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5tarchaser · 1 day ago

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.:･˚₊ mission: evacuate

pairing: assassin!jay x fem agent!reader ft. jungwon and jake of enhypen genre: rivals to ??, inspired by mcu fics

synopsis: you and jay are asked to work together on a mission, even though it is well known around the compound that you guys don't work well together.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: swearing, mentions of wounds, poor attempts at humour, a little angst, fluff, although inspired by mcu no plot spoilers

a/n: im backkk!!! havent written in forever cause uni took all my writing motivation away :/ still have a bunch of fics drafted from forever ago but wanted to post this first. inspired by mcu fanfics cause they created thunderbolts for me (i love bucky barnes give him more screentime). thank the mcu for reviving my bucky era (which never left) and fanfic writing gears :p honestly not entirely sure about the ending of this fic but what can i do T-T hopefully writing block doesnt hit me like a truck again, enjoy!!!

“You guys get that?”

You look up from the mission files in your hand, making eye contact with Jungwon, the team’s leader.

“One quick question,” you say while raising your hand. “Do I really have to be paired up with this prick?”

There wasn’t anything wrong with Jay per se—at least skill-wise—but something about his personality was always off. You can agree that he is good at what he does and has is impressive on the battlefield, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s always given you a cold shoulder since entering the team. You don’t know if it’s because you’re a simple agent while he’s a trained assassin, but there’s no need for him to be so condescending.

“I could ask the same thing,” the said prick mentions.

Jungwon shakes his head. “Jay, you are one of our best assassins,” he says sternly. Assassin, more like asshole. Jungwon turns to you, “And Y/N, you’re one of the best agents in this compound, and believe it or not, the assets both of you bring to the table work well together.”

“I find that very hard to believe,” Jay states as you roll your eyes.

“Look, as much as I know how much you guys despise each other for some unknown reason, this mission is a quick grab and go, and I trust you both enough not to have this mission turn sideways no matter what differences you guys have.” Jungwon states. “Plus you guys won’t be fully alone, Jake will be on comms during the whole mission.”

“Oh great, put us with the rookie who happens to be Jay’s best friend,” you mutter.

“So with that, I hope to see you guys at the jet by 5AM tomorrow morning. Meeting dismissed.”

Without so much as a word, the two of you guys head out into your respective rooms, preparing for a short but dreadful mission.

As you suit up waiting for the jet to land, Jay comes up to you, dropping the map of the base onto your lap. “Here’s the map of the base, all you have to do is get to the panel room and extract the CCTV footage. Don’t fuck it up.”

You purse your lips and furrow your brows, feigning annoyance. “You’re giving this to me as if Jungwon didn’t already explain the mission. I know what I have to do, I’ve done it before.”

As the jet comes to a stop, you turn to Jay, “You better not fuck up either. The moment someone spots you, we’re both dead.”

"You saying you have no trust in me sweetheart?" He states with his hand to his chest, acting hurt.

"Yup."

You both enter the facility without any difficulties, which garnered suspicion. “Everything seems a bit too easy,” you mutter to Jay. “The only time I’d actually agree with you,” he responds. “Just get to the panel room as quickly as you can, then we’ll be out of here.”

“Roger that.”

Finding the panel room was just as easy as breaking and entering into the facility. It’s as if people expected us to come here. “Hey, Jake,” you speak into the comms, “Can you scan the surroundings? Check if there are any traps around or inside the base.”

“Copy.”

Looking at the screens in the panel room, it wasn’t hard to locate where to collect all the drives. But it just didn’t make sense as to why it’s been so easy. No traps, no guards, it was just given to you.

“Seems like there’s no suspicious activity in or outside the base,” Jake speaks into your ear. “Y/N, just get the CCTV footage, and do it quickly. The longer we’re here, the more time people can come and get us.” Jay says.

“Ok, ok, calm your tits, Jay, I have the USB in.”

Watching as the files move to the USB, you take a better look at your surroundings. The room was just like any old panel room in these abandoned bases. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but normally by this time, guards would come and start shooting, or traps would be set off. Yet nothing has happened. Maybe I’m overthinking it. This is an abandoned base anyways.

When watching the screen, a small red glow catches your eye in the corner of the far left camera. You had told Jake not to switch off all the cameras, just in case that set off an alarm. But the red glow was quite distracting. As if there was a camera recording you at that moment. But that shouldn’t be. Jake said there was nothing suspicious about this room. Must be some random glitch on the screen.

You can’t help but stay focused on the red glow that was beeping. Almost like it was using Morse code. It was sort of hypnotizing. It drew you in, blocking all your senses. You walked closer towards the panel, unbeknownst to the smell of something burning and the sound of Jay yelling into your ear.

“Y/N,” Jay spoke urgently, “we need to evacuate. Y/N evacuate now, the mission’s been compromised.”

Smoke fills your vision and nostrils, not being able to recognize your surroundings. As you close your eyes, the last thing you remember is the feeling of being lifted off the ground.

Opening your eyes, you recognize the bright white walls of the compound’s infirmary. You groan as you sit upright on the bed, not remembering a single thing from the mission. One second you’re extracting CCTV files, and the next second you’re in bed with a pounding headache and what seems to be a bunch of patched-up bruises and cuts. Well, now I feel like shit.

“Knock, knock.”

You see an unscathed Jay by the door, with a steaming mug in his hand. “Can I come in?”

You grunted as a response.

“I bought you hot chocolate, Jungwon says it’s your favourite,” he says, looking at you expectantly.

You reach your hand out to receive the hot chocolate. “What are you doing here?” you say after blowing on the hot chocolate. He shrugged, “Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“That’s surprising to hear. I would’ve thought you were sent here by Jungwon.”

“I mean, he did tell me about the hot chocolate.”

An awkward silence filled the room, with the sound of you occasionally sipping your hot chocolate.

“What actually brings you here, Jay?” you asked. “I’m sure you aren’t here to just silently watch me drink hot chocolate. You here to tell me that I finally failed a mission like I inevitably would?” you say with discontent.

He gives you a displeased look. “I—” “Or are you here to laugh in my face and tell me how I suck at my job and need to go back to being an agent in training? Because whatever it is, I just need you to tell me straight up.”

“I wasn’t gonna say any of that,” he trailed off. “Is that what you really think I’m here to say? Do you think of me that lowly?”

“I mean, you tell me, you clearly don’t think I’m a good enough agent. Always avoiding doing missions with me and always nitpicking on every little thing I do.” You start to list, your hot chocolate being long forgotten.

“Y/N, when have I ever told you you weren’t a good enough agent?” Jay questions.

You think back to the prior interactions you’ve had with Jay, realizing he never straight up told you that. You shrugged, “Look, just because you haven’t said it, your actions have definitely said otherwise.”

“Cut the bullshit Y/N, you know I’m not one to drop inconspicuous hints if I hated somebody. If I hate someone, they’ll 100% know from my words.”

You turn to him expectantly. “Then why do you hate me so much, Jay?”

He shifts to the side, avoiding direct eye contact with you. “Like I said, I don’t hate you.” Time seems to slow down as you watch him hesitantly speak up. “Funny enough, it’s actually the opposite.”

“What’s the opposite?”

“You think I hate you because you’re a bad agent, but it’s actually the opposite.” He states. “You’re too good of an agent, actually, it’s as if you've been training your whole life.” He shakes his head. “I guess I was sort of, I don’t know—”

“Jealous?”

“More like intimidated.” He finally turns his body toward you, picking up the courage to look at you. “I mean, it’s kind of embarrassing when an agent who’s only been trained for what? 10 years?” You nod. “And then me, someone who was literally programmed to kill, seeing you. God, I felt like I was useless.”

“You’re not entirely useless. You help me train when I imagine your face on the punching bag.” You joke.

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Good to know you think of me.”

A silence fills the room. The silence that was once filled with tension was now somewhat comfortable.

Jay begins to speak up. “I know my reasoning isn’t entirely valid. But I do want to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, which may have been a bad idea considering the headache that is still there. “You’re honestly good, Jay. It’s all in the past.”

“Hopefully we can start over.” He suggests. “Maybe we can make that punching bag scenario real. You can hit me as much as you want.”

“I’ll definitely take you up on that offer.” You reply.

He begins to stand up. “I’ll let you rest up now. You inhaled a lot of the chemicals the other day.”

“Thanks, Jay.”

“Anytime, Y/N.”

As you watch him leave the room, you reach out for the hot chocolate that is now cooled down. Funny, I don’t think I’ve ever told Jungwon hot chocolate is my favourite.

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chuelectrico20 · 3 days ago

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Another Movie Tails analysis

Yes, another one because I think his writing is interesting. This time it's about his relation to the Wachowski family now far warning it's more with Sonic and Knuckles but I got little tidbits with Tom and Maddie that I think are important.

Firstly it's important to establish that game Tails and movie Tails are different characters and that comes down to their introduction, movie Tails is way more independent and self-reliant. From the get-go, Tails is living on his own (likely away from his village no parents in sight or ever mentioned), and all his gear compared to his game counterparts' introduction mech and transportation is heavily weapon and defense-based(boomerang, ray gun, anti-gravity thing) so it's safe to say he doesn't hesitate to defend himself and how leaving his planet was an easy choice. Add to that Tails compared to Knuckles and Sonic had a choice to leave home, nothing like losing family or friends since everyone in his village thought of him as a freak, and if we go by the novel and Drone Home bits of dialog he was likely abandoned by his family. These are bits that I already went over in this thread about movie Tail Insecurities and why the way he acts in these films so read that if you want. The main takeaway now is what that means with his interactions with his family and I do mean family while Tails in his mind would hesitate to call anyone family because of how he perceives himself no doubt in anyone minds that they love the little guy as their brother and their kid.

Let's start with Sonic, iconic duo we know. Again though movie Sonic and Tails don't have that same type of bond like game Sonic and Tails, moreso game Sonic acts both as a guardian/brother/mentor towards Tails being that Sonic helped Tails by inspiring him to become better and practically raising him throughout their interactions to where now Sonic can crash over at Tails place whenever, a real special unbreakable bond. Movie Sonic is more childish and less of a guardian and more of a big brother who just wants to have fun with his bro more than anything and Tails gladly accepts this (as shown in Drone Home). Tails can come of more mature than Sonic and gets more annoyed by Sonics antics but as shown throughout movie 3 he understands that's just how Sonic is, Tails admires Sonic no doubt about it, them being so different compared to other aliens like them makes them get along and even if they can easily get on each other's nerves more easily compared to their game counterparts they still have one another back when it matters. Sonic loves having Tails around, Tails is basically the reason why Knuckles and Sonic get along, how Sonic survives his reencounter with Eggman, why Sonic starts realizing he has alot more growing up to do, he's the catalyst for so much and more importantly how Sonic realizes he has a family now.

"I'm really glad you're here Tails."

"I'm glad I'm here too Sonic."

Tails and Knuckles I'm really happy also get to have a relationship that's individual from Sonic. Knuckles actually shows a lot of respect towards Tails even after getting run over by him likewise Tails recognizes Knuckles as a powerful warrior known throughout the galaxy that plane scene between actually says alot on how Knuckles and Tails are willing to get along with anyone so long if they have the sane goal in mind and even then Tails is still hesitate with Knuckles (for obvious reasons lol) though their teamwork shines through in that final act of movie 2 even getting to team up to specifically distract Eggman. Afterwards they both get along extremely well, at the baseball end scene where Knuckles carries Tails on his shoulder, in Drone Home with Knuckles being so direct in calling Tails monolog sad, or movie nights where it's established how often Knuckles gets scared and automatically grabs Sonic and Tails hands out of fear (little detail with Tails already eyeing Knuckles hand even before he grabs it) no doubt they're comfortable around each other. The biggest show of their relationship is definitely when Knuckles comes to Tails defense after Sonic in an emotional state tells off Tails after trying to comfort him. It shows that Tails is just a kid at the end of the day even if he's mature for his age and Knuckles emotional maturity being the oldest of the 3 and the most experienced.

"Ha ha! He does look like a Pokémon! Pika~ pika~!"

The Team in general is important to Tails throughout movie 3. He’s the one that goes along with the name Team Sonic, the one that reprimands Sonic for going off on his own, the one that explains his dynamic with Stone as the gadget guy and the one that desperately tries to hold on to it after Sonic tells him off stating, "I thought the three of us were a team? I thought that’s what made us special?" Though after their argument and everything settles Tails and Knuckles save Sonic and when all three of them are together in the fields it shows how much they all truly care for each other. I think specifically Tails in that scene shows how much of a little kid he is, he’s so so small in Knuckles arms, he’s the closest to look like he’s about to cry at Sonic’s apology and the motion from both Sonic and Knuckles to bring it in without saying a word, yeah he’s found his home.

"How about, just Team."

Tom and Maddie get a section together because sadly Tails has the least amount of on screen interactions with them (Tails spin off Tails spin off Tails spin off please) but the dialogue in reference to Tails helps in understanding their relation to one another. The Wachowski’s obviously view the kids as their children as stated in movie 2, Knuckles spin off, and movie 3. Specifically in the Knuckles spin off when Knuckles is grounded after basically turning their living room into an arena Tails points out how Knuckles throne was made at of "our car" which is just a really sweet detail of how at home Tails feels. Then in movie 3 in the infiltration scene they’re the ones that follow Tails plan the most without pushback unlike the other two silly scene but they really trust Tails and his ideas. Before that the scene at the race Tom mentions his brothers and healthy sibling rivalry again showing how much they consider all of them their children and the comparison in Tom wanting to instill good values for all of them. And final tidbit in the German dub of Sonic movie 3 Tails calls Tom daddy in the final group hug scene aghhhhhh my heart.

I think movie Tails is seriously under appreciated and all too dismissed by many because of his standing next to the other characters with their moments but I hope again you see Tails is interesting in his own right maybe not with flashy or grandiose moments like the others but his smaller actions that move the plot of these stories and effects on other characters again movie 2 wouldn’t happen at all if not for Tails I just think he’s great and I know his family think he’s great too, and hopefully he also feels loved despite his insecurities.

#sonic movie #sonic movie 3 #sonic cinematic universe #tails the fox #tails wachowski #sonic wachowski #knuckles the echidna #knuckles wachowski #tom wachowski #maddie wachowski #sonic the hedghog movie #sonic movie 2 #sonic movie universe #movie tails #movie sonic #movie knuckles #analysis #movie analysis

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moonlight-tmd · 1 day ago

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NSFW thought #2!

Prowlbee watching an animal documentary- well, more like Prowl watching it while Bee's laying on his lap and playing his pocket console game.

The documentary itself is something about lions or something, Bee's not really listening. What catches his attention tho is when the narrator's voice says something about mating. He glances over and sure enough, there are lions going at it while the narrator explains something about breeding habits and whatnot.

He'd care little about it if it wasn't for the tiny detail- he felt Prowl heat up when the moment played. A sneaky peek at his face showed a slightly flustered expression.

Bee knew Prowl liked to play pretend animals when it came to certain things and this alone gave him an idea...

For the rest of the day he kept Prowl from entering his own room, be it something about a delivery or tending the garden or even going for a walk alone. It was kinda suspicious on Prowl's behalf, clearly Bee was up to something and wouldn't tell him what. He hopes it didn't involve him randomly deciding to redecorate his room like last time...

Prowl finished the last of tasks he had to do and came back home rather late, everyone was asleep at that point. He headed to his room for recharge. When he opened the door he was met with a surprise- in the middle of the room was a pile of blankets and pillows, carefully arranged into a nest. There were fake candles and various balms and polishes laying around, he could smell the lit incense filling the room, it was different from the usual ones he used, this one smelled more... sensual, if he had to describe it.

There was something blinking in the nest, slowly he walked over and picked it up- it was a blinking light ball, one Bee sometimes used to play 'track hound' with. He heard movement in the room, before he could turn around and see he discovered the purpose of the ball- distraction.

Bee has pounced on him and firmly held him down in the nest. No matter how much Prowl struggled he couldn't get him off, Bee had him down for good. He tried to speak but was efficiently shut up with an engine growl.

Bee nuzzled into him while his engine rumbled right against Prowl's spine strut. Each attempt to speak up and ask what's happening was met with another growl, Bee's cuddles were becoming more rough and at one point he started nibbling at his neck and shoulders.

Bee was acting more like an animal than a mech, with a clear intent in mind. Prowl has managed to connect the dots somewhat, but his mind refused to make a coherent thought. He didn't know if it was the incense or the fact his charge was getting extremely high because of this.

Bee maneuvered them into a convenient position and gently grinded against Prowl's panels while letting out another low growl. No rough motions, no groping- a way to tell Prowl he waits for consent on his behalf. And consent he did give, in a moment his panels opened and began leaking.

He was stuck head down, aft up and propped on his knees. Bee opened his own panels and began kissing his neck and back as he slowly put it in. It started slow but soon Bee was pounding into Prowl, leaning as much weight against him to keep him pinned down, his engine revved wildly while Prowl let out whines and tiny revs of his own. Bee held him tight, bit every inch of his protoform he could reach, rubbing his newly acquired scent from one of the balms all over. Prowl was his and only his.

They went at it for several hours, Bee keeping up the stamina while Prowl was long spent, he didn't let him off his spike until he himself was running on fumes. They only crashed to recharge somewhere before dawn...

Obviously they slept in late, Bee got up to bring them both oil but the moment he stepped out into the common room he was met with a thoroughly annoyed rest of his team. Turns out they were going at it so loud they woke up the rest of the household and wouldn't let them sleep, thank Primus Sari wasn't staying over for the night cuz it would've been a very difficult and embarrassing situation to explain. All scoldings went out the window the moment Prowl stepped out with a blanket draped over his shoulders- he looked straight out of a car crash and all of them had their jaws hanging at the sight before he quickly retreated back to his room. They knew the two were banging, but never in a million years would they think it was Prowl on the receiving end. Bee might have gotten a bit more respect from them because of it.

After an awkward talk about discretion and some quick repairs and cleaning they went back to their nest. After last night Prowl was very much sore, Bee has gathered all the things he prepared for aftercare and gave him a thorough massage with all sorts of grooming products. He even pampered him with kisses and treats and little pet names.

If the Well had a special place for everybody then this right here was Prowl's, everyday could look like this- well, minus the not being able to walk properly. Prowl had a wobble in his walk for few days after that. "Geez, how many times did you run him over?" Bulkhead joked whenever Prowl walked by to get something, Bee never got over the boost his pride got from that.

#maccadam #tfa #prowlbee #naughty tag #valveplug

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thisantithesis · 2 months ago

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klance fic that focuses on the time keith spent on the space whale and the horrors that he went through and then learning how to reintegrate with the team again after being gone for two years when for them it was only a couple months pls save meeeeeee

#for years i’ve thought about an au like this #and i’m sure someone has written one before but i have such a specific image of it in my head and i haven’t found a fic like that yet #like the idea of the time dilation and how much older keith is when he comes back…#the team not knowing how to act around him because he’s so different #would i make up things that happened on the space whale to create angst?? yes ofc i would #i always love putting my favorite characters through the horrors #BUT the idea is something i keep coming back to and im obsessed #lance especially being affected because he’s so used to being on even ground with keith but now keith is older and taller and seems much #more mature than he used to be and keith refuses to talk about what happened during those two years but lance just wants to /know/#anyways i won’t write a whole dissertation in the tags about it but i really need a fic like this #m rambles #klance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #voltron

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homuleelee · 6 months ago

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rodimus really does come off as the type to actively avoid romantic relationships despite desiring one deep down due to the fear of commitment

#the fear of committing to someone knowing how impulsively destructive he can be for himself and others around him #but also the commitment of having to leave himself open and vulnerable when he is so worried about how people perceive him #the way rodimus interacts with others in general is just so interesting to me #it's easier for him to commit to a team of people because he already knows how to carry himself as a loud energetic and charismatic leader #otherwise his understanding of friendships and relationships is really so shaky i dont think he knows how to properly act on it #talking about idw roddy is always a mess (I say fondly) because he has so many different layers I can peel off #rodimus #leelee speaks

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trentcrimminallybeautiful · 2 years ago

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Okay so Trent absolutely knows shorthand and writes most of his notes in it right?

I think he probably also has horrible handwriting, he writes to fast and it makes his words incomprehensible. He's also dramatic enough to modify the shorthand he knows to ensure nobody knows what he's writing.

My point to all of this is, imagine him forgetting his notebook somewhere and someone from Richmond finds it, maybe Jamie or Roy or Rebecca and they're like "neat let's see what he wrote about me" only to be hit by complete nonsense (to them). Even the bits where he actually wrote something out are just indecipherable scribbles.

I think this is hilarious, the idea has been amusing me all day and I wanted to share it

what's hilarious is we have the same braincell, i literally also was like "does trent NEED to have personalized shorthand that's some sort of elaborate code he knows by heart so that no one can read his notes even if they had time? no. does he? definitely. if confronted he would claim that it's for journalistic integrity reasons, but truthfully it kind of makes him feel like a spy and he likes it." also because while some of it is genuine notes, some of it is just like. stupid shit. grocery list of shit he forgot to get earlier. jotting down a terrible pun ted made or some detail about something ted likes ("taking notes on your crush is both normal and regular behavior so long as no one ever sees or finds about it" trent reminds himself repeatedly)

and it's so much funnier if he also just has terrible handwriting and needn't have bothered bc no one could read it anyway. (same, trent, my brain goes faster than my hands. one time my dad's doctor looked at my handwriting when i was like, ten, and was like "wow, and you're smart kid, too. you should be a doctor when you grow up" dlfkgjdh)

ANYWAY i love the idea of them actively trying to snoop and it's just. complete gibberish. especially if then they're just like frowning down at it and then pan to behind them and trents like "looking for something" slgkjdfg

#ive actually been half brewing a fic about trent and his notebook/shorthand called stenography #so hmmmmm.#also theyd all have such different Snooping Behavior #jamie tries sooooo hard to act casual. flips open page with pen.#roy just keeps staring at it from the corner of his eye before going FUCK andthen just getting up and fully opening it #etc #also picturing. the entire team gathered around one (1) notebook #bumbercatch is now attempting to Decode It with his Mad Codebreaking Skills #and trent just walks in like oh i left my noteb--whaaaaat is happening #and it's the entire team all giving him the Deer In The Headlights look. crowded around his notebook.#and hes like. ................... and they're like ................#ALSO see #trent: you want to know a secret? the notebook is only about fifty percent notes for the book.#the other fifty percent? notes on ted. extensive notes on terrible puns he's made and the like. this here? this line?#this notes that he said his favorite muffin is blueberry. i brought him a blueberry muffin the next morning and said it was just an extra.#this bit? this is just 'trent lasso' written three times in a row. next to it i seem to have scribbled 'why are his eyes so pretty'. hm #jamie in an awed whisper: why are you telling me this #trent leaning in: Because No One Will Believe You.#anyway thats how jamie and trent become friends #he can respect that #confuses the hell out of roy though #askbox #trent crimm #tedtrent #tedependent

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jester-lover · 4 months ago

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What if the dorm leaders had a clumsy, klutzy, forgetful, and lazy female s/o that somehow knows how to do impossible tasks (like cooking up a feast, repairing a car, play 10 different instruments, getting good grades, etc) without even trying?

Dorm Leaders with a Talented yet Lazy Girlfriend

CWs: a tinge of jealousy, fluff and a little insecurity. Fem! Reader, s/o is basically one of those overpowered anime protags lol.

Riddle

He adores you so much as his girlfriend, but Riddle can’t help but be a little jealous of you. The sheer lack of effort you put into anything and everything you do compared to the overall success you have goes against everything he was raised to believe.

Riddle might push you to be a little more studious but ends up finding it meaningless. You simply have a talent for beating people who’ve put in considerably more effort than you have.

Those miraculous acts of preparation you do, such as preparing full meals and such, come in especially handy when his dorm is in chaos before a tea party.

Seeing you whip up the tea, set the table, and paint all the roses in record time, it was like seeing a phoenix rise from the ashes. He was so bewildered he just stood there, mouth slightly agape.

The klutzy nature you display fits right in with his dorm, so he isn’t put off by it at all.

“S/O, remember you’ve got a history test today…I know you’ll do great…”

Leona

At the start of your relationship, there is a comfort the two of you have in your shared sense of calm. You’re both chill people with slow lives, living comfortably. The second he learns how effortlessly you succeed at life, though? He can’t help but be a little jealous.

Very verbally supportive, but silently fuming until he realizes just how ridiculous he’s being. Then he’s bragging about you to anyone who’s even a little curious.

Leona’s event planning skills are…unfortunate to say the least. So whenever the two of you have guests over or are hosting some type of event, you take over.

Clumsiness is also something he isn’t used to; lion beastmen are agile in nature, so he tends to help you in terms of holding things and overall balance. Leona insists you hand over any heavy or easily breakable object to him.

“Do you want me to carry that? Your hands are shaking again…”

Azul

You two definitely met because he deemed you an easy target for one of his contracts, only to be embarrassed and slightly enamored when you broke apart each aspect of it and tried to negotiate a better deal for yourself.

He respects how multifaceted you are, especially when it comes to your talents. Azul might even employ you to play light background music for the lounge.

If your talents extend to sports, he’s going to beg for advice.

“So you don’t even practice or anything? And you made the team? What do you mean you’ve never played—

On the topic of grades, he gets a little freaked out. You’ve been here for like a month, and you’ve learned all of Twisted Wonderland’s history already? Are you some kind of malfunctioning robot?

Azul also doesn’t care about your lazy nature; nap around his office all you want.

Kalim

You two are quite similar in disposition and overall vibes, but when it comes to grades, you’re way better off than he is.

The amount of stress you both put Jamil in before you locked in and cleaned out that entire dorm was unbelievable. I mean, a full-course dinner that he didn’t have to make; he’s begging you to marry Kalim at this point.

He would be the type to leave you sticky notes reminding you of your tasks and goals, with little encouraging messages.

“Don’t forget you have a presentation today! How’d you do all 20 slides in ten minutes? Who cares? You’ll do great! :)”

Vil

This would be a tricky situation.

Vil believes in pushing yourself to reach your ideal goals; to sweat and tire is to prove your worth to him. So to see you basically lose at every step of the way and still win at life is unbelievable. I mean, you forget every quiz date you get and still score hundreds every single time.

Vil also appreciates your musical skills; he’ll encourage you to play complex melodies as he gets ready in the morning, waking him up for the day ahead.

His own schedule takes time from his studies, but he also scores high on everything. He thinks your grades come from a good sense of intuition.

“Schatz, how could you possibly have scored a hundred on this when you skipped all but 2 classes?”

Laziness is something he dislikes overall, but he can’t help but find you adorable when you drift off to sleep in his dorm room as opposed to getting some job done for Crowley. He likes making you feel safe.

Idia

He thinks you’re a natural good luck charm; I mean, everything you do seems to fall into place!

Idia is also kind of lazy, so he won’t complain about your work ethic. Your clumsy nature, on the other hand, worries him because of all the one-of-a-kind tech in his room.

Once Idia finds out how good you are at, well, practically everything, he’ll get a little self-conscious. I mean, you don’t even have to try, and you just kinda win? Why stay with a shut-in like him?

You shut that down pretty quick, and he learns to just enjoy your talented self. He’s got a girlfriend; he’s already like, halfway more successful than most of his internet buddies.

Idia would adore it. If you played some type of electric instrument, like a synth or an electric guitar, he’d buy you the best one on the market just to hear some of his favorite intro songs played by you.

“S/O, how does a keytar sound? Of course, you already know how to play that.”

Malleus

Grades and all that don’t really matter to Malleus, as he’s also just naturally talented at everything, similarly to you. It's your clumsy, human nature that enchants him. Fae like him are naturally balanced, elegant, and refined; they don’t just fall over or knock things down like you have a habit of doing.

“You’ve just done what humans call ‘eating dirt,’ did you not, Beastie? Intriguing…”

The concept of laziness is also new to him; he would have fun dragging you along to your tasks and seeing the looks of shock on people’s faces as you come riding into class on the Prince of the Briar Valley’s shoulders.

Malleus is also probably trained in several instruments, and he’d love to play duets or help you acquire more rare, niche musical tools.

People who’ve been around as long as he has don’t often deem things impossible, but the shocking speed at which you managed to fix the decaying Ramshackle dorm, cook dinner each night for Grim and yourself, and deal with everyone’s problems, including your own, has him questioning if you’re human at all.

2K notes · View notes

jungwnies · 5 months ago

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F1 GRID | the daughter of a rival team principal

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : the daughter of a team prinicipal finds love in another team ୨ৎ : requested : yes

୨ৎ : genre : romance ୨ৎ : tws : father-daughter arguing ୨ৎ : word count : 4799 (~685 words each)

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was so fun to write i love it (charles was a personal favorite >.<)

ʚ・max verstappen

you’ve always known what was expected of you. as the daughter of mercedes f1’s team principal, your life has been one of luxury, pressure, and constant public scrutiny. your father’s legacy has always loomed large over you, and you’ve been trained your whole life to uphold it. but tonight, at a charity event during the off-season, something shifts.

you never expected to meet him. max verstappen—red bull’s star driver, known for his dry humor and sharp wit—has always been in the rival camp. you’ve heard about him, but when you finally talk to him, it’s different. his banter is sharp, but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes your heart race. it’s not the usual flirtation you’ve experienced with other drivers; it’s deeper, more genuine.

a conversation turns into a quiet moment away from the crowd, and before you know it, you’re both caught in an unspoken connection. you try to convince yourself it’s just the heat of the moment, but the chemistry between you two is undeniable. as the night ends, the weight of your family’s rivalry presses on you. you can’t be with him. not him. not a red bull driver.

but the connection is too strong. as the weeks go by, you find yourself texting max in secret, sneaking around after races, and spending stolen hours together. you’re falling for him, and it terrifies you. you’re not just risking your own heart; you’re risking your family, your reputation, and the wrath of the media. but when max looks at you with those eyes—full of intensity and something more—you can’t stop yourself.

the pressure builds with every passing day. your family expects you to uphold mercedes’ honor, and you know your father would never approve. meanwhile, max—who’s used to constant scrutiny—becomes frustrated. he’s tired of hiding, tired of sneaking around, and you start to feel the weight of it all. the secrecy is suffocating, but you’re scared of what will happen if the world finds out.

then, during a crucial race weekend, everything explodes. mercedes and red bull are neck-and-neck, both fighting for the title. after the race, max wins, and mercedes is left picking up the pieces. that night, you and max decide it’s enough. you’re done hiding.

you sit across from your father and max’s team principal, the air thick with tension. your father’s face is a mixture of shock and fury as he demands to know why you would choose max. “he’s from red bull,” he says, as if that’s enough of a reason for you to walk away. max’s principal isn’t much better, questioning how this relationship could possibly work.

but max speaks up. “i’m not just a driver,” he says, his voice calm but unwavering. “i’m with her because i love her. i’m not hiding anymore.”

the room falls into a heavy silence. your father’s eyes narrow, a flicker of frustration crossing his features, but as he looks at you—really looks at you—he sees something he can’t ignore. the sincerity in your eyes, the depth of your feelings for max, is undeniable. this isn’t a passing phase or a rebellious act. it’s real.

“you really love my daughter?” your father’s voice is no longer harsh, but laced with something else—caution, perhaps even a hint of understanding.

max doesn’t hesitate. “i do. i love your daughter.”

your father exhales sharply, the weight of his words lingering in the air. “if you ever break her heart, i swear to god, i’ll make sure your engine never sees the finish line again.”

max, looking both relieved and earnest, nods. “i would never, sir. i’d never hurt her.”

over time, both families begin to soften. the media circus doesn’t go away, but the tension between your families does. slowly, the world starts to accept what you already knew: love doesn’t care about the rivalry between teams. it doesn’t care about the rules.

max wins another race. this time, you’re there, not hiding, not pretending. the cameras flash around you, and you stand by his side, proud. he looks at you with that same intensity, but now, it’s not a secret. your love is out in the open, stronger than ever.

and as you walk off the podium together, hand in hand, you realize that no matter what the future holds, you’ve already won. together.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you’ve always been part of the f1 world, living in the shadow of your father, the red bull team principal. but one night, everything changes when you're forced to attend a press conference with him. you’re trying to stay out of the spotlight, your eyes gliding over the room, until they land on him: lewis hamilton. despite the rivalry between red bull and mercedes, something shifts when your gazes meet—an undeniable connection, one that neither of you can ignore.

after the press conference ends, lewis, ever the charmer, approaches you with that trademark grin. “so, you're the red bull princess, huh?” he says, his voice playful, though there's something deeper in his eyes. you nod, taken aback by the intensity of the moment.

"you don’t look like the type to be stuck behind a desk," he adds with a smirk, his tone light but his gaze searching yours.

you laugh, trying to hide how your heart skips a beat. "guess i’m not."

the next few weeks are a blur of stolen glances and quiet exchanges. with every conversation, every private moment, you both feel the connection deepening, though the tension between your families grows. your father’s rivalry with mercedes runs deep, and the last thing you need is for the media to catch wind of anything. but as the whispers start, you can’t fight the pull between you and lewis any longer.

the secrecy wears on you both. the constant sneaking around, meeting in hidden corners, avoiding the constant press. it’s like living a double life, and eventually, it becomes too much. you feel suffocated by the pressure of hiding your love, and lewis, frustrated and restless, isn’t happy either.

then comes a pivotal race. both red bull and mercedes are facing setbacks, and the competition is fierce. the tension is at an all-time high. after the race, the world is still buzzing with the results, but you can't think about anything else. you need to see him.

as the race concludes, you rush through the paddock, your heart racing. cameras flash all around you, but you don’t care. you spot him—lewis, standing in the pit, grinning like he just won the world. without thinking, you run straight to him. the noise of the world fades as you leap into his arms, and he catches you effortlessly, spinning you around in a burst of joy. it’s a moment of pure freedom—a declaration that you’re done hiding.

the cameras capture everything: your arms around him, your laughter echoing through the chaos. the media goes wild. your father, watching the broadcast from his office, doesn’t know whether to laugh or shout. he stares at the screen, eyes widening in disbelief as you and lewis embrace on live tv.

"what the hell…?" he mutters under his breath. his fists clench, watching his daughter—his little girl—defy everything he’s worked for, the legacy of red bull and its rivalry with mercedes. for a moment, he’s stunned, unsure of what to think.

later, when you sit down with him, you brace for the confrontation. but instead of anger, he looks at you with a quiet understanding in his eyes. “you’re my little girl,” he starts, voice softer than you expect. “i’ve spent my life trying to protect you, to keep you away from this madness. but if this is who you love… then i’ll support you. even if it’s from a rival team.”

you feel the weight of his words settle in your chest. the rivalry still exists, but in that moment, you realize that family comes first. your father’s approval means more than anything, and his acceptance gives you the freedom to live your truth.

ʚ・george russell

it’s a late afternoon at the track, the sun casting long shadows over the paddock as the roar of engines fills the air. you’re standing near your father, the principal of red bull racing, watching the teams prepare for another race. it’s business as usual—except, today, something feels different.

as you glance around, your eyes land on him: george russell. mercedes’ promising young driver, always composed and focused. but today, it’s not the usual competitive edge you notice. instead, you spot a technical issue on his car, a minor glitch in the system that could cost him on track. without thinking, you stride forward, your pulse quickening with a mix of adrenaline and nerves.

“george,” you call, your voice cutting through the air.

he looks up, surprised to see you, but a flicker of recognition crosses his face. “y/n,” he says with a slight grin. “what’s going on?”

you point to his car. “there’s an issue with the engine cooling system. you need to recalibrate the sensors, or it’s going to overheat during the race.”

george raises an eyebrow. “and what would you know about that?”

you shrug, a playful smile on your lips. “i come with my dad to work almost everyday, i'd like to think i’ve picked up a few things.”

he laughs softly, shaking his head. “i guess i’ll trust you then. but i’m not sure if i should be worried about red bull’s tech advice.”

“don’t worry,” you reply, “i won’t sabotage you… too much.”

the banter flows easily between you, and there’s an undeniable chemistry that neither of you can ignore. but as you walk away, your mind starts to race. you’re intrigued by him—his dry wit, his easy smile—but you know better than to get too close. your father’s rivalry with mercedes runs deep, and you’ve been raised to see them as the enemy, not a potential partner.

over the next few weeks, you and george find yourselves crossing paths more often. each meeting is brief, a stolen moment outside the paddock or in the midst of chaos during a race weekend. you talk about cars, racing strategies, and even your shared interests beyond the track. there’s an easy connection, a bond that grows deeper with every conversation.

the secrecy of your meetings becomes a burden. you’re both constantly looking over your shoulders, afraid of getting caught. the fear of your families finding out and the potential consequences of your secret relationship weigh on you. yet, with every stolen kiss and quiet exchange, your feelings for george only grow stronger. the risk of it all feels worth it when he’s around.

however, the stress of hiding the relationship begins to strain you both. george’s success on the track only adds pressure. every victory for him is a reminder of the ever-present distance between you two. your father’s disapproval weighs heavily on your conscience, and it’s starting to affect your work.

during a pivotal race, both teams face challenges—red bull’s strategy falters, and mercedes struggles with tire issues. you and george exchange secret messages, working together to help each other’s teams without crossing the line.

as both teams fight to salvage their positions, your collaboration becomes more than technical support—it’s a defiant stand against the rivalry. the race ends with both teams barely staying afloat, but you and george share a quiet triumph, knowing you made a difference.

the media catches on, and the truth comes to light. both families are shocked, but as they see the depth of your love, your father’s anger softens. slowly, the walls between red bull and mercedes begin to crumble.

you and george publicly announce your relationship, standing together before the media, no longer hiding. the rivalry may still exist, but your love has bridged the gap, and together, you step into a new chapter where love, not competition, drives you forward.

later, your father calls you and george into his office, a wry smile on his face. after a moment of silence, he looks at you both, then shrugs. “i suppose if you’re really in love, i can’t stop you. just know… i can’t promise i won’t use my daughter to sabotage mercedes from time to time.”

you and george laugh, and your father chuckles, his eyes softening. "but seriously," he adds, "i trust you both. just don’t make me regret it."

with that, the tension breaks, and for the first time, the future of both families feels a little brighter.

ʚ・carlos sainz

the press room was buzzing with the usual chatter—drivers answering questions, team principals looking sharp, and the sound of cameras clicking at every moment. you were there as part of your father’s entourage, the daughter of mclaren’s team principal. you’d been to countless media events, but today, something felt different.

the crowd parted as a familiar face made his way through: carlos sainz, ferrari’s star driver. his warm smile met yours from across the room. you’d seen him race plenty of times, but there was something about his presence that stood out today—something that made your heart beat a little faster.

you’d heard stories of how intense the rivalry between mclaren and ferrari was. it was ingrained in you from a young age, something your father had hammered into your head. he was fierce about his loyalty to mclaren, and he expected nothing less from you. but despite that, the moment your eyes met carlos’s, you felt an undeniable pull.

he smiled at you, as if recognizing that spark too, and before long, the two of you found yourselves chatting during a brief lull in the press event. he was charming, his wit sharp, and his dry humor caught you off guard. you laughed more easily than you expected, feeling the weight of your father’s expectations and the animosity between your teams fade away in the warmth of his presence.

“you know,” carlos said with a grin, “i’ve always thought mclaren had some of the best engineers. too bad we’re always on opposite sides of the fight.”

you smirked. “guess it’s more fun that way, isn’t it? keeps things interesting.”

the chemistry between you was immediate, and in that brief conversation, you realized you wanted more. but you couldn’t—could you? your father would never approve. ferrari and mclaren had been bitter rivals for as long as anyone could remember. still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something real between you and carlos.

over the next few races, you both found ways to keep in touch, meeting up in secret whenever possible. the stolen moments became your escape, a brief reprieve from the weight of being the daughter of mclaren’s team principal and the strain of hiding your growing feelings for a ferrari driver. every touch, every glance was like a silent promise, and with each passing day, it became harder to keep things a secret.

but the pressure was mounting. the media was getting more curious about the subtle tension between you and carlos. you had to be careful. every word, every action had to be carefully measured.

then came the race that changed everything. the tension between mclaren and ferrari reached its peak. your team was struggling—strategy issues, tire troubles, nothing was going according to plan. and then there was carlos, pulling off a brilliant move and clinching the victory for ferrari. the crowd roared, but for you, the noise faded into the background. all you could focus on was the moment he crossed the finish line, knowing you couldn’t stay hidden anymore.

you rushed through the chaos, your heart pounding in your chest. the cameras were everywhere, but you didn’t care. you didn’t think. you just ran. when you reached him, you didn’t hesitate. you jumped into his arms, and in one swift motion, he spun you around, laughing in joy.

the world saw it all. it was a moment of defiance—no longer hiding your love for him, despite everything you’d been taught about team loyalty and rivalry. the media exploded, cameras flashing as they captured the intimate moment. the tension between mclaren and ferrari had never felt more real, and yet, in that moment, it didn’t matter. you were with carlos, and that was all that mattered.

back at the paddock, you could feel your father’s eyes on you from the distance. he hadn’t yet approached, but you knew the storm was coming. when he finally did, his expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched in frustration.

“what the hell is this?” he demanded, his voice low but sharp.

you took a deep breath, walking toward him. “dad, i… i’m in love with him.”

for a moment, the silence stretched between you. then, your father’s gaze softened, just a little. he let out a long sigh, glancing back at carlos, who was now waiting a few feet away, watching the exchange with uncertainty.

“you really love him?” your father asked, his voice unsteady for the first time.

you nodded, meeting his eyes. “i do. it’s not a fling, dad. i promise you.”

he stood there for a long moment, his gaze flicking back and forth between you and carlos. then, in a move that surprised you, he chuckled—a little bitterly, but still, a chuckle.

“well, if you’re serious about this, i guess i can’t stop you,” he said, the tension in his shoulders easing. “but don’t expect me to go easy on ferrari next season.”

you laughed, relief flooding through you. “deal.”

and just like that, the walls that had once seemed insurmountable between your world and carlos’s began to crumble. the rivalry between mclaren and ferrari wouldn’t disappear overnight, but maybe—just maybe—the future of racing didn’t have to be defined by the battles between teams.

as you stood there, hand in hand with carlos, you realized that love had bridged the gap. you weren’t just the daughter of mclaren’s team principal anymore. you were someone who had found something real, despite all the odds. and that was enough.

the road ahead would be challenging, but with carlos by your side, you were ready to face it all—together.

ʚ・charles leclerc

you’d spent your entire life draped in mclaren orange, fiercely loyal to your father’s team. everyone at the paddock knew you—not as just the team principal’s kid but as a sharp-tongued, quick-witted presence who had zero tolerance for nonsense. so, when charles leclerc, ferrari’s golden boy, casually strolled over during a media event and commented on your bold mclaren jacket, you didn’t miss a beat.

“bold choice for you to critique fashion,” you said, raising a brow. “didn’t you wear that same ferrari polo yesterday? or is it just your uniform now?”

charles blinked before breaking into a grin. “it’s called consistency, chérie. something mclaren might want to try with their cars.”

your jaw dropped, but his cheeky smirk made it impossible to stay annoyed. instead, you laughed. “touché, leclerc. but let’s see how consistent you are on track this weekend.”

it started with playful banter, but the more you ran into charles during race weekends, the more intrigued you became. beneath his smooth charm and the ferrari-red facade was a kind, passionate guy with dreams that matched yours. the chemistry was undeniable, and soon, stolen moments between press conferences turned into late-night conversations over text, and quiet dinners away from the spotlight.

every meeting felt like rebellion—not just against your father’s expectations but against the entire cutthroat nature of the sport. you’d grown up in this world of rivalries, but with charles, you started to see it differently. the sport didn’t have to divide people; it could bring them together.

still, you knew what you were risking. your father had built his career on the rivalry with ferrari, and your mother… well, she’d always been the level-headed one in the family.

the turning point came after a thrilling race in monaco. charles took p1 in a breathtaking finish, and as he climbed out of his car, the crowd roared. you stood at the edge of the podium celebrations, your heart racing—not for mclaren, but for him.

as he spotted you in the crowd, you didn’t care who was watching. you pushed past the cameras and ran up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him in front of everyone. the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in that moment.

later, when the footage made its inevitable rounds, your father called you into his office. his expression was thunderous, but before he could launch into a tirade, your mother interjected.

“oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “love is love. let her live her life.”

your father looked between you and your mother, his frustration melting into reluctant acceptance. “fine,” he said, sighing heavily. “but if this boy breaks your heart, i’ll have him banned from every paddock on earth. do you hear me?”

“loud and clear,” you said, grinning.

charles became more than just a rival driver; he became your partner. the road wasn’t easy—balancing the pressures of your families, the media, and the sport itself was a challenge—but together, you proved that love could transcend the boundaries of loyalty and rivalry.

in time, even your father warmed up to charles, admitting that maybe ferrari wasn’t entirely the enemy. your relationship became a symbol of change, inspiring others to see beyond the rivalries and focus on what truly mattered.

and as you stood with charles at the end of yet another race, hand in hand, you knew you’d crossed the finish line—not just for love but for a new chapter in both your lives.

ʚ・lando norris

you weren’t supposed to be here—not in the simulator room of a mclaren facility. as the daughter of ferrari’s team principal, you had absolutely no business wandering into enemy territory. but your father had dragged you to yet another pre-season media day, and curiosity (plus boredom) got the better of you.

what you didn’t expect was to find lando norris, slouched in the simulator seat, muttering under his breath as he reset for yet another lap.

“maybe if this sim wasn’t ancient, i wouldn’t be two-tenths off,” he grumbled, smacking the steering wheel in frustration.

you couldn’t help yourself. “ever thought about turning left for a change?”

lando’s head snapped up, startled, before his lips curved into a grin. “great. ferrari’s princess is here to give me driving tips. what’s next? you gonna show me how to do a pit stop?”

“someone has to,” you shot back, stepping into the room. “clearly, mclaren hasn’t figured it out yet.”

his laugh was genuine, softening the edges of his earlier frustration. “careful, or people will think you’re defecting.”

“oh, please,” you said with a smirk. “if i wanted to sabotage ferrari’s reputation, i’d just let you borrow one of our cars.”

what started as playful banter quickly spiraled into something more.

the teasing didn’t stop after that. you’d bump into him at races or media events, and without fail, lando always had something to say.

“so, which ferrari secret are you leaking today?” he’d whisper as you passed him in the paddock.

“wouldn’t you like to know?” you’d reply, raising an eyebrow.

but beneath the sarcasm, there was something else—an undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore. it wasn’t long before stolen moments turned into late-night chats, and teasing jabs softened into something deeper.

you started meeting in secret, far from the prying eyes of the paddock. sometimes it was at quiet restaurants in cities where races were held, other times it was just sitting on the tailgate of his rental car, talking about everything but racing.

“do you ever get tired of all the rivalry crap?” you asked one night, staring at the stars.

“all the time,” he admitted. “but i’ve got to say, it’s a lot more fun with you around. even if you’re technically the enemy.”

you rolled your eyes. “please. if i were the enemy, you wouldn’t still be here.”

the turning point came after a pivotal race. ferrari had a disastrous weekend—your father’s strategy calls backfired, and both cars finished far outside the points. meanwhile, lando claimed p1, his first win of the season.

you should’ve stayed in the ferrari garage, consoling your team and putting on a brave face. instead, your feet carried you to parc fermé, straight into lando’s arms.

“you’re not supposed to be here,” he teased, grinning as he pulled you into a hug.

“yeah, well, someone has to congratulate you properly,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest.

the cameras were everywhere, catching the moment as lando lifted you off the ground and spun you around. by the time your feet touched the ground, you knew there was no hiding anymore.

when your father saw the footage, his face turned a shade of red you didn’t think was physically possible. “you hugged him. on camera. at parc fermé,” he fumed, pacing the ferrari motorhome.

“yeah, dad, i did,” you said, arms crossed. “and i’m not sorry about it.”

your mother, sitting calmly in the corner, rolled her eyes. “oh, please, let them be. even if it’s… inconvenient.”

your father stopped pacing, glaring at her before turning to you. “fine. but if he breaks your heart, i swear i’ll sabotage his car myself.”

when you relayed the conversation to lando later, he laughed, pulling you close. “your dad’s terrifying, you know.”

“yeah, but he loves me,” you said with a grin. “and he’ll come around. eventually.”

lando kissed your forehead, his voice soft. “good, because i’m not going anywhere.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

the first time you met oscar piastri, it wasn’t under the most glamorous circumstances. as ferrari’s golden child, your father had sent you to oversee a joint project with mclaren, which was code for "keep an eye on the competition."

you were mid-yawn at the coffee machine in mclaren's hospitality area, waiting for the machine to finally churn out your much-needed cappuccino, when a voice interrupted you.

“some of us actually have work to do, you know.”

you turned, glaring at the culprit—none other than oscar piastri, standing there with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

“well, some of us need caffeine to tolerate said work,” you shot back, not budging.

he smirked. “right, because ferrari's success clearly hinges on how long you hog the coffee machine.”

“it’s only fair since mclaren’s been stealing all the glory lately,” you retorted, crossing your arms.

his laugh was low and unexpected, and it caught you off guard. “touché. but seriously, i need my coffee.”

you rolled your eyes but stepped aside, gesturing dramatically. “be my guest, glory-stealer.”

what started as sharp-witted banter evolved into something… else. the project forced you into countless meetings, strategy sessions, and shared moments of quiet in the paddock.

late nights at the track turned into debates about racing philosophies—he’d argue for precision, and you’d counter with passion. more than once, you’d find yourself splitting snacks when the paddock catering failed you both.

“you’re really committed to this whole ‘traitor’ thing, aren’t you?” he teased one evening, munching on a shared bag of chips.

“it’s called strategic sabotage,” you deadpanned, stealing another chip. “someone has to keep mclaren humble.”

he grinned, leaning a little closer. “you’re terrible at hiding your motives, you know.”

“and you’re terrible at hiding how much you love this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you.

he didn’t deny it.

after a grueling race weekend, where mclaren edged out ferrari in the standings, you found yourself in the paddock sulking with a bottle of water.

oscar appeared out of nowhere, slipping a folded piece of paper into your hand.

“don’t open it now,” he murmured before walking off, his usual nonchalant demeanor intact.

curious, you waited until you were alone to unfold it.

"we make a good team."

the words were simple, scribbled in his messy handwriting, but they hit you harder than you expected.

your flushed face must’ve been a dead giveaway because your father cornered you that evening.

“do you want to explain why you look like a lovesick teenager?” he asked, arms crossed.

you froze, trying to come up with a convincing lie, but he sighed before you could. “it’s piastri, isn’t it? of all the drivers—him?”

“it’s not—” you stopped yourself. lying wouldn’t work. “okay, yes, it’s him. and he makes me happy, dad.”

your father stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. finally, he muttered, “fine. but if he so much as breathes in the wrong direction, i'll send a hit out for him.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, relief flooding you.

when you saw oscar later that night, you couldn’t resist telling him about your father’s “conditions.”

oscar grinned as he wrapped an arm around you. “i think i can live with that.”

1K notes · View notes

earlgreylatte · 2 months ago

Text

When You’re Small

Where you run into the Teen Team. Mark continues to be annoying.

You’re seventeen. It’s been a year since you swapped out your white and mint green suit for black, and your ‘silly’ goggles, that resembled a snowboarders more than a hero’s, for a equally dark gas mask.

…You look a bit spooky.

(Art watches you take in your new outfit, “A bit…dark, don’t you think? Especially with the red lenses. Be careful, or you might be confused for a villain, kid,” He comments.

“I’d rather not be seen to begin with, and it’s cool. I look like the Courier from Fallout,” you reply, taking off the mask. “And good job, I can actually smell less for once.”

Your father found it a bit amusing that your nose was particularly sensitive. It was honestly overkill when paired with your advanced hearing.

“Fallout?”

“You’d love it, Art, not much fishing though, but there is crafting.”

“If you say so, kid.”)

You’ve started to work late into the night, so the black suits you just fine.

Cecil is reliable, you think, and even nice, sometimes.

He doesn’t toss you out to fight dragons and powered terrorists, instead having you deal with crime where you actually feel like you’re making a difference. Beating down scum that hurt women, children, and animals left you satisfied. You were confident that this work was good. And not just because they couldn’t fight back and use your own strength against you.

(Sometimes you want to stop holding back against them. To kill them. They’d deserve it. You don’t. Instead you beat them within an inch of their life. Just an inch.)

You know that he knows. That you ended a civilian’s life with your carelessness. He doesn’t comment on it. You don’t even know if they were able to ID the remains, you’re too scared to ask.

Your dad gives backhanded remarks on how you’re wasting your time. You’d reply that by his logic, every hero is wasting their time. He only grunts in annoyance when your mom shoots him a look.

You think he’s just acting all sulky because your costume no longer resembles his.

Despite the petty arguments, you continue to live your life day by day.

You meet your superpowered…peers after school, when you’re outside of costume. You had just been at comic book store, picking up the newest issue of ‘Seance Dog’ when you heard a crash from outside, followed by screams and cries. Peaking out, you immediately notice a snake like beast terrorize the streets.

You don’t really want to do this, but you’re not a big enough piece of shit to just walk away.

You duck out of the shop, pulling your costume from your bag, zooming to a nearby alleyway to change.

Flying out and feeling slightly uncomfortable having to wear your outfit in day hours, you zero in on the snake, its mouth open and elongated to a horrifying degree.

Huffing, you dive down fist first, hitting its centre, diverting its attention to you rather than the escaping civilians.

“I…really don’t have any quips prepared for snakes,” you note, dodging the beast’s tail, before grabbing it, lifting the snake into the air.

Rearing its head around, the snake bares its fangs at you, hissing.

“That’s not going to do anything,” you reply.

You’re quickly proven wrong when a second smaller, but still freakishly large snake exits its mouth as a projectile, causing you to drop it in surprise as you swerve out of the way.

“Oh, what the fuck,” you breathe out.

Sighing, you press a hand to your temple as you realize you now have to deal with two snakes hellbent on destroying the city.

Before you can act, a pink figure and a flying car whiz past you, small explosions distracting the snakes as pink energy pulses and duplicates fill your vision.

You know them. Kind of. Mark follows them on instagram.

Huffing, you swoop down grabbing the larger snake once again by the tail before tossing it high in the sky, flying after it, quickly contorting the snake’s body into a knot as you descend, finally placing it against the shattered road. Watching it writhe uselessly, you feel a bit guilty.

Turning around you notice the second snake is also contained, concrete molded to keep it in place. Definitely the work of Atom Eve, you guess.

You’re grateful your face is covered when the four heroes approach you. You want to go home, but it would be a dick move to just fly away.

The android greets you first, extending a metal hand, “Singularity, we have not met before. I am Robot.”

You shake his hand, “…I’ve heard of you all before. You do good work.”

“Oh! You’re Singularity? I didn’t even realize with the new costume!” Atom Eve blurts out. “It looks good! Sleek and serious…”

She’s young. You already knew they would be because of their team name, but she’s Mark’s age. She looks like a kid to you. You wonder if you looked so young. If you still do.

The red and yellow clad hero at her side, Rexsplode you think, scoffs, “You look like an edgelord, is this, like, your emo phase or something?”

Yes, you think.

“Or something,” you respond.

“Well, you look like you stepped out of Bloodborne—ow!” He’s cut off when Atom Eve punches his arm, “What was that for!?”

“You’re just acting pouty because you can’t stare at her ass anymore!”

Even while wearing his goggles, you could tell his eyes were frantically flickering between you and the pink clad hero.

“Wh-what? No way, why would you even suggest something so—“

“Rex, your following list is public, we all know you follow an account dedicated to zooming in on the asses of female heroes.”

“Ahhh, what? I must have accidentally misclicked—-“

Maybe you should pay whoever runs that account a visit.

“I wouldn’t mind them too much,” The black haired girl speaks up.

“Them arguing is pretty common,” an exact copy of her follows up. Dupli-Kate.

“If you say so,” you blankly say. Are you socializing?

“Still your new costume is a pretty drastic change, I don’t think anymore would be able to link you to being…you,” she continues.

“I do more stealth work these days, the white was too attention catching.” You explain. “And having criminals freeze when do they see me is pretty convenient. Darkwing probably gets a kick out of it too.”

“Heh, I certainly wouldn’t want to run into you in a dark alleyway.”

“Singularity,” Robot begins, “I had been waiting for a opportunity to offer—“

Whatever he says is interrupted when you hear the buzzing of your phone from the alleyway you left your stuff in.

“Sorry, I have to go.” You dash into the alley way, grabbing your bag before shooting into the sky.

(“Ohhh, Robot got rejected!” Rex laughs.

“It is a shame, I had simply wanted to offer her a place on the team.”)

“Finally, what took you so long?” Mark asks, eagerly snatching your bag to root through it before triumphantly retrieving his comic.

“Ran into some people I know,” you sigh, sinking into the couch next to your brother, William who sat on his other side wordlessly passes a controller to you.

“You? Talking to people?” Mark stares at you as William chokes on a laugh.

“They needed directions,” you fib.

“That makes more sense,” he nods.

“I don’t want to hear that from someone who only has one friend,” you scowl.

“She’s got a point,” William grins.

“Well, that’s still one more than you! You literally play Street Fighter and Tekken by yourself all the time! Like at least play online or something,” Mark retorts.

“I,” you start, “have friends.”

A beat of silence passes.

“You’re really good at fighting games,” William consoles you.

“Yeah, you’re the best one here,” Mark places a hand on your shoulder.

“Fuck you, guys…”

(The next day at school, after flying you and Mark a block away from school, you arrive at the entrance and enter the too loud hallway.

“I’ll see you after class, mom said we could order something for dinner tonight, but I was thinking we could maybe go to Seoul or—“

Out of the corner of your eye, a flash of orange hair catches your attention for a moment.

“Hey, are you even listening?” Mark asks, irritated.

You shove him into a locker, “No going overseas.”

“Ah, come on!”)

Bonus:

“There you go, just let yourself float,” your dad praises you, hands holding you up as he hovers miles above the ground. “Don’t be nervous, I won’t let you fall.”

You grip his hands, shakily trying to keep yourself up.

“Pretend you’re a cloud,” he offers, slowly releasing his grip on you, watching proudly as you manage to support yourself. “Alright, now you’re getting it!”

“I’m tired, dad,” you complain, grabbing his outstretched hand, letting yourself rely on him to hold you up.

“Okay, okay, we can go home now,” he chuckles, “I guess you’re too tired to get any ice cream now…”

You perk up, “Well, I’m not that tired…”

“Come on, if you can make half the way by yourself, I’ll get you three scoops,” your dad smiles down at you.

You grin at him excitedly before zooming away.

He only raises an eyebrow. “And suddenly she’s flying like a pro…”

Alright, this was mostly some filler, next post is for the other Marks, and then I’ll get into Oliver and Invincible war stuff, I promise!

Masterlist, Series Masterlist

#invincible x reader #invincible imagine #mark grayson & reader #nolan grayson & reader #debbie grayson & reader #teen team #atom eve #rex sloan #rex splode #samantha eve wilkins #sister reader #platonic reader #invincible

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lavilavs · 1 month ago

Text

୨୧ ── Now I know you want me

Continuation of — I wish I knew you wanted me

› Pairing: Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

› Scenario: A blind date? He can't let that happen! After realizing his mistake of letting his chance go by, he challenges fate itself to have you in his arms.

› Notes: English is not my first language. Reblogs and likes are very appreciated! + I hope this lives up to the first part. This is mostly fluff and a happy ending. ^^ 4k words btw

Dick felt the whole world's weight from what he heard. Kory said what?

He's using his willpower to keep himself from dramatically falling on the floor. He knows he heard her correctly, he cleans his ears two times a week, for god's sake. Still, that crooked smile on his face didn't fade along with that twitch in his eyes.

Maybe Kory just used the word 'date' wrong. She might've mistaken it for 'date' as in the day of the month or year. He even googled the definition to show her. Denial makes you go to the limits of logic and into the spectrum of insanity, and right now, Dick Grayson can prove that.

He's thinking of every possible misunderstanding that they can make about the situation. Dick was a ticking time bomb of 'what ifs,' about to explode if not for his 5 stages of grief in front of an unimpressed Kory.

"Kory, should I kiss you again? Because you might be using some words wrong." There was sarcasm laced in his voice. His eyes were wide in disbelief.

He wanted to laugh in her face so badly. Tell her that he's willing to teach her to enhance her vocabulary, that maybe she's got some definitions mixed up.

"I told you, Dick. She said she has a blind date today." She repeats what she heard from you earlier that day. And the Tamaranean could swear she heard something shatter. Dick slumped on the floor with his hands covering his face. Regret bubbling in his chest.

He knows you were deeply affected by what transpired the other day. You weren't a workaholic like he was, so when he found out that you were barely inside the tower anymore due to your sudden eagerness to go on missions and stakeouts, he knew this was your way of releasing anger.

Who was he to stop you? After all, he was angry too. The chance slipped through his fingers. As a result, he barely saw you anymore. The tower felt emptier without you freeloading around when you didn't have anything to do.

He wouldn't say it out loud, but he appreciates the noise you bring to breakfast when you grumble about the food being distasteful when he cooks it when you're also the one hoarding it all. All those broken training dummies when he specifically told you not to overdo it, your witty and sarcastic remarks in team meetings, having you by his side during missions... Dick misses it all.

"And? What did you say to her?" He speaks through his hands, refusing to look at Kory. It was childish of him, but he can't help it, she should have tried to stop her from going out.

Dick can already picture Kory face palming at his behavior from the sound of her exasperated sigh alone. While she understands how Dick is feeling, he hasn't acted this irrational in a while. Kory knows him, she dated him. She knows how much this man can love. Dick can risk it all for it. The thought of him being such a man causes a mystery in her mind: if Dick Grayson is a risk taker, why didn't he take it with you?

Human feelings and the relationships here on earth were different from Tamaran, but Kory isn't oblivious or ignorant to their differences. Still, it wasn't her place to speak on it. Even if she knew you still had a place in his heart, Kory never showed resentment. She was only curious about how two people who are clearly in love with each other can't be together. What fear was holding you both back?

"I told her to enjoy her date," she states the obvious. "I wouldn't stop her from finding happiness. If you're against it, you should've taken the opportunity to confess the other day."

"It isn't as easy as you think it is." His tone turned lower with each word, knowing it was a weak reason.

"Maybe I don't, but look at you now—where exactly do you stand in her life to complain about her trying to love, Dick?"

Kory's right. He was basically nobody but a leader and a close friend to you, they had no right to intervene in your love life. That doesn't make it any better.

Dick's audacity knows no bounds if he thinks that you shouldn't just agree to dates, much less a blind one! He felt uneasy that you're going to meet someone you don't know and possibly... You'll find them much more appealing than him—your closest friend of 15 years.

He should take a breather first and then think about ways to sabotage her date—no, stop that, Dick! Don't even think about it.

His conscience tries to reason with him, but his love outweighs morality. By the time Kory realized that look on his face, Dick was already bolting out of the tower in his motorcycle. She yells after him, hoping that he'd stop and rethink the devious plans he concocted inside his brilliant mind. It was futile. A man in love knows no bounds.

This was wrong, and he knows it. The revs of his motorcycle drown out every message his conscience sends him. He only went faster with desperation as his fuel. Dick's grip on the handle tightens when he thinks that he's too late, perhaps you're already enjoying the presence of that person.

He prays desperately under his breath. Just this time, this one time—let Fate be his friend. He'll do everything to be heard this one time.

Dick swears that if fate can hear him right now, he'll stand by his words, and this will be his last opportunity to have you in his arms at the end of the day.

Only now that you're completely about to slip away from him is when he decides to move. He lives up to his name, he is a dick for doing so.

The words, "Why now?" are on the table, but he bargains that it was better than an "I loved you." at your wedding in the future with this blind date of yours. And he can't have that.

He was beginning to think that fate was only his enemy when he suddenly got a whiff of your perfume in the air. Dick maneuvered his bike to the side, his head whipping from side to side to catch a glimpse of your figure.

It was a distinct smell that sets you apart from the citizens here in this forsaken city. He knows since that scent was from him. You loved his gift so much that it became your signature scent. You were certain that the brand could name it after you as well, as if it was solely for you.

You emerged from that shop you once said was not to your taste with a big smile on your face as you talked with your date.

Dick remembers laughing at your face when you tried not to show your displeasure at the drink you just shoved down your throat. You were trying hard to show a smile instead because of the staff happily asking for a picture to promote their shop.

When they asked you to come again when you stood by their doors, he almost cracked again at your small forced smile—looking like a life sentence had befallen you.

Did they bring you here? Why didn't you say you didn't like it here? Did they even ask you? He was beginning to get agitated again just thinking about it. If they wanted to take you out on a date, they had to take you to the most extravagant places here. It didn't matter if they had only met you today, you deserved the best.

As you walked through the streets of Blüdhaven, Dick couldn't help but feel you were everything and your date was just there. Like a fully rendered drawing next to a sketch of some sort. It was obvious you were out of their league. Emphasis on 'their' since he, himself, is also included.

As said before, Dick put you on a pedestal that nobody could reach. Not even himself. It doesn't mean that he's in love with the idea he created of you—god, no. He's in love with everything about you, good and bad.

So, seeing you with someone who hasn't properly learned how to love you? It gives Dick an unpleasant feeling. They don't seem to be that bad, but for you to be with them? You're too special for that.

The audacity to even bring you on a date in his turf is just beyond him. Everyone knows Nightwing is the protector of Blüdhaven, and they still brought you here. There were other places—better ones that he'd think of to take you. Anywhere else but here.

Throughout the time he's spent with you, Dick knows you like the back of his hand. He's got you memorized down to the way you'd cover your mouth while you laugh if you found it boring like you're doing now. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, thinking that you've never faked your laugh with him before, so why bother staying with this annoying, boring piece of sh—okay, Dick, calm down.

You joke around with your date until you both enter a restaurant. Dick stands outside of the chosen restaurant this time after a few minutes had passed. Dick can't even mask the displeasure on his face. Is this another one of Fate's jokes, because why this one? This blind date of yours must be truly blind for picking the worst places to take you in.

You hated this one as well. You didn't like the customer service and the way they made your pasta soggy. Dick was practically pulling on his face from the irritation your date's decisions bring. He was more irritated that you didn't seem to mind. How can you sit there, across from your date, looking so pretty and happy as if you didn't tell Dick that you never wanted to go back here?

He interrupts the incoming waiter, "Table for one. I prefer that spot behind those two lovely couples over there." Dick didn't wait for them to respond. There was nobody using that table, and he has the liberty to choose where he sits. The server didn't even interfere with his demands—Dick's face was unpaintable with his overwhelming rage bubbling inside of him.

Dick uses the menu to hide his face, purposely sitting behind you to perfectly conceal himself. His ears perked up with every fake laugh you gave your acquaintance—he decided just now that they weren't even worthy to be called your date at this point. He dislikes how cheesy their jokes are. Those jokes are second-rate when it comes to his puns that you genuinely laugh at. He can't even count how many times he has rolled his eyes today.

The servers interrupted their fake stand-up comedy, coming in just in time to save Dick and you from hearing any more jokes. Dick's server had also arrived at his table at the same time. He stole a glance at where you pointed, realizing it's the same one you ordered last time you were here with him.

"I'll have this, thank you." He hands his menu over. Before they could leave his table, Dick stopped them. "Can you make them chewy but not soggy? That's what sh—I like." Smoothly covering his words up.

The waiter left just in time for Dick to listen in again. You guys weren't laughing anymore, you just intently listened to them. His face sours again. When you're with him, you're talkative. Contrary to the cold and mature vibe you show off on TV, you were completely different around him. How he loved hearing you talk and talk about things he doesn't know about. Dick always made sure to research it after.

"Have you dated before?" Their question takes you both aback. A nostalgic feeling from days ago is brought up again. Another simple yet difficult question was thrown your way.

Even if you had your back turned on Dick, he had a feeling you had the same look as you did back then. Lost and unsure, but you already have an answer inside. Just too scared to say it without sugarcoating it.

"No, I haven't." Dick hears a smile from your voice, doing its best to sound soft and unhurt. His heart twitching at your words. He feels sorry, but he can't place why.

"I'm surprised a woman like you hasn't dated before. Are the people around you blind or just outright cowards?" Dick mustered up a nasty side-eye to give your acquaintance. He was mad because he got hit by an imaginary arrow.

"I suppose it's both?" You laugh awkwardly. An image of Dick pops up in your mind again. He's been showing up in your thoughts nonstop ever since you went out on this blind date.

Meanwhile, the guy in question can't help but feel bad about himself for making you feel like you're unwanted. It wasn't that people were blind enough to not appreciate you but rather the latter. There was this air around you that made people assume that you were already promised to someone. He even argued with Wally once or several times because the poor boy also liked you.

"Well... have you ever loved anyone?" Now this was a question Dick was also curious about.

He stayed tense in his seat, anxiously waiting for your answer.

"I have, of course. But I'm just not the girl of his dreams." You spare another laugh, a sad-sounding one that the two people fawning over you in this room felt bad for hearing your answer.

"How so? Have you ever tried telling him your feelings?"

"I have. But before I got to, he—"

The server interrupts another crucial time that Dick can't stop a groan from escaping his lips. It naturally garnered attention, he hid himself by pretending to pick something up before you could even see him.

Am I going crazy, or did I just hear Dick? You shrug it off, no way he's here.

Dick returned to his seat when you looked away, his order already waiting on his table. The dry chuckle you let out caught his attention, then it went to the dish in front of you. It looked like the same soggy noodles they served last time.

He quickly raised his hand for assistance.

"I'm sorry, you must've switched my plates with that dear lady over there."

"Pardon? But this is—"

"Trust me on this one." Dick had no room for arguments, he carefully picked his plate up and handed it over to the server. He watched as he explained the switcheroo.

You look at the server in confusion. How could the plates be switched when it's the same dish? The server whispers at you to look at the man behind you. You were expecting a fifty-year-old man who had a thing for soggy pasta.

Long story short, it wasn't. You locked gazes with Dick Fucking Grayson. How long had he been here?

Dick curses under his breath. He did not see that coming. That server is such a snitch. For doing his job and looking after the safety of their customers. You were right, customer service does suck here.

Perhaps he was grateful for your personality that disliked scenes in public. Because deep down, he was scared shitless at what you would do if you weren't that kind of person. You knew better than to confront him now, as there was always a later.

"It's okay, I'll take this. Thank you." Having known who it is, it makes you less worried about being poisoned. You were about to dig in when you noticed the consistency of the noodles. From sight alone, you knew that it was cooked the way you liked it. When you compare it to the old dish, this was definitely better.

"Are you okay? Here, have some tissues." Your date hands over some tissues, worry laced in their face. Huh, you were crying without knowing it. And it's because of the same person again. This asshole just knows you to the bone. He understands and respects every part of you in his mind.

Why is Dick acting like this when you decide to go on a date to forget him? To remind yourself that there were more people out there. The only thing you've realized is that there are more people out there, but none of them will ever be him.

Your heart still wants Dick Grayson.

"I'm sorry. You're a great person, really. I can't do this to you when I love someone else." You try to sound fine. Although it was already too late, with the tears making you choke on your sobs. They let you go, understanding how you felt. With a smile from them, you gave them your gratitude.

"Here's my half. Thank you for taking me out today." And with that, you hurriedly exit out of the restaurant.

Dick saw you leave without looking back. This is it, you're running away again. He also put his payment on his own table and was about to exit the vicinity when he took the money you left on your own table with him.

"Don't let her pay. You troubled her enough." He rolls his eyes at your acquaintance before leaving entirely.

Dick calls out your name as soon as he is out of the restaurant. It gathered attention from passersby, but he couldn't care less.

He made a promise to the wind, to the sky, to the gods, to fate, that this will be his last chance to have you. If he lets you go now, he'll regret it forever. He also wants to know what you were about to say earlier. Agh—he has a lot of questions.

He gets on his motorcycle, driving as fast as he can to each block you may have gone to. Fuck—just where were you? Dick composes himself and looks at the radar on his bike. What nearby places could you have run off t—The pier! Yes! If you wanted to clear your head, the pier was one of the places you'd go to.

Thank God he had a motorcycle with him, he could already see your figure slipping through those wooden stairs to reach the secret spot you shared with him. It makes everything easier. He carefully threaded through the hollow woods, surprisingly still standing after all these years. It makes creaks, alerting you that he was here. Who else could know about this, anyways?

This spot had a clear view of the ocean and granted you both some solitude. It was the perfect place to talk.

"Why'd you leave your... date? They seemed lovely." You knew he was lying when he gritted his teeth to compliment them. Despite feeling down, you still had the energy to laugh and smile at Dick. Like you had a spare set of batteries made just for him.

"Some Dick was following me the whole time. That's why."

"You're lucky a Dick was following you, not a pussy like that date of yours." Dick cringed at his own joke, but the sound of your laughter eased him.

You both knew it wasn't the reason, though. That's why he's patiently waiting for you to speak again.

"I'm sure you heard it, Mr.Cleans-his-ear-a-lot. Don't ask me why." You roll your eyes at him, gaining a chuckle from him.

"Sooo... you love someone else. Great. Who are they?" He had no time to waste. Dick prepared himself for your answer. What he didn't expect was that your face turned even more displeased.

Dick really is a dick. He sounds like a friend. But it isn't what you want. With the way he worded it, he sounded unaffected that you love someone else that's not him. That realization hurts you all the more.

"How can you be this dense when you know me so well, Dick?" Your voice cracks as you question him, glaring at him through your tears. For once you don't make it look like you were this strong superhero that he can always rely on. You wanted him to look at you like a woman that cracks at love's painful conquests too.

"I even went on this stupid date just to move on"

"You did?" For me?

"I did." For you.

For once, Dick doesn't know what to answer you. He always had something reserved for you but not this time. He didn't anticipate this happening. It all dawns on him right at this moment.

"I tried telling you thirteen years ago but you left me alone with no answers. You just left me there—didn't even let me finish what I was saying. That time, I felt so unbearable that even you decided to leave when I told you I love you."

Dick feels his stomach churn in guilt. He had no idea. He was too scared to confront his own insecurities, so he ended up hurting you in the process. This whole time, for more than a decade, you could've been together if he just faced you like a man. But sadly, he was just a boy back then.

"I'm sorry—" Your name sounded like a plea for forgiveness. "I was too scared back then. I freaked out. The thought of you loving me back was nothing more than a dream for me back then." You felt his muscular body holding you close to him, so tight that you felt the thump of his heart in your ear.

"Even just seeing you near that idiot earlier made me frustrated at myself because why did I wait this long until someone had the chance to take you out on a date before me?" Your hair feels wet.

"Just to think that someone you met today already did the things I've always wanted to do with you made me realize how much of a coward I still am when it comes to you." You look up at him. He is crying.

Your hands pull him down to your level, fingers working their way up to his face, cradling him like a precious jewel. His cheek felt hot against your palm despite the flowing tears dripping down from his eyes.

"I hated how they took you to those places you hate here in Blüdhaven. Did they even realize it? They didn't know you like I do, and yet... fuck. I'm so mad at myself." He snuggles up to your palm more, chasing the comfort it brings. "Tell me, do I deserve your love even when I'm like this?" A coward, insecure, and beyond fixation.

Dick looks into your glossy eyes. Its softness still remained after all that he said. You still looked at him the same, nothing has changed except that the warmth in your eyes was a flame that he could clearly see now. His insecurity has completely blinded him from seeing the good things.

You pull his head closer to plant a chaste kiss on his forehead. Your fingers thread his hair back, smiling down at him with tears streaming down your own face.

"You've always been deserving of it. How could you not?" You plant another kiss on the tip of his right eyebrow. "And they didn't pick it, I did." You laugh a little when you share the truth before pressing your lips on his other eyebrow.

"In the end, I still subconsciously picked you. I picked it because it reminded me of you, no matter how much I hate those fuck-ass 1-star businesses of theirs." More tears flow out of you as you kiss his nose.

"It didn't matter that the drinks tasted like shit or if the pasta was soggy. I still loved it because I was with you, Dick. You're capable of making me love things I thought I wouldn't." You kiss his tears away.

Memories flash on your mind as you speak—every single one had Dick in it.

"How can I not love you when you made me feel seen?"

You remember how he'd always include you in a conversation whenever he caught up with old friends in the street. Dick introduced you proudly to his friends.

He'd talk about how amazing you are instead of talking about how he's been. As much as you were flattered by it, you felt embarrassed that he shared about you more than his life.

"But you're a part of my life, aren't you?"

"How can I not love you when you've always heard me?"

The meeting was turning into a mess. It happened when you were just new to the team and Batman had already appointed you a big role in the next mission.

Seeing as you were new, it was difficult to communicate with the team, especially when it was such a crucial mission that made everyone clash with their beliefs.

But Dick was different, even when you weren't saying anything, he suddenly yelled.

"Wow! That's a great idea. What do you suppose on doing when—" And he just kept going and going until they all eventually listened to you.

"Think about everything, Dick. You make everything a reason for me to love you." The speechless look on his face had you leaning in, it felt right to.

"May I?" You ask for permission. It didn't take long for you to feel his lips against yours. Nothing in your life has felt right other than this.

You were both a tearful mess, but you couldn't care less. Fifteen years of waiting has come to this. It felt intense and gratifying to have you after years of yearning for one another. Dick kissed you passionately, stealing and giving air—back and forth.

He'll take whatever he had just for this kiss to be endless. A few minutes wouldn't be enough, this was basically half of his lifetime. Best believe that he's already thinking about spending the other half with you already.

Dick wouldn't have let go of you if he didn't feel your hands tapping his back. He broke the kiss with a pop, lips already swollen with the ferocity of your first kiss. You both desperately gasp for air, breathing heavily with love adorned in your eyes.

"Breathe enough?"

"Y—"

That one syllable was enough for him to smash his lips against yours again. Dick needed this—You needed this. He kissed you like he'll lose you again. He smiles when he feels you reciprocate the same energy back.

It was evident that this is what happens to two hopeless people when they realize it after fifteen long years, it burst like a dam, now they're drowning in each other. They'll even be thankful if they did.

Dick was thankful that fate didn't make a joke of them this time. Maybe it had enough of seeing both of you fighting hard against what was written in its notebook of destiny. He was content knowing you both broke free from his threads and had the liberty to write your own ending.

He's sitting here with you in his arms, just the two of you and the ocean. It's crazy to think that fifteen years ago, you both sat here making guesses about the future, goof around, eating the stolen food from the fridge. Those were all good times.

Talking until Bruce even sent out police forces to find the two of you. You didn't realize the moon had risen from its slumber because of how distracted you both were with each other. That's how enamored you've been, to the point where everything feels like a fantasy. It really was just you and him from the start.

Despite all of the misunderstandings and heartache, you're both finally here. A smile on each other's faces, sharing a look that you both shared the same thoughts.

I wish I knew you wanted me—sooner.

Extra scene!

You leave your secret place in the pier hand in hand. A big smile adorning your faces. Man, it felt good to have each other.

At the distance, Dick saw a familiar man. It was the server from that 1 star restaurant.

"Wassup, buddy. End of your shift already?"

"There he is, officer, it's this man right here."

Within a second, Dick was in handcuffs. You both stared at the waiter with wide eyes. You scramble around Dick and the officers escorting him. "What the hell? He didn't even do anything, let him go." You glared at the men in duty who flinched a little bit.

"Uhm, excuse me? He robbed you and you don't care?" The waiter sassily judges you. "He what?!" Your hands were immediately on his shoulders, shaking him to get more answers.

"He stole that money you left on the table and ran away." He looks at you deadpan.

"DICK, WHAT THE FUCK?"

"I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO GO 50/50 WITH THAT LOSER."

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woantohae · 2 months ago

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Jealous || (Robert Reynolds x reader)

Summary: Bob/Void doesn't know why they're jealous that Y/N is always next to Bucky Barnes. Are they friends? Or something else?

He doesn't know it, but he doesn't like that at all.

Author's note: Hello! I tried my best with this request, so i hope you enjoy it 💌

On the other hand, i'm working on a second part to watch (bucky barnes x reader au! neighbors), just so you know 👀

Bob couldn't stop looking at the scene in front of his eyes.

After the mission, most of the team had been left with some wounds and injuries. As soon as they arrived at the compound, they went straight to take a shower and then properly treat their wounds. The stench of his body invaded Bob's nostrils, a combined mixture of blood, sweat and ashes.

Yelena was sitting next to him, while she put a bandage on her arm. The blonde watched as Bob stared at how Y/N cleaned the wounds on Bucky's back, noticing the way the boy next to him clenched his fists unconsciously.

She snorts a laugh at him.

"Everything okay, Bob?" she asks him. He averts his gaze as if caught in the act and shakes his head.

"Yeah, yeah, everything is fine. Why wouldn't it be?" Out of the corner of his eye, Bob sees the duo in front of them.

Yelena shrugs her shoulders.

"It looks like you're anxious for Y/N to heal your wounds" she responds casually "It's either that or you don't like that them patient is Bucky right now."

Bob frowns and suddenly becomes nervous. He snorts and shakes his head as if what the blonde just said was crazy. The man didn't think it would be so obvious as he looked every time Bucky got closer – too close for his liking – to Y/N as if he wanted to make the man disappear. Technically, he could do it.

Well, his other self.

The Void.

But anyways....

Sometimes when Bob was talking to Y/N in the kitchen, helping her cook, the black-haired man would come unexpectedly for a glass of water and would always tickle the girl. He could only force himself to nod in greeting and ignore the anger he felt every time he saw that gesture. Bob knew that they were just friends, because Bucky was over 100 years old and the girl was in her late 20s, and every time she talked about Bucky she did it in a sisterly way.

But every time he saw them together, he couldn't stop his blood from boiling.

"What you're saying is ridiculous," he says, playing with his fingers in a nervous gesture. "It's not that I don't like them being close to each other. They're friends, why should it bother me?"

Yelena looks at him from the corner of her eye and pats his shoulder.

"Maybe you won't admit it," she intervenes. "But Void would be upset to see them so close."

"But it's a shame he's not here to let them know, right?" Yelena says.

Bob swallows and glances at the girl next to him, then looks again at Y/N laughing with Bucky, who runs his hand through his hair, as if it were an action without ulterior motives. Without any care about what it was causing in Robert. Jealousy.

"You know what?" He mutters and stands up from the chair "Would you excuse me?"

Yelena nods her head, amused by what could happen.

Don't get her wrong, it wasn't that they were making fun of Bob and how he acted or when Void took control, but when there were no missions or anything to do around the place, she had to entertain herself in another way. And when she notices that Bob disappears from the room for a moment, and sees that he returns with a completely different look on his face and attitude, she knows that the other one has arrived.

"Try not to get the bandage wet, or that would make everything worse," Y/N warns Bucky, before he puts on his shirt and clicks his tongue.

"I got it, doll" Bucky says rolling his eyes, as he gets up from the spot.

Before he can say anything else to the girl, Void intentionally bumps his shoulder against the black-haired man's.

The new entity smiles coldly. "Oh, I'm sorry Bucky. I didn't hit your wound, did I?"

Bucky smiles sarcastically and shakes his head, bringing his metal hand to his wound.

"Not at all, dear Bob."

Void smiles with the same gesture on his face and turns to look at Y/N, who smiles slightly at him. The brunette begins to take off his shirt under the watchful eye of Y/N who blushes and Bucky who looks away in disbelief.

Void puts his shirt aside and stretches his arms a little.

“Oh, Bucky, would you mind leaving us alone so Y/N can help me with my injuries?” He asks in a mocking, and a little somber tone.

Something characteristic of that personality.

The black-haired man smiles wryly and raises his arms to say goodbye and leave them alone. Void sighs watching him leave and finally gets to be alone with Y/N, who looks at him.

The brunette winks at her and sits on the stretcher while Y/N is between his legs.

"Uh, so tell me Bob, what seems to be the bother?" she asks.

Void pouts and touches his chest, pretending that the area hurts, although it's ridiculous to even think about it considering how strong he is.

"Right here. I took a pretty good hit," Void points out and Y/N raises an amused eyebrow.

She begins to run her fingers over the man's skin and this dark entity feels chills at her gentle touch.

"Wow, I thought that being almost indestructible would mean they couldn't hurt you so easily, Bob" she points out and continues to put a cream on him for the supposed pain "Or should I say...Void"

Void looks at her with amusement on his face, while Y/N imitates a teasing smile in realization. He feels how Y/N's fingers continue passing the cream and seems to enjoy the situation, so he ventures to pass a strand of hair that falls from the girl's forehead behind her ear.

"Nothing happens between me and Bucky, you know?" she tells him.

Void grimaces and nods his head. "Oh, I know that," the man says confidently.

Y/N raises an eyebrow and moves away from the closeness of his body and warmth to leave the bandages and creams aside.

"How do you know?" she dares to ask, standing in front of him again.

"Because...." Bob says in a suggestive tone, without taking his eyes off her. In a possessive gesture, he grabs her waist and presses her against his bare chest, earning a gasp from Y/N "He knows not to mess with me or what I want for myself."

Y/N lets the distance between them fade, feeling like a prisoner to him.

"Do you want me?"

Void lets out a soft, low laugh from his lips. Then, the man approaches Y/N's ear to whisper:

"Honey, I thought that was already obvious of me."

#robert reynolds #sentry x reader #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #sentry #marvel #sentry masterlist #bob reynolds masterlist #thunderbolts #the void x reader #the void

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saduko · 9 months ago

Text

HARD TO MISS

Lando Norris x Driver!Reader 7.9K words

Summary: You had driven sick many times before, but never sick enough to retire from a race. Now Lando was worried about you and how the media was going to react. But maybe this was just about the best thing that could of happened to him. Or in which, reader gets sick during the Spanish GP race and has to face the looming media presence after retiring early with a newfound anger she's never experienced. She was a mess of emotions, acting so different, or maybe it wasn't just her being strange.

Teammates, established relationship, an unexpected surprise?? Note: this unfortunately is a re-upload because my dumbass literally deleted the post the first time I posted it despite it being up for days. Yes I'm mad, and no this isn't edited because of it.

The heat of the Spanish sun beat down on the track, the asphalt shimmering with a relentless intensity that seemed to seep through the cockpit. You gripped the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles whitening as you fought to keep your focus on the race ahead, hot, fast breaths heaving through your helmet like a symphony. The familiar roar of the engine, usually a comforting sound, felt more like a distant hum as yet another wave of nausea rolled through you.

This wasn’t the first time you’d raced under less-than-ideal conditions, but today felt different. The adrenaline that usually sharpened your senses now seemed to amplify the queasiness in your stomach, every bump and turn on the track making it harder to push the discomfort aside. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising bile as you powered through another corner, the car responding to your every command despite the growing turmoil within.

The twisting and turning of the track seemed endless, each lap blurring into the next as your vision narrowed, tunnel-like, around the path ahead. You knew you needed to speak up, to let your team know something was wrong, but the words felt heavy on your tongue, weighted down by the fear of admitting weakness. But you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"I'm not feeling very well."

The twisting and turning of the track was making it hard for you to settle your stomach enough to find your voice, but when you had, there was a long silence on the other end. Ears alert with anticipation as nothing came through, before the thick accent of your engineer, Marlow finally sounded in with a panicked voice, "Are you feeling faint?"

"Not really.” You huffed. “I feel quite nauseous though. My stomach is not cooperating."

There was a short silence through your head piece before a shuffle was heard on the other side, followed by a concerned, "Should we retire the car?"

The suggestion shakes you and a quick puff of air leaves your mouth in order to hopefully settle the turning in your stomach, though you think it might have translated more as annoyance to your team despite the intention. You couldn't help but hope it hadn't come off too harshly, however the forceful tone of your next words certainly didn’t do much to calm the idea. "No! I'm not retiring the car... No, I'm okay."

"Please love, If you can't finish there's no shame in retiring. You're not letting anyone down, we understand-!" He knew how stubborn you were and he really didn't want the question to feel like the hit to the ego he knew you would take it as, but it was hard when everyone knew this race was what was separating you from top 3 and the rest in the championship. They knew it wouldn't be that easy, quickly corroborated by the frustrated grunt you let sound through the line.

Your foot braces against the accelerator, bearing down full force as you take the straight right after corner 4 at full speed, you weren't retiring. Subjective to your own harsh perception of yourself, retiring - no matter the circumstance - was one of the most culpable failures you could commit. It was never a rewarding feeling, and whether or not to retire from a race like this was an indisputable no. Six years into the sport and you had never retired from a race on your own accord. Today would not be the first.

"I'm okay for now."

There was no arguing with a driver going over 300 kilometers an hour, and so the team let your decision chart as they sat back and kept on with their roles, no different than before. Except for one thing, noting the conversation, they all made undisclosed motions to keep an extra close eye on the driver cam.

And so the race continued as 10 laps went by, 10 very shaky laps with countless immoderate wobbles, a few oversteers around a couple corners and a very close call with Carlos who made quick work of letting the communal radio know how exactly he felt about that, words that were quickly relayed to you. Though his accent was warm, his words were anything but kind and usually you would have taken it on the chin, laughed at his profanities and apologized with a quick witty comment to follow, but your team watched as you only let out a harrowing breath and shook your head. You obviously were not on your A-game and your entire team could see that.

So with all this, it came as no surprise when the silence in their headphones was abruptly interrupted with the blaring sound of your wheels against the track, followed by your voice, quick yet strained, echoing through the radio.

"I think I'm gonna be sick, guys."

With not a moment to spare, Marlows eyebrows furrowed down at your words, worry clear in his voice as he pressed down on the radio button. And though his words were mostly phrased as a question emphasizing the choice as your own, it was still hard to miss the pleading tone in his voice as he spoke loudly into the headpiece, "Are we retiring? It’s your call, love."

Your end of the radio was silent as the words rang through your headset, though not for lack of connection as the sound of your wheels barrelling against the tar never ceased. They knew you were still there, just not vocalizing your thoughts. They had no doubt this was a tough decision. A huge part of this sport was pride; pride in your team, pride in your car, pride in your abilities. And being the only woman on the grid meant your pride was strong and the backlash was inevitably more harsh when things went wrong.

It was already hard enough for a driver to admit they needed to back out of a race, let alone for a driver who had something to prove and everything to lose. It was a decision they knew you were avoiding complying with. You had been complaining about feeling ill for days leading up to the race and yet insisted on racing regardless. They knew this was important to you, and to back out now, after making it so far already? Your heart was strong, and your head stronger. But for this one time, it seems your stomach was the strongest, and your nausea was taking the reins of this particular race. And so you bit your lip, hoping to keep the bile from rising for just a little while longer. “I need to stop. I’m retiring the car. I can't help it.”

As disappointing as ending a race early was, your team couldn’t deny the shred of relief that washed over them as you, for once, chose your health first. As fun as racing was, and as rewarding as a race in points felt, none of it was ever worth the increased risk to your safety. They would much rather you all woozy up in the medic bay with a DNF, than halfway to unconsciousness with a p8 finish. This certainly wasn’t your best race anyways, probably one the lowest you’d been in points this season.

As you began your way around your last lap towards the pit lane, your mind raced with all the dreadful thoughts a DNF brought, the pit in your stomach rearing into a sizeable hole which would of left you feeling melancholy if the twisting and turning hadn’t trumped the discontent.

As each second passed, you could feel whatever it was you had eaten for lunch earlier with Lando rising higher and higher. High enough in fact, that you found it necessary to press the radio button once more with a request. “Have a bag ready for me when I pull up, please.”

To which a compliant, “Copy.” sounded suit.

It wasn’t too much longer until your orange car could be seen sweeping down the pit lane, no hesitation in your steering as you made a harsh turn into your spot by the garage door. The pit team were prepared to make haste in their actions, ready to prop your car onto the jack in order to wheel it into the garage only to be stopped when two quick hands extended up as you braced yourself up against the halo and pulled yourself out of the seat.

At this point, you were hyper aware of the all the people surrounding you, as well as the multitude of cameras pointing directly at you, recording your every move for all the judgeful eyes to see, and yet you found not a single cell in yourself which cared as you leaned over the car and called out for your assistant, who quickly met you with a large black bin in tow.

You quickly grabbed for it, pulling your front over the side of the car as far as you could in order to hide yourself from the view of the cameras. And out it came, a slurry of lunch which you had been so looking forward to at the time, and quickly regretting now as it all escaped your stomach.

What in the world had you feeling so ill in the first place? It felt like it had been lightyears since you had felt sick enough to actually puke, and god did you not miss this feeling. Had you eaten something bad earlier in the day? Maybe. But everything you ate Lando had eaten too, so wouldn’t he be sick as well? Well, it’s not really like you could ask him, you thought as you looked up just in time to see him overtake George on the big screen. He looks a little busy. And you should be busy too.

The thought seared through your mind as you spat into the bin, you should be racing too, but at least you feel a little better now that it’s come out; though not completely. Your stomach still churned a little and now your throat burned but you guessed it was better than crashing. You had already nearly done that just by being on the track a little too long and now you were definitely going to receive an earful from Sainz when he finally crossed the checkered flag and found you inevitably moping.

However, you quickly realized that Carlos was actually the least of your worries and the only person you really had to fear was Lando, for when he heard about the outcome of your race, you were sure to face the lecture of your life. He had been warning you for days leading up to it not to participate. You were obviously unwell and he was aware of the dangers an unwell driver faced under the taxing conditions of a race but you were stubborn, insisting you would be fine. Look at you now. Head in a bin with cameras all around and a bruised ego.

There was only a little time now until the race ended to recover before everyone came pummeling at you with questions.

The wheel was starting to feel heavy in his hands and the rubbing of the HANS device against his neck was really starting to hurt. They were approaching the end stretch of the race and as the last 15 laps commenced, Lando couldn’t help but feel a little relieved knowing this would be over soon. This was undoubtedly a tough race.

From lights out till now, he’d managed to pull from P5 to P4 and had every intention of passing Lewis for a podium position, soon enough he’d be in DRS range but for the time being, he was focused on catching up. The world around him had become mute, he hadn’t even looked up at the grand screen once, all he knew was the car.

So he had almost jumped in his seat when the chime sounded. Just as he began slowing around the final corner leading up to the line for his next lap, the sound of an incoming radio signal had his ears perking in anticipation. Were they planning on pitting him again? Sure he was definitely pushing a little too hard against his tires- not really doing his best at conserving them but he was so close to a podium position and he just needed a little bit more force-

“Lando mate,” Will’s voice sounded through his ears, his tone a little hesitant which left Lando biting his lip with anticipation. Please don't box. “I’ve just been informed by Marlow that y/n has retired.”

Lando's heart nearly fell into his stomach as the words registered in his brain. You retired?! Now thinking about it, you did start only a single position behind him and he hadn’t really seen all that much of you during the race. What happened? “Did she crash?!”

“No Lando, she's okay, it was voluntary. She wasn’t feeling well, I don’t think.”

“You don’t think?”

“She’s okay Lando, just under the weather.”

Not feeling well? Under the weather? You’d raced a multitude of times before whilst under the weather. Each time he’d advise you not to race, and each time you’d ignore him, swearing up and down you’d be fine- and to Lando’s consolation each time you were fine. You’d come out the other side with a smile, no qualms or grievances and you would save your complaints for him afterwards, when no one else was around to judge. As you had done before, he expected the same this time. You’d never let a little ailment set you back, especially not let it affect you enough to retire. Not unless it really was bad.

Lando’s thoughts were soon interrupted by Will’s voice once more, his tone dismissive, implying the conversation had reached its end and no more discussion would be had about it. “We will contact you again if anything happens.”

And despite Lando’s dismay, he complies. There were still a good 15 laps left of the race ahead and he had a lot of catching up to do, a lot of competitive driving to be had. His focus couldn’t be elsewhere, but what was he supposed to do knowing his sick fiancé has just pulled herself out of a race? What was he supposed to do when he knew you well enough to understand how prideful you could be, and how poor you had to feel to choose to retire?

He really tries to not let it bother him. During the next lap, he tries to not let it bother him as he forces himself to look anywhere else but the jumbo screen in hopes of a possible update on your condition. He tries to not let it bother him in the lap after that as the team radios in to discuss possible strategies regarding the oncoming overtake he will perform, and he tries to not let it bother him during the lap after that one when he finally passes Lewis. Now 3 laps have passed but he just can't get the questions about you off his mind. It is bothering him. He shouldn’t be distracted, especially while he’s in a podium position but he can’t help it.

So as he crosses onto the next straight, he finds himself radioing in with the question that had been eating away at him since the news broke. “Uh.. Any updates on y/n? Is she alright?”

There's a considerable moment of silence on Mclaren’s end of the line, the team were honestly tied on what to tell the man and what not to. You weren’t exactly in optimal condition, and word around was slightly worrisome regarding your state. You were okay, but definitely not well, they knew because they had caught the treacherous sounds of your gags a few more times since the first echoing through the mclaren garage.

As your fiance, he deserved to know these details, but as a driver, they knew it wasn’t smart to worry him. What were they to say as to not stress him out in an already extremely stressful situation? They could tell him a few of your team members were discussing taking you to the hospital. Or they could keep him from driving the car through the wall in order to meet you there. The decision was clear, they needed him to focus on driving. “She’s okay, she's currently being looked at by the medical team.”

“She has the medical team on her?!” Will’s eyes shut hard as Lando’s reply came through. Definitely not the right choice of words.

“Just a precaution Lando, she isn’t well at the moment.”

Lando’s bottom lip catches between his teeth as he ponders his engineer's words. He finds himself over analyzing every syllable, every infliction with intentions of unpacking whatever truth was seeping between the lines, and he notices that he’s biting his cheek as he rounds the 8th corner with a little less precision than usual. “Is she bad?”

Landos team take quick note of this change in pace, latching onto the clear oversteer he performs around the corner. They quickly find themselves trying to pull away from the topic in order to keep him both figuratively and literally on track and so Will concludes the conversation with a stern tone. “Please Lando, you can see her when you're done racing. We need you to focus on the race.”

He almost wanted to curse the man out purely due to frustration despite knowing deep down that he was right. But what else was he supposed to do when he knows his fiancé is sitting in the medic bay and all he can do to support her is… well, nothing. He just has to finish this race.

Despite your protests, your team was adamant on a visit to the med bay in order to possibly come up with a reason for your sudden onset of race ending symptoms, and after a quick trip down the hall that took a little longer than usual due to your need to stop once more, you were simply told there wasn’t much they could do long term to crack the bilous case. Shocker. They did however hand you something to ease the nausea which you were beyond thankful for.

You had spent so long counting down the seconds until the anti-nausea medication kicked in that you hadn't even noticed that the race had ended, nor did you notice the approaching sound of hasteful footsteps until the door to your driver's room came barrelling open with a thud.

“I told you not to race.” Lando’s voice was so stern it had you stiff. There was a slight indication of anger lingering behind his words but ultimately his face was a dead giveaway to the worried intention etched behind his tone.

“I thought I’d be okay.”

“You threw up?” His eyebrows came down as he said it, and you noticed it was less of a question and more as if he was trying to confirm a suspicion. Someone from your team must have snitched on you already. No damn loyalties.

“Only a little.” Your words were sheepish.

“You stink.” He deadpanned and you found yourself scoffing, slightly exasperated at the bluntness of his words. The statement had you petty with offense.

“You don’t smell very good either-”

“-I don’t smell like vomit.”

Finally you let out a sigh, already tired of the back and forth over something so menial, and unworthy of an argument. You were sick. Shit happens. “Lando, I wasn’t feeling well and I’d been feeling it all week with no real problem so I didn’t think there would be a reason to sit this race out. I didn’t think I would actually need to pull over. It’s done now.”

There was a loud silence between the two of you as he onced over your body with intentful eyes. You seemed okay enough and he guessed this really wasn’t the time or place to start an argument, especially over something as stupid as him being worried about you, you were on the same damn side. So instead he just sighed, bit his lip and nodded at you. “Alright.”

“Guys.” Charlotte suddenly peaked her head through the cracked door to glance at you both. “Come on, we need you at Media now.”

This wasn’t going to be easy, that you knew. The media had given you a hard time for things way less than this so you could only imagine what they had in store for you after throwing up on live TV for half the world to see moments after a voluntary DNF. It just about felt like you were being led to your execution with the way you knew they were about to tear into you. But there was no avoiding this, and the grimaced look etched into your features left Lando very aware of this fact.

“I know you don’t wanna do this but you have to go out there, you’ve got no choice. Not unless you’re willing to cop a fat fine.”

You stuck an eyebrow up at Landos voice, the sides of your lips extending out as you conceptualized his words but your expression quickly had him shaking his head alongside a hearty laugh. “No, no. Don’t even look like you’re considering it.”

Your laugh to match his own soon sounded throughout the room, and his hand swiftly found its place at the nape of your neck, to which he gave a quick squeeze and began leading you out the door into the McLaren garage hallway. “We have a wedding to plan and that means a lot of money to spend. You will not be wasting money trying to get out of media duties.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at how exasperated and sarcastic he sounded.

You both found yourselves trailing along Charlotte's path until the hallway quickly opened up into a large room where a few other drivers had already begun their own separate interviews towards the camera crews which littered every corner. The media pen; may as well be your death site.

Whilst waiting for the race to end; and for the nausea to subside, Charlotte had given you a rundown - more like a lecture; regarding what to expect and how to approach the inevitably condescending questions that would soon be thrown your way.

This was going to be brutal, you knew that. You had finally made a mistake that the male media could exploit to reinforce their stereotypes about damned women in motorsports. Just another day facing the misogyny of the position, except this time, it was your own carelessness that put you in this position. The only damned thing you’d be was a damned liar if you said the upcoming articles tearing into you weren’t already gnawing at your mind. You could just picture it;

‘’Mclaren Princess’ Just Might Throw Her Way Up and Out of Competitive Driving,’

‘Speed Queen’s Weak Stomach Shows Why She’s Better Suited for Other Races,’

‘Too Glamorous For The F1 Track? or Maybe Not Glamorous Enough; - maybe we should leave the fast cars to the men that made them.’

This might just be worse than the ‘Revving Engines, not Emotions,’ article from last year when you teared up in Australia after what was the most frustrating race of your career. This was going to be horrible.

Your actions were always hyper-criticized, but maybe just once you were being too imaginative for your own good. You needed to calm down because words tended to stick with you. A fact that Charlotte knew all too well, because she was sure to speak words she knew would ring through your ears during those interviews; Take it on the chin, stay composed and certainly don't be snappy. One of those was doable.

The moment you passed the threshold beyond the doorway, officially crossing into the media pen, it's as if every set of eyes and every lens of a camera had turned to watch you move. The room hadn’t by any means gone quiet, but there was definitely a shift in volume as the noise settled from a near unbearable buzz to a tolerable chatter, just enough to notice the change. The influx of attention almost had you doubling over once again, especially when you felt the nausea begin to slowly creep up for the second time that day. But you made notable efforts to keep your head high, hoping that a strong demeanor would at least soften the blow which would soon be dealt.

Lando’s arm had split from your neck not long after entering the room. You guys were always light on your PDA, trying to keep as much of your personal relationship as private as possible; as private as an already public relationship could possibly be. But he still managed to give you a small, reassuring squeeze on the hip before you both set off, being led in opposite directions.

A flurry of reporter eyes seemed to trail your path as your personal PR manager led you to a spot right in between Carlos and Charles, and as you started setting yourself up, you unavoidably overheard their journalists trying to wrap up their interviews, which you could only imagine would be to get a shot at you faster.

However unluckily for those journalists, it seems your first adversary had already taken the stand just directly across from you with a large, heavy mic and aged, gleaming eyes; eyes that had your own widening in alarm. You were quite familiar with this journalist, very familiar with him actually as he had always been quick to criticize you and your skills on many occasions in the past. He was quite ill-mannered towards you, definitely holding a target out with a gun aimed directly for your career, making it clear he was disapproving of your presence as a woman on this grid. You just knew he had been waiting for you. This was going to be hell.

The journalist quickly began setting himself up, the cameraman behind him pointing the lens directly at your sour face, which you admittedly were not doing a great job at masking. Though, if your interviewer had noticed, he thankfully hadn’t commented on it. However that didn’t stop him from wasting any time beginning to comment on the other mistakes you had made today.

“Always a pleasure to speak with you, Speed Queen.” His gravelly voice spat. “Though I think ‘Pit Princess’ may be a little more fitting after today's race.” A sly smirk quickly spread across his mouth, an act that had your hands bracing against the railing separating the two of you from one another. Charles had quickly taken notice of this from his position just beside you. He admittedly felt he was doing quite well at remaining professional and ignoring the exchange between you and the infamous journalist, but now he was on high alert, ears perked in your direction with the intention of intervening at any given moment.

Despite your peeved sentiment, you did well at keeping your face straight and head high at the insult, feeling it necessary to not crack in front of the person trying to get a reaction out of you. Don’t prove his point.

“I appreciate the creativity, but I think I would prefer to focus on the race itself rather than nicknames. I’m quite happy with the one I have.” There was a moment in which he tried to intervene, however you were determined to move past the subject. “-And, you know, today’s challenges were significant, but that’s a part of the sport, I guess.” Despite the lingering nausea, you still managed to force a professional smile.

“Is it?” He curled an eyebrow condescendingly, a look which nearly had a scowl slipping past your placid facade. But instead you held strong, that sickeningly sweet smile dripping like honey with disdain. “Part of the sport is the unpredictability of it. So I’d say so.”

The man's eyes gleamed on, a small hum escaping his lips as he nodded absently. “It’s just that no other driver seems to have this issue. Do you think maybe your choice to retire has to do with particular limitations a female might have that the men in this sport don’t?”

And as expected, the indirectness wasn’t so indirect anymore, the true misogynistic intentions of his words slowly crept out with ferocity.

“No.” Your tone was final, like it hadn’t ever crossed your mind, because it really hadn’t. “No I really don’t. Many men before me have gotten sick during races, I guess I just preferred to voluntarily take myself out of the race than spend the rest of it wiping pesto off my visor.” You snarled.

A small tap against your arm quickly alerted you to the contention of your PR manager, a disapproving gesture silently advising you to reel it in. But god was it hard when his face was so smug. She should understand that being passive aggressive was much more admissible than being violent, so she may as well let you get your anger out in the socially acceptable way, though you admit it was strange of you to feel so angry. You were usually better at keeping your emotions in check. Hm. But alas, you complied, correcting your face and letting him speak; even if you wanted so badly to interrupt him with your thoughts of how horrible a journalist he was.

“Well, I think a lot of people agree when I say that this sport tends to reward determination and resilience, not quitting.”

Were you hearing this correctly? Was he really implying that you should have thrown up right into your helmet and just continued through the race like nothing? It was getting really hard to remain socially acceptable. What was this new found anger? “Racing may sometimes reward resilience, however, being sharp minded is more important sometimes. I noticed I was unwell enough for it to affect my performance, so I decided it was smarter to take myself out of the race. Especially after nearly taking Carlos out of the race too.”

Just as you finished answering the (absurd) question, a suave laugh sounded to your left as Carlos suddenly stepped up beside you, sliding his arm across your shoulder. “I did have some choice words prepared for you earlier Mija, but then I learnt what happened and now I forgive you.” His eyes suddenly turned to the journalist, a glint of exaggerated pity in relation to the topic seeping into his expression, almost as if he was speaking with experience to someone who wouldn’t understand; because he was. “Driving whilst sick is not for the weak.”

The journalist's cold eyes squinted slightly as Carlos’ condescending tone registered in his head, yet he kept his expression neutral and mic high as he nodded. “I’m sure it isn’t.” And nothing was said after that. No rebuttal, no argumentative comment, just a plea of agreement. God, how you wished interviews were that easy for you.

A few voices echoing out from somewhere behind had caught the attention of the trio, and it didn’t take long for you to realize it was Carlos’ team instructing him to move onwards to his next position. So with a reassuring smile towards you and a quick quirk of a brow towards the reporter, he was off to his next interview without another word, taking your fleeting moment of security along with him as he left.

Now it was just you and the reporter once more, and you could tell he wasn’t feeling as cordial with you as he was with Carlos, evident by the slight snarl that had crept onto his face by the interruption in your defense. “Friendly words from Sainz there, as always.” he began, his tone dripping with insincerity, “Do you find it degrading that other drivers always have to come to your defense in order to keep your positive reputation, because there are a lot of people that believe you perhaps, ride off the success of others.”

Your stomach twisted, and if it was from the nausea growing once again or from the sheer audacity of his words, you couldn’t tell. He was essentially implying that the only reason people liked you was because other likable people vouched for you, and not because of your own hard work and valiant achievements. It seems he wanted defense, you were about to show him just how defensive you could be.

“With all due respect,” you began, voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge, “I don’t defend myself because I don’t have to, because the genuinity of my character extends far past my words.” you paused, thinking about your next words carefully. “My peers defend me because I’ve proven my capabilities time and time again, and they know that one incident doesn’t define my career. However, I don’t think you share the same sentiment, hm?”

The taunting in your voice was quickly caught on by your PR manager who swiftly grabbed your arm in yet another warning, except this time you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as much. The journalist's eyes narrowed at your words, clearly not expecting such a discourteous response and the tugging of your PR manager's grip against your arm was an obvious nonverbal message to wrap it up but you weren't finished, oh no. That new found anger that had been gnawing at you all race was just beginning to trickle out.

“‘Riding off the success of others.’” Your quoted, voice riddled with humor, “And yet you somehow manage to find me every post race interview. Do you write these question’s down in your little notebook while you watch my multi-race winning car fly past you? Or do you wipe the dust from the camera lens instead?”

He quickly opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, your PR manager intervened, her grip on your arm tightening slightly as she stepped forward. “This interview is over,” she announced firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. “McLaren will be utalizing the next few days to help Y/n recover for next week's race. If you have any further questions, you can direct them to our media office.”

Your eyes widened in shock at the intervention. You had overstepped your media training a few times before and yet none had ever led to the end of the interview. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little surprised at your PR manager's swift movements as she tugged you back and away from the journalist. “Let’s move on.” Her voice was disapproving but she was obviously trying to remain calm and professional, understanding there was a job to be done. But your anger wasn’t discriminatory, everyone was a potential outlet, and you weren’t having this. “No, I’m finished.” You didn’t even want to participate in media in the first place, this was obligatory. You had done your part and now you were taking charge of the rest of your night. And so you pulled your arm back and made quick haste towards the exit, leading back to your driver room.

You were only a few meters from the door now, acutely aware of all the eyes watching you retire early from yet another obligation today, when a hand grazing the small of your back pulled you away from the tormenting feeling of the bile rising once again. This time, it was Charles, his sweet face beaming a reassuring smile at you as he began walking in stride towards the exit alongside you. “Mon cheri, that was something else.”

You couldn’t help but scoff at his words, nausea bubbling once again, expecting yet another lecture from someone else. “If by ‘something else’ you mean a complete disaster, then yeah, I guess.”

Charles kept his tone steady, a touch of amusement in his voice as you both walked in stride. “No, I mean you handled it with a lot of, uhh.. What is the English? Poise.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “Thanks, but it didn’t feel like handling things with poise, It felt like I was about to lose it.”

His smile slipped into a small laugh before it fell, and his bright eyes quickly turned into one’s of worry as he began a once over of your body. “Are you feeling okay?” he began the inevitable conversation. “I’m okay, it’ll pass I'm sure.”

Charles’ brows furrowed down, thick accent sounding with worry as he spoke. “You shouldn’t count on it passing, you should take care of yourself. You’re only gonna have more shit thrown at you if you don’t-”

As sweet as his concern was, you were tired of this conversation today, it was becoming tedious to hear and you really just needed to lie down or something. “-Charles, I really appreciate it and I'll be sure to visit the doctor tomorrow, but I think I’m gonna be sick again, so how about you cover me up to the hallway before I end up in another fight with a reporter, or my head in another bin on TV.”

Your words had Charles’s eyes widening, quickly glancing around from side to side in search of his target who was finishing up from an interview of his own, when your hand came up to press against your mouth, skin turning a tinge green. “Lando!”

The video shook a little as the person on the other end fidgeted with the camera, a slight blur shifting the image and the audio cracking with the movement before the frame finally straightened up. The person took a step back. It was you, which wasn’t all that surprising considering the video had been uploaded onto your own instagram, but it was the first anyone had really heard of you in weeks.

Ever since your race ending ailment back in Spain, you had essentially gone radio silent. Not posting, not participating in interviews; you had missed 2 more races since then. It was worrisome, especially considering you had assured everyone the day after Spain that you were working on getting better for next week's race, which you never showed up to.

The races went on and the fans asked about you, the interviewers asked about you too, but it seemed everyone involved in the FIA had no comment on your whereabouts nor your condition. The drivers dodged post interview questions, excelling on to new subjects and only had quick fleeting comments in response to concerned fans around the paddock who were only trying to make sense of it all.

Lando copped the brunt end of it though, scoring a P2 podium in Canada that everyone could more obviously care less about in his post-race interviews. The only topic mentioned was you, your absence from the race and why everyone was so hush-hush about it in the first place. The interviews were so off topic that this time it was Lando who had to leave the media pen early to avoid the questions, though opposingly, McLaren had been the ones to encourage his swift exit.

It was starting to become an issue. People were fretful. Were you still sick? Was it something more serious than you had anticipated and now you couldn’t race anymore?

The view they were looking at suggested that perhaps they were about to find out.

You retreated away from the camera propped up against what people could only speculate had to be your dressing table, as you found your spot upon the large, luxurious bed the camera was pointing towards. Now cross legged upon it, your body clad in a 2 piece short silky pajama set, finally you began to speak.

“Hello everyone.” You didn’t sound unwell, not stressed or upset. In fact, there was an edge to your voice that almost seemed cheerful; excited. And yet for now you remained composed, nothing but a small, media trained smile dawning your otherwise expressionless face.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The sentence was humorous, calling attention to the silence you had afflicted, and the lack of news upon your whereabouts. “Lando and I are finally home in Monaco for summer break, though I have to admit that I’ve actually been in Monaco for a few weeks now. I think some of you might feel that was a bit obvious given my absence.”

There was a high pitched chuckle off screen, it obviously being Lando out of frame as your eyes flickered over to the side with a playful yet mischievous smile, encouraging his reaction with your expression. It was a fleeting moment as your smile once again fell into something a little more vacant before straightening up and continuing. “I know a lot of people have questions, and I do want to apologize for the lack of communication on my end, I’ll explain, I promise but first I also want to say please don’t be mad at any of the other drivers for not speaking out, they were all just respecting my wishes in not saying anything until I was ready.”

There was a small pause as you took a breath, no sound emitting except for the slight breeze wafting through the room, further exemplified by the sway of the sheer curtains. This was so nerve racking, were you about to announce your departure from motorsport? Were you about to reveal a sickness you weren't aware of until now? The silence, though short lived, was deafening.

“I-” Finally you spoke, but quickly caught it with a bite to your lower lip. It really seemed like you were processing your words, debating how to present your next statement carefully enough. “How do I-?”

Once again your gaze drifted off to the side of the screen, confused and cautious eyes quickly averting into a bright smile before a laugh escaped your mouth. “Don’t look so excited!”

Lando, obviously beaming, clear by the tone of his voice, cheerfully yelled back, “Do you want me to say it?!”

“No!” you rebutted quickly with a laugh, “I told you I wanted to be the one to announce it, stop trying to take my shine!”

“Then go on with it!” He was so obviously really excited, impatient to finally announce whatever it was that had him so elevated.

“Okay well-” You stuttered for a moment, quickly catching yourself before continuing. “As many of you saw in Spain, I wasn’t feeling too well,-”

“-Hard to miss-.” Landos voice mumbled, a comment in which you swiftly ignored.

“-And I hadn’t been for a few days leading up to it but I just took it as a stomach bug and planned to go on with it like usual. What I didn’t plan for however, was the doctor's visit I was forced to go to the day after.”

Your eyes glared off to the side once again, feigning annoyance but evidently not actually upset before looking back at the camera with a smile. “The good news is that we are very much aware of what was making me sick.” Your voice was reassuring, eyes slowly beginning to light up as you continued on. “The bad news is that I unfortunately will not be participating in the rest of the 2024 season, or the 2025 one for that matter.”

It was like you could feel the impending shock of everyone watching radiating through the screen despite it being pre recorded because your pause was almost comically dramatic. And yet it was so wholly conflicting, because regardless of the awful news, you didn’t really seem all that upset despite being such a passionate racer, it felt so out of character. This confusion was only exemplified further when your eyes once again drifted to the left, a large smile engulfing your features as you took notice of what had to be Lando's excited expression once more. “Oh don’t look so happy, you’re the one who still gets to race!”

“I’m sorry!” He laughed that high pitched laugh he does when he just can’t hold it back.

Your eyes flickered back to the camera, sitting straight on with a patient yet humorous smile, a single eyebrow cocked as you waited for Landos laughter to simmer. It took a moment, a moment you thought ended a time or two before he began again, but eventually the room became still again as your face grew just a little more in adoration towards the man everyone could see you loved dearly. It was like the energy had shifted just a little, from what felt so playful before, to something a little more familial and warm.

“I think some of you may have put the pieces together, but for those who haven’t. Well… I’m pregnant!” Your smile was so big and sheepish, so conscious and just a little shy, it almost felt as if you were announcing it to a friend of many years and it was all just so heartwarming. You were okay! More than that, you were happy, and soon everyone else who would watch this video would be too. Lando's happy laugh from beyond the camera at the announcement finally being made was more than enough to express just how joyous the news was for the two of you.

“As heartbreaking as it will be to not be able to competitively race in the upcoming seasons, I’m not actually that sad about having to step down for a little.” You laughed heartily. “I proudly announce that in my place, the very talented Australian driver Oscar Piastri will be filling my position until I'm off from… maternity leave? I guess. That's a first for this sport.” You laughed. “But of course they just had to find the best to replace the best.” You quickly glanced over towards Lando out of frame, clearly expecting an agreement that never came. They could only imagine the disapproving look Lando was sending you.

Your expression never changed, but your tone dropped as you spoke darkly. “I’m carrying your child.” You spat, to which a loud “But of course!” sounded in response, followed by a laugh from the both of you.

“Don’t worry, you’ll still be seeing me around the track a lot considering this muppet,” you pointed to your left, “still gets to race.”

“Don’t be jealous,” the soft voice came from off screen.

“No, I’ll confidently admit it, I’m so jealous.” You pouted, but the warmth in your eyes belied the playful tone in your voice.

Lando’s hand appeared in the frame for a brief moment, gently squeezing your shoulder before disappearing off-camera again. “We’ll be back out there together soon enough.”

You nodded, your smile returning as you glanced back at the camera, feeling a surge of excitement for what was to come. “In the meantime, I’m looking forward to supporting the team from a different angle. It’s going to be a new experience, but I’m excited to do this as…”

“-As a mother?” Lando finished with a knowing smirk.

“As a mother.” You laughed, a loud one from Lando soon sounded to match your own, one so joyous it left you beaming. Suddenly, Lando jolted in frame, clearly excited as he leaned over the bed to tackle you from your sitting position down into a hug, leaving you both falling back onto the sheets. “Oh my god Lando!” You shout, a hand quickly moving to shield your lower stomach. “God! Nevermind guys, I think Lando just tackled the baby out of me, guess I’ll be seeing you all from my McLaren in Austria.”

“Oh!” Lando gasped. “Not funny!”

#lando norris x reader #lando imagines #lando norris x you #lando x reader #lando norris #lando norris imagines #f1 #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #ln4 #quadrant

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hiraethwrote · 5 months ago

Text

ARE WE JUST FRIENDS?

pairing : osamu miya x f!reader summary : late in the evening your phone calls, and a desperate atsumu begs you to come pick up his brother who is not only drunk, but in an extremely bad mood — which results in your best friend behaving uncharacteristically mean cw : best friends to lovers, timeskip, ooc osamu (not sure, i struggle writing him), angsty, hurt to comfort, profanity, intoxication, subtle pining, some miscommunication, jealousy, no use of y/n word count : 2.5k

author's note : for my beautiful ave (@hiraethwa) as a part of @lale-txt's amazing hq secret santa event. ik i've taken my sweet time, and i hope the wait was worth it. due to a lil writing slump, and in general being intimidated by writing for hq, it ended up very different from what i initially planned, but i still hope you enjoy it <3 mwah

“What are you doing here?”

You drew a sharp breath, the venom in his voice catching you off guard.

“Atsumu called me,” you sighed, wrapping your arms tighter around your body. You tried to convince yourself it was to shield yourself from the December cold, but you knew it was more in order to bring yourself a sense of comfort — Osamu’s hostile tone stung more than expected.

He scoffed instantly as his brother’s name left your lips, head turning away as you saw him aggressively roll his eyes.

“Of course he did,” he mumbled.

His complaint was loaded with unspoken feelings. All the years you had known him had thought you that much — your usual sweet and mellow best friend had a tendency to become passive aggressive whenever something really bothered him.

“Don’t be like that. Come on, get up.” Part of you wanted to retaliate with a just as snappy remark, but it would only cause you more problems in getting him to come with you, something you suspected was already laid out to be a difficult task.

When he didn’t do as you told him, you stepped closer, begrudgingly offering him your hand to help pull him to his feet. He only stared at it — an ugly glare usually reserved for his brother.

“Osamu,” you groaned in frustration, “it’s fucking freezing, won’t you please just get up!” Again he just huffed. “Stop acting like a child,” shaking your hand, hoping he would eventually accept the gesture.

Finally he turned to look at you, his eyes digging deep into you as there was a tight crease between his eyebrows — it made your stomach turn. He never looked at you like this. If you didn’t know any better, you would describe it as pure disgust, that he couldn’t imagine a worse place to be than in your presence.

It was tempting to turn on your heel and let him sulk in his lonesome, where he sat on the frosty grass outside the annual Christmas party his team put together, one he had hinted at for weeks he never even wanted to attend. But you remained persistent, mirroring his mean frown and challenging his glare.

Another scoff slipped out of him. Then he weakly swatted your hand away and got on his feet without your help. Once he stood straight, you noticed how his towering frame swayed ever so slightly from the alcohol still running through his body.

“What?” He spat, still maintaining the ugly eye contact that felt like an insult.

The kindness that usually wallowed in his eyes seemed to have gone dormant. And despite his cruel and uncharacteristic edge, you couldn’t help but to admire how pretty he was. The light snow falling slowly around you, landing in his hair before melting into little droplets of water.

Clenching your jaw, you took a deep breath through your nose to bite back whatever rested on your mind, trying to tell yourself he was only acting this way because he was drunk.

“Nothing.”

With high shoulders, both caused by the cold and the uncomfortable tension, you turned and headed over to your car and opening the passenger door to hold it open for him. But when you turned to look up, Osamu was stood in the exact same position, sporting the same grumpy expression.

Your head fell back with another loud groan. “Osamu, I’m not doing this with you tonight, just get in the car.”

“I don’t feel like going with you,” stuffing his hands in his jean pockets as his shoulders raised, trying to conceal how the cold was starting to make his body tremble.

“Too damn bad, now get in the car,” you said sternly as you contested his mean stare.

You wondered what the hell could have happened for you to earn this treatment from him. Yesterday everything seemed fine, hanging out the whole group where everything had been so pleasant — perfect even, if you dared be that honest.

The unspoken thing between you had continued to grow stronger, slowly but surely breaking out from the restraints of ‘just friends’. Your gazes lingered longer than what would be considered normal. More often than not, your arm would shyly be pressed against his the entire time you were hanging out — yesterday was no different.

And when it was time for you to take your leave, his arms had wrapped around your shoulders in a comforting hug that had resulted in your head resting on his chest. Your feelings had gotten the best of you, and you had let your eyes slowly glide shut and bask in his embrace for a moment longer than you knew you should have — then you didn’t hear anything from him until Atsumu had called and begged you to come pick him up.

“Please come and get him. He’s really drunk and should be in bed,” Atsumu’s voice was laced with concern before it twisted into irritation. “He’s also just in a fucking pissy mood.”

It hadn’t been a question whether you should do it or not — you would always be there for Osamu.

You just hadn’t expected to be met with such hostility from the person you were walking such a fine line with, especially when it came so out of the blue.

“Atsumu really wasn’t kidding when he said you were pissy,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Funny how you two keep talking about me,” he said, kicking an illusionary rock making him appear even more like a bratty child.

“Yeah, told me your own team don’t even want you at the party no more because you’re a buzzkill.”

An aggressive scoff shot past his teeth. “Some friend you are, talking crap behind my back with my own brother.”

“Sure, whatever, you can tell me how bad of a friend I am on the way home. I won’t say it again, get. In. The. Car.”

There was a betrayal on his expression, a flinch in his frown, telling you your crass tone was having a bigger impact on him than he was letting on.

Though he hesitated, his feet eventually carried him unsteadily towards you. Without sparing you a single glance, he crouched in front of you to enter the car. And just as all four of his limbs were inside the vehicle, your anger had you slam the door with a lot more power than intended before scurrying into the driver seat.

“Put your seatbelt on,” you demanded, watching as his body had let go of the shivering as the heat inside the car enveloped him — but there was no change in his mood.

The car ride back to his apartment was spent with zero words exchanged. The only thing heard was the gushing sound of the heat you were blazing throughout the car, and the low tunes of your calm music, which was actually doing wonders for you to steady your emotions a little.

You pulled into his driveway, silence swallowing the car as you shut off the engine. You turned to look at him, bracing yourself to meet a stubborn child you probably had to fight in order to get out of the car — instead, he was half asleep, eyelids heavy as sleep was looming right around the corner. A deep sigh slipped out of you at the peaceful sight of your best friend.

Slowly you reached out, placing your hand on his shoulder to carefully shake him awake, “Osamu, we’re here,” you whispered, only for all your irritation to return in an instant as he jerked out of your gentle touch, frown creasing his features again.

He responded with a low “hmpf,” before unbuckling his belt and exiting the car, yet again never having the decency to look at you.

He’s drunk, he’s drunk, he’s drunk, you tried to tell yourself in order for you to be able to treat him with some grace. Alcohol could be the devil, turning the most gentle of people into pests — as seen right before your eyes. What kind of friend would you be if you couldn’t show him some mercy by excusing one bad night.

“Careful,” you sighed, rushing over to him to firmly place your hands on each side of his waist as he was about to tip over, “I got you.”

“I don’t need you to have me,” he nearly growled as he reached in his pocket for his keys — but he never jerked out of your grip, letting your hands remain at his side as substitute.

“Here, let me,” you tried to interject when he fumbled with unlocking the door for a second longer than your patience could endure. Of course he was unable to willingly hand you the keys, but at least he didn’t put up much of a fight when you twisted it out of his long fingers.

With one hand still resting on the small of his back, you unlocked the door. With gentle pressure, you ushered him forwards, desperate to get the nuisance that was your best friend to bed.

“You can go home now,” he slurred the second he set foot inside his apartment.

“Not leaving just yet,” you whispered, remaining close behind him, guiding him to his bedroom.

He grunted and grumbled disapprovingly, and you might even have heard a suppressed ‘so annoying’ under his breath. You bit your tongue again, just hoping he would pass out once he was safely in bed — maybe come tomorrow, he could even give you an apology.

“Now you can leave,” finally stumbling out of your light grip, spinning around to serve you yet another one of his frowns.

“I’ll get you some water first-“

“No. I want you to leave.”

“Let me take care of you first, okay?”

“No, please just go home.” There was a sadness in his voice now. And maybe it was the lighting playing tricks on you, but you swore you spotted a shine gloss over his eyes.

Your shoulders slumped, unable to give your anger room to grow when he was so evidently upset.

“Osamu,” you breathed, daring to take a step closer. “What’s going on?” Carefully you grabbed ahold of his arms and guided him to the edge of his bed. He wasn’t accepting your gestures entirely, scooting further away when you sat down beside him.

“Nothing. Just don’t want you here.”

“Did something happen tonight?”

“No, nothing happened so you can leave!” It seemed like he tried to find back to the bite that had been in his tone when you first picked him up, but the sudden shift in his mood had taken control of him instead.

You didn’t think twice about reaching out, placing a comforting hand on his back — only for him to shrug it off.

“Atsumu said you’d been-“

A visceral groan interrupted you. “It’s always Atsumu, isn’t it?” He turned to look at you, sad eyes locking with yours and now you could definitely spot the faint gloss of tears.

“What?” You breathed in confusion, eyebrows narrowing instinctively.

“All night!” He said, almost more to himself than to you.

“You’re going to have to elaborate.”

“All night, he was on his damn phone, and suddenly he has called you.”

You couldn’t help yourself, placing your hand in his back again to bring him comfort, but you wasn’t sure it was to any help. “Yes, so I could come pick you up.”

Another petty scoff, tainted with poorly hidden sorrow, escaped him. “Why don’t you just go? I’m sure he would love to hang out with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you spoke softly, eyes studying his profile as his gaze was locked on his lap.

“I told you to leave!”

“Osamu,” you said sternly, fingers gripping his chin to force his focus back on you. “I said I’m not going anywhere!”

His eyes kept betraying him — his lips carried a frown and that crease between his eyebrows appeared to have grown stuck on his forehead.

But his eyes just looked so sad, as if somehow there was a lot of pent up feelings that had suddenly decided to spring to the surface and trap him in a spiral.

“It’s me,” you whispered, attention flittering between his eyes, hoping the tenderness you conveyed would convince him to reveal himself to you.

“That’s the problem.”

This was the first time you could remember being nervous around him, bordering on scared. You knew what you hoped he was getting at, but you were too afraid to let yourself be entertained by the pleasant fantasy.

It was so much safer to live in the naivety, thinking you were just more affectionate than other best friends. Entertaining a lovesick dream of being anything more was simply too risky, only seeing a scenario where you ended up hurt.

However, the look he gave you sprinkled just the tiniest bit of reality to your fantasy.

“Do you like him?” the innocent question tumbling out on accident, googly eyes staring at you before his shoulders bounced with a quiet hiccup.

“Like who?”

“You know who,” he whined, eyes pleading for you not to make him say it.

“Atsumu?” He nodded weakly, gulping down the nervous lump in his throat. “I mean, sure.”

“But do you like like him?” He caused heat to flush your face by his adolescent question.

“We’re just friends.”

“Are we just friends too?”

For some reason, his bold statement had the tension in your body evaporate, shoulders slumping before you moved your hand to cup his face, certain you heard the softest hum leave him as your hand caressed him.

“No, we’re not.”

And then he melted into your touch, finally letting his sweet smile paint his lips instead of that damn frown.

“You know we’re not,” you whispered.

“I know,” he whispered just as low, “but I needed to hear you say it.”

“But Osamu?” Your voice was soft as velvet, watching how his eyelids had become heavy again.

“Hm?”

“You’re still really drunk,” you chuckled weakly.

“Don’t worry,” he yawned, “I’ve liked you for years, so I’ll still remember tomorrow.”

You had no choice but take his word for it, hoping he would in fact remember the small confession exchange that had taken place. At least you had the ability to bask in some relief, feeling as if tons had been lifted from your shoulders.

With no sudden movements, your hand left his face before carefully getting on your feet. His breaths had slowly turned deeper and slower, a clear indication sleep were to consume him sooner rather than later, gracefully leading him to lay down on the bed.

You pulled his covers over him, smiling to yourself at the peaceful sight and thankful the night had managed to take a turn for the better.

Just as you were about to head out of his bedroom, his soft voice spoke your name.

“Yeah?”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Osamu. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And right before you closed the door, you saw the sweetest smile stretch across his face once again.

an : also wanna thank the lovely lale for putting this whole thing together, and introducing me to this amazing group of people <3 comments and reblogs is much appreciated

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