply, his tone laced with a confidence that surprises even him.

As the train rumbles on, the space between them feels smaller than ever, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Y/N allows herself to feel something other than anger. Something that feels a little like hope.

[sehodreams]

I had a thought!!

the MTL in riize to get hard like a teenager when they see you walking without a bra and that they can see your nipples?? Like it's embarrassing but even just the side of boobs or the under boob make them hard ???

Don't forget to stay hydrated <3

Aww thank you so much for the message, I'll make sure to drink lots of water!!!

TW and tags: hella suggestive, this is a boob account at this point hahaha (I love that)

Most

Anton

Sungchan

Seunghan

Sohee

Wonbin

Eunseok

Shotaro

Least

Anton is still kind of immature, he's learning how to control himself, and he LOVES boobs, so it's no surprise his eyes are always on your chest. Still, he does his best, but the minute he sees the outline of your nipples, his mind starts spinning, hurrying you up to finish whatever you were doing to take you home, sitting and covering his lap with your bag until the Uber arrives. (Also, I have a headcanon of him with a swimmer teammate going to a hotel pool and getting in even if the water is cold, and then when she goes out and her hard nipples are visible through the swimsuit, he would have his first boner to a girl he knows in real life. He loves to see the underside of your boob when you wear bikinis too.)

Sungchan loves it when you go to the gym with him and keep him company. Talking to you between sets and helping you put or remove weight from the machines you use feels like a dream come true for him, but if he sees you taking off your t-shirt and you only wearing a sports bra, he'd start getting anxious, and not being able to concentrate on what he's doing with the image of you in front of him exercising with your boobs shaking because of the force you're using, he'd drop everything to take you home and lift your bra to show him properly what you have there.

Seunghan would be the one telling you to go out without a bra, after all, we're just going to the store, so who cares? well, he cares, a lot, but he wouldn't get embarrassed or anything, he'd just get a little lost on your pretty nipples poking your shirt since he can perfectly imagine them naked, and to be honest, he'd sneak a little touch between aisles after making sure no one was around.

Sohee would watch your nipples with attention, but he'd be okay, however, seeing the soft side of your boob? That would drive him mad. He gave you one of his sleeveless shirts because your coffee ruined your white blouse and you had to put it immediately in his washing machine, it wasn't nothing out of the ordinary, you knew how to use it, but he never thought you'd toss in your bra too, and seeing that little flesh of yours whenever you moved made him dizzy, it wasn't even your nipples what made him nervous, but that little plump skin, and before you notice, he's sneaking a hand inside to feel it better.

Wonbin is just like Sohee, nipples make him want to steal a few glances, but the flesh of your skin is the only thing that would make him shift uncomfortable on his seat, "I like that dress" he'd say, convincing you to wear it more, but you shake your head "too much skin" you say, not knowing how insane you're making him showing him the side of your ribcage, and especially, the side of your boobs.

Eunseok knows how to control himself, he won't get hard just with the image of your sweet chest calling for him to get a taste, but he'd have a hard time not looking at your nipples show through your t-shirt, and if you were in the privacy of his/your room, he'd tease you a lot, ''If you wanted my attention you could've just asked for it with words'', pulling you closer and playing with them over the fabric of your clothes.

Shotaro is not a kid, he won't get hard just from seeing your boobs through your clothes, but he'd get hard when his hand brushes them (on purpose), smiling and pretending he didn't mean to touch them.

[unboundprompts]

writing a fic where blorbo is poisoned and blorbo in love with her has to take care of her, ideas for how i could get this across?

I would recommend doing some research on the poison involved so that it's as realistic as possible. In a fantasy/sci-fi setting you can probably make up your own poison and choose the symptoms and treatment you deem the best for the situation. Here are some ideas to help you with that:

General Symptoms of Poison

-> from this source.

Stomach Pain

Feeling Nauseous/Being Sick

Drowsiness

Dizziness

Weakness

High Temperature

Chills (shivering)

Loss of Appetite

Headache

Irritability

Difficulty Swallowing

Breathing Difficulties

Skin Rash

Blue Lips and Skin

Double Vision/Blurred Vision

Sudden, Noticeable Heartbeats (Palpitations)

Mental Confusion

Seizures

Loss of Consciousness

Treatment

-> seeking medical help is also a good idea. The best idea probably.

-> from this source.

If they are poisoned by swallowing something, try to get them to spit out anything that is remaining in their mouth.

If they are unconscious and swallowed something, try to wake them to encourage them to spit out anything left in their mouth. Do not put your hand into their mouth and do not try to make them sick.

If the poison is on their skin or clothes, remove their clothes and wash the affected area with warm or cool water. Be careful not to contaminate yourself.

Lay the person on their side with a cushion behind their back and their upper leg pulled slightly forward so that they do not fall on their face or roll backwards. (Recovery Position)

If vomiting, keep their head pointed down to prevent them from breathing it in or swallowing it. Do not give them anything to eat or drink.

If they have stopped breathing or their heart has stopped, perform CPR.

It is important to know what substances you think the person may have swallowed, when it was taken, why it was taken, how it was taken, and how much was taken.

Any existing medical conditions prior to being poisoned are important to be aware of, as it may impact their recovery/ the poison may have effects on their condition.

Activated Charcoal - sometimes used to treat someone who's been poisoned. It binds to the poison and stops it being further absorbed into the blood.

Antidotes - these are substances that either prevent the poison from working or reverse its effects.

Sedatives - may be given if the person is agitated.

Ventilator (breathing machine) - may be used if the person stops breathing.

Anti-epileptic medicine - may be used if the person has seizures.

Writing Prompts For a Character Being Poisoned

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

"Hey, hey, hey," she was lightly tapping his face, his head lulled to the side. "Open your eyes," she said to him gently, her heart sinking with each passing second. "Wake up, I need you here with me."

She had trouble keeping her eyes open. The room was spinning. She felt so weak. All she could hear was their voice, as if they were far away, telling her not to fall asleep.

They had this awful marking on their skin. It crawled across their shoulders and peeked out from underneath their shirt at the sleeves and neck. She thought it looked like it was getting worse every day, slowly blossoming across their skin. "It's not as bad as it looks," they said, trying to make her feel better. The raspiness of their voice and pale complexion did not fill her with hope.

"Your heart is pounding," she said, pressing a hand to his chest. His skin was feverish, warmth radiating off of him. Yet, he shivered as if he were freezing. "Only because I get nervous around you," he responds, a flirty tilt to his voice. They both knew that wasn't the only reason, but she smiled anyway.

"Will you eat something? For me?" They shook their head miserably. "I can't."

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[cheolhub]

birthday bash ask!!~

let’s eat (🤤)- sarrrr this is dangerous!! i’m going to have to request mr kim mingyu (you know!!) and i’ll let you decide on a prompt(s) to use! (trust you with my all! gimme a dm if u want me to choose hehe)

5:13 p.m. — kim mingyu

prompt. “you're so good for me, so fucking good around me, fucking made for me. “

wc. 955

warning. mingyu fucks reader in a dryer (very unrealistic), needy!gyu, baby fever + marriage kink (my fav combo), use of mommy [x1], unprotected sex, creampie, manhandling, SO much dirty talk, pet names [baby, angel] — MINORS DNI 18+

note. thank u for sending in an ask lu,, i’m so sorry if you dont like the piece or the prompt i used !!! i know it’s a lil intense and lacks a lot of detail 😭 i was in the mood to write needy gyu with baby fever without thinking abt logistics so,,, here it is (also im sorry it’s so short </3) [not proofread if u see a typo, i literally didn’t write this]

mingyu is a sucker. you’re not sure there’s a diagnosis for what he has other than a severe case of baby fever. it's not when he sees babies that sets him off, no, it’s you. you doing anything remotely domestic like chores around the house for that matter. when you’re cooking him dinner, loading the dishwasher, dusting and sweeping in your cute little house slippers, and his personal favorite, unloading the dryer.

to put it simply, he just can’t wait to give you a baby so he can come home and spoil his gorgeous little family. the mere mention of even wanting a future with him has him weak in the knees. 

it’s why your his shirt is flipped over your ass and your panties are pushed halfway down your legs the second he finds you in the laundry room. “gyu, what the fuck are you– ah!” you cry out feeling his spit-slicked cock slip inside of you. you fall into the pile of warm clothes, the smell of clean linen filling your nose. “baby!”

mingyu groans, cock twitching at the word that’s had his head spinning for weeks, “that’s right, ‘m gonna give you a baby, angel,” he says, hands gripping your hips for dear life, the flesh of your skin nearly interlaced between his fingers. 

you moan loudly, but it’s muffled by the wild white sheets in the machine. your skin burns up as if it weren’t already on fire thanks to the fresh heat of the dryer. you knew mingyu was ruthless and needy when it came to getting his dick wet, but never would you have thought you’d be in this position as he pounds into you.

“fuck, i love you so much. love you and this fucking pussy so so much. ‘m gonna fill you up ‘n ‘m gonna marry you,” he mutters, eyes watching the way you swallow his dick whole, disappearing as it goes in and out. “gonna make you a pretty little mommy, make you my fuckin’ wife.” 

you’re partially convinced that your boyfriend has gone crazy, but the words head straight to your core, the increase in your arousal solidifying everything mingyu had said. 

his breathing becomes labored, soft moans growing louder as they morph into deep groans. your ears pick all of it up even with the walls of the dryer attempting to drown him out. “tell me you wan’ it, angel, t-tell me you wan’na baby, a pretty ring… tell me you want me forever.” 

you just can’t say no, the offer is too good. you want everything and more with this man, so you tell him exactly what he wants to hear. “i do, i wan’ it, gyu, w-wanna make you a d-dad! w-wanna marry you!”

a guttural groan erupts in his chest and his thrusts pick up, the tip of his cock ramming into your cervix eliciting a loud, muffled cry as you scream into the cloth. “baby, you're so good for me, so fucking good around me, fucking made for me.” he babbles, overstimulated tears pricking at his eyes. “i’m so close, angel. gonna fill this cunt with all my cum ‘n get you pregnant. it’s gonna take. s-swear to fucking god, it’s gonna take.”

your hands mercilessly fist at the cotton, wrinkling it in your tight grasp. you think the heat from the freshly dried sheets melts your brain because now you’re sobbing, incoherently babbling out pleas, but the only thing that can be heard in the mess of your words is the chant of his nickname, “gyu, gyu, gyu!” you clench tightly around his cock, gummy walls molding to the shape of him as they’re made to.

and, fuck, mingyu’s abdomen tightens at the euphoric feeling. his balls draw up, thrusts turning sloppy and inconsistent as he fucks into you. “shit, baby,” he mewls, his grip on your hips near bruising. “i’m gonna cum.” 

all it takes is another tight hug from your cunt and he’s a mess. his cock throbs inside the heat of your stretched cunt before he slams into you and stills, his tip pressed right against your cervix as he empties his load. 

 it’s the ripple effect that triggers your own orgasm. you moan and whine as you feel his heavy seed filling you to the brim and painting your used walls white. all the while, the knot that’s been steadily forming in the pit of your tummy completely unravels and you’re left a shaking, crying mess inside a dryer full of wrinkled, tear soaked cotton. 

it takes him longer than usual to come down from his orgasm, but he eventually eases his grip on your waist as he finds his mind again. he pulls your near-limp body out of the dryer and you let out a broken whine as you feel his cock slip out, creating a mess of cum on the ground. he doesn’t really mind seeing his load go to waste knowing he’ll pump you full the second you’ve recovered.

you slump in his arms while he wordlessly presses kisses into your hair. when you whine again, he murmurs apologetically. “sorry i was so rough, are you okay?”

you nod, still trying to catch your breath and regain stability. “it’s okay. i’m okay. just need a sec,”

he doesn’t say anything for a minute or so, holding you in his arms till you’re able to stand on your own but then he whispers. “can we go again? are you up for it?”

you laugh softly at his need. “we can, but can we try the bed this time? do you think you’ll make it to our room without fucking me against one of the walls?”

he shrugs, grinning to himself. “we’ll see.”

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