This Has Got To Be The Cutest Thing I Have Ever Read

This is a cute blurb idea, I just fell asleep at my school's library and I imagined Liam coming to find you and sees you are at the university and fell asleep

He'd been away and you two have only been talking via messages and facetime. Those little chats have been getting fewer and farther apart as your school year has gone by.

Liam was aware of that, and he had no issues with it, but he has been missing you. So as a little surprise he decided to hop on a plane and come back to England to see you.

Of course, you weren't answering your phone which had him tracking it instead. Seeing as you were in the library he smiled, always the bookworm. Skipping each step and stops, seeing your head down and hunched over a book.

Sneaking up he goes to surprise you but stops seeing your sleeping face. "Aw, my little bug." Grabbing an extra chair he sits down, smiling at you. How tired you must have been recently to fall asleep in the library.

Feeling a presence next to you, your eyes pry open only to be met with not the words of your textbook, but the smiling face of your very blonde boyfriend. "Hi," You whisper, Liam cocking his head to the side smiling back. "Hi,"

"Take me home?" You yawn, rubbing your eyes. "Always,"

Tangerine

Oscar Piastri x reader

Masterlist

Summary: You’re definitely not an insomniac. But Oscar keeps finding you awake at all hours, and he’s starting to get worried. Or: I wrote this while actually being unable to sleep, passed out for 3 hours, woke up and finished it. So… here you go, I guess?

Warnings: insomnia, anxiety/mild paranoia?, alcohol, limited knowledge of the actual structure of the MTC and the corporate structure of McLaren in general, a poorly researched night in Tokyo

The MTC lobby is empty, besides you. The lights are half turned off, motion sensors that have gone hours without detecting anything. You’ve stuck to your table in the corner. It’s quiet, just how you like it.

You look up from your notebook after who knows how long, blinking your weary eyes. Outside, the floodlights reflect off the inky black lake. There’s a car, pulling up in the drop off area outside the front doors. It’s Oscar, you think, his car one of a few that are easily recognizable. Sure enough, it’s confirmed when he climbs out of the driver’s side door. He leaves it running as he makes his way up to the door.

Oscar scans his pass and the doors wing open, followed by all of the lights in the lobby flickering on. You squint, fighting the urge to shield your eyes from the harsh lighting. Oscar is rushing through the lobby, a man on a mission, but he skids to a stop about halfway across the shiny tiled floor.

He turns, slowly, and makes eye contact with you. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

You hold back a laugh, thinking that might be a little mean, all things considered. “What are you doing here?”

He sighs, hands hanging at his sides. “I forgot my phone charger, and my laptop, and…” he pauses, frowning at you. “What are you doing here?”

You raise your brows right back. “Working?”

You watch his eyes flicker across your setup. You’re still in the same McLaren sweatshirt you’d been wearing when you saw him that morning. Your hair is piled atop your head. Your laptop sits open in front of you, the only source of light before Oscar burst through the doors. There are papers and notebooks scattered on the tabletop. Your pen is missing- you selfishly hope that as he scours your table, he’ll spot it.

“You got here at 8am,” he says, bewildered. “It’s almost midnight. That’s almost 16 hours.”

He says nothing about the pen. Why would he? He doesn’t know it’s missing. Logically, it must be here somewhere, probably under a paper or clipped to a notebook, but you’ve given up.

“Yes,” you answer, smirking. “You’re great at math, Oscar.”

He rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, home? Sleeping?”

You shrug. “I took breaks. It’s not like I’ve been working all day straight.”

You’re not lying. You’d taken a good, long lunch break, and an afternoon walk around the grounds. You’ve gotten up to stretch a couple times, made runs to the break room for coffee. You hope he doesn’t see straight through it, though. Hope he can’t see the dark circles under your eyes, the paleness of your skin, the exhaustion weighing your shoulders.

It’s not that you weren’t tired. You just knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep. One of those days. So instead, you had decided to be productive. Which had led to this- you in the lobby of your office building, hunched over a laptop. Oscar, the driver whose data you’re scouring, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Go grab your stuff,” you tell him, nodding towards the doors he’d been headed to. “You have an early flight tomorrow.”

He blinks wildly. “We’re on the same flight.”

You nod, because you both know this quite well. There’d been a meeting this morning about who had to be where and at what times. You’re on the first flight out with the main team, headed to Singapore.

“I’m not the one who has to drive the car at very high speeds this weekend,” you remind him, pointing the eraser of your pencil at him. “Or the one who has to be in front of the cameras. You need your beauty sleep.”

Oscar laughs at that, a happy sound that makes you smile, too. “Okay, okay. I’ll be right back.”

You think about disappearing to the bathroom or the break room while he’s gone, just to avoid any further questions. You know Oscar relatively well, though, and knowing him, he’d just wait around until you came back. Or worse, come and try to find you. You can picture it- you pouring your third cup of coffee in the last hour, Oscar watching from the doorway with disdain. You stay put, sipping from your mug and scribbling notes.

He’s back within a few minutes, a backpack in hand. His keys dangle from his fingertips. You don’t look up from your laptop as he walks towards you, that is until he’s standing right in front of you. You blink up at him through your lashes. There’s a frown on his face- this close, you know your lack of sleep must be obvious.

He nudges the top panel of your laptop with a single fingertip. “C’mon. Time to go home.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, shaking your head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”

“What, you just gonna stay here until we all meet up in the morning to go to the airport?” He scoffs.

“That would be ridiculous,” you laugh.

“It would,” he agrees. He seems to see straight through you, though. “Come on. Close the laptop, close the notebooks. You can work on this on the flight, like a normal person.”

“I’m trying to improve your car, you know.”

“I’m not leaving until you do,” he finally says, and you scoff with wide eyes. “And remember, I’m the one who has to actually drive the car. And go in front of the cameras. I need my beauty sleep.”

You rear your head back, unsure how to even counter that. He takes the opportunity to close the laptop for you, and you bat at his hands. Then he’s sweeping your papers into piles, stacking your notebooks and gathering them up into his arms.

“That’s my intellectual property, you know,” you scold him, reaching for the papers. He holds them up above your head easily, and you groan. “Okay, okay, I’ll go, just- I lost my pen, earlier. It’s my favorite one. I just have find it and then I promise I’ll go- you can go home, really, I’ll see you-“

He’s reaching for your head, suddenly, and you freeze. When his hand returns to your view, he’d holding the pen between his fingertips. You blink once, twice, then reach for it, but he’s holding it above your head within seconds, too.

“We’re leaving,” he tells you, firmly. “Come on. Up we go.”

You get to your feet reluctantly and pack your things into your bag. Oscar helps, handing you your papers in neat little piles. He keeps you in front of him as you both exit the lobby, like he’s afraid you might take off running further into the office building. His car is still parked out front, still running, and you see him wince.

“Didn’t expect to be inside for so long,” he says sheepishly.

You laugh lightly, starting your walk towards the employee lot. It’s down a well lit path, but every step feels heavy this late at night.

“Wait,” he says, and you pause. “Do you want a ride? You seem tired. You know, sometimes that’s as bad as driving drunk.”

“I’m not gonna fall asleep behind the wheel,” you tell him. You say it with confidence, because it’s pretty likely you’re not going to fall asleep at all tonight.

He cocks his head at you, cast in the bright glow of the floodlights. “At least let me drive you to your car. Otherwise, how do I know you’re not going to just go back inside?”

You roll your eyes. “And how do I know you’re not trying to kidnap me?”

You end up getting in the car, because he makes it pretty clear he’s not leaving until you do. You contemplate just walking to your own car, but honestly your feet feel so heavy it’s just not worth the fight. Oscar, to his credit, doesn’t kidnap you. He also doesn’t comment on your very modest car, the only one left in the parking lot. He does try to offer you a ride home one more time, but he lets it go after your repeat refusal.

You say goodbye, climb into your own car, and start the engine. The heat kicks on quickly, thank god, and you start up a playlist. It’s only when you look up, ready to leave, that you notice his car is still sitting there. You can just barely see Oscar behind the windshield, and he waves at you. He’s waiting for you to leave.

You flip him off as you roll out of the parking lot, and you watch him laugh in response.

…..

You’re one of the first ones at the office the next morning, and therefore one of the first ones on a shuttle to the airport. Oscar’s chronically late, or as he would call it, chronically precisely on time, so you don’t see him until he’s climbing on the plane. McLaren’s rented out a charter plane for this trip, with the double header making it the easiest solution.

You’re already settled into a seat, laptop open on the table in front of you, headphones on. You barely even look up when you feel him looking over you, but then he’s tugging one side of your headphones off your ear.

“Did you even sleep?” He asks, brows furrowed.

“Yes,” you lie, raising your brows at him defensively.

Oscar raises his brows in return. He obviously doesn’t believe you.

Before he can say anything else, Lando’s behind him, leaning up over his shoulder. “Oscar, mate, get a move on.”

Oscar rolls his eyes but does as Lando’s urging. There’s not assigned seats, per say, but the two drivers are headed towards the middle of the plane where their trainers and other senior staff are sitting. That’s how these things normally go- it just makes sense. They’ll have meeting on the plane, talk about meal plans and strategies and get ready for the weekend. You’ll spend your flight going through the data just one more time, trying to unlock all of the secrets to give Oscar the best possible chance on Sunday.

…..

Singapore is good. Not great, not perfect, but good. For Lando’s team, it’s a huge weekend. And honestly, 4th place for Oscar in his rookie year is huge too. He’s thrilled, tells you as much after the race, after the briefing.

“I know you worked hard this weekend, put in a lot of hours,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job,” you say with a shrug.

“Right.” He says. “Thanks, though.”

You smile up at him, knowing it’s wobbly and insincere. You don’t take compliments well. “No problem.”

When you get to the hotel that night, you lay down in the bed and try to fall asleep. It’s no use, really, because it’s not your bed, and because your mind is racing. There’s nothing even bothering you, that’s the stupid thing. Just… a billion thoughts flying by all at once. So you wander the hotel, up and down the stairs, down the halls. You make a pit stop in the exercise room, walk on the treadmill, try out the towing machine. You’ve never been one for working out, but the internet says exercise can help with sleep issues. It’s worth a try, but it doesn’t work.

You contemplate sneaking into the closed hotel pool, but ultimately decide against it. You’d probably get caught, and then you’d get in trouble, and it would somehow make it back to your boss. Then you’d get fired in Singapore, left to find your own way home. So instead, you head for the vending machines on your floor. There’s got to be something in there that’ll cure the racing in your head. Or at least bring you some comfort in the dead of night.

What doesn’t bring you comfort in the dead of night is a face in the reflection on the glass of the vending machine. You nearly scream when you meet someone else’s eyes. You whirl around, arms in a defensive position, and come face to face with Oscar.

“Would’ve pegged you for flight, not fight,” he says drowsily.

“You can’t sneak up on people like that,” you hiss, dropping your hands to your sides.

“Payback,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face clumsily. “B‘sides, I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. I was trying to get a snack.”

You blink at him. “Oscar, it’s 3am.”

He nods, blinks slowly. You almost expect his eyes to stay closed, almost expect him to fall asleep standing up.

“I woke up starving,” he says, shuffling towards one of the vending machines. “Promise you won’t tell Kim? I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

He’s cute when he’s sleepy. You want to tuck him into bed and tell him bedtime stories. You want to kiss his forehead. You blink hard, trying to reset your brain. The sleep deprivation is really getting to you. This is your coworker, your teammate.

You shrug and nod in agreement. “Would’ve kept the secret without the bribe, but if you’re offering…”

Oscar laughs, a quiet sound in the empty night air. “What’ll it be, then?”

He’s leaning against the glass heavily. He must still be half asleep. You can’t blame him. You point at the bag of chips you’d been eyeing, and then at the gummy worms in the corner. He nods in approval of both, selects them, feeds the machine his money. Then he’s picking his own snack- a poptart and a bag of Cheetos. He backs away, but you make a noise and point at the drinks machine.

“And a Red Bull?” You ask, pointing at your favorite flavor where it sits, lit up by fluorescent light.

He turns back, almost puts the money in, and then he pauses and looks at you. “It’s 3am.”

“Right, we established that.”

“Why would you drink Red Bull at 3am?” He asks, bewildered.

You shrug. “Because I like Red Bull.”

“Go work for them, then,” he suggests. You laugh. “Actually, I have a feeling that would be severely detrimental to your health. Too many free energy drinks. Do you ever sleep?”

“Those are big words for 3am,” you tease, nudging his shoulder. “Come on. The tangerine one, please.”

“I’m not buying you a Red Bull.” He shakes his head. “I am walking you back to your room and you’re going to bed.”

“I’ll tell Kim about your snacks.”

“No, you won’t.”

You let him walk you back to your room. He stands there as you swipe the key card, as you open the door and shuffle inside. He says goodnight from the doorway. You close the door after you echo the sentiment, lock all the locks, and lay down in your bed. You close your eyes and try to go to sleep. You really, truly try. But when the clock turns over to 4am, and you realize it’s useless, you roll out of bed and head down to the vending machine. You buy the Redbull with your own money, carry it back to your room, turn on the tv, and settle in until the sun comes up.

…..

Tokyo may just be your favorite city in the entire world. Everything is open all the time. You’ve never felt more seen by a city. The days that you and the rest of the team spend there between the two races are heaven. You have meetings during the day, but they’re short and easy. At night, there are plenty of places for you to roam, plenty of things to do and see.

You spend your nights in ramen bars, in arcades, in toy stores that seem to stretch on for miles. You collect so many souvenirs you’re worried you’ll have to buy a second suitcase. Frankly, you’re going on week two of sleeping only in one to two hour stints, and it’s likely you’re beginning to get a little manic. In Tokyo, though, nobody bats an eye.

You join the team for breakfast in the hotel lobby on Thursday. You’ve somehow ended up at a table with Oscar and Lando- you’d gotten here before anyone else, and Oscar had chosen the seat across from you. Lando asks what you’ve been up to. They’ve been busy with promo stuff, you’ve hardly seen the two of them all week.

You regale them with your stories and hand off your phone to Lando so he can scroll through your pictures. Oscar listens with rapt attention, leaning to look at the photos too.

“How do you do all this and find time to sleep?” Lando asks, an amused tone in his voice.

“She doesn’t, mate,” Oscar replies, pointing at your phone. “Look at the time stamps.”

You roll your eyes and snatch the phone away from them. Lando’s looking at you with wide eyes, Oscar is smiling amusedly.

“Sleep is for the weak,” you tell them, and you swear Lando’s eyes are going to bug out of his head. “We’re in Tokyo, I’m making the most of it.”

To Oscar’s credit, he doesn’t bring up the encounter at the MTC, or the run in at the vending machines. Still, this revelation seems to bewilder Lando.

“Sleep is like, the most important thing,” he says, shaking his head. “For your health.”

“Not all of us have to be in tip top shape,” you say, stabbing your fork into a waffle on your plate. “Some of us get to have fun. Exhibit B. Our breakfasts.”

Lando looks at your plate, filled with waffles and bacon and your cup of coffee, next to it. He casts his glance to his sad looking bowl of oatmeal, then, and sighs heavily. Oscar’s laughing at the two of you, though his plate looks just as sad.

“When you pass out halfway through the day,” Lando says, a retaliatory furrow in his brow, “I’m telling Andrea why.”

“That won’t happen,” you reassure him. “And besides, it’s media day. I have it easy.”

…..

Oscar makes it on the podium on Sunday. You scream your lungs out with the rest of the team, run to the pit wall, watch the podium celebrations. He’s wrapping everyone in enthusiastic hugs, slapping everyone’s backs and grinning so, so widely. All the lost sleep feels worth it, just to see him smile like that.

When he makes it to you, he hauls you into his chest, arms around your shoulders, holding you tight. You could stay like that forever, if he’d let you. He tucks his chin atop your head and you think you’d like to make a home right there, in his arms.

The celebrations go late, and so does the debrief. By the time it’s all said and done, everyone looks exhausted, including the drivers. They start shuttling you all back to the hotel for the night, back in Tokyo so you can get on the plane easily tomorrow morning. You’re just glad to be back in the city. On a night like tonight, buzzing with adrenaline and caffeine, there’s no way you’re falling asleep.

You somehow end up in a shuttle with Oscar. He smells like champagne and sweat, and you tease him about it when he sits down in the back row next to you.

He smiled sheepishly. “So I smell like a podium finisher, then.”

You watch as the city goes by out the window and listen to him chat idly with the others in the van. When you get back, you’re the last one out of the car. He’s waiting outside the hotel, leaning on the wall.

“So, what’s your plan for the night?” He asks, cocking a brow.

“No judgement?” You ask.

“No judgement,” he promises.

You shrug. “Not exactly sure. There’s a lot to do. I’ll probably get some ramen, maybe go shopping. Might just take a walk.”

He nods. “Sleep?”

“Not high on the priority list,” you admit.

He nods again. “Can I come with?”

You blank, staring at him. “What?”

“On your adventure,” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can I come along?”

Suddenly your heart is pounding in your chest. He wants to come with? Why? There’s a part of you that doesn’t like the idea, that thinks your sleepless adventures are for you and you alone. The other part of you, the one that wins out, thinks it might not be so bad to have some companionship.

“… sure,” you agree, eyeing him carefully. “But you have to play along. No forcing me to go to sleep.”

“Promise,” he says, holding out his pinky.

You hook yours with his and seal the deal.

…..

You both head up to your hotel rooms to change clothes, and in Oscar’s case, to take a shower. He sends you a text when he’s ready and you meet him in the lobby. He’s in a casual outfit, jeans and a hoodie. You’re dressed similarly, in a pair of black jeans and a crewneck.

“Where to?” He asks, wide grin on his face.

It turns out that Oscar is the ideal late night adventure companion. You start your night out at a sushi conveyor restaurant, both of you joking about how Lando would never dare to eat there. You eat to your heart’s content and make comments about fueling up for the night ahead. He even joins you in having an energy drink, some Japanese brand that you’ve never heard of. Oscar reads part of the label to you, balks at the amount of caffeine in it, and drinks it anyways.

After the restaurant, the two of you climb into a cab and head to the Shibuya district. It’s crawling with people, buzzing with energy, and you feel right at home. Oscar sticks close to your side, hanging onto the back of your sweatshirt as you cross the busy crosswalks in a sea of people. When you turn, though, he’s smiling like he’s having the time of his life. The two of you climb the stairs to an observatory where you can watch the dance of pedestrians and traffic from above. There’s a glow to the city that feels akin to how your brain feels when you can’t sleep- like it never goes out, never turns off.

You tell this to Oscar, who gives you a contemplative look.

“Is it the energy drinks?” He asks. His hand is on your wrist, likely just to keep track of you in the crowds.

You shake your head. “The energy drinks came after the… not sleeping-“

“Insomnia,” he suggests.

“… not sleeping,” you repeat, narrowing your eyes at him. “Anyways. I was like a zombie. The energy drinks make it so I’m functional. I figure if I’m gonna be awake, may as well enjoy it.”

You head back out onto the streets and begin to wander again. Oscar follows along, always holding onto you in some way, always smiling when you look at him. The two of you wander through art galleries and museums lit up with neon lights. Somewhere in the middle of one of them, he slips his fingers between yours. You’re not complaining. There’s something grounding, leveling about his presence.

You stop for drinks at a bar- some sort of local beer that Oscar orders for both of you in Japanese. It’s followed by a vodka Red Bull, at your insistence. Oscar wrinkles his nose but drinks the whole thing, seemingly determined to match you.

Next door, there’s a highly American themed bowling alley. Oscar laughs about how Logan would love it and pulls you inside. It’s the first stop of the night that he’s suggested, so you go along eagerly. He’s snapping pictures, ones to send to Logan, ones for himself, ones of you smiling, renting out bowling shoes. He pays for the game, and you both do terribly. The worker puts the bumper guards up out of pity, because the two of you obviously have no idea what you’re doing. He’s a world renowned athlete, you’re a highly skilled engineer, and yet, you both suck at bowling.

“When did the in-“ you fix him with a glare, and he stops mid sentence. “When did the not sleeping start?”

You look up at the ceiling of the bowling alley and purse your lips, watching the disco ball spin. “Next question.”

He huffs and shrugs, rolling the ball down the lane. “I don’t have a next question.”

“What’s your family like?”’you ask him, and he smiles, softer than you’ve ever seen him smile before.

“Well, I have three sisters,” he starts, eyes lighting up.

Somewhere between the bowling alley, the next bar, and the shopping mall you end up in, you start to really get to know Oscar. It’s funny how the night opens people up. Everything feels safer in the dark, surrounded by other people. It’s creeping up on 1am- in theory, both of you should be sound asleep. The fact that you’re not makes anything okay. You learn about his family, his childhood, his friends back home and in the UK. You tell him about yourself, too. He listens with an eager look on his face, laughing at all the right moments, squeezing your hand at the right ones, too.

You end up in a store that’s packed to the brim with stuffed animals. He lets you drag him around the whole thing, pointing out cute ones and the ones you think are a bit odd. Then you gasp, pointing excitedly, pulling on his hand.

“It’s you,” you squeak, the delirium beginning to set in. It’s a stuffed Kangaroo, and he groans softly. “Look, you’re even making the same face.”

Oscar seems unable to argue with that. Both he and the stuffed kangaroo do seem to be scowling. He smiles instead, picks it up, and takes it to the register. He buys it before you can really even say anything, and the cashier packages it in a bag. The kangaroo’s head sticks out over the paper, your second faithful companion for the night.

By 3am, Oscar is starting to drag. He perks up every time you look at him and smiles brightly, but you can tell. His grip on your hand is looser lately, and his blinks are growing longer and longer. You turn to him, a sympathetic smile on your face.

“We can go back to the hotel, if you want,” you say, poking his cheek lightly.

He smiles. “Are you tired?”

You sigh. “No, but you are.”

“I’m okay,” he insists, shaking his head. “What about the batting cages you mentioned? That sounded fun.”

You pout at him. “Oscar, you’re half asleep. You’d definitely get hit by a ball.”

He nods in agreement. “Maybe I just need another energy drink?”

You cock your head at him, take in his heavy eyelids, his parted lips. “That would be your third one of the night. And that would be very unhealthy.”

He nods again. “Yeah. Okay. Just… I said I’d be along for the ride.”

“We can hang out at the hotel,” you suggest. “The pool area is open all night.”

“I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”

“Me neither.”

You somehow end up with a pizza on your way back, and the two of you plant yourselves in the pool area on one of the chaise lounge chairs, the pizza box in front of you. You eat the greasy, cheesy food, and even Oscar indulges in it. He has his hand planted on the chair behind your back. Every so often you lean backs against his arm just to feel his presence. His knee bumps against yours, and you smile.

The pool is clear and blue. Neither of you will be swimming, but this felt like a neutral enough place. You’d thought about inviting him back to your room but had felt weird about it. There’s something calming about the still water and the smell of the chlorine, anyways.

He leans his head on your shoulder. The heavy weight of him is nice. He’s solid, sturdy, grounding. You’re chatting idly about something that happened at the race, something he’d missed while he was driving the car. You break off in the middle of a sentence to yawn, and then you close your eyes for just a moment. Oscar’s breath hitches.

The two of you are silent for a moment. You stare into the clear water, aching to drift and float and fall asleep. You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest.

“It started when I was a kid,” you tell him. “I just… stopped sleeping. It comes and goes in cycles. Sometimes I’m fine, sometimes I just…”

“Can’t sleep,” Oscar finishes for you, his words contradicting the sleepy tone of his voice.

“Yeah,” you say, blinking slowly again.

Your head droops, resting against his. He’s so warm, so comforting. He must feel you drifting, must feel your grip faltering, because then he’s sitting up, tucking you into his chest.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks, drowsily.

“M’so tired,” you admit, curling into him. “Justwannasleep.”

Tears are stinging at your eyes. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t been prepared for this part. The moment when your lack of sleep catches up to you, and you become an emotional, distraught mess. You’re seconds away from full on sobbing.

Oscar seems to sense this. “Okay. Okay, how about- I have a pull out couch in my suite. Why don’t you- if you’re comfortable, you could come sleep there. Maybe it would help to know somebody’s there if you need it? Maybe-“

“Okay,” you answer, nodding against his chest. “Okay, yeah.”

He takes care of the empty pizza box and guides you up to his room. You know there’ll be questions to answer if anyone sees you, but you’re comforted by the fact that it’s 4am and nearly every sane person is sound asleep. He scans into the room, and you let out a sigh when he lets go of your hand. He moves quickly, unfolding the pull out couch, grabbing extra blankets from the cabinets. Before you know it, you’re sitting down on the bed, rubbing your eyes.

It’s strange, now that you’re here. You’re in Oscar’s hotel room. You’ve just spent the night wandering Tokyo with him. You’re exhausted, sleep deprived, still on the verge of tears. Everything feels hazy and blurry.

“I can… go, if you want,” he says, and you blink up at him through your blurry vision. “Or I can sit with you till you fall asleep.”

“That might take a while,” you tell him. “Like, you’re more likely to fall asleep. Even… when I finally get to this point, it takes a while.”

He shrugs. “We could put on a movie.”

That’s exactly what you do. He turns on the tv, spots Finding Nemo on the guide, and turns it on. He sinks down on the bed, leaning against the couch back. You crawl up next to him as he turns the volume low. At first, you just sit shoulder to shoulder. Then he reaches out, wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulls you into his side. You sigh against him. Cradled close, you let the exhausted tears flow. He can’t see you, probably, and even if he can, you can’t bring yourself to care. He leans down, brushes his lips against your forehead.

“M’right here,” he says, softly. “I’ve got you.”

You wake up at 8am with your head in his lap. His alarm is blaring from the side table, and you’re both springing apart. He fumbles for his phone, shutting the alarm off with the shaky hands of someone who’s just been woken up from not nearly enough sleep.

You, on the other hand, have gotten the most consecutive sleep of your last two weeks. You stretch, rubbing the blur from your eyes and blinking at him.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“For what?” He asks, voice steady.

“For… I don’t know. Keeping you up so late? Falling asleep on you?” You shrug. “I… that was a lot, for me to put that all on you.”

Oscar shrugs, so nonchalant about it. “It’s what friends are for.”

You nod, though you’re not convinced. You pull away, and Oscar’s soft smile drops to a flat frown. He reaches for you, but you dodge his touch.

“I should go,” you tell him. “We have to leave soon, people are going to be getting up and- if they see me come out of your room-“

“We can be friends,” he says, again, brows furrowing. “We didn’t do anything wrong, everything is okay-“

He doesn’t understand. It’s fine for him, but this is too much for you. He wants to be friends, but you’re looking at him and thinking about how if you could curl up on his chest every night, you might never have trouble sleeping again. He wants friends, you want more. You can’t have more, though, because there’s no way you’ll keep your job. And he doesn’t want that, anyways. Why would he? You’re just his pity project, the poor girl who can’t sleep, who fails at counting sheep.

“I should go,” you repeat, standing up. You can’t look at him, can’t watch him watching you. “Thank you. For everything. I’m sorry.”

He stands up too, and he grabs your hand. You pause, stuck between ripping your hand from his and running, or whirling around and snapping at him. Fight or flight. Instead, you take a deep breath. You’re still sleep deprived, still exhausted. 4 hours doesn’t fix two weeks of little to no sleep.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, shoulders sagging. “I have a hard time letting people take care of me.”

“It’s okay,” Oscar says. “Just- come sit down? Let’s talk, okay?”

You sink down on the bed, rest your elbows on your knees and your face in your hands. “Why do you care?”

Oscar sits down next to you. He reaches out, knits your fingers together. You’re reminded of the art galleries, of the crowds, of the bowling alley. You split yourself open last night, in the safety of the time when you should’ve been sleeping. He saw you and he’s still here, somehow, hanging on. Your bones are tired. Your head is pounding. You need caffeine.

“I care,” he says, gently, “because I care about you. Because I think you’re a good person, and I want to get to know you better. And because this whole thing is not healthy.”

You sigh. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand methodically, back and forth. The funny thing is, you could fall asleep again, just like this. You could lean into his shoulder, let the warmth of him deep into your skin, and fall asleep. You wonder if he knows it.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, rubbing at your face sleepily. “Osc, I’ve been like this for years. It’s not just going to change now.”

“Not overnight,” he says, softly. There’s a callous on his thumb, you can feel the scrape of it over your skin. It’s oddly soothing. “But I can try. I can be here.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Because despite all the craziness, last night was the most fun I’ve had in weeks,” he says, and you could cry. “I want to spend time with you. I want to get to know you. Take you on dates. The whole nine yards.”

You should’ve expected this. Oscar can be shy, and quiet, but he can be straightforward, too. He’s pretty easy to read. He’s blunt with Lando, almost to the point of contention sometimes. But you’d been so focused on trying to prove to him that you were just fine that you hadn’t considered he was feeling the sparks, too. That maybe he wasn’t holding onto you in the crowd just so he didn’t lose you. That maybe he liked the feeling of your skin on his, too.

“If you want that,” he says, voice low.

You blink blearily, pull away to look up at him. “I do.”

He nods, leans forward, kisses your forehead. The rest of it will come later, you think. You can work all the details out when you’re both more awake. Right now, he pulls you into his chest and flops back onto the bed.

“We have an hour before anyone comes looking for us,” he says, rubbing your back lightly. “Close your eyes? You don’t have to sleep, just-“

You blink once, twice, and then you’re fast asleep before he can get another word out.

…..

Oscar wins the sprint race in Qatar, and then takes second on Sunday. He’s nothing but endless wide grins all weekend, despite the heat and the dehydration and his obvious exhaustion. You laugh when you watch him lay down on the floor in the cool down room and smile when he gets sprayed with champagne on the podium. He chases you through the garage afterwards to give you a hug, despite your screeching about how sticky he is.

He tucks you into his chest. “Couldn’t have done it without you, baby.”

Later, you help corral a very tired Oscar and Lando to the shuttles and back to the hotel. They’re each stumbling over their own feet, giggling and laughing about the race, shoving at each other’s shoulders. For a minute, you’re walking through an empty parking lot, far from any other McLaren staff, and Oscar links his fingers with yours. They fit together like puzzle pieces. His fingers are sticky with champagne, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Lando sees and doesn’t say anything, just smiles.

You’re keeping it quiet for now. Time to figure it out between the two of you before you get your bosses involved. You have a feeling it’ll be mostly okay. You’ll figure it out, one way or another.

You follow Oscar up to his hotel room, saying goodnight to Lando as he heads further down the hall. He knits his fingers with yours again, leads you into his room, and collapses onto the bed.

“I’m exhausted,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Are you?”

You smile down at him, laid out on the bed. He should probably shower, at the very least change his clothes, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him that.

You sigh. “I mean, yeah, but if you’re asking if I’ll be able to sleep… probably not.”

He nods in understanding and purses his lips. “D’you think… would you just… stay, until I fall asleep?” He asks, blinking up at you. “After that you can take my card and get a Red Bull and go do whatever, just-“

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” you tell him.

It’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. He gets ready for bed, and you do the same. You lean against the headboard and he crawls up the bed. He puts his head on a pillow in your lap, curls up into a little c shape. He’s very cat like, you’ve noticed, especially when he’s sleepy. You run your fingers through his hair, the tv playing quietly in the background, and he sighs and closes his eyes.

“Goodnight,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple.

He’s out within minutes. Oscar is a sound sleeper. You could move him, could shift his head and get up. You could wander the halls, take his card and buy all the energy drinks you desire. But you look down at him, his brow unfurrowed, lips parted, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. You could sit here and watch him breathe all night. It’s a terrifying and comforting thought, all at once.

You don’t sleep. It’s likely you’ll crash on the flight home, or maybe shortly after that. With your luck, you’ll pass out in a meeting when you get back to the MTC. Oscar doesn’t scold you when he wakes up and it’s obvious you’ve been awake all night.

He gets you coffee from the breakfast bar, exactly how you like it. And when he finds you in the backseat of the airport shuttle, he hands you a tangerine Red Bull. It’s early, the sun just peeking up over the horizon, washing the whole city with orange. He’s smiling at you, and you’re smiling right back.

When you fall asleep on his shoulder on the way to the airport, nobody dares to say a word.

…..

“Did you hear we’re gonna be sponsored by Monster next year?” Lando asks, throwing a tennis ball at a wall in the courtyard.

You sit up in the grass nearby, eyes lighting up. “You’re kidding. Free Monster?”

Oscar, whose stomach you’d been laying on, sits up behind you and wraps his arm around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Your consumption will be restricted,” he says, and you laugh.

You suppose that’s fair. Besides, Monster is fine, but nothing will ever top tangerine Red Bull.

check out the companion blurb, Glad You’re Here

thanks for reading, hope you sleep better than me! you can find my other fics here! sweet dreams y’all

sexy barbed wire stitching on the collar of my new (old) battle jacket

Now Sam has NEVER questioned his sexuality like..ever.

And while fighting with team ironman, Sam doesn't really get to appreciate Tony, nor as he really hung around the man.

But one day, when everyone's signed the accords and the other avengers are trying to get back into Tonys good books like:

Natasha: I found that one Italian roast, stark. The one that you really like.

(And it's a really expensive brand shes payed with her own money flashing a small smile at him)

Tony simply raises and eyebrow

"I take decaf at the moment." He says dismissively.

Or Clint

"Hey, man. What did the-" and Clint gets cut off,

"Knock knock Barton" tony asks looking up from his starkpad

"Who's there, gorgeous?" He teased

"My tired legs. Stop dick riding." He snapped at him (Peter taught him that phrase)

The whole team gets ripped a new one,

One days Sam walks in, makes himself some coffee and starts drinking when stark walks in.

Tony simply glances at the mug and back at Sam, the man was dressed in a black tank top, sweaty and with loose sweatpants and simply goes,

"That's my cup, Wilson."

Sam splutters and looks at the cup, it being ironman merchandise and looking back up at Tony

"Ah, don't stress bird brain, your fine, drink out of it whenever you want sweet cheeks." He shrugged his muscles flexing for a second as he walked off

And Sam was totally staring at that ass.

Can you please please write smt about doing body shots off either Charles or lando. I keep staring at their necks in pics and I’m imaging just licking salt off it. I feel like lando would be soooo cocky about it and just let you lick it off his neck and make you grab the lime from his lips and then he ready to do it back to you

A/N: Lando is so perfect for this, Lando would be so cocky while Charles a blushing mess so we picked Lando in this house

You needed to be careful. The party was starting to get out of hand, but Lando had gotten P2 and Carlos P1 so the party was ragging. Everyone was getting tipsy and drunk while others were sober because of the slights they would be catching in a few hours.

Unable to remember who screamed it but all you knew is that everyone was doing body shots and the person who cracked the first was the next victim. And that's how you ended up standing in front of a smirking Lando. His hair was messed up and lips swollen.

No telling who he's been kissing or doing body shots off od, but you hated this. Standing in front of everyone has Daniel and Carlos explained the concept of what was going on. If either of you kissed, then you cracked, and someone will have to do a body shot off you.

Lando was following your every movement as Daniel placed you in front of Lando. The music was pounding and people everywhere but when Lando spoke in his low husky voice, something that happened when he's worked up and tipsy. "Are you okay?" Lando asks, pulling you in which has you leaning onto his chest for support. "Yeah, I've done this before." You whisper back, clearing your throat. The hands on your waist tighten and Lando's bright eyes darken but he says nothing as he smiles.

"So, who made you crack?" You asks, trying to forget your own nerves. "Don't worry about it," "Carlos did," Daniel teases craning Lando's neck to the side you swallow hard.

It's hard not to stare at Lando with his large hands, perfect smile, and neck he was just, perfectly imperfect. "Really? Can't believe I missed that." Lando giggles, from your words and the salt being stuck to his neck. "Alright! LET'S GO!" Daniel yells loudly which has everyone turning but still, it was a rather large party not even half the people were paying attention.

From the corner of your eye you see the other drivers laughing and watching you two closely. "Here goes nothing." Taking the bottle from Carlos's hand you take a swing, ignoring the burn in your throat as you lean in to lick the salt.

Slowly you move your tongue, a shudder passing through Lando's body, causing some wolf whistles as Lando's hands move from your waist to your ass squeezing it. Pulling back you look for the lime, looking at Lando he smiles and you groan seeing it in his mouth. "Cheater," You whisper, fingers tangle in curls as you yank him forward sending the drivers crazy as you kiss him deeply.

Groaning into the kiss Lando loses the lime as you curl your tongue sending him crazy you pull away with the lime in your mouth. Everyone laughing and cheering when you pull back with it in your mouth. "I think I win, yes?" You ask Daniel who is clapping and nodding. "Hell yeah!" Turning you see Lando standing there dazed. "Maybe next time, baby boy." Patting his cheek, unsure where that courage came from.

Walking away you move your hips from side to side, uncaring that everyone is going crazy as you slip into the crowd. If he wanted you, he'd come to you.

In the spirit of encouraging people to comment on fanfics while also making it easier to do so, I feel obliged to share a browser extension for ao3 that has quite literally revolutionized the comment game for me.

I present to you: the floating ao3 comment box!

From what I've seen, a big problem for many people is that once you reach the comments at the bottom of a fic, your memory of it miraculously disappears. Anything you wanted to say is stuck ten paragraphs ago, and you barely remember what you thought while reading. This fixes that!

I'll give a little explanation on the features and how it works, but if you want to skip all that, here's the link.

The extension is visible as a small blue box in the upper left corner.

(Side note: The green colouring is not from the extension, that's me.)

If you click on it, you open a comment box window at the bottom of your screen but not at the bottom of the fic. I opened my own fic for demonstrative purposes.

The website also gives explanations on how exactly it functions, but I'll summarize regardless.

insert selection -> if you highlight a sentence in the fic it will be added in italics to the comment box

add to comment box -> once you're done writing your comment, you click this button and the entire thing will automatically copied to the ao3 comment box

delete -> self explanatory

on mulitchapter fics, you will be given the option to either add the comment to just the current chapter or the entire fic

The best part? You can simply close the window the same way you opened it and your progress will automatically be saved. So you can open it, comment on a paragraph, and then close it and keep reading without having the box in your face.

Comments are what keep writers going, and as both a writer and a reader, I think it's such an easy way of showing support and enthusiasm.

"Don't just throw ripped jeans away, you can repair them using these 10 cute Visible Mending techniques!!" unfortunately my friend the first point of failure for every single pair of jeans i have owned in my life has been the Crotch and Ass. Knees: fine, cuffs: fine; but 3 years in, and all that stands between the world and my astronaut-patterned taint is 0.5µm of denim worn so thin that every squat threatens to tear it to shreds like wet toilet paper. If the Tiktok craft community could figure out a way to resurrect jeans afflicted in such a way that doesn't involve adding a whole ass buttpatch like some sort of inverse assless chaps situation then that'd be great

batfam as couple tiktoks pt.2

word count: 1.7k

summary: couple tiktoks I've seen on douyin with the batboys

𓅫. running off mid-proposal to buy a ring - Bruce Wayne

"So, will you please marry me?" Opening the ring box, Bruce looks up at you. You blink owlishly at Bruce, pursing your lips as you hold your hand up. Bruce tilts his head at you in confusion as you rush off, and your friends and his kids all pause to process what the hell just happened. "Father, I believe this is a no." Damian stares at your retreating figure. "No, I think they'd at least give B the courtesy of a rejection." Steph mumbles. "This... dumbass!" Your friend curses, clicking on her phone violently as she dials again, your phone sending her to voicemail. "Let's just go back." "No." Bruce frowns. "Just a little longer." It eats him alive. Bruce isn't even sure if you'll run back or come back, but he has an inkling of a suspicion that you wouldn't just leave him like that. You've never just run away from him like that— not even when he showed up in front of you half-dead as Batman. You didn't just run away like that. You never have. "Really, Bruce, I think—" "I'm back!" You yell from the distance, Tiffany bag in tow as you run to Bruce, fumbling to get the box out, smiling at him stupidly as you show him the ring. "Will you marry me?" Bruce laughs, a sound coming from his chest as you grin at him, smile lopsided. "Only if you marry me." "Deal." You grin, and Bruce presses his lips to yours. Yes. Always.

𓅫. are you ready, mr. styles? - Dick Grayson

The flood of tiktok notifications comes one morning way before Dick gets out of bed— still sprawled out on your shared bed, and you squint at your phone screen, sleep still all over your face. "... I'm sleeping on the highway tonight?" You click open the notification, blinking as you notice Dick's username, scrolling to the second photo as you listen to the audio. ...Dick made a tiktok about you again. Right. ..oh. You smile as you notice the photo, a familiar one, a photo that Dick had insisted on taking while the two of you were out for dinner a couple of days ago. You click through the audio and confirm your thoughts. Dick posted you to a couple audio again. The news gives you butterflies as you lean down to press a kiss to Dick's temple, yelping as he yanks you down instead, pulling you on top of him as he smiles. "G' morning, gorgeous." "'morning." You smile. "I saw your tiktok." "Did you?" "Yeah." You hum. "Were you planning on telling me?" "No." He mumbles, pressing your head to his heart as you listen to it beat. "Love you." "Love you too."

𓅫. shopping in his arms - Jason Todd

"Which one?" "Mm..." You purse your lips, grimacing. "I want the regular." Jason adjusts you in his arms, mumbling for you to tighten your arms. You listen, craning your neck to try and look behind you at the product. You don't know what prompted him to ask you to do this, but you aren't complaining. You like it (even if your arms don't) "I figured." He hums, reaching for the carton as your arms tighten around his neck. "I'm not going to drop you, you know?" "Shopping like this is really inconvenient." You grumble. "Let me down?" "Mm... no." He grins. "We're only here for this, no?" "We could've just gotten this from the regular market..." "You love this." You can't deny that. "Can we get batburgers later?" "Of course."

𓅫. handcrafting a hairpin for you - Cass Cain

"I have a gift for you." Cass squeezes you gently as she holds the gift bag to the side. "I hope you like it." "I'll like anything you give me." You smile. "What is it?" "I'm taking woodworking, right?" "Yeah?" You take the bag from her, leading her to the couch. "You can open it." You blink at the Chinese written on the wood, tilting your head. "I'm pulling out google translate for this." You fish for your phone. "It's from the song." She mumbles. "my affection is genuine, my love is real, the moon represents my heart." "CASSSS!!!" You sob, throwing your arms around her as you press your cheek to hers. "I love you. I'm love you. I'm in love with you." "I love you too." She smiles. "Open it." You open the box, a sob breaking past your lips as you stare at the hairpin, picking it up as you notice the phoenix and lotus flowers. Your lips pull downward as you stare at Cass, tears forming in your eyes. "Awwh, I love you too, baby," She presses your head to her chest. "Do you like it?" "I love it. I hope they bury me with this." You mumble in tears. Cass laughs.

𓅫. Cause all of the small things that you do - Tim Drake

"...what are these?" Tim looks up from his laptop, noticing the giant bundles in your arm. "Okay, so there's this trend going around Tiktok right now to this song where couples will show off matching blankets, and I got a set for us!" You grin. "Also because you need a new blanket to swap out when your old one smells nasty." "Are you saying I smell?" "I'm not saying you don't." You smile innocently. "Go shower." "I need to finish—" "You're no fashion king while looking like a rat. You're like that one audio. How does it go? claimed he wasn't the rat king but one night you followed him into the sewers and he sat on a makeshift throne and a bunch of rats surrounded him and he definitely said "I am the rat king."" You pause. "The ex-boyfriends audio." "When I finish this case." "You solved your last one two minutes ago when I walked in. Go shower while I unwrap our blankets." You wave him off. "Boo." Tim gets up, stretching his arms as the old blanket falls off his shoulders, and he presses a kiss to the crinkle of your eye, humming. "Can I see the blanket before I shower?" You pull one out, showing him one side, and then the other. "I love it. Thank you, pretty bird."

𓅫. paper rings - Steph Brown

"Steph, pretty girl!!" You land on the couch next to her, cuddling up to her as you show her the new photos you put into a capcut template. "Wait this is—" She shows you her phone screen, and you laugh. It's the same template, your face plastered on it instead. "You wanna marry me with paper rings?" You poke her cheek, grinning. "Says the one who does." She rolls her eyes playfully. "Yeah, I do." You stick your tongue out. "I'll marry you with grass rings if I have to." "Okay, that's not necessary. Worst comes to worst, we rob Bruce." You feign a gasp. "You're evil." "You love me." "I do." You sigh blissfully, kicking your legs. "I'd marry you with ring pops too." "Oh, that's such a steal." She mumbles. "Let's get ring pops for our wedding rings." "Hell yes."

𓅫. hauling a can of water to Duke after sports day - Duke Thomas

"Did you know Duke was so handsome?" one of the girls in class gush. "I'm going to give him water after the event. Surely he'll be sweaty and stuff." "What makes you think he's going to take your water over mine?" Her friend shoves her playfully, grabbing a bottle of her own, running off as your mouth hands open. You blink at the text message Duke sent you beforehand, and then at the emptied shelves in the store on campus. ... they're out of bottles. shit. Your eyes wander to the ground as you spot sealed water cans. That'll do, you suppose. Duke finishes the game relatively quickly. You've grown used to his speed, so when all the girls flock around him to hand him a bottle of water, you settle with calling for Duke instead, waving your hand as you point at the can on the bench next to you. He bursts into laughter as he jogs over to you. "Did they take all of them?" He lifts it effortlessly, cracking the can open as he starts drinking. "You don't know how awful it was." You grimace. "Curse your good genetics." "Honored." He smiles. "So?" "Good game." You grumble, looking to the side, cheeks flushed. "Thank you."

𓅫. the olive theory - Damian Wayne

"I was telling her about it, so she was—" You pick out the olive from your pizza, placing it on Damian's plate. "— talking about how her friend had somehow hooked up with her boyfriend. So now they're trying to break up." Damian nods slowly as you continue. "Now the girl who hooked up with my friend's boyfriend is crying to me about how I need to tell her to calm down. I mean, what was she expecting? Gothamites are insane." You mumble, picking out another olive. "What is your friend planning?" "Arson, but you didn't hear that from me." "Sounds relatively tame. Is she native?" "Not quite. She moved here when she turned ten." You mumble, picking another out, grimacing. "How many olives did they put on this?" "Two more." He hums, reaching over to pick them out for you, popping them into his mouth. "That's why. Todd used to joke about how native gothamites just use their connections to ruin someone's life." "If it were me... I'd just send Tim over." "Not Todd?" "I think, arguably, Tim has committed more war crimes than Jason." You finally bite into your pizza. "If you do the math." Damian pauses to think. "Yes. That checks out." "Thank you, by the way." You mumble. "Maybe next time I'll just make it so that half of the pizza doesn't have olives." "I do not mind, habibi." He looks at you, eyes gentle. "Now, tell me. Did the boyfriend get kicked?" "Oh, he definitely did—"

Oh my god I’m so excited to see your requests are open I wanted to request something for the lovely Daniel ricciardo being more handsy with reader while on the paddock and him getting interviewed about it later since the fans have been posting pictures of their intimate moments and him kind of joking in a “how could I not?” Type of way? Thank you

PDA | Daniel Ricciardo

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Female Reader

Word Count: 907

Warnings: None

A/N: Hello loves ! Firstly, apologies for the delay in writing requests as I had a lot going on. If you’ve sent in a request, I’m working on it, just bear with me :) Hope you babes enjoy. Thanks anon for requesting .xx

The Monza GP was a special race weekend for Daniel, besides his home race. With his Italian roots, it’s his second home so indirectly another home race.

This special race weekend had inspired him I guess you could say for our relationship to be full on public. For the many months we’ve been together, I’ve made my few appearances in the paddock and sometimes alongside Daniel but rarely. I quite enjoy our relationship being private, but I guess if he’s happier with us being public then so be it.

Besides the rare ‘papped’ pictures of us together - which left some people to question on numerous occasions if we’re still together - we don’t even have posts of each other on our socials. It’s always the private but not secret kind of story posts…I guess that all ends now.

I only managed to arrive in Monza on race day, no pressure. Note the sarcasm. As soon as we jumped out of the car, I suddenly felt sick at the thought of all eyes on us.

Daniel noticed I zoned out, he then snapped his fingers in front of me, “Babe are you okay ?” He asked concerned. “Yeah I’m okay” I forced a smile. He grabbed a hold of my hand and I guess he noticed the clamminess. “Are you sure you’re okay ?” He furrowed his brows. “You look nervous” he added. “I’m not gonna lie…I am” I admitted with a sigh.

“Nervous about what love ?” He asked concerned. “I’m not used to attention in public” I said as I looked everywhere but him. He then grabbed a hold of my face to look at him, “Just relax. I’m with you every step of the way… I just want to show you off to the world without hiding it anymore. I want to love you publicly and not hide it anymore - not gonna lie, it’s also kind of getting hard for me to resist touching you” he smirked.

After laughing along with him, it helped a lot with easing my nerves. Thank god for sunglasses as well. As long as I had them on, the nerves didn’t exist. We walked in the paddock hand in hand, nothing major.

Up until it was time for Daniel to leave the garage, he surprised me by engulfing me in a hug and leaving a kiss on my cheek. “Good luck babe and be safe” I said softly to him before he left. I failed to realise that being a new wag means being watched at all times.

I don’t know what had gotten over me, a boost of confidence and a moment of being proud for Daniel’s great race finish had me returning the favour of engulfing Daniel in a hug and leaving a kiss on his cheek. He then lifted me up and spun me around. In that moment it felt like we were the only ones in that garage and everyone else was muted.

Before we knew it, he had to quickly leave to attend to post-race interviews. I waited patiently in his drivers room and decided to waste some time on my socials. As I was scrolling, a video was already uploaded of one of Daniel’s interviews. Out of curiosity I decided to play it.

“So Daniel, incredible result in the Alpha Tauri today ! Brilliant drive, where did that come from or perhaps should I say who helped with that ?” Natalie teased. He immediately started blushing and looked away, it was so cute to watch. “Welllll” he trailed. “Oh come on, tell us how (Y/N) motivated you today. You guys make a lovely couple and I have to ask since everyone can’t stop talking about how cute you both are, you can’t seem to leave her can you ?” Natalie joked.

“How can I not, have you guys seen her ? She just makes me so happy and she’s one of my biggest cheerleaders. I’m a really lucky guy and I just wanted her to be apart of my special weekend. Today’s result was all so I could see that reaction from her” he smiled proudly. “You mean this one ?” Natalie asked as she then showed him the array of pictures that were taken of us today. “Paddock favourite already. Well, thank you for your time and hopefully we’ll see you both at the next race weekend. Cheers !” Natalie said lastly. “Of course ! Cheers guys” Daniel said lastly before the interview ended. “Handsome guy” he said from behind me.

“Oh my god ! Dan you scared me” I said as I placed a hand on my chest. “Sorry love, let’s get going” he said as he held his hand out for me to hold. With our fingers entwined, we walked through the paddock to the car. Fans and photographers around had taken pictures, I didn’t mind since I was comfortable at this point.

Once we got into the car, I broke the silence “You really did a hard launch today” I smiled. “That wasn’t a hard launch for me” he pouted. “What was missing ?” I furrowed my brows. “This” he said as he cupped my cheeks and pulled me in for a sweet kiss. So much for thinking we were alone, I quickly broke away when I heard screaming from fangirls. “Well, that really was a hard launch” I said as I felt the heat flush my cheeks.

Danny, through a freak accident, found out that if he puts a drop of his blood on a thing and then electrifies it, it will begin to gain sentience. Not a lot, more on par with like, a cat or dog instead of a human, but still.

So he's gonna sentient-ize people's cars.

It's perfect, because the GIW will be tracing his ecto signature across the country, only to realize that they were chasing a car.

The people that own the car will probably realize it start to sort of become a pet instead of just a mode of transportation, and when it's found to be ecto contaminated, they'll argue against the ruling that ecto-beings are just soulless husks.

He starts in the only place that will hire and angry sixteen year old with a chip on his shoulder and no prior work history or certificates.

Gotham.

Seven weeks later, Bruce is waylaid by a wild-eyed Jason who swears his motorcycle turned itself on and saved him from a sneak attack.