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cressidagrey · 1 month ago

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Love Letter

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Other people write love letters, Felicity Piastri reengineers tire degradation.

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who actually knows what she is talking about and is the genius behind the science. She said this science "was understandable and accurate enough for fic." (Also I am aware that this is not believable, but hey, let me have fun 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

By the time McLaren hit mid-season in 2024, Andrea Stella had become something of a veteran in the art of bracing for impact — the kind that came not from a crash, but from the Piastri household.

He had gotten used to it.

Oscar’s precision. His unnerving calm. The way he drove with the composure of a man triple his age and none of the ego.

Felicity, who wasn’t technically on the payroll, but might as well have had a desk in R&D. Who was so liked in the engineering department that Andrea had overheard an engineer asking Oscar like an overexcited puppy when his wife was going to come back and play with them.

Felicity was always lingering at the edge of a race day.

Always watching. Always noticing.

And then there was Bee — small, serious, and so wildly intelligent it made his engineers nervous. She had literally seen an issue with their suspension during her first trip to the garage. Now, she asked about downforce balance mid-lunch and then drew airflow diagrams on her juice box.

Andrea had learned to expect brilliance from them.

But what Felicity handed him that morning wasn’t brilliance.

It was revolution.

It came in the form of a single-page drawing.

A3 paper. Hand-sketched. Neat annotations in clean block lettering.

She passed it over casually, like it was a grocery list. “Was thinking about deg last night. Couldn’t sleep. Just a theory. Don’t know if it’s actually useful, sorry.”

Andrea glanced at it.

Then really looked.

And stopped breathing.

At first glance, it looked like a cooling solution — rim cooling, a variation on brake duct design. Not uncommon. Not radical.

But then he saw it.

Phase. Change. Materials.

His eyes darted to the margin where she’d written:

PCM core set to activate at 276°C. Peak drawdown window ~30 seconds, reset threshold <210°C. Tapered air channel design for directional retention. Modeled after CPU heat-sink transfer.

Andrea looked up.

Felicity just shrugged. “Everyone’s been trying to brute-force cooling through airflow. I figured… maybe it’s not about keeping it cool. Maybe it’s about controlling the peak.”

It wasn’t theoretical.

It was elegant.

Andrea’s brain kicked into high gear.

PCM — phase change materials — had been a whispered concept in F1 circles for years. The holy grail of thermal management.

The idea that you could insert a material that would melt in response to a precise temperature range, absorbing energy as it changed state — holding a system in a stable thermal window. It worked in CPUs. Data centers. Rocketry.

But no one had ever made it viable in an F1 brake drum environment.

Not until now.

Not until this.

Not until it came from Oscar Piastri’s wife, at 2 a.m., in the quiet space between insomnia and motherhood.

Andrea blinked hard. “You know we’ve had engineers — PhDs — trying to crack this for years?”

She just shrugged.

He had no words.

Just respect.

And the rising sense that something seismic had shifted.

He handed it straight to the sim team. They ran a closed simulation. Quietly. Then another. And another.

By the time they tested it under controlled parameters, the engineers were whispering about windowed degradation curves. About temperature floors. About thermal consistency that shouldn’t be possible.

Oscar was suddenly able to manage medium compounds like they were hard. The performance drop-off curve flattened — flattened. Andrea had never seen anything like it.

No magic bullet in F1 ever worked this fast.

But this?

This wasn’t a magic bullet.

It was physics. It was material science. It was control — without compromise.

They ran it again during a private test at Silverstone. And then — stealthily — implemented portions of the system into the race package.

By the time the 2025 season came around, Red Bull was accusing them of cheating. Mercedes was sulking. Ferrari was confused.

The paddock wanted to know what the hell McLaren had done.

The answer?

Felicity Piastri.

When Andrea called her into his office, holding the latest race run data in one hand and a calculator in the other, she sat across from him sipping tea out of a mug with Bee’s name on it.

“You realize you’ve just solved one of the biggest unsolved problems in modern F1?” he said.

Felicity blinked. “I was just tired of watching Oscar hemorrhage tire life while driving perfectly.”

Andrea stared at her.

She added, a little awkwardly, “I didn’t… mean to change the whole season. I just wanted him to stop overcompensating for a thermal flaw no one was fixing.”

Andrea leaned back in his chair and said — for the first time in his career — “I am both terrified of and completely in awe of your entire family.”

Felicity just smiled and said, “Would you mind printing a copy of the new tire envelope profiles? Bee wants to compare the heatmaps to the old ones.”

Andrea buried his face in his hands. “Tell her to go easy on us.”

“I’ll try. No promises.”

They were rocket ships now. Every track. Every compound. Consistent, controlled, deadly fast.

And somewhere, deep in the McLaren server, the drawing still existed. In a scanned file. Named Piastri_Insomnia_Fix_v1.pdf

Andrea renamed it later that week.

"Found the Window."

Because that’s what it was.

A window — held open by a woman who thought differently. Who didn’t need the spotlight. Who just loved someone enough to stay up all night figuring out how to protect him from heat, chaos, and failure.

And somehow, she’d done the same for all of them.

***

Mark Webber had seen a lot in his career.

Title deciders. Broken bones. Politics dressed up as progress. He’d seen technical miracles and driver meltdowns and the rare, perfect moment when both came together and worked.

But he had never seen a technical revolution arrive folded in half on a single piece of A3 paper, annotated in gel pen and handed in like someone had just scribbled down the grocery list.

And he certainly hadn’t expected it to come from Felicity Piastri. Maybe he should have.

He was standing trackside in China when Andrea Stella handed him the printout — not the PDF version with simulations, but the original. The drawing. The one that changed their 2025 season from promising to dominant.

“She gave me this on a Tuesday,” Andrea said, voice flat with disbelief. “Said it was just a thought. I’ve had people with entire departments fail to model this. She did it because she couldn’t sleep.”

Mark turned the page over once. Then again.

It was neat. Clean. Not showy.

Pressure curves, airflow vectors, the highlighted activation band of the phase change material she’d used to stabilize tire temp near the brake drum.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “She’s a genius.”

He knew that. He had been aware of it for years. But it was something else entirely to see it in action.

Andrea didn’t argue. “She just… wanted to help Oscar.”

Mark stared at the drawing again.

That’s when it hit him.

This wasn’t a flex.

This wasn’t about glory. Or proving herself. Or showing up a paddock full of men with degrees and dynos.

It was a love letter.

Written in airflow.

Signed in melting point theory.

Stamped in the stable temperature range of a tire that could now go ten laps longer without falling off.

Felicity hadn’t just solved degradation.

She had — quietly, brilliantly — rewritten the way Oscar raced.

Because he was hers.

And this was what loving him looked like.

Not flowers. Not poems. Just… making the world easier for him. A little softer. A little kinder. A little less brutal at 300km/h.

Mark let out a slow breath.

“Do you think she knows what she did?” he asked.

Andrea shrugged. “I think she knows why she did it. That’s probably enough.”

Mark folded the paper again — carefully, reverently — and tucked it back into the folder.

And in that moment, he didn’t see the terrifying engineering breakthrough.

He just saw a woman who loved her husband enough to change the laws of tire life —So he wouldn’t have to carry the weight alone.

***

Oscar had just come back from a long run on used mediums when Andrea called him into the office.

Nothing dramatic — just a quiet, “Got a sec?” as Oscar peeled off his gloves and handed his helmet to a mechanic. The kind of thing that sounded normal. Routine. Like maybe they were going to go over sector data or tire drop-off or which curb had tried to kill him today.

So when Andrea closed the office door behind them and reached into his drawer without saying a word, Oscar raised an eyebrow.

Then Andrea handed him a sheet of paper.

A3. Slightly folded. Faint graphite smudges along the margin.

The original one. Still folded along the crease Felicity had made when she handed it to Andrea like it wasn’t the single greatest thermal breakthrough in modern tire strategy.

Oscar took it automatically.

Looked down.

And stilled.

There were notes in clean block print. Equations. Angled airflow paths, subtle thermal gradients, annotations on phase change material melt points and rim temperature drawdown.

Oscar’s throat went dry. His eyes scanned the drawing again, heart starting to race—not from adrenaline, but from recognition.

He knew that handwriting.

It was so her. The tidy script. The neat arrows. The absence of drama.

Just a brilliant mind trying to fix something that made the person she loved suffer.

He’d seen it on post-it notes stuck to Bee’s whiteboard. On margin scribbles in books Felicity had left lying around. On every note she slipped into his suitcase before he went to a race….every note that he then slipped into his racing gloves.

Oscar looked up, voice quieter than it should’ve been. “This is Felicity’s.”

Andrea nodded once. “She gave it to me three months ago. Said it was probably nothing. Just an idea she had when she couldn’t sleep.”

Oscar sat down.

Because suddenly, his knees weren’t quite up to the task.

He stared at the drawing like it might vanish.

This was it.

The fix. The reason their tires held. The reason he didn’t fall off in stint two. The reason strategy meetings had shifted from damage control to aggression. The reason the car felt like it trusted him back for the first time in forever.

He felt it like a punch to the chest.

“She… she did this?”

“She did,” Andrea said. “And she didn’t want credit. Said she just wanted you to stop overcompensating for bad thermal management. That you were too good to keep bleeding lap time for other people’s mistakes.”

Oscar swallowed hard. His hands were shaking.

He looked back down at the paper.

At the numbers.

The calculations.

Oscar turned the page over.

A post-it was pressed to the back, Andrea’s handwriting.

“From Mark: ‘This isn’t just engineering. This is her love letter to Oscar — making the world around him easier.’”

Oscar’s heart stopped.

He stared at the sentence for a long, long time.

He read it again. And again.

The words didn’t feel like compliments.

They felt like someone had taken a flashlight and pointed it directly into his chest — illuminating something he hadn’t dared to articulate, even to himself.

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

The sketch. The concept. The whole damn thing.

Felicity hadn’t set out to change a season.

She’d just wanted him to stop hurting.

To stop watching his tires fall apart under perfect driving. To stop fighting physics he couldn’t control. To stop carrying all that frustration on his own.

She’d stayed up at 2 a.m. not because it was her job — but because it was his dream.

She had never once made him feel like he had to win for her.

But God, she made him believe he could.

He blinked hard.

Thought about the way she kissed his temple when he came home late. The way she labeled Bee’s lunchbox with thermal guidelines for optimum snack temperature. The way she never said I love you like a performance — only like a truth.

Then he looked up. “Mark… he really said that?”

Andrea’s voice gentled. “He did.”

Oscar stared at the page again.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah. That’s her.”

And in his chest, where the engine noise usually lived — Where the pressure, the expectations, the sheer weight of competition settled — He felt something loosen.

Because winning was nice. The championship would be incredible.

But this?

Being loved like this?

That was better than anything he’d ever drive for.

***

The house was dark when he got home.

Not silent — not entirely. There was the low whir of the dishwasher. The cluck of a chicken outside, ruffling in its sleep. The soft creak of floorboards as he kicked his shoes off at the door and padded down the hall in his socks.

It was late. He hadn’t texted. He hadn’t needed to.

The bedroom door was open.

Bee was curled up in the middle of the bed like a starfish in mismatched pajamas, one hand still clutching the tail of her stuffed frog. Felicity was beside her, lying on top of the duvet, eyes closed, one arm slung across Bee’s little body like she was anchoring her in a dream.

Oscar stood in the doorway for a long time.

Just… watched them.

His wife and his daughter. One terrifying genius and one tiny one-in-training. Both of them unknowable and brilliant and his.

He swallowed around the knot in his throat and moved quietly to the other side of the bed, careful not to wake Bee as he lay down beside them.

Felicity stirred almost immediately, her breath catching as her body registered the warmth beside her.

Her eyes opened — drowsy, soft.

“Oz?” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep. “You’re home late.”

Oscar didn’t answer at first. Just slid his hand beneath hers and laced their fingers together. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, slow and steady.

She didn’t push.

Didn’t sit up.

Didn’t ask.

Just waited.

And because she didn’t ask — because she already knew — he found his voice again.

“Mark saw the drawing,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “The one you gave Andrea.”

Felicity blinked slowly. “Oh.”

“He said it was a love letter. That you were making the world easier for me.”

She was still for a beat.

Then: “He’s not wrong.”

Oscar exhaled sharply. Pressed his forehead to her shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve figured something out eventually.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

She turned her head just enough to press a kiss to the crown of his hair.

Her voice was quieter than ever. “I’d do it again.”

Oscar’s breath hitched.

“I’d do it again tomorrow,” she said. “And the next day. And the day after that. If it meant you could breathe easier. If it meant you didn’t have to fight so hard just to keep pace with people who were working with better tools.”

He closed his eyes. Let the weight of her words settle over him like a blanket. Warm. Certain. Steady.

She ran her fingers through his curls once, twice.

And then she whispered: “You make the world easier for me, too. You just don’t notice it. You make it softer.”

Oscar kissed her shoulder. Didn’t move.

Didn’t need to.

Because she knew.

And he’d carry that with him — into every debrief, every qualifying lap, every moment on the podium.

This wasn’t just about racing.

This was home.

And it felt a hell of a lot like winning.

***

Lando found out in the most Lando way possible: completely by accident and one week too late.

He was in the simulator debrief when the topic of “thermal management integrity stability” came up — words that immediately made him want to die a little inside.

They were talking about their tire performance. Again.

Specifically, the fact that they could now absolutely cook it through mid-stint without falling off the cliff. And no one else could.

Lando was half paying attention — until one of the engineers muttered something about “F. Piastri’s material integration concept.”

Lando blinked.

“Sorry, whose what now?”

The room went quiet.

Andrea didn’t even look up from his screen. “Felicity. The drawing. You’ve seen it.”

“No, I have not seen it. Unless it was attached to a meme or came with a side of banana bread, I was not included.”

Will Joseph — Lando’s race engineer — slowly slid a printed diagram across the table.

Lando took one look.

Paused.

And said, “Wait. This is her?”

Andrea nodded without looking up. “Came up with it over insomnia. Gave it to me like it was a shopping list. It works.”

Lando stared at the airflow map, the PCM trigger temperatures, the annotated note that literally said ‘the goal is to stabilize the moment he usually starts slipping — give him room to breathe.’

He felt like someone had sucker-punched him with science and sentiment at the same time.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, sitting up straighter. “You’re telling me Felicity Piastri — as in, Oscar’s wife who wears motor oil like perfume and once fixed the coffee machine with a literal wrench — came up with the strategy that made our car an actual rocket ship?”

“Yes.”

“And it works.”

“Yes.”

“And she just gave it to you? No credit, no fuss, just… ‘here, I fixed the entire concept of high-deg tire strategy because I couldn’t sleep’?”

Andrea finally looked up. “Correct.”

Lando sat back, stunned.

He knew Felicity was scary smart. Knew she could rebuild a gearbox while calculating orbital velocity. Knew Oscar worshipped the ground she walked on and never made a big deal out of it because he didn’t need to.

But this?

This was something else.

“She didn’t do it for the team,” Lando said quietly, the realization hitting all at once. “She did it for him.”

Andrea didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

Lando looked back down at the page — the margins, the equations, the gentle note that said “he’s too good to be held back by bad thermal behavior.”

And he felt it in his chest — that familiar ache.

Because that wasn’t engineering.

That was love.

The quiet kind.

The kind that doesn’t shout or show off.

The kind that stays up at 2 a.m. fixing something no one else thought could be fixed — just so the person you love can breathe easier.

So he doesn’t have to carry it all alone.

So he can go faster, safer, freer.

It was a love letter.

Not in flowers or poems.

In airflow and melting points.

Lando leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “Jesus Christ. She built him a better world.”

Will snorted. “She rebuilt tire degradation, but sure, let’s make it poetic.”

Lando didn’t even blink. “It is poetic. He’s the quiet guy. And she’s the quieter genius who knows exactly where he hurts and rewrites the laws of physics to help him anyway.”

Andrea tilted his head. “You’re getting sentimental again.”

“I’m right,” Lando shot back, still staring at the page. “He’ll win the title because she didn’t want him to bleed for it.”

He tapped the margin with his knuckle. “This is the kind of love that never asks for a podium. Just builds the car to get him there.”

And for once — no one had a comeback.

Because they all knew it was true.

***

They were in the driver’s lounge two days later, when Lando struck.

He’d been waiting for the perfect moment.

And Oscar, blissfully unaware, had just taken a bite of his protein bar like he wasn’t about to get emotionally roasted.

Lando stretched out across the sofa like a cat in a sunbeam and said, far too casually, “So… what’s it like being loved so much your wife reinvented tire degradation for you?”

Oscar blinked mid-chew. “…Sorry?”

Lando grinned. “Just curious. I mean, some of us get love letters or handmade birthday cakes. You? You get full-phase material integration strategies and temperature-controlled brake ducting. Romantic stuff.”

Oscar groaned, immediately regretting not hiding in the sim room instead. “Lando.”

“I’m serious,” Lando said, sitting up now, fully energized. “Felicity took one look at your stint data and said, ‘this man needs help. Let me just rewrite thermodynamics real quick.’”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t—”

“No, no,” Lando cut in. “Don’t you dare downplay this. The rest of us? We have to manage deg. You? You have a thermodynamic guardian angel in your marriage bed.”

Oscar flushed, the tips of his ears visibly pink. “She had a theory. That’s all.”

“‘Just a theory,’” Lando mimicked, using air quotes. “‘Just a casual bedtime sketch that turned McLaren into the most stable tire platform on the grid.’ My God, Oscar. She loves you so much it’s physically measurable.”

Oscar sank lower in his seat, muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re married to the Nikola Tesla of tire temp control. I deserve to be insufferable.”

“Lando—”

“She built us a better car because she hated watching you suffer.” Lando flopped dramatically. “Imagine. Being loved with that level of efficiency. Can you even comprehend?”

Oscar sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s just… always been smarter than all of us.”

Lando stopped mid-rant.

And smiled, softer this time. “Yeah. I know.”

There was a long pause.

Then Lando added, “Anyway. If she ever wants to fix my brakes, tell her I’m emotionally available.”

Oscar snorted. “Absolutely not.”

“What about Bee? Can she be bribed with juice boxes and data sets?”

Oscar shook his head, laughing now. “She’s already running her own simulations. She’s got standards.”

Lando grinned. “Just like her mum.”

Oscar looked down at the McLaren logo on his hoodie — the one Felicity stole all the time — and felt something warm settle in his chest.

He didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t need to.

But when he went home that night, he kissed Felicity extra softly — and whispered thank you against her temple like a promise.

And Felicity?

She just smiled, wiped her grease-smudged fingers on her jeans, and said, “Don’t thank me yet. Bee thinks we can improve the airflow angle by three degrees.”

Because love — in their house — was always a work in progress.

And always worth the effort.

***

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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keferon · 5 months ago

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Im kinda curious if your mecha au blurr has a preference between swerves as a mech or his holo

For example, if he was given a choice to say cuddle, either which one would he choose?

Well, I don’t think Blurr would prefer one form over another but I do think he would behave differently depending on the form Swerve is in.

It’s kind of hard to cuddle with big metal bot who could accidentally crush your spine without even trying after all haha

But Blurr is a BIG automobile enthusiast + has a lot of money. He would absolutely spoil Swerve in any form hehe. Human? Here’s a hundred gifts, here’s goofy sweaters, here’s funny mugs, here’s a weird tropical fruit you never heard of before, here’s tickets for a cool show. Cybertronian? I personally don’t know much about the topic but imagine literally every nice treatment for a car. Washing, polishing, waxing, what else is there? Painting? Pretty little charms? Cool accessories? Like. Blurr would make sure his house has enough space for Swerve. Probably destroy a bunch of doors to make them big enough. Would make a nice cozy place in the garage, with temperature control and everything.

…..I kinda keep imagining that they have this thing. Like a silent agreement that when Swerve is a bot Blurr would climb over him all he wants and Swerve would just try not to move bc he’s scared that Blurr would fall or get hurt. But if Swerve in his human form? Haha get crushed idiot.

#maccadam #transformers #tf mecha universe #mecha art #mecha bs art #fullmetal bartenders #blurr #swerve

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rainrot4me · 9 months ago

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TW: Blowjob, soft sex, fluff, vaginal

𐚁₊⊹

Regardless of your request for him to use the front door, Toby will always prefer the window to your bedroom.

He has a key, he knows the code to your garage door opener, and he even knows the key box disguised as a semi-realistic rock nestled under the bushes. Yet, he will always push open the screen and climb his way in.

And on particularly difficult nights like tonight, Toby is more than ready to pile his way into your soft bed and your warm arms.

He brushes the strands of hair from your face, leaning close to kiss your forehead as you stir. Heavy-eyed and groggy, you smile, reaching to wrap your arms around the neck of your love.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

You feel the rainfall from outside soaked into his jacket, the dense smell of outside tangled into his messy hair. He looks pitiful and tried, but you know he feels even worse.

Throwing the covers off, you trek to the bathroom, switching the dim light on and turning the shower faucet on to a nice warm temperature. Toby perches on the edge of your bed, exhaustion evident on his freckled face. You grab his hand, leading him to the comforting heat of the shower.

Steam rolls from behind the curtain as you pull it back, your hands gentle to slowly strip the boy of his dirty clothes. He doesn’t fight, just blinks away his sleepiness as you guide him in. Undressing yourself, you follow.

“Bad day?”

The hot water rolls off your skin, Toby leaning into your every touch as you gently wash the blood and grime from his face. He nods, blinking his eyes shut as you move his head under the rolling water.

“Why is he putting so much work on you? You deserve to rest.”

You’re upset for him, more than fed up with the countless times your boyfriend has shown up within an inch of collapsing.

“It’s fine. Re- Really, it is.”

You’re still frustrated, but deem this a discussion for later. Right now is about him.

Lathering the shampoo into his tangled hair, you scrub his scalp and smile when he leans into the feeling. He’s groaning, tilting his head back so you can massage it in deeper before moving him to wash it out.

Toby is already feeling better just from you taking care of him. He doesn’t like to look weak, but sometimes he just can’t help but come crawling home to you.

You gently run a soapy rag across his chest, cleansing the dirt and blood that runs down the drain. He lets his hands rest on your hips, thumb gently rubbing back and forth across your skin as you clean him, taking such good care of him.

Leaning back, the soap from his skin begins to wash off. You caress his face, trailing your hands across his skin as he smiles at you. You let your hand dip further, sliding across his abdomen to his half-hard length. His breath hitches, fingers tensing against your hips.

“What’re yo- you doin’?”

You push him back softly, his shoulders meeting the cool side of the shower as you slowly dip down. Toby watches, tired eyes wide as you slowly stroke his growing cock.

He leans into the wall, body slowly relaxing as the water continues to fill the shower with steam and comforting heat. You take him gently, guiding the head into your even-warmer mouth and easily beginning to bob up and down.

Toby’s gasping, fingers clinging against the tiles and watching intently at your every move. You brace your hands on his thighs, letting your mouth work him over as your tongue slides along the underside. You reach out, gripping his hands to come to the side of your head, a silent permission to let him take control.

He’s whining, tired groans and gasps slipping through his lips as he tangles his fingers into your wet hair and slowly begins to guide your head further down.

He’s not going rough or desperately, but so lovingly and thankful. The brunette can’t believe how you could be so effortlessly perfect for him, but here you are. It’s all he can do not to spill over already.

You relax into his touch, jaw hanging as loose as you can get it to accommodate the length gliding itself deeper into the warmth and wetness of your mouth. His fingers tense against your head, a silent plea as you flutter your eyes up to him, nodding your permission.

He’s sliding you off his cock and helping you to stand, your back quickly being turned to him as you’re pressed into the tile wall. You try to grip anything, the slippery porcelain offering no help as Toby angles his cock between your thighs, pressing up to your entrance.

You groan, arching your ass against him as he slowly pushes in, the stretch of that tight ring of muscle making you gasp.

“Toby…”

His arms wrap around your middle, forehead dropping onto your shoulder as his hips begin to move. You’re reeling, eyes fluttering shut as the stretch and fullness of him guides you flush against the tile. Your walls grip him, thighs straining to hold open as he bottoms out again and again.

“Love…”

Your cunt aches as his pace branches from gentle to eager. His hips roll up into yours, fingers digging at your sides as he fucks up into you with desire.

You’re so good to him, so loving he can’t stand it. He just wants to show his thanks.

You’re scraping at the tile, your cheeks pressed into the cold wall with gasps and moans. Toby’s fingers slides down your abdomen, pushing past your folds to rub against your swelling clit. You lean into the touch, rolling steadily as he continues his pace, making sure to push his cock as deep into your warmth as possible.

You’re so tight, so perfectly molded for him as his cock nudges your g-spot. You’re gasping, his fingers driving you over the edge and slamming your climax into you. Toby’s there too, pumping his cock into the gumminess of your cunt until he feels like he’s melting.

Tugging himself in his fist, you kiss his skin, whispering encouragements until he’s cumming into his hand.

Washing yourself and him off one more time, you shut the water off, patting the dampness from your skin before tugging Toby back towards your bedroom.

At this point, you’re both exhausted, hands wrapped together as you pick out pajamas for both you and him.

Bathed and warm, you slide back into your bed, holding the sheet up so Toby can climb his way in too. He’s sighing as you wrap your legs around him, your bodies tangling together as you find a comfortable balance.

“I love you.”

Toby nudges his nose into the crook of your neck, the sweet smell of your shampoo making him smile. You’re holding him close, rubbing small circles across his shoulders as you feel his weight slowly relax into exhaustion.

“I love you, too.”

You’re both asleep in seconds, bodies held close and warmth spreading. The rain still patters outside, the late hours and missions of the night long forgotten when you’re both so lost in each other’s touch.

Even despite how much love you show him, he’ll still refuse to use the front door next time.

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wrystia · 5 months ago

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unmistakable glances spencer agnew x fem!reader (fluff) wc: 800

staring at the screen in front of you, your finger pushes ever so slightly at the left joystick. sitting beside spencer, your legs are propped up into your chair, an old sweatshirt acting as a protective shield around you. your character slowly walks into a parking garage, the dim lights partially obscuring the large alien figure. eyes wide, you look back at spencer, your lips pursed.

he peers over at you, giving you a short smile. clenching your jaw, you look back to the screen. moving the joystick once more, you slowly make your way through the parking garage. the alien slowly creeps above barriers and around cars, occasionally kicking a can that’s been left laying around. “this is the worst,” your whisper comes out low, trying to keep yourself from looking away again.

“you’ve got this,” he whispers back, something your personal mic packs could pick up but the remote couldn’t.

his voice echoes in your head, sounding somewhat soothing as you make your way around a car. and just as you’re starting to feel your heartbeat slow, you run into a crushed can. the sound of metal getting kicked carries throughout the parking garage. the alien makes a noise, one that indicates its awareness of you, immediately sending you to toss the controller into spencer’s hands, “shit!”

it lands in his hands, the controller processing your speaking and alerting the alien right to where you are. spencer looks over at you with his mouth agape, watching the alien kill your character in his peripheral vision. “why’d you do that?!” he laughs a little, making sure you know he isn’t being serious with his attitude towards you.

“that’s like asking a duck why it quacks.”

“i feel like i go a little bit insane every time you make a weird analogy. could’ve said ‘that’s why a pig flies’ and i’d probably take it at face value,” spencer sets the remote down, bringing his hands up to bring up his cap and adjust his hair.

looking back at him, you try to hide the smile that crosses your lips. he’s always had this effect on you, the way he does anything with a simple nature that makes your palms clammy. even just the way he casually rests his arm behind your chair, the heat of his body temperature leeching onto you. “okay, first off, i’d never say that. second, you need to start because we’re running out of time and i want out of this building…”

��i feel so emotionally wounded, you don’t want to hang out with me and this amazing crew anymore?”

“you know what i meant, and if you don’t start going soon i am going to… report you to hr,” you watch as he grabs a hold of the system’s controller, rolling his eyes as you make up some sort of threat to convince him to get moving.

starting the level back up, he keeps his eyes on the game in front of him, locking in. however, your gaze can’t seem to escape from his concentrated face. you know he can feel you looking to him and not to the computer screen. you also know that you want to play it off like simple fear of the game, clinging onto your cohost with only the purest of intentions. but, when his gaze shifts back to look at you, all you want to do is bring him closer.

“watch me nail this,” he gives you this smug look, forcing you to move your eyes to the screen.

he moves your character in the same path that you had taken her, watching the alien slowly creep around the parking garage. staring at the screen, you don’t seem to notice as spencer hides back a laugh, walking right into nearly the same can that you walked into. “oh shit!” he yells, exasperated.

tossing the remote to you, you look back at him. “you fucker!” you listen as the alien quickly kills your character, once again attune to the sound of cans moving and the shouting of two very loud individuals.

“you are so evil, i need everyone to hear me now when i say that this is all just to torture me,” you look around the room, only to have your eyes land back onto spencer.

he stares back into yours, carrying a cheeky little smile that he seems to love to have around you. for a second, you almost forget that you’re filming. especially when he reaches down to grab the controller back from your hand. spencer’s fingers brush yours in a quick movement, static bridging from your hand to his. “fine, fine, we will finish this level out clean! just know that we have a lot more to go through. just a warning.”

“oh goodness.”

#smosh #smosh x reader #spencer agnew #spencer agnew fanfiction #spencer agnew x reader #spencer x reader #smosh games #spencer agnew imagine #smosh spencer #smosh fic #smosh fanfiction

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comicarc · 3 months ago

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭 (𝐈)

•──✮ masterlist ✮──•

> Main Continuity Mark Grayson/Reader > Best friends with Mark Grayson, she had lived a simple life. Yet, when Omni-Man winds up in the GDA's hospital leaving a plethora of unanswerable questions in his wake, both their lives change for better or worse. 【 wc: 2260 】

◃ previous ◃ ▐▐ ▹ next ▹

A/N: I haven’t seen many long fics for og Mark so here’s my go at it!

“Hey Mrs. D!” y/n exclaimed as Debbie walked into the kitchen.

Smiling at the girl munching on cereal beside Mark, the woman enthused, “Shouldn’t you be heading to school?”

Chuckling at the remark, y/n responded with a shrug, “Guess I got lost on the way.”

The girl was practically living at the Grayson residence at this point as she visited in the mornings, hung out after school, and left the house as late as she possibly could get away with. Debbie didn’t mind the constant presence for she had come to adore the girl as her own, but she had wondered many times what encouraged her desire to distance herself from her real family.

Noticing his mom turn her attention to the buzzing TV, Mark noted, “Looks like Dad’s saving the White House.”

As Debbie went on her rant about how the White House had essentially become cannon fodder over the years, being decimated at least twice a year now, y/n sipped the last ounce of cereal in her bowl. Turning her head to the kitchen, y/n saw Omni-Man entering the house, implying that it was time for her to leave and allow them to enjoy some family time.

Nudging a distracted Mark, y/n whispered, “I’ll meet you outside.”

Shutting the door behind her, y/n unslung her backpack from her shoulder and leaned against the garage door, admiring the cloudless sky. The sun was shining, the temperature was just perfect, and Omni-Man had saved the day yet again. She only wished her life could go as perfectly as this day.

Growing up next door to Mark ever since they’d been born, y/n always felt a hint of envy for the Graysons. With a loving mother and an attentive father who, despite carrying the world on his shoulders, still made time for his son, her best friend had the perfect family. She had only ever wished to have the same or at the very least, two parents as present and caring as his.

Walking out mumbling something under his breath, Mark suddenly jumped up into the air posing like his father. Losing her shit at the sight of him as his shoes barely made it three inches off the ground, y/n mocked, “Whoa there Omni-Kid, don’t let gravity stop ya.”

“Haha, very funny,” Mark replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes at the girl who remained hunched over with hands on her stomach as she attempted to contain her laughter.

The two trekked onward down the street toward Reginald Vel Johnson High School, with Mark rambling about how his hopes of getting powers were getting crushed by the minute and y/n lost in thought. Mark had whined about his lack of superhuman abilities for years, none the wiser to the fact that y/n had already manifested some of her own. It was a secret she had maintained for years now, only beholden to one other person.

She had hated her abilities, for they only wrought unwanted attention and immense responsibilities that most others seemed oblivious to. Not even Mark considered how having the ability to lift trains and literally move mountains could change someone’s life. She had to be ever so gentle with her every move to make sure she didn’t flick a piece of trash into the next building. She had to learn to control her hearing, to drown out the myriad of noises surrounding her so that she could hear what the boy beside her was saying. She had to realize that every move she made endangered the lives around her. It seemed she was the only one in the world to think of these powers as a curse. She guessed that was probably the reason why the Graysons kept her around. Her aversion to power and all that came with it allowed Omni-Man to trust her with his identity, and subsequently, Debbie.

After fifteen more minutes of this dynamic, the two finally reached school just as the morning bell rang. They each went their separate ways, waving each other off at the entrance knowing they’d be seeing each other soon enough.

A day of classes passed, and Mark was headed off the BurgerMart when y/n received a text from her father. “I need you home ASAP.”

He had rarely ever texted her. The man would always call if things were urgent or leave notes on the counter for her to read when she went back home, but texts were reserved for life-or-death situations. Upon receiving it, she quickly made her walk home slightly faster than what it would normally take her, wary of using her enhanced abilities in public.

Barging into the dark house, y/n called out, “Dad?”

He walked from the shadowed steps of the stairway to the sunlit living room holding a package. She could see the disappointment strung across his burrowed eyebrows. Seating himself on the couch and sliding the package across the coffee table toward where y/n stood, he sighed.

“You still talk to her?” He began, anger laced in his words.

He had every right to be mad, just not at y/n. “She’s still my mom.”

“Your mom? After she cheated, moved out, and never came back?”

y/n winced knowing he was right, she was for all intents and purposes a deadbeat. Yet, her mother would still call to check up on her and they’d have girl talk, gossiping about the latest drama in the neighborhood or raving over a show she’d watch. She needed a mom just as much as she needed a dad, but her father couldn’t see things the same way. After all, he couldn’t forgive the woman who upended his life so easily. So, she remained quiet, unable to formulate any response to his stinging words.

“If you want your mother so bad, maybe it's time you stayed with her. In fact, why don’t you start now.”

y/n didn’t want to test his anger, for his words were amplified enough for her to receive the message. He just didn’t want to see her, for she reminded him of what he lost. It wasn’t the first time he ‘kicked her out’ so she knew she’d have to sneak into her room through the window for a week before he’d cool off and return to his normal state.

Retreating from her house y/n had to figure out what to do to pass the time. She could go to the Grayson residence, but she felt she had been imposing her presence on them as of late. Walking down the street slowly she decided that the best way to kill time would be to roam around the city, contemplating a reality where things were different.

A few days passed since then, and she hadn’t talked to Mark in a while. Her guilt ate at her every time she left her home for his, for she felt like she was insulting her father’s attempts at salvaging what was left of her family. All her anguish had caught up to her the last few days and she coped with it as best she could alone, but the weight of it all was too heavy for her to cry away. So she sought solace in the one place she felt comfortable, with the Graysons.

Ringing the doorbell, y/n was met with a perturbed Debbie. Before she could even step foot inside, the woman inquired, “Have you seen Nolan?”

Shaking her head no, Debbie elaborated, “He didn’t come home last night.”

Standing behind her, Mark reassured, “Mom, stop worrying. He probably got buried under a mountain again or something.”

As Debbie searched the room for her purse, she added, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Huffing in defeat, y/n handed the black bag to the woman, smiling, “He’ll be fine. He always is.”

As y/n headed to Mark, eager to know what he’d been up to in the days they hadn’t talked, Debbie opened the door to two agents with sullen faces. One of the men motioned for the woman to call for Mark while the other instructed, “We need you two to come with us.”

As y/n approached the two, following them out the door, one of the agents held her back, clarifying, “Just them.”

“She’s coming.” Debbie enunciated as she stepped into the car, steadying herself by gripping Mark.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Any number of things could have happened for Cecil to bring Mark into the Global Defense Agency against Debbie’s wishes. With a comforting hand rested on Debbie’s on the ride there, she’d been imagining all the scenarios from enlisting Mark into Teen Team to telling them about leaks in the department. Never in a million years would she have thought she’d ever see Nolan Grayson lying unconscious, beaten half to death, in a hospital bed.

He’d been there for her more than her real father. More than anyone. Aside from being the only stable adult male figure she could actually look up to, the man had taught her how to control her powers. He was the only person she trusted to know what she was capable of and in turn, he gave her lessons. How to fly 101, how to fight, how to hone her senses to feel normal. In every sense of the word, he felt like the father figure she never had.

Seeing him in such a state left her more fearful than mad, more saddened than vengeful. For now, it confirmed the fact that she cursed the ones she cared for with pain and misery. First her own parents, and now Mark’s. She couldn’t comfort either Grayson or feed them with pacifying lies. So as quickly as she had run to the bedside, she left the room. Closing her eyes and taking deep breaths, y/n attempted to center herself.

A moment later the door to the room reopened and out stepped Cecil with a request. “If you couldn’t tell already we’re a bit short-staffed in the hero department. We need you to go out there.”

Scoffing, y/n asked,“Why not the Teen Team, or literally any other active agent?”

“You’re the closest thing to Omni-Man we have left kid, besides Mark.” Mark? He got powers?

If not her then Cecil would prey on Mark’s unsatiated desire to be like his father and she knew that would lead him down a path he’d regret. Weighing her choices, she apprehensively agrees to help him just this once. Her only condition was that if the threat could be handled by the Teen Team then she would leave. Cecil simply nodded along, eventually telling her to suit up and head downtown.

Her powers resembled those of War Woman save for immortality as far as the Omni-Man and the GDA speculated, so Art awarded her with a similarly designed costume. She wore a blue armor-plated skirt paired with a red-trimmed golden breastplate. Her armored boots, reaching up to her knee were of a similar color scheme, complimenting the upper half of her body. With an armor that only covered her most essential parts, neglecting her limbs, y/n was accessorized with gold gauntlets and given a lasso, sword, and shield as her primary weapons.

Flying into downtown, she had arrived just as the green aliens were filtering through the portals. There was already a bloody mess on the streets with severed limbs flying around the air with each blast. Taking out her shield, she protected herself from the firing squad and slowly progressed forward. If she could reach the center of the herd of aliens, she could punch and slice her way out, leaving them vulnerable enough to force a surrender.

Soon enough she managed to end up right where she wanted to be, in the thick of battle. Unsheathing her sword she decimated many of the front-line forces. Just as she was finishing up, y/n saw one of the tanks direct its blast at a hero clad in blue, yellow, and black. Turning her body to see if she had time to save him, y/n saw the Teen Team finally make their entrance with Atom Eve saving the new guy.

Immersing themselves into the battle as the new guys flew away with a woman in his arms, y/n called out, “Y’guys got this?”

Holding back the unrelenting bodies that began to pile on her shield, y/n could faintly hear Robot yell, “We have a greater probability of success with you here.” Great.

More aliens kept piling on, and her sword was becoming more an more blunt as she held off the forces. The Teen Team & her were able to keep the aliens at bay long enough for enough people to escape and for the aliens to shrivel up. As they were dying in hordes, y/n lowered her shield, placing it back on her back as she was dumbfounded at the sight.

Turning her head she headed straight to Atom Eve, starting with an interrogative tone, “Did you do this?”

“We thought you did,” she replied equally as puzzled.

Regardless, the threat was subdued and that meant y/n could head back to the GDA headquarters to be where she was really needed. On her way there, she stashed away her hero costume, changing back into the civilian clothes, before entering the building. She had barely registered the trail of blood leading into Nolan’s room until the doors opened to reveal a bloody Mark in a hero costume hunched over Omni-Man.

“Mark? You’re–”

-ˋˏ ༻💫༺ ˎˊ-

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•──✮ masterlist ✮──•

#mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #female reader #x reader #invincible #original characters #atom eve #teen team #debbie grayson #nolan grayson #omni man #slow burn #friends to lovers #invincible x reader

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firegirl888101 · 6 months ago

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Insatiable Madness (12)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

People are taking notice. This is good, just... don't allow suspicion to linger for too long...

Reader is Gender Neutral!

It was the next morning.

After your little ‘Dress to Impress’ situation with Signora, you grabbed lots of blankets and extra mattresses for the Harbingers. Originally, you planned for all of them to sleep in the living room and dining room as it was the biggest and the furthest space away from you. However, all the girls complained about this and managed to persuade you to let them stay in the guest bedroom instead.

So there you were, moving half of the mattresses and blankets into the guest bedroom for them, not a single shred of help given to you. You’re not sure how they’re going to decide who gets the bed, but honestly, you don’t want to imagine the petty chaos that will ensue because of it. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to have the girls close to you, after all, you can hear all their arguments through the walls quite clearly…

Anyway,

After that you used the rest of your noodles for yourself and forced the harbingers to eat boiled vegetables. You’re not evil, it’s just the only other thing you could cook without guaranteeing the house would catch on fire. Also, it might have been the only thing left in the freezer.

And off to bed everyone went after dinner. They didn’t say thank you, of course. However silence is better than having to figure out how to piece your sofa back together like a lego house. As of now, you’re downstairs and suffering through an onslaught of Childe’s complaining.

“When’s breakfast?” Childe whined, laying on the sofa with his patched up injuries still healing.

“Never, until you and the others get a job to financially support the house.” You replied, leaning back on the armchair and watching the news. It wasn’t anything interesting unlike yesterday, with the notice of you being missing being the conversation of the day. Today, it was reporting on the increasing average climate temperature. Ah yes, another problem. But luckily, that’s something out of your control right now.

“But it huuuurts! You can’t expect me to walk around the city limping.”

“Yes, but that won’t stop you from using the Internet, will it?”

“I have no idea what that is.”

Maybe this is a good thing. Letting the harbingers go on the Internet without any control or restrictions could possibly not just end you, but also the entire world. At that point, if you let it happen, humanity’s biggest problem wouldn’t be climate change anymore.

“It is decided.” Sandrone gleefully spoke with an excited voice, walking through the front door and entering the living room. “I’m officially working as an engineer in a garage not too far away. Oh, this is simply splendid news!”

“Sandrone, I thought we agreed you weren’t going to work due to you looking too young?” You questioned her with an exasperated sigh, already expecting this outcome.

“We never agreed on such a thing.” She scoffed at your unenthusiastic reply. “The Rooster and I discussed my wishes to learn the field of mechanics of this world. We decided it would be best if I visited the mechanic’s garage we passed by when we were walking to that weird food place we found you in. When I walked inside and inquired about a position, they instantly said yes! Ahh, it seems even in this world humans can detect true talent.”

“Or, get this, they were suffering from this city lacking engineer’s to hire. From the sounds of it, they were desperate to employ just about anyone.” You fired back, voice plain.

“Don’t be so conceited. They specifically asked for my skills. And, after I talked about my puppets and robots, they were instantly intrigued and brought me aboard!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Good for you, or whatever.” You turned back to the television, not giving her anymore attention.

“Well, I believe it is a wonderful thing.” Pulcinella walked into the room, sitting on the sofa with Childe, his back to Childe’s shins.

“At least someone’s got a job. Did anyone else actually try to find one this morning?” You groaned.

“A woman approached me with a business card, something about ‘fitting the vibe’ with a new fashion collection she was working on and offered for me to be a part of it. What did that mean?” Arlecchino spoke up, passing you the business card she mentioned.

Looking closer at it, you could tell it was a relatively new business. One owned by someone just a few years older than you maybe. Honestly, it actually looks really cool. Maybe you’ll check out the website link on the back of the card later.

“She’s asking you to become a model for a fashion branch she’s designing.” You explained, passing the card back.

“Modelling? Hm, looks like I’ll have to find something somewhere else.”

“You don’t want to be a model?” You questioned her.

“I’m used to working in the shadows, I dislike public attention when I work. Becoming a model would be unlike me.” She sighed disappointedly.

“I say you do it, Knave.” Columbina cheered for her. “If you don’t like it, you could always kill her and erase all footage from her Kamera.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“I suppose that could be a possible outcome.” Arlecchino thought to herself, ignoring you.

“Okay, please don’t think about it if that’s what you’re going to do if you don’t like it! Be normal and just quit the job, and read your contracts!” You exclaimed in horror.

“Very well, I’ll contact her later today.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” You turned to her.

“I thought I’d ask you to help me.”

Of course she’d expect that. Children, all the Harbingers are basically children high on drugs in wonderland not knowing what to do or how to do it. Just what would they do without you? It’s no wonder despite kidnapping you they give you a lot of freedom. You’re surprised they haven’t tied you up and left you to rot in your own boredom actually. You often wonder why they haven’t done that, it’s very clear they get more and more annoyed the more time you spend with them.

“Childe, the second you heal I’m kicking you out of the house until you find a job.” You announced, Childe whining as a reply.

“Why are you so harsh with me!? I’m one of the nicest guys here!”

“Because some of the others actually took the initiative to go out and find a job today which I’m pleasantly surprised at. It could have turned out a lot worse, but luckily it didn’t. Therefore, I really don’t care.”

“Decider!! You’re so mean!”

“Why do I hear Childe screaming a lot more than usual this morning?” Pierro yawned, entering the room with hazy and cloudy eyes.

“The Decider wants him to get a job.” Scaramouche bluntly stated, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.

“Oh, as if you have room to talk. You didn’t even try to get a job this morning. You didn’t even leave the house to pretend to try!” You argued with him.

“There is no way, in any stage of care I could possibly and deniably have for you, am I working to support people I don’t even like.”

“You’re doing it to support yourself!”

“I don’t even need to eat, silly mortal.” He snickered at your flabbergasted face, struggling to keep up and monopolise him.

“Hmph, if the heartless crude doesn’t wish to work, don’t force him.” Sandrone scoffed in his direction, fiddling with the TV remote in her hands, observing which button does what.

“As I have decided and discovered a place to work, allow me to earn as much money as you need. I can guarantee you, I’ll be much more helpful than this…” She struggled to find the word.

“...thing.”

“Excuse me??” Scaramouche couldn’t believe what he was hearing, his head snapping towards her direction as fast as the speed of light.

“It truly is shameful, to take and not give in return.”

“Like you’re one to talk.” Dottore grinned, entering the room alongside Pantalone and shutting the living room door.

“It doesn’t matter what any of you morons say. I’m not getting a job, meaning stop bothering me with blather I’m ignoring. You’re wasting your own time.” Scaramouche scoffed, turning away dramatically and walking in the direction of the dining room going to do something that you couldn’t even attempt to guess.

“...I’m going to kill him.”

“Don’t try it, you’re thinking of what we’ve wanted to do for years. His usefulness is the only thing keeping him alive now.” Pierro sighed, a hand on his head trying to soothe his incoming headache.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

You were back in your bedroom, trying to communicate with the Traveler on the other side again. Alas, he still wasn’t replying in your favour. His blank look was still displayed on his face. Maybe you should stop for a while and give it time, continuously trying seems to be wearing you out more than the Harbingers themselves. Either that, or you’re getting really angry now. …What are you saying!? Nothing will wear you down more than the presence of the Harbingers, never forget what they did and what they could do to you. Even if they’re acting nicely towards you, it doesn’t change how they treat and have treated others. Never forget it, ever.

Speaking of never forgetting, now that you have the time, you should do something about all this merch.

You walked up to your desk, eyeing the different figures and occasional sticker littering your desk. You made quick work of scratching the stickers off, ripping them to shreds and violently throwing them in your bin. You looked at the Arlecchino and Scaramouche figures standing next to each other on the back shelf of your desk, you grabbed them and stared at them, admiring every detail made by the artist.

Such a shame. It’s funny how just last week you were excited that you could potentially buy all the figures and line them up on your desk. Unfortunately, you’ll never be able to see these characters the same ever again. Especially fucking Scaramouche.

You shook your head after a short while of staring, choosing to shove the figures under your bed instead of smashing them like you wished you could with the real people. You’ll try and resell them later for money to support yourself once this is all over.

Anyway, at least now your desk is clear. You can’t remember the last time you saw it bare with only your computer on it. Next, you should get rid of all the genshin plush toy’s on your bed and above your wardrobe. Starting with the massive Childe whale laid out across your mattress. Ugh, but you actually like this one! Without the genshin context, it would just be a cute whale! Should you just shove this one under your bed too? And what about–

“You’ll never guess what I did!” Childe burst through your door, a very excited expression on his face.

“Childe!? What are you doing?? GET OUT!” You shrieked, standing up and running to cover your computer screen before he could see it.

“Okay, so, you know how you told me to go out and find a job when I got better?” He began explaining, ignoring your complaining with a mocking tilt to his head.

“Yes, but get out! We can talk outside of my room!” You quickly ran forward, pushing him away from the door frame and out of the room with haste.

“You don’t even have anything interesting. Just looked like a basic bedroom to me…” He pouted playfully, his eyes narrowing at the door you slammed behind you after you successfully removed him from your bedroom.

“Right. What were you telling me about you looking for a job?” You sighed, not wanting to discuss your bedroom any further.

“Okay. So, I was out looking for a job, yeah? I was struggling and felt really angry, but then I passed by a building with boxers punching and training! I went in and asked if I could try it, and they immediately asked if I could join their gym after I did! Pretty amazing, right?” He hummed, grinning widely.

“...You have to pay to join a gym.” You countered him, a confused expression.

“That’s what I thought too! But, the manager of the place was coincidentally having a meeting with a man looking to sponsor an upcoming athlete. When he saw me, he offered a sponsorship to me. So now I get paid to train in the gym everyday!”

“That’s… um.. You know what? If it’s what you want to do and it pays well, go for it or whatever. Just warning you, sponsored athlete’s training is very harsh and time consuming. You don’t get to eat what you like and have spare time to yourself. You’ll have barely any time to yourself in the house. Not to mention–”

“That I can’t quit until my first fight? Yeah, I know that!”

“Alright fine then. Just… don’t kill anyone.” You gave him a suspicious glance, turning around and opening the door slightly to squeeze through without him seeing your bedroom.

“See you la–”

“Decider, could we have a look at the modelling place now? Pierro has given his permission for us to head outside and find the shop.” Arlecchino walked up the stairs, stopping after seeing the awkward placement of yours and Childe’s conversation.

“I CAN’T CATCH A BREAK I HATE MY LIFE!”

“What are they talking about?” She whispered to Childe, the ginger shrugging as a response.

“Dunno. They’ve been more annoyed than usual today, kind of reminds me of my mother when Tonia steals her clothes and goes outside to make them dirty on purpose.”

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... …

You can’t believe this. The Harbinger’s are actually letting you go outside without the worry of you escaping? Okay, you suppose you are essentially tied to Arlecchino right now due to her grabbing your wrist with an iron hold, but it’s better than nothing!

Your visible appearance must have been one to laugh at. You were wearing an oversized jumper and three of your mothers scarves which were so long they were almost touching the ground, even with the three wrapped around your neck twice. Thank goodness it’s cold today, if it wasn’t, you would be getting even weirder looks than you already are now. You sighed, your breath sticking to you thanks to the blue covid mask wrapped around your face under the bundle of scarves.

“You went overboard, you know?” You turned to her with unimpressed eyes, Arlecchino’s head still looking forwards in attention, ready for any potential surprise attacks like a true soldier.

“No, I say we didn’t cover you enough.” She replied with a rich voice. “I insisted we add a hat to cover your head, but Pulcinella couldn’t stand the fact you’d be sweating with it on.”

“Thank you…” You did a small imaginary salute to Pulcinella. “I would have cried if I had to wear any more clothes. I can already feel my skin soaking wet.”

“That’s repulsive.” She commented.

The two of you crossed the street, heading towards the shopping centre in the middle of your city. When following the link on the business card Arlecchino was given, Google Maps led you to the main shopping centre in town. Seeing this was a beautiful opportunity to see if you could find anybody you recognised to get help, you gladly accepted her request for you to guide her towards the shop she needed to get to.

You walked in, following after the silver haired woman with anxious steps. She stopped, seeing a map of the building and pointing at the words, trying her best to try and read them. With a frustrated sigh, she turned to look at your smug expression, watching her try and fail to understand the map.

“The place you’re looking for is that one.” You walked up to the board, pointing to the name of the clothes shop she was looking for.

“Thank you.” She closed her eyes, trying to conceal her annoyment with a screwed up face.

The two of you then began walking through the shopping centre, yourself occasionally glancing at the confectionary shops smelling like heaven. You were tempted to drag her in, to have a look at the delicious delicacies wrapped in colours and dream of having them, but you decided against it considering her gaze darkened every time you yanked her towards a window.

“You are such a child.” She commented, breaking her silence to mock you. “Pulcinella tells us of your childish behaviour and resorts to disobey, witnessing it first hand at first was entertaining, but now it’s becoming frustrating.”

“I tend to have that effect on people.” You replied, struggling to hold your tongue with a grin. Technically you’re safe right now. There’s too many people around here for her to try anything if you annoy her too much. Sure, she would take out the majority, but there will be some who could run away unscathed in time to call the authorities.

Well, that’s what you would have done if you were 100% sure she came alone with you in the first place. Not only that, but you don’t want to get other people stuck in this situation with you. It’s kind of crazy how traumatic situations like this will either bring out the best or worst in people. In your case, you luckily responded in the former way. To think a couple days ago you were a selfish angsty hermit who never left their room unless your parents called for it.

Arlecchino isn’t stupid, you know she’s the Fourth Harbinger for a reason. She’s intelligent, patient, and excellent at hiding her true feelings if she needs to be careful. A terrifying analyser, and one you should probably stay neutral around when you’re alone with her. If she’s not as arrogant as you think she is, you’re guessing she asked one or two Harbingers to spy on the two of you from afar. It’s a shame you’re not as perceptive as the others, maybe then you’d actually stand a chance.

“Hey,” You felt a hypnotising click in front of your eyes, focusing on the mutated fingers with red nails very close to your eyes.

You came back to reality, finding the silver woman bent over slightly clicking you back. “I would advise you to pay attention and listen to me from here on. I cannot have my guide slacking and leading us in the wrong direction.” She coldly stated, slipping on a pair of gloves you advised her to wear before leaving the house.

“Right.” You coughed, avoiding her mesmerising eyes with a dramatic step back and a light flush on your cheeks. What in her right mind made her think getting that close to you was a good idea!? Is she trying to kill you, and embarrass herself in public??

The two of you walked in silence after that, the happy families and couples you walked by contrasting the tension between the two of you. Thankfully, the shop wasn’t too much further. If you had to walk anymore in that suffering silence, you think you would have charged through one of the shop’s glass windows. The two of you had successfully reached the shop in question and found the woman who scouted Arlecchino inside. You saw her brooming the floor through the glass windows.

“Sooo…” You awkwardly turned to her. “I’m presuming that’s the woman who gave you the business card?”

“Yes. That’s her.” Arlecchino nodded, grabbing your wrist and walking inside with you being dragged behind her.

The shop was very gothic. There were many clothes both in and out of fashion, that seemed to be loved by the community who were browsing the shelves and hangers with bright smiles. Yeah, this is a good shop. It reminds you of one of those small online businesses that only a few people know of due to its rarely appreciated products. You can see Arlecchino fitting in somehow.

“Wow, wow, wow! You actually decided to come!” The woman exclaimed. “Please, do come in! I’ll be with you shortly, I just need to put this broom back.”

She seems… cheerful.

The excited woman ran up to the two of you, standing at the front door. She clasped Arlecchino’s gloved hands, and practically had stars in her eyes.

“If you’re here, I’m guessing you took my offer then? Oh! I’m getting ahead of myself. My name is Aurora, but everyone calls me Rora since the name Aurora is quite posh, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s a beautiful na–”

“Do you really!?” Rora beamed at you, interrupting your quiet voice with her louder brasher one. “I thought so too, until I realised it didn’t fit the brand in my shop.”

“Anyway…~” She laughed, interrupting herself. “We’ll have to see whether my vision does indeed match your style. Come with me, err, what was your name again?”

“My name is Arlecchi–”

“Ahem!” You coughed, interrupting her with a side eye. You forgot to tell her she should use a different name for when she applies for the job. Fuck, that reminds you, you didn’t tell the other Harbinger’s who unexpectedly went out to find a job on their own to give fake names either!

She seemed to get the hint, closing her eyes then opening them again. “My name is Arlette, it’s nice to formally meet you once more.”

“Sure, sure! The pleasure is all mine, or something like that. Now come on, I’ll have you model some styles I put together to see if they’re good enough to go on my website.”

“Website?” Arlecchino mimicked, turning to you with a raised eyebrow.

“It means if she likes the way you look, you not only get the job but you get paid for the work you’re going to do today. That’s what it seems like anyway, she seems nice.” You shrugged in reply.

“‘Seems nice’?” She gasped jokingly. “I am nice! We’ll show you, you just wait there and we’ll come out looking fabulous!”

“Yes, wait there. It would be a foreseen shame if you exited this shop without a second pair of eyes on you.” Arlecchino hinted, before turning around and following the woman behind the till and through the staff door.

Well, that confirms your suspicions. She did get a couple other Harbingers to trail the two of you to the shopping centre. How frustrating of her.

What’s even more frustrating is how Rora didn’t realise your appearance is unnatural! Come on, girl, even though it’s cold it’s not normal to wear this many layers inside a shopping centre! Oh well, maybe you could turn to the other customers in the shop?

You looked behind one of the shelves covered in t-shirts, peering through the gap to see two other girls laughing at a video on their phones. Would now be a good chance? But you’re being watched. Maybe you should test the waters first by having a normal conversation.

Yeah. That’s a good idea. Now, if your legs could just move and guide you to where you want to go that would be great. It would be a bit weird if you called out to them when you’re in an enclosed space together. Huh? Why is the ground shaking? You feel like you’re about to collapse to your knees, where did your strength go? Your eyes widened in realisation when you realised what was happening.

You can’t do it. Your legs won’t move, they’re shaking as if they’re trying to move, but can’t for some invisible wall. You can’t seem to get your voice to work either, it feels as if it’s wrapped itself inside your throat like a coil. Come on, just move! Now’s the perfect chance to try and do something! Are you scared of the fact that a few other harbingers may be watching? Or is it something else?

You looked around the room quickly, feeling a sickly heat wave over your head. You couldn’t tell whether you were crying from disgust or fear. Why is it, when you just need to do something, does your body freeze like this? Is something wrong with you? Surely it isn’t normal to just freeze, when people are scared you usually see them run - not stand like a deer in headlights!

Realising how awkward and how hard it would be to explain yourself if someone saw you in this state, you went to a random corner of the shop and tried to calm yourself down.

“Helloooo?~” Rora called out, stepping out of the staff room with Arlecchino trailing behind her.

“Where areeee youuu? We’re finished, and I need a second opinion!”

You sighed, giving your eyes one more wipe then rubbing your hands as if you were drying them under a hand dryer.

“I’m here, just looking at this collection of… jeans.” You lied, not being able to keep your voice cheery, instead it came off as a dejected unnatural tone.

Walking over to the two after a deep breath, you saw Arlecchino dressed in an entirely different outfit than her usual one. She was wearing a clean white blouse with long sleeves, the blouse tucked in a pair of black jeans with a chain connecting her back pocket to a section on her belt. There was a tie wrapped around her collar, descending down and resting above her chest.

She stood tall, a blazer slung over her shoulder rather than around her body. Not going to lie, she looks amazing, and strangely sexy in a way… Her modelling a tomboy outfit like this reminds you of a fanart you saw once, which you definitely didn’t spam a certain copypasta on… ANYWAY—

Your point is she looks great, Rora really knows her stuff.

“Well?~ From your stunned expression, I can tell I really hit the mark with this one! It’s targeted for office girlies who want to dress differently, but still classy. Non-gender specific and of course, fab-ul-ous!” She stepped beside the harbinger leaning a certain way and spreading her hands out dramatically.

“What do you think, Arlette? Is it comfortable? Is there something you would change?”

Arlecchino looked down at herself, judging her appearance with lidded eyes. After a short pause, she nodded and looked back at the designer.

“I like it. It’s comfortable, and the stitching is beautiful. Sometimes the most basic of outfits can make the boldest statements.”

“Exactly! I knew you’d get me!” Rora cheered. “And my, my! It’s not everyday somebody notices my trademark stitching. You have perceptive eyes!”

“Trademark? Does that mean you sew all these clothes yourself?” You gaped, not believing a word you’re hearing.

“Mhmm. I hate the idea of allowing a machine to create my clothes for me. I want to spread my passion and ideas sustainably, not mass-produce them in a factory without a care in the world. The idea makes my heart wrench!” She comedically weeped.

“Actually… To be fair, that’s actually why a lot of the shelves are still empty. Turns out managing a shop in a busy shopping centre like this takes a lot of work - especially when it’s just you. A lot of the time, when something is bought out it takes me months to refill the aisle back to how it once was. It’s difficult… but, I love it.”

“Wow…” You felt your eyes glistening. ��Environmentally aware and sustainable? Rora, I might be your newest biggest fan! I’ll be honest, I thought you were just a massive Pinterest fan.”

“Ahah! I get that a lot!” She giggled into her hand.

“You wouldn’t happen to do custom designs, would you?”

“I haven’t thought about it. Buuuut, considering I’m running a little bit low on funds, I would love the idea if you had something in mind?” She thought to herself, encouraging the thought.

“Sorry, but it’ll have to be another day. My funds aren’t the best either at the moment. I’ll definitely keep the thought there though, if you’ll do the same?”

“Of course!” She gave a thumbs up. “Anyway… Whaddya think? You’ve had a look at one of my simpler designs, and I think you fit the image I had in mind perfectly! Your friend seems to agree also!”

Arlecchino stared at you for a few seconds before brushing a strand of hair out of her face and looking away.

“I’ll take the job.”

“Yippee! Welcome aboard, Arlette!” Rora jumped up and down, unable to control her excitement. Everybody else in the shop awkwardly applauded after being spooked by the sudden noise, not looking surprised in the slightest. It seems Rora getting excited is a usual occurrence…

“Alright-y then! Hmm, let’s see… we’ll discuss contracts and serious stuff tomorrow when you come in for your first official day… for now I guess I can ask whether you’d be okay with restocking shelves and helping me manage the till?”

“Hm? I thought I was simply modelling?” Arlecchino wondered out loud. “It is not a problem, I thought it would just be my image that’s being used.”

“You see, having someone monitoring the shop would give me more time to work on clothes and research. It could possibly get the shop running smoother and make business quicker.” She clicked her fingers.

“And besides, you seem like the thorough type. If someone tried to steal from the shop, I know you would chase them down instantly!”

Pfft, yeah, you can see her doing that alright.

“I appreciate the honest thoughts.” Arlecchino nodded appreciatively. “Would I be paid a higher amount?”

“Why, of course! I can see your added efforts would boost productivity which in turn could increase products being bought. When that increases, I’ll be sure to pay you more.”

“Then I see no issue with our arrangement.” She sighed, eyes shutting harshly when hearing Rora squeal in excitement again.

Oh dear, this is going to be a long day.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... …

“Aaaaand that’s a wrap! Thank you so much for this!” Rora clapped, thanking Arlecchino with a thumbs up and a cheer.

“That was… suspiciously easy.” Arlecchino mumbled her thoughts. “Your Kamera equipment took less than a minute to set up.”

“Well, yeah, duh? Hey, is your friend always like this?” Rora turned to you.

“Something like that…” You coughed into your hand, avoiding eye contact. “Anyway we should be heading out, it’s getting late and I’m hungry.”

“Before you go!” Rora ran behind the till, scrambling to pick up a few notes before running back to the two of you and handing them out. “Here, I’d be a bad boss if I didn’t pay you fairly for today’s work. We got around 12 outfits for my website, so this amount should be alright. Do you have any complaints?”

Any complaints… ANY COMPLAINTS!? She’s given her way too much, no wonder she’s having some financial troubles! Buuut, you are in need of some money… Okaaay, you’ll be a bit greedy and let it slide this time. But when Arlecchino’s next pay-day comes around you’ll definitely say something to protect Rora’s business - being too kind might be her downfall. If only you knew how right you were in saying that.

Arlecchino looked to you, clueless with the money she gratefully took from her new boss. You nodded, smiling as normally as you could, eyeing her as she folded it and stuffed the notes in her pocket.

“I will see you tomorrow.” Arlecchino waved slowly, grabbing your arm and pulling you out of the shop with her.

“Wai– Arlecc– I mean, Arlette, let me say goodbye too!” You struggled to speak, fumbling due to being lurched forward to match her strides.

“Bye Rora!”

She simply waved back, a gentle smile on her face as she eyed the two of you leaving her shop like a herd of elephants. Her smile dropped, her arm going back down to her side as she turned to the other customers in the shop.

“Ladies, you wouldn’t have happened to feel… something wrong there, would you?”

The two girls looked at each other, one looking clueless whilst the other nodded, agreeing without words.

“I didn’t see anything, they just looked like two normal people to me.”

“No, there was a threat of intimidation with your new worker.” The other thought out loud. “It’s hard to explain, but I get what you mean by feeling something wrong. The person with her looked like they were about to burst into tears at one point - hell, they were wandering around the store aimlessly when they weren’t at her side.”

“Huh? But if something was wrong, why wouldn’t they have just… I don’t know, passed us a note if they couldn’t say anything?”

“No. I don’t think they could.” Rora interrupted her. “Did the two of you hear their name, by chance? It’s almost as if Arlette was making sure that question wouldn’t come up, when she was talking the conversation always felt controlled.”

“Okay, even I don’t know what you’re referring to here.” The intelligent girl with the headband said. “If anything, Arlette didn’t speak very much. It was almost as if she was clueless about the whole thing, maybe that’s why she brought her friend?”

“Hmm… Wait, we really didn’t hear her friend’s name! I wonder why they didn’t introduce themself. Oh, speaking of suspicions… Now that I’m thinking about it, did anyone find it weird how they were wrapped head to toe in scarves and coats? They must have been boiling, I don’t think they would have chosen to leave the house like that…”

“That’s true. In fact, now that I’m thinking about their appearance also, I don’t think I could mention a single unique characteristic of theirs at all. If they ever entered the shop without all the coats and scarves, I don’t think I’d be able to recognise them unless they spoke.”

“I’m going to find out everything when Arlette returns tomorrow.” Rora looked determined, turning around back to the till. “Something just doesn’t feel right. I’m sure it’s nothing, and we’re just looking too deep into things, but I think it would be wise to ask more personal questions tomorrow.”

“Good idea.” The girl in the headband agreed. “Would you like me to also be there tomorrow? There’s strength in numbers.”

“Yes please.” Rora’s face turned serious. “I could use all the help I can get right now. Say, ‘Lils’, you coming in tomorrow too?”

“Of course, girlhood is girlhood after all! We have to stay toge–” She flinched, running up to the window without warning and looked around. She looked back to the other two giving her a suspicious look. “Sorry, I thought I felt something weird. Must be all the creepy talk.”

“...Damn it, Knave. It hasn’t been a day and you’re already garnering suspicion.” Scaramouche whispered to himself in frustration, looking through the window carefully once the girl turned her head.

He sighed, moving away from the window to tail both you and Arlecchino. It seems his presence was needed here after all, the Knave didn’t warn him wrong. He has to give her credit, unlike some of the morons he’s been forced to come here with, everything she planned has indeed come true. He thought this outing would be useless, that it was a waste of time, but it ended up being useful and that’s all he could care about. What to do about those three though? It would be far too dangerous to let them live, especially considering they were onto her. What’s more important to him is this sudden interest in The Decider. In his opinion, they’re becoming far too curious. He would rather them stay entirely clueless.

“Hey, Arlecchino? Now that you’ve been paid… could we plea–”

“No.” She cut you off, placing her hand over her pocket so you couldn’t snatch the money inside. “We are not buying stupid things, we finally have money that you’ve been complaining for. I will not let you waste it.”

“But… But it’s a tradition I have!” You complained.

“Tradition?” She raised her eyebrow, not looking impressed.

“Yeah!! Whenever my mother and I come to the shopping centre, we always stop by a chocolate shop and treat ourselves.”

“What a stupid tradition.” She muttered under her breath.

“Come on, pleeeaaaseee? You’re a ‘Father’, you should know when to treat your children!” You tried to convince her, trying to use puppy eyes with your hands clasped together.

“Don’t try to convince your perfectly fine brain with your own stupidities.” She glared at you. “You are not a child of mine, and you never will be, so end that thought whilst it’s still alive.”

The two of you walked in silence after that, the occasional puppy eyes from you and a heightened glare in return from her. Scaramouche looked on from behind incredulously, mouth threatening to gape open in disbelief. Is he seeing this right, the Knave is tolerating your begging? Not to mention, her facade is definitely dropping. He can’t remember the last time he saw her like this without lashing out in a violent rage.

Before long, the two three of you found yourselves at the front of a shop. You stopped, looking up at her confused, until you realised which shop she stopped the two of you at.

“Arle— You didn’t!” You beamed at her in excitement. No way, she remembered which shop you were looking at the longest on your way to Rora’s shop!? So, she really did care about what you were thinking earlier!

“Pick what you want, and get something for myself also. I am trusting you to get something cheap and delectable, if I dislike what you give me I’ll tell the others not to consider letting you out of the house ever again.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You ran up to her, wrapping your arms around her tense body. You hugged her tight, smiling widely before letting go and grabbing her hand.

“I’m going to give you a tour of the entire shop so you can make your choice, trust me, you have an expert over here!”

“Ah…” Arlecchino looked away for a moment, the only evidence of her mood being her eyes shining more than usual. “Alright.” She nodded, a twinge of embarrassment showing.

Scaramouche felt his jaw drop, his incredulous expression from before leaking out in the shop like incense. Is he… Is he seeing this right?

Hoh, this will be interesting…

Helloooo! Nice to see everyone before another 6 months have passed. I'm hoping to be more consistent now that studies have become less important for this next year. Still important but my procrastination to do other things has no limit.

Just because I said I feel more motivated to get out of bed every morning in my Christmas message doesn't mean I've changed as a person lol

Please don't expect too many happy, nice and generally fluffy scenes.

This is Yandere, a genre which should never, under any circumstance be considered normal. It's abusive, unhealthy and leads to a lot of victims facing awful conditions which they never should or ever have to endure no matter who they are.

This is fiction that I'm writing, meaning it's all taken light-heartedly IN A FICTIONAL SENSE.

If anyone, by chance, is currently in conditions where a loved-one or yourself has suddenly become distant and/or being hurt when away from eyes please get help. Talk to them, or if it's you, talk to someone you know you can trust.

If you can't talk to anyone, find authorities who can help you. Call 999, as it is in the U.K, or your local emergency service. They will always help you, and will never deny your rights or freedom.

Thanks for reading this, I hope all who's reading knows this information already, but I thought I'd include it since who knows when it comes to where you are in the world and whether your education programs taught critical information like this.

✨Elusive✨ Taglist!:

@valeriele3 @pale-value @pix-stuff @yumi-genshin-writer @yuii-v @itz-luna @annoying-mary @etherisy @khalhaimdad @haikyuusboringassmanager @magica-ren @sweatyexpertdeputyduck @booksandteaplusart @9140 @whatamidoing89 @raesleepyhead @nasidibakar @shikanosn @purpleamethystsblog @chihawari @esthelily @stuffyfrenchflowers @conspicuous-mayonnaise @sielt @katsumikumo @greyhoundwires707 @carminerin @raidendeeznuts123 @angelofdarkness2 @shellofthewell @ginnxy-galaxy @clara-maddenlin @bk-4-trash-fire @uniqaal @tnsophiaonly @vianitry @dottoreandcolumbinaslovechild @melou008 @lsleepysimpl @steadybreadbluebird @thebigkessydisaster @eliciana @kamit-frog @twst-kumi @idk098 @kurayamioterasu @mmeatt @the-lazy-perfectionist @florelll @vvzhyxx @averycuriousperson @starlaisopaque @liyuedragonmorax @lovelive-animequeen1029 @mayythammyy @eirly-morning-tea @rainejiang

Quick Reminder Here! If you no longer want to be on the taglist that's completely fine; I take no offence whatsoever so please don't hesitate to tell me. ^^

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topservicegaragedoor · 25 days ago

Text

Do Insulated Garage Doors Really Save Energy?

When most homeowners think about energy efficiency, they focus on windows, doors, and HVAC systems. But your garage door plays a bigger role than you might expect—especially if your garage is attached to your home. That’s where insulated garage doors come in.

But do they really save energy, or is it just another upsell? Let’s take a closer look.

What Is an Insulated Garage Door?

An insulated garage door contains layers of insulation material—usually polyurethane or polystyrene—sandwiched between steel or aluminum panels. This helps reduce the transfer of heat or cold between your garage and the outdoors.

How Insulated Doors Improve Energy Efficiency

Temperature Control:

Insulated doors help regulate the temperature inside your garage. This means less heat escapes in the winter and less heat gets in during the summer. If your garage is attached to your home, that temperature buffer can reduce the strain on your heating and cooling systems.

Lower Energy Bills:

With better insulation, your HVAC system won’t have to work as hard to maintain a stable indoor temperature. That can lead to noticeable savings on your monthly energy bill—especially during peak summer or winter months.

Protection for Items Stored in the Garage:

Many people use their garage to store tools, equipment, or even a second refrigerator. Insulation helps protect these items from extreme temperatures, extending their lifespan and performance.

Noise Reduction Bonus

Besides saving energy, insulated garage doors also reduce noise—both from outside traffic and the operation of the door itself. If you use your garage as a workspace or have a bedroom nearby, this added quiet can be a game changer.

When Is an Insulated Door Most Beneficial?

If your garage is attached to your home

If there's a finished room above or next to the garage

If you use your garage as a workshop or living space

If you live in a region with extreme temperatures, like South Florida

In areas like Broward County, where high heat and humidity are a constant, energy-efficient upgrades like insulated garage doors can provide real value. If you're unsure whether your current garage door is helping or hurting your energy efficiency, a local garage door repair Broward County specialist can inspect your system and offer tailored advice.

Final Thoughts

Yes—insulated garage doors really can save energy. They’re an investment in both comfort and efficiency, especially for homeowners in warmer climates. If you’re considering upgrading, or your current door isn’t performing as it should, don’t hesitate to reach out for professional help.

A certified garage door repair Broward County technician can guide you through your options and help you choose the right door for your home and climate.

#Insulated Garage Doors #Garage Door Repair Broward County #Energy Efficient Garage Doors #Garage Door Insulation #Save Energy at Home #Garage Door Tips #Broward County Garage Services #Home Energy Efficiency #Garage Temperature Control #Garage Door Upgrade

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xoln04f1xo · 1 month ago

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An alternate F1 world where vampires secretly rule the grid. Some humans work for the teams, unaware of the true nature of their employers... until you arrive.

Pairings: Vampire!Lando x Human!Reader

Warnings: none!

WC: 0.8k

Divider Credit: @bleedingspiral

The motorsport world is filled with adrenaline, speed, and spectacle - but no one tells you what hides beneath the surface. Not until you’re already knee-deep in it.

You arrived in Bahrain just after midnight. The desert air was dry, the breeze unusually cool against your skin as you stepped off the plane, dragging your suitcase behind you. You were exhausted from the 12 hour flight, but nerves kept you sharp. It was your first real job - communications assistant with McLaren Racing, a role you'd barely dared to dream of landing. Your interview had been swift, almost too easy, and the onboarding process oddly efficient. There were whispers online that F1 teams operated like secret societies. You were about to find out just how true that was.

You reached the paddock the next morning, half an hour before sunrise. Everything was still - too still. Mechanics moved with silent precision, voices hushed in a way that felt rehearsed. The hospitality suite gleamed in the pre-dawn dark, it's glass reflecting soft golden light, but the inside was cold. Not temperature-wise but something else. Something deeper. The kind of cold that came from empty rooms and too much silence.

A woman in a McLaren polo met you at the door, clipboard in hand.

“You’re early,” she said, voice clipped. “That’s good. You’ll learn that things… move differently around here.”

You nodded, unsure of what she meant. She didn’t introduce herself. Just led you inside and began rattling off a list of duties and expectations: press management, social media scheduling, handling Lando’s more… eccentric requests. You barely registered the names. It was all too much.

Then, you met him.

Lando Norris.

You'd seen the photos online, bright smile, boyish charm, a cheeky energy in every interview. But the man who stepped into the suite was... not that.

He was dressed in black, not the usual papaya orange, and he moved like smoke. Effortless. Silent. Controlled. His eyes found yours almost immediately.

He didn’t smile.

“You’re the new comms girl,” he said simply. His accent was softer in person, but his words carried a strange weight. He stepped closer, too close, and you felt your heart stutter.

His eyes were strange, too bright. A pale green laced with gold. They gleamed in the low light, and when you blinked, they seemed to glow.

"Yes," you said, trying to hide your nerves, "I'm..."

"I know who you are," he looked you over slowly, and not in the usual celebrity-sizes-up-the-staff kind of way. His gaze lingered at your throat.

It was then that he smiled, faint, just the barest curve of his lips. "Try not to get eaten alive."

You didn't respond, mostly because your brain short-circuited. He walked past you, and the cold he brought with him seemed to cling to the room.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. You met the team, were shown the media pen, given a lanyard and badge that said "All Access." But no where felt safe. People kept their voices down. Everyone avoided the shadows, especially the garages.

You caught a glimpse of Charles Leclerc during the press briefing. He was laughing with Max Verstappen, but when he turned towards you, the laughter died. His smile became something sharp, something hungry. You looked away quickly.

Later, when you were alone in the hospitality, reviewing your notes, when the lights flickered. A low hum filled the air - not mechanical, not quite electric. You froze.

Then he appeared.

Charles stepped out from the darkness, hands in his pockets, head tilted.

“There are rules here,” he said. His voice was like silk and ash, soft but laced with something deadly. “If you want to survive, you’ll need to learn them.”

You stood, your notebook clutched in your hand like a shield. "Excuse me?"

He was in front of you before you could blink.

Too fast. Inhuman. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face. Cold. Icy cold.

“You smell like sunlight,” he murmured, nose nearly grazing your cheek. “They’ll notice.”

You jerked back, stumbling. But Charles just smiled.

“You don’t belong here,” he said simply. “But perhaps that’s what makes you interesting.”

You didn’t sleep that night. Every creak in the hotel room, every whisper of wind against the window made your skin crawl.

The next morning, the drivers gathered for a team shoot. You watched them - Lando, Charles, Max, Lewis, and the rest - moving like predators in expensive race suits. Their movements were too smooth, too synchronized. You began to notice things. Lando never ate. Carlos Sainz wore gloves even in the heat. Esteban Ocon never blinked.

And none of them were ever out in the full sun.

Your breath caught when you realized you were the only one who ever flinched at the light.

Later, while uploading footage, you caught Lando staring at you from the garage. His eyes met yours through the tinted glass. You couldn’t look away. There was something in his expression - not menace, but hunger. Curiosity.

Possession.

You pressed your hand to your throat. It still felt warm. Still… untouched.

For now.

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 2 months ago

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The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 5

Source for pic

Imperfect 5 🔞

Word Count: 4531

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: It seems like every new chapter I post from this story has a NSFW warning. Do I regret it? Not at all... But then again, and I can't stress this enough, let's just enjoy these chapters for a while!

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

Divider by @cafekitsune

Kid: Come over, Sparkles. I want to show u smth.

The text comes after lunch, at the time you usually show up at the garage. Kid must’ve realized you were a no-show and sent you the message. You don’t answer, ghosting him so he understands you’re still slightly pissed at him, but just the fact that he reached out means that he wants to move on.

You actually consider not going because things with Kid are becoming frustratingly weird. You’ve been flirting since the first day you met, but it’s clear that all this tension needs an outlet. And if he’s not willing to let the attraction run its course, then it’s bound to explode.

Plus, you still don’t know the exact reason he pushed you away yesterday, other than the lame explanations he provided.

So, is it wise to be standing outside the garage in the middle of an infernal heatwave when you already know you won’t be able to control yourself near Kid?

Probably not.

But here you are.

The air outside is stifling. There’s not even a hint of a breeze, and the newscaster recommended that the population remain indoors unless it was absolutely necessary to leave the coolness of your home. Is it absolutely necessary?

Not at all.

And yet, here you are.

Because your reasoning is neither rational nor enlightened where Kid is involved, a heatwave would be no different matter. There’s a yearning inside you for this man that you don’t quite understand. Frankly, you don’t even want to give it too much thought, afraid of it being more real than what you’re willing to admit.

You’re dressed in light clothes, thin material, and a lot of exposed skin, yet sweat is already dripping from your nape to your back, from your temples to your neck, and into your cleavage. It’s unbearably hot.

The garage gate and door are both closed, and you hope that inside, the air feels cool and fresh instead of damp and smothering. You quickly realize that it’s only wishful thinking when you push open the scalding hot steel door and are greeted with nothing but a waft of warm air.

“Kid?” you try, ignoring the churning sensation in your stomach.

“Back here.”

Closing the door and taking a deep, calming breath, you walk towards Victoria, dropping your purse on the nearest workbench and reveling in the slight drop in temperature. You’re casually wiping the sweat accumulated on your neck when you see him. Kid is leaning over the open hood of Victoria, loud music blasting in the garage, and two fans blowing hot air around.

He’s fucking shirtless.

Denim jeans hang low on his waist, and his back muscles bend and ripple as he tweaks something inside the hood. He’s glistening with sweat, beads dripping shamelessly from his damp hair to his broad back. When he turns, the world tilts, and you stop breathing.

You’re ogling. You know he’s going to tease you for it, but you can’t tear your eyes away.

Most of the sleeveless shirts you’ve seen him wear allowed you to glimpse the extent of the scar that runs from his neck to his chest. What you didn’t know is that he has another one running from under his pec and across his stomach, disappearing into his jeans.

How far does that one go?

And holy fucking shit, this shouldn’t come as a surprise, but he’s freaking ripped. All beefy, robust muscle with broad shoulders and defined everything!

You have to swallow hard so you don’t drool, curse, or both, but Kid’s not teasing you for all the ogling you’re doing. He’s ogling you back.

“Fuckin’ hot, eh?” he mutters, not a drop of amusement in his deep, rumbling voice.

“Torrid.” Is he referring to the weather?

Are you?

A few charged seconds pass, but neither of you moves to alleviate the tension, so you speak. “What did you want to show me?”

That about breaks the spell, because Kid blinks twice, and then his shit-eating grin makes an appearance, making sure the kaleidoscope of freaking, stupid butterflies living in your stomach takes flight all at once.

The hell? Why butterflies? Up until now, all the ‘stirrings’ had been located in your lower abdomen, or even lower than that. Butterflies in the stomach mean something else. Something you don’t want to face at the moment, so instead, you force your legs to walk forward when Kid moves to the side and points inside the hood.

“We’re givin’ Victoria her heart today.” Your mouth slackens, and you let out an elated whoop before rushing the rest of the steps. Sure enough, inside the hood stands a beast of an engine. It’s so big, it looks like it barely fits. Tubes twist and turn from its sides like veins giving it life, and sure enough, it does look alive. Like a breathing, living part of Victoria. It looks powerful enough to roar on its own.

“It looks good!” You wish you could add something, but you don’t know the first thing about engines, anyway.

“Sweetheart, it looks better than good. It’s fuckin’ epic. This right here is a 426 HEMI V8.” You raise your brow, but the way Kid is talking about it must mean it’s a hell of an engine. “Loud as fuck, capable of makin’ the ground shake when ye start her up.”

You nod and smile, and Kid realizes he’s losing you. “It’s a powerhouse of a fuckin’ engine.”

You nod again and let out a strained chuckle. “Okay, okay, I get it.” You don’t.

Kid grunts. “Imagine this. Yer at a bar, drinkin’ a few beers–”

“Cocktails. I might be drinking cocktails if I’m at a bar. And who’s with me–”

“Don’t matter!” Kid sighs, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose as you stifle a laugh at how easily you always manage to rile him up. “Yer drinkin’ a few cocktails,” he grunts, “and a guy sits beside ye. He looks nice, a smooth talker, buys ye another drink, slowly tries to win ye over.”

You nod, biting back the amusement and the witty words, just to see where he’s going with this.

“He’s okay, basic. That’s yer base engine. Finishes the job, don’t impress, yer not gonna call him back.” Kid winks, and you snort, leaning your hip against Victoria so you can stare at him.

“Now…” Kid’s chuckle turns devious. “This mean motherfucker right here is the one that demands yer attention. He’s not nice, not even much of a talker, let alone a smooth one. He intrigues ye, impresses ye.” Kid leans over, the musky scent of his sweat overpowering the metallic scent that usually accompanies him. You have to force your eyes to remain locked with his instead of dropping to his lips.

“He not only finishes the job, but makes sure ye finish first.” Kid’s eyes do drop to your lips, and your breath hitches. “And second… and third. Ye’ll definitely be calling him again.”

Somehow, you find your voice amid the suffocating heat - an impossible task since his words travel straight to your core. “So, your engine is the dangerous boyfriend you don’t bring home for the holidays?”

“Aye.” Kid’s breath fans your eyelids, and you catch a glimpse of his twitching hand. “And he’ll ruin all the other engines for ye. No other will measure up.” His jaw ticks and his throat bobs. “He’ll wreck ya.”

Fuck. You’re not talking about engines anymore, are you?

“I still want to try it…” you breathe out. As soon as you see Kid flinch and something dark cross his eyes, his body language already anticipating that he’s about to put distance between the two of you, you bite your lower lip in regret. Then, instead of giving him a chance to deflect and escape, you pivot. “Let’s hear it purr, then.”

He watches you for another moment with that unreadable expression in his eyes, then nods, pulling away and breaking the spell.

“Grab yer panties, they’re gonna wanna drop.” You can’t help but chuckle as Kid sits in the driver’s seat, the leather creaking slightly and adjusting to his weight. You can’t take your eyes off him, though. His prosthetic hand wraps around the steering wheel while the other one finds the gear stick, wiggling it to neutral as his leg muscles tighten, pressing the pedal.

Then, his hand rises to the keys in the ignition, and he makes eye contact, a cheeky grin commandeering his mouth, though something darkens his gaze as his eyes meet yours. When he flicks his wrist and Victoria awakens, the whole garage trembles.

It’s loud. It’s powerful. She’s a beast, just like he said she’d be.

Kid presses the gas pedal down a few times, and you can practically feel the heat bursting from the engine. Her roar envelops you and sends a shiver down your spine. Her heart is beating to life, and fuck it, yours is right there along for the ride.

“Ye hear her purr?” Kid gloats, his eyes darkening even more as he takes you in.

“That’s not purring, Kid. She’s a beast trying to escape its enclosure.” Your hand makes contact with Victoria, and it trembles, sending shivers up and down your spine. You’re in awe. “She’s perfect.”

Kid is still watching you, but his grin falters, and he lets out a curse so low you barely make it out. He turns off the ignition and gets out, stopping beside you, his frame towering over yours.

You look at him with flushed cheeks. Watching Kid handle Victoria like that was way more arousing than you thought it would be. With a shaky inhale, you press your thighs together to try and alleviate some of the tension there.

Kid notices. Of course he does.

He grins again, closes the hood, and takes one step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Told ya ye’d drop yer panties.”

You can't focus on anything else now. There’s only Kid and the smoldering intensity of his eyes. Victoria feels warm to the touch, but it's nothing compared to the raging fire that's consuming your very being.

“Kid.” His name comes out of your lips like a prayer. A whisper of a word, a plea.

He hesitates, his eyes piercing you as his throat bobs. His hand is on Victoria's hood, and it's inching closer to yours. There's a battle somewhere inside him; you can see it clearly. His body inches closer to yours in agonizingly slow movements as his lips form a scowl and the lines between his brows tighten.

Then your hands touch. It's electric.

Kid closes his eyes for a brief second and exhales deeply. “Fuck it.”

Both his hands find purchase on the back of your thighs as he lifts you up and sets you down on Victoria's hood. Then his flesh hand curls around the back of your neck, fingers entwining with your hair. Your breaths mingle, and he lets out a guttural noise, trying to hold on to any semblance of restraint.

He can't.

His lips crash into yours with longing and desperation, drawing a whimper from your mouth. Your hands grip his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped indents on his skin. More. You need more.

Kid slots himself in the middle of your thighs, and you wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him even closer to your core. You both groan at the touch as it sends shivers up and down your body. His fingers curl around your hair, and he grips it, tilting your head so that he can deepen the kiss.

A flick of his tongue and a nibble on your lower lip have you panting, allowing him to explore as he takes your tongue in his. Your palms find taut, hard muscles, firm to the touch, and hotter than a furnace. When his prosthetic hand cups your breast, you roll your hips and grind your cores together, melting into another whimper.

“Fuck,” Kid mutters against your mouth, and you pull him back into the kiss. You don't want to give him time to think this through, too afraid he'll push you away again.

“Let go,” you whisper between rolls of your tongue, your hands expertly unbuckling his belt. Kid hesitates, pulling back, and you inhale sharply as your fingers tremble against the button of his jeans.

Then he breathes, closing his eyes. When he opens them back up, it's all fire and desire again. Hands find the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and getting rid of it. His mouth sucks and bites your nipple through the fabric of the bra and you chant his name in a moan. He curses low against your skin, peppering bites and suckling on every bit of it, muttering in a voice so thick with accent so pronounced you can barely make out a sane word.

You arch your back for a moment, melting into his touch, and then your hand slips inside his boxers. He grunts against your neck, and his hands tighten their grip on your waist when you squeeze him. He's hard as a rock, girthy and veiny, and you whimper with anticipation. “Kid, I want you.” Your words sound like a prayer again, like a hymn you want to sing over and over.

“Aye, fuck, I want ye too.”

And any doubt you had about him pushing you away again vanishes as his hand finds its way inside the waistband of your bottoms. His breath hitches, and his words are like gravel in your ears. “Yer soaked.” You can only hum incoherently as his fingers stroke your core, pushing your panties to the side and pressing lightly against your throbbing clit.

“Oh, God,” you moan loudly, tilting your head back and stroking him at the same rhythm as he fingers you.

“Yer gonna scream my name?” Kid pants against your ear, and you barely register it. He's taking up all the space, his scent, his body, his fingers; God, his fingers. “Use yer words.” He pinches your clit with his index finger and thumb, and you cry out in pleasure.

“Yes, Kid, yes!”

You're nearly there. The tension has been building up so high and coiled so tight, you know you're going to fall fast. Your head lolls forward against his shoulder as you let out a lot of incoherent words and pants.

Almost… almost.

BANG!

“Fuck!”

THUD!

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

CLANG!

“Jesus Christ!”

Kid stops. You bite your lower lip, horrified. Then, you both look towards the entrance of the garage and freeze. Killer is covering his eyes with one hand, and the other one is outstretched, trying to find the garage door and knocking over gallons of oil, tools, and everything in his path.

“For crying out loud, you two! Doors have locks!” His voice is about an octave higher than it should be, and he keeps banging into stuff until he lets out another string of curses and gives up. Opening his eyes, he finds the door and leaves, flustered, embarrassed, and stressed. Curses still flying about.

Kid groans and exhales heavily while you stifle your snickers against his chest. Unfortunately, the tension of the moment has dissipated in a cloud of comedic relief, but you know it won't take much to build it back up.

Your eyes are still glinting with mirth when you look up at Kid, cupping his cheeks in your hands so he can look at you.

Your stomach lurches and your heart nearly skips a beat with what you find there. Kid is withdrawn again. His eyes bear a detached coldness accentuated by the downturned scowl on his lips. You're already shaking your head before he even speaks.

“This was a mistake.” Fuck. “It was the heat, the fuckin’ tension,” Kid grunts, running a hand over his face and handing you your top with the other. “We can't do this,” he hisses.

There it is. He’s pushing you away again.

“Why the hell not?” you counter, crumpling the top in your hands, demanding that he look at you while all he's doing is avoiding your gaze.

“I told ye why before!”

“It’s not good enough! Don’t push me away, Kid…” You sigh. “We don’t have to commit to anything, and it also doesn’t need to be a one-time thing if you don’t want it to be. We can just take it one step at a time, see where it goes.”

Kid shakes his head, his eyes on your legs as he tries to find his words. “I…”

“Let’s just give it a go…” You place your hand against the hard planes of his chest. You mean what you said. You might be turning the order of things around and starting something at the end, but it’s okay. Kid doesn’t strike you as the type to commit to a serious relationship anyway. One step at a time feels like the right pacing. “What do you think?”

He sighs, his flesh hand raises up and hovers over yours. He seems conflicted, and for a moment, you believe he’s about to hold your hand in his, to let you in. But then he scrunches his brows, curses, and shoves your hand away from him. “I'm all dark, aye? Yer light! Yer good! I wreck things.” Kid disentangles himself from your legs, buttons his pants and belt buckle, and heads straight for the cabinet in search of a bottle.

“That's not true.” Your words burn your throat as you slide off the hood of Victoria, following him.

The bottle slams against the workbench with enough strength to almost shatter it as he turns to you. “Don't pretend to know me. Ye don't know who the fuck I am. What I'm capable of.”

You stomp towards him, eyes blazing with fury, the heat of desire replaced by rage. “That's not what I was implying!” Kid's jaw clenches, and his eyes lose a bit of their edge. “I'm the one who’s not like that! I'm not all light! Don't put me on a fucking pedestal because I don't care for the fall!” You dress your top with trembling fingers and can't quite tell if the prickling behind your eyes is fury or sadness. “God!”

“We can't happen,” Kid groans, taking a sip from the scotch. “It's too fuckin’ complicated.”

“You're the one making it complicated! What happened to fun?” But as soon as the words leave your mouth, you know without a shadow of a doubt that you don't want just fun. Somewhere along those lazy afternoons working on Victoria, you really warmed up to Kid.

You like him.

“We're friends, Sparkles. Let's not fuck that up.” There's a finality to his words, signaling the end of the discussion. You're fucking pissed.

“Is that really the problem?” Kid doesn't answer you, his gaze hardens, and he takes another sip. “Fine.” Turning on your heel, you head towards the door. “I just think you're too much of a coward to give whatever we have a shot.”

-*-

Kid paces the garage back and forth. He tried to work on Victoria again after you left, but he couldn't concentrate long enough to do it. Your words echoed in his head like a beacon of clarity.

A coward.

A fucking coward. You were right, obviously. Every one of his hook-ups had been just that, hook-ups. Nothing flashy or big, nothing that makes him think or feel. Just a way to blow off steam.

But you… Fuck. You make him feel everything. It's like you've clawed your way inside his chest and refuse to leave. It's like you're in every single thought he has, from the moment he gets up to the moment his head hits the pillow.

He knows you're not just a fling. He understands that you're no simple hook-up. You're real. You're something so good he knows you're not for him. He doesn't deserve goodness.

Not after what he did.

Kid smashes the bottle of scotch he's been nursing against the far wall, not caring about broken glass or spilled liquid. His hand flies to his pocket, and his finger hovers above Killer's contact for a few seconds.

He could vent. Killer is the best listener. But he's also the best at delivering hard truths, and damn it… Not tonight.

He scrolls and frowns when he finds the contact he's looking for. He picks up after the third ring.

“Well, well. Eustass Kid. It's been a while.”

“Cut the shit, Apoo. I need a location and the time it starts,” Kid growls into the phone, his hand busy tapping the workbench.

“Motherfucker, you haven't called in months, and you think I can get you a slot, just like that?” Apoo snickers.

“I know ye can. People pay good money for the show I put on.”

He fucking hates Apoo. But he needs this, he needs him for this.

“Fine. Midnight. Abandoned warehouse near the docks. You know the place.”

Kid doesn't answer in confirmation, he just turns off the call and throws the phone into the workbench. Gripping the edge of it with both hands, he lets his head hang, his eyes closing shut as the echo of your words blurs the edges of his mind.

“Fuck!” Kid shouts, banging the workbench with his prosthetic hand and gritting his teeth. He allows himself another five minutes of mindless self-loathing. Then he grabs the keys to his bike and leaves the garage.

-*-

The first punch shakes him up.

The man who delivered it is scrawny but as fast as a fucking mouse. Kid smirks. The pain from the jab spreads slowly across his jaw, rattling the bones in his head.

It’s not enough.

The acrid scent of sweat is barely noticeable over the pungent tang of the iron - blood. For a moment, the sounds from the cheers drown out the echo of your words, and all Kid can focus on is the pain.

“Finish him off, Eustass!” someone yells.

“He’s a fucking wimp!” another voice.

The crowd rounds up the blood-splattered ring. If, to some, the gesture might feel suffocating and overwhelming, to Kid, it’s just fuel to his rage. It’s exactly what he needs.

The little mouse hits him with another uppercut, and Kid keeps grinning. He lets him have his fun, and it’s not until Kid feels like he’s not getting what he needs from this lanky piece of shit that he finally strikes.

One punch from Kid, and it’s over.

The crowd cheers, and Kid scowls. It’s not enough. “Next fucker!” he roars, and the crowd roars back with him.

They come and come again, sometimes in groups of two or three. And Kid finishes them off, one after another, until his knuckles are a raw mess of flesh and bruises; until his eyes feel heavy and his mouth is sticky with blood.

He fights dirty. Not fair or pretty. He fights like a man who’s got nothing to lose - who already lost everything.

And as the night wears on, he realises none of this is helping. He doesn’t feel better, he doesn’t feel relieved.

He just feels empty.

-*-

“Why is he so stubborn?” You thank the waitress for the drink and then shove the straw into the plastic cup, ignoring the screeching agony it produces, sloshing the liquid around with it.

Killer shrugs, his straw hidden behind the Metallica bandana he wears today, and you hear him slurping his drink before he answers you.

“That’s the million-dollar question,” he mumbles with a heavy sigh. “I’ve known him most of our lives, and that’s a quality he was born with.”

You take out the straw and continue to stab the lid of the plastic cup as if it personally offended you.

“I just don’t get it! He keeps sending me mixed signals. He pushes me away, but then flirts back. He doesn’t want to commit, but he also doesn’t want to have a little bit of fun. What does he want?” With one last stab, the plastic lid groans and breaks. You curse and shove the drink away, not really thirsty anyway.

Killer leans back on the red plastic bench of the diner you’re sitting in. He was the one who called, but you started to vent about Kid the moment you both sat down. It’s like he knew you needed to talk.

“Kid…” Killer seems to be gathering his thoughts before continuing. “He’s difficult. He doesn’t like vulnerability and avoids feelings like the plague.”

You grunt in agreement, having been a witness to his actions firsthand.

“He’ll never admit it, but you’re good for him. I see it,” he lets out a small chuckle. “Hell, I’ve told him this.”

“Whatever,” you mumble and steal a fry from Killer’s portion since you told the waitress you didn’t want any. “He didn’t seem very interested in continuing whatever it was we started. I'm not even sure where we are in our friendship since I called him a coward. I’m so pissed at him.”

“He’s going to want to move past what happened without even addressing it. Next time you see him, it’s like nothing was ever wrong.”

“Wow, that’s healthy.”

“It’s how he always dealt with things. It’s his way of escaping, of avoiding.” Killer shrugs once but then pins you with his tantalizing blue gaze, your name leaving his lips softly, demanding your attention. “Don’t give up on him.”

The knot in your stomach tightens. You don’t want to give up on Kid, but does he want you to keep pushing?

“Why is he like this? He told me he was dark… that he wrecks things. What happened to make him think that?”

Killer turns to the window, watching cars wind by for the longest time. You keep stealing his fries, waiting for his answer.

“I can’t be the one to share that with you. It has to come from him,” he says, and there’s a finality to his words that stops you from inquiring further, so you nod. “But he’s very hard on himself and doesn’t think he deserves good things. Prove him wrong, City Girl.” The small lilt in his voice tells you he’s smiling, even though you can’t see it.

You exhale deeply and snatch another fry. Killer’s shoulders shake with mirth as he pushes the basket of food closer to you. “So, you’re telling me I should just stomp inside the garage and kick some sense into his stubborn butt?”

“Yes. And if you’re going to actually do that, please let me tag along. I’d love a video.” You snort at his words and pop another fry into your mouth.

“Prove him wrong…” you mutter, deep into your thoughts. This could go very badly. You know you’re already feeling much more than attraction for that stubborn man. If you keep hanging out with him, laughing and flirting, you just know that he’ll insert himself deeper and deeper inside your skin.

If you keep trying and he keeps pushing you away… how long until he pushes so far that your heart breaks?

But what if he lets you in?

What if it works?

Tags: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @elysian-asphodel @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall @moldychefboyardeecan @dazzlingstarlight23 @bearg-bia @babyboofangirl @praline357 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @traffys-heart @cherileecore @violetmatcha

Check out @igiulss sketch of shirtless Kid and wipe the drool off your chin!

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|Chapter 6|

#eustass kid x reader #eustass x reader #eustass captain kidd #eustass kid #reader insert #one piece au #one piece x reader #you x kid #kid x you #reader x kid #kid x reader #modern day world au #the meet cute

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thezombieprostitute · 9 months ago

Text

The Arrangement - Chapter 3

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Bad parents, Implied physical abuse. Let me know if I missed any!

Chapter 2 -- Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

You spend the car ride in silence. If your brother taught you anything about angry men it's that you don't speak to them without permission. You wince at the memories of his wrath which you saw matched in the eyes of Jake, your husband, throughout the wedding. So you keep yourself quiet and small, dreading your wedding night together.

Jake kept himself silent. He could feel your disappointment with him as your husband. You were likely plotting how to control him, make him miserable. He'd let you have the control if that's what you wanted. He can play the role as you need, or as your families need. But it was the private stuff that had him wanting to break. Would you let him play his video games? Would you constantly make fun of him, like so many others, for being himself? How much of himself will he have to sacrifice for the safety and security of his real family?

He pulls into the underground parking garage for the penthouse and parks. Not wanting to get lectured so soon, Jake is immediately out and going to open your door. He doesn't know that you only didn't open it because you weren't given permission. You step out and keep your eyes down so as not to anger him. As much as he's not looking forward to a life with a woman who drains his soul, it still hurts that you're so disappointed in him you can't even look at him.

The elevator ride is worse than the car ride. At least in the car you had buildings and people you could look at. Now it's just you and your eyes on the floor. You should be grateful he hasn't tried to touch you, but the fact that he puts as much distance between the two of you as he can speaks volumes. Jake tries making himself small in the hopes that you won't yell at him for taking up your space. The fact that you refuse to acknowledge him tells him a lot. When the doors open, Jake rushes into the entryway of the penthouse, the silence and tension was suffocating him. You hide your wince and try to make yourself smaller so you don't make him angrier at you than he clearly is.

Clay is waiting for the two of you in the entryway. He smiles, "good to know my pinto's got better speed and mobility than that fancy model they got you driving." Jake scoffs as he unlocks the door, using a keypad with the code he wants to change but knows he'll never be allowed to. Clay turns to you, "I know we were introduced earlier, but the whole thing was rather rushed. I'm Clay, Jake's boss, for lack of a better term." He holds out his hand and you shake it, you try to smile so as not to appear to be rude, but the day is weighing heavily on you.

Jake holds the door open for the two of you.

It's your first time seeing the place and you're immediately saddened by how much of it looks like your mother's tastes and preferences. It's overly crowded with useless, gaudy, overpriced things. You want to throw it all out. It's supposed to be a space for you and your husband, but it's just another reminder of how much your family still controls you. Jake groans as he looks around. Pulling out his phone, he quickly finds several "Internet of Things" devices that are easy to hack. Of course his parents would put in the fanciest refrigerators and thermostats without caring about the security risks. Jake doesn't need his refrigerator to connect to his phone, dammit!

Jake's groan makes you freeze. Clay asks, "what's wrong now?"

"I gotta do some serious cleanup for the sake of security," he grumbles. "Gotta make sure no one else actually gets to set the temperature of the thermostat, that I don't get text messages from my fridge, that my damn toaster doesn't get hacked!" He looks at you, "if that's okay with you, of course." His tone is bitter because he hates that he has to ask your permission for something so basic.

You nod, "of course." You keep your voice small, afraid of angering him any further. He really must hate you.

Clay looks at you, "how about you make yourself comfortable, little lady? I know it's your honeymoon and all, but Jake and I need to talk and who knows how long he's gonna be fixin' this internet problem y'all got."

You look to Jake but he's still on his phone so you ask, "is...is that okay with you?"

He gives you a confused look, "of course."

You make an internal note that, whatever Clay says goes. He's Jake's boss so you're best bet is to keep him happy to make Jake happy.

When you're out of sight Clay turns to Jake. "You best be gentle with that one, Jake. I think she's been through her own kind of hell."

"She's the spitting image of her mother, hasn't said a single word, can't even look me in the eye," Jake grouses. "She hates me and I'm likely going to spend the rest of my life never being good enough for her."

"I ain't so sure about that," he muses. "I get the impression she's afraid of you."

Chapter 2 -- Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness;

@ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

#jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x female reader #arranged marriage au

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holllandtrash · 2 years ago

Note

Never ever ever a normal weekend for little leclerc

Little leclerc is me. I am struggling

with love from vegas | lando norris

(part of the 6 to 1 series) because i couldn't stop thinking about whether little leclerc would accompany lando or stay to watch charles warnings: lando's crash :( word count: 3.2k

Your heart sank to your chest. You felt sick or maybe you felt like you were going to pass out. Regardless, one hand went to your mouth to cover your painful gasp as the other hand gripped the ledge in the McLaren garage.

It came out of nowhere, that was the worst part. You couldn’t brace yourself for what was to happen which meant the second you saw Lando spin out, on the straight, your entire body went numb. There was no explanation for it and not a single thought went through your mind as the slowest seconds of your life passed by.

One. Lando lost the back end of his car and had no control through the straight.

Two. He hit the wall and his car spun. You couldn’t imagine what was going through his head as he sat in the car, helpless, backwards. He couldn’t even see what he was heading towards. The sparks coming from the bottom of his car were blinding even just watching it on screen.

Three. Everyone in the garage had the same reaction as the momentum of Lando’s hit had him spinning and sliding until he crashed into the barriers in the run off.

Four. There was no response.

“Lando, are you okay?” You heard the question come in from Will through your headset but it was the silence that followed that caused your world to stop.

Your hands were shaking, your whole body was shaking, tears brimmed at your eyes as you felt a comforting touch on your back. You weren’t able to register who was trying to console you, your eyes were glued to the screen, to the scene of Lando’s car demolished against the barriers.

You thought about how you woke up late this morning with his arms wrapped around you. How he ordered room service while you took a shower so it would be ready to eat by the time you stepped out. He joked about missing the race and mentioned the F1 themed wedding chapel instead, said that it would be a better show than the Grand Prix.

You thought about the quick interview he had with Martin Brundle before the race. How Lando said the track felt dreadful, that he was worried about the temperatures but didn’t elaborate anymore, just tried to be hopeful. Lando draped his arm around your shoulders as you asked him about the upcoming race, asked if he was worried and he only shrugged, not wanting to give you any reason to be concerned for him.

You thought about how moments before he got in the car he kissed you. Not a quick peck, not a last minute thing, but he walked to the back of the garage where you stood and grabbed your face with both hands. You felt lightheaded, not usually a fan of the heavy PDA in such an open area but Lando didn’t care at this race. He kissed you and he told you he loved you and then tilted your head down to kiss the top of your forehead.

You knew that this was out of character for him, but you didn’t question it.

Now, though, it had your mind spinning. Was there a voice in the back of his head telling him that something was going to go wrong? Did he reach for his helmet and feel a sudden dread which prompted him to tell you he loved you one more time? Was he scared it would be last time he’d say it?

“Lando,” Will repeated, doing his best to sound calm for the young driver. “Are you okay?”

You’d never been happier to hear someone so out of breath.

“Yeah, all good,” Lando’s pained voice came through. Rushed and probably a lie, but at least he responded.

You could breathe, but the grunt that followed his words was a dead giveaway something else was wrong. Either he had sustained serious injuries or he was thinking about the race that had just fallen through his fingers, fourth place in the driver standings being kissed goodbye. Truthfully, you were hoping for the latter.

Lando climbed out of the car and you wiped away your tears in time for the F1TV broadcast to capture it. Without waiting to hear what the commentators had to say about your emotions running high, you pulled your headset off and headed out the back of the garage.

As horrible as it was, you made sure you knew where the medical centre was in proximity to both Lando and Charles’ garages during every Grand Prix weekend. In this case, it wasn’t too far down the paddock and you had beat the medical car there, but you were still anxious and you would be until he was cleared.

The back door opened and Lando, still in his race suit, climbed out and found you immediately. You met him halfway and even though he was fine, he was walking, he was in good enough condition to pull his helmet off himself, you cried the second you met his eyes.

Flashes of worst case scenarios flooded your mind. Lando pulled you into his chest, despite being told he had to go get checked out. He held you tightly, hand stroking your hair, both of you trembling. You probably more than him.

“I hate this fucking sport,” you muttered and Lando laughed in response, kissing the top of your head like he had before climbing into the car.

“I know,” he said and the next time he was ushered inside, you went with him. Lando assured the nurse that you’d sit quietly and not disturb them as he went through the standard post-crash procedures.

He seemed fine, so the more time that passed the more you started to let yourself loosen up. Lando spoke quietly to the nurse and you tried to listen in at first, but your attention soon found its way to the broadcast of the race, displayed right in front of the bed.

You were so caught up with Lando that you hadn’t even realised Charles had managed to hold onto second, and not only that but was closing in on Max as much as he could. He was holding his own, something that both Ferrari’s had struggled with this season.

When the nurse walked out, you pulled your chair up as close as you possibly could to the bed, resting your elbow on the mattress as you propped your head on your hand.

“Charles in second still?” Lando asked and you nodded, turning to look at the McLaren driver who was also watching the race at this point.

He reached forward, using his thumb to wipe away some remnants of mascara under your eye. You leaned into his touch and it was safe to say you felt like yourself again, knowing that Lando was okay, physically.

“I’m sorry about the driver standings,” you whispered and Lando offered you a somewhat genuine smile.

“Season’s not over yet,” he pointed out, holding onto the possibility that he could still claim fourth behind Lewis. You nodded in agreement, but if you were being completely honest, you didn’t care about where he was going to end up after Abu Dhabi, just as long as he finished the race.

You stretched your hand across of you to hold onto Lando’s, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over yours, like he was the one consoling you. Neither of you said anything else, both turning your attention to the race.

Lando could see you sit up slightly every time Charles closed the gap a bit more. He could feel the faint squeeze of your fingers every time Charles had a close call with the barriers or attacked a curb a little too hard.

By the time lap 15 came around, Charles was within DRS range of Max. Lando could admit that this race, that battle, was entertaining, but he found you to be even more mesmerising. The excitement you had for your brother, the way you held your breath during every little move, the way your face lit up when the gap was 4 tenths of a second.

I hate this sport, you had told him.

What a bold faced lie. You loved this sport. You loved Formula 1, despite the heartaches, the anxiety, the way it aged you faster than anything else would. You loved the thrill, you loved watching those you loved succeed and quite literally chase after their dreams.

And then the overtake finally happened.

To be fair, Max wasn’t trying too hard to defend with his recent call to box, but it was still the most exciting thing you had seen in a handful of races.

“Charles Leclerc takes the lead of the Las Vegas Grand Prix!”

You shot up instantly, letting go of Lando’s hand to cheer at the screen. Lando laughed at your reaction, at the way you fist bumped the air. There was a glow to you, watching Charles make something of himself, of the car, after struggling race after race.

You turned over your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear at Lando, “He might…win this.”

Lando opened his mouth to respond, maybe he was going to bring you back down to earth, but the door opened at the moment and his nurse returned.

You stepped to the side of Lando’s bed as he sat up a bit, giving the nurse a polite smile, even though he knew exactly what she was going to say.

“I know you don’t want to hear this but it’s procedure,” she started. “We’ve got to transfer you to the hospital, Lando.”

He nodded, a quiet sigh escaping his lips, “I figured that was bound to happen.”

Lando glanced up at you, and as supportive of a girlfriend as you were, half of your focus had gone back to the race. It wasn’t until a few other transport nurses walked into the room did you realise what was going on.

“Oh,” you spoke quietly, pulling your eyes off the screen. “Oh. We’re going now, okay.”

Lando chuckled, “What do you mean we?”

You were both staring at each other in major confusion, but you voiced yours before he could, “I’m coming with you.”

He shook his head, but his eyes squinted as he smiled, like he knew something you didn’t. “No you’re not.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re staying here,” Lando nodded his head towards the race. “You’re going back to the garages and you’re going to watch Charles finish this race.”

“Lando,” you scoffed. “I’m not letting you go to the hospital alone.”

“Well I’m not letting you come with me so where does that leave us?”

You glanced up at the nurses, a little embarrassed that you were having this conversation but if anything they just found the banter amusing. Lando reached for your hand and pulled your attention back to him.

“Charles is leading right now,” he reminded you. “You said it yourself, he might win this. You should be here for him wherever he crosses the finish line. And I love you, but I don’t need you to accompany me to a check-up. Your brother will need you, no matter where he places.”

“Lando don’t make me choose, you know I hate that,” you wanted to be annoyed at him, really. But when he was looking up at you with the kindest smile painted on his lips it was hard to feel anything except love for him.

“That’s why I’m choosing for you,” he laughed before bringing your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. “Just because I can’t finish the race doesn’t mean you have to miss it too. Go watch Charles.”

“But-”

“Go!”

You glanced at the tv and then at him and the nurses and back at him. Lando wasn’t the slightest bit hurt that you weren't going with him, but he knew you would have unless he said something. He also knew that if he hadn’t said something and you ended up missing Charles’ best race of the season, you’d be so incredibly upset with yourself.

You hated putting yourself in these positions so Lando, as much as he could, did absolutely anything to avoid it.

“I love you,” you said, leaning down to give him a quick kiss. “Text me any updates- all updates. I mean it.”

“I will,” he assured you, letting you know he was okay one final time before another reminder that he loved you. Lando then watched as you practically sprinted out of the medical centre.

No one was surprised to see you show up in the Ferrari garage. You grabbed a headset and stood near the back, already seeing an array of celebrities standing as close as possible to the mechanics.

Charles kept pulling ahead as other cars went in to pit. Of course you were anxious, hoping the strategy wouldn’t fail him this time but you managed to keep your facial expressions in check when his team pulled off a below average pit-stop. It wasn’t end all-be all but it did give Checo the opportunity to claim first place.

Seeing Lance ahead of Charles for a short while was certainly a little shocking and then seeing a handful of cars coming in following the safety car had your blood pressure rising because Charles stayed out, but you had faith in him. He knew what he was doing and hopefully his team did too.

Charles did what he could to defend against Checo when he reclaimed the first place spot, but come lap 32 there wasn't much he could do and the Mexican driver took the lead. All the while, Max was working his way up through the grid which of course gave you an intense amount of anxiety.

The cheer you let out when Charles passed once more a few laps later was drowned out through the garage as the rest of the team applauded his late move but it was only minutes later when you were wincing at the screen, teeth clenched as Max made his way closer and closer to the Ferrari driver. Your head fell back in disappointment when Max took first place from him and for a while you wondered if this race was going to end up being another Red Bull 1-2.

It certainly looked that way as Checo passed Charles, dropping your brother down to third. The laps kept counting down and while he was doing a damn good job at staying within DRS, he couldn’t make the move on Checo again.

Or at least, that's what you and everyone thought up until the very last lap, more specifically, the last opportunity for an overtake.

Charles, seemingly out of nowhere, dove to the inside at turn 14 when Checo least expected it. Checo tried to fight back but for those last few metres of the track you were jumping and screaming in pure excitement for Charles for having pulled off such a successful move. Your headset fell down around your neck but that didn’t matter, what mattered was this was one of Charles’ best races, best fights, all season and you knew he was going to be proud of it.

You were proud of him.

Carlos had found you during the chaos of the post-race interviews and podium ceremony. You heard something about a limo and you weren’t really sure what was going on, but that gave you a few minutes to collect yourself. Carlos asked how Lando was after giving you a hug, he was happy to see you of course, but he was worried about his friend.

You pulled out your phone to see a few pictures from Lando, one was a selfie with a thumbs up and the other was him physically strapped to a gurney with a cheeky smile on his lips. The text to accompany it read, ‘I joked about making a run for it, no one laughed.’

“He’s fine,” you showed Carlos the images.

“You didn’t want to go with him?” He asked.

“I did,” you nodded, taking another look at the pictures. “But he told me to stay, for Charles.”

“Are you glad you did?”

Hesitantly, you nodded. You wanted to be at Lando’s side more than anything, but he was right. This was a race where you should have been there for Charles.

When the chaos subsided and Charles came back to the garage, you were the first person he engulfed in a hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” you told him, having been wanting to say those words since that last overtake. You swayed for a few seconds, knowing that these moments were far and few between with how unfortunate this season had been for him.

“Merci,” he kissed your cheek and then pulled back, hands going to your shoulder as if he was inspecting you, despite the fact that he was the one who had just spent the last hour and a half in a race car. “Lando va bien?” Is Lando okay?

You didn’t have the words to explain how much that simple question meant to you.

Charles loved seeing you there waiting for him in the garage but he would have also known that meant leaving Lando’s side. He would probably always give you a hard time for dating a driver, but at the end of the day he saw just how much you cared about that driver. He would have known that his crash affected you, would have pained you to watch and he wanted to make sure that he was okay, that you were okay.

“He’s fine,” you nodded. “He’ll probably still want to go out clubbing later.”

Charles was content with that answer. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and tucked you into his side as you walked through the garage, wanting you to accompany him to his next pre-race obligation.

“So why did you didn’t go with him?” Charles asked you. “After a crash like that I would have understood if you left the race too.”

It was embarrassing the way that the tears started to gloss over your eyes again. But you loved Charles and you loved Lando and you loved that there was finally that mutual respect you had been waiting for.

“He told me to stay,” you weren’t going to lie to Charles and say it was your idea to leave Lando. “He wanted me to be here for you, for your race.”

Charles just nodded to himself at your answer. You saw the sliver of the smile that curled up on his lips though, probably telling himself he’d have to thank Lando later because you were always someone he looked for after a race.

“Are you okay?” Charles asked next, glancing down at you.

“Yeah,” you let out a tired breath. “Yeah I think I’m just ready for the season to be over.”

“One more race.”

“One more race,” you repeated. “And then me and Lando will elope for real.”

Charles yanked on a strand of your hair, “If you do that, don’t even bother coming to any of the races next year.”

There was underlying truth to his words, but you also knew that at the end of it all, Charles was growing supportive of you and Lando. He certainly wasn’t at the point where he’d be fine with a wedding, but he wasn’t going to make a fuss when you weren't in his garage anymore.

You were there when it mattered and if you needed it, Lando would always be there to give you a reminder as to when that was.

#6 to 1 series #6 to 1 #lando norris au #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #ln4 #lando norris x y/n

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