#Also the brakes in the car didn’t work | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strang3lov3 · 1 month

Text

Chevelle

Summary- (joel miller x virgin!reader) Joel figures out that you’re the one who hit his baby, his precious 1964 Chevrolet Chevelle. He needs you to make it right, but he doesn’t want your money ❤️‍🔥🍆 (5k words)

Tags- MDNI hot girls can’t drive, implied age gap, virgin!reader, we're calling him tender dark!joel, soft!dom joel, tender dubcon (power imbalance, joel solicits sex from reader, no explicit consent but reader is into it) reader has a luscious bush, Joel walks you through handjobs, blowjobs, fingering, oral, unprotected piv, creampie, come eating, loss of virginity. Joel is clothed and reader is not.

A/N- Writing this is how I spent my spring break. Hope you love it 🩵 Thank you @noxturnalpascal for all of your help editing and your encouragement.

Based on mine and @beefrobeefcal shared prompt where we asked, "What would happen if reader damaged Joel’s vehicle?” Her fic is here and it’s one of my favorite things I’ve read!! Kiki has such a beautiful voice in her writing and I love all the details she adds to her fics.

Pawn shop by @toxicanonymity came to mind when I wrote this story and was a source of inspiration. Also worth a read, I have nothing but love for Tox’s writing 🩷

It’s late when you get off your shift at Tony’s, the shitty Italian restaurant you’ve been working at for far too long. It doesn’t pay much and you’ve considered working a new job to save up and move out of your brother’s house, but you’ve been putting that idea off for a variety of reasons. One of them being Joel.

Joel’s your neighbor, a sexy, older man you’ve got a certain fondness for. His hair used to be more brown but it’s grayer now, same with the scruff on his face. He’s got sparkling, chocolatey eyes and a sharp nose set above a thick, downturned mustache. He always looks a little dirty when you see him, with dirt caked into his forehead wrinkles and grease smeared along his temple or his jaw. He’s always either fresh off a contracting job or working on his car. He’s got this cute little Chevy he spends his nights and weekends with, a 1964 Chevrolet Chevelle, baby blue.

Joel was one of the first people to welcome you to the neighborhood and even helped you move your stuff into your brother’s house, though helping you implies he let you do any work. Joel offered you a pop from his fridge and then took over entirely, putting both himself and your brother to work moving all of your stuff in. You didn’t lift a finger that day.

You can’t seem to pull your eyes from the little green glowing letters on your dash, watching letters and numbers on the screen roll on by. 12:37 A.M. 101.9. Paper Bag - Fiona Apple. You’re so out of it. You yawn and blink a couple of times, focusing back on the narrow roads of your neighborhood. It’s so poorly lit over here, and it doesn’t help that one of your headlights is out. Joel’s been bugging you to let him fix that, he says it’ll only take five minutes.

You turn onto your street and bam. You’re wide awake now. You just hit something.

You hit Joel’s car. Joel’s fucking car. What the fuck is it doing on the street? He always has it safely kept in his garage. Oh dear god, the panic is setting in. This is Joel’s baby. You just hit his baby, his pride and joy.

You can’t even bring yourself to assess the damage you’ve inflicted upon his dear Chevy. Probably dented to shit, but you don’t really wanna know. Instead, you just pull your foot off the brake, press your remote control garage door opener, then pull into your garage as you press your lips together tightly. You’re surprised and relieved to find that there’s hardly a scratch on your own car. Joel won’t know. He won’t.

The next morning, you’re sipping on your coffee as you check your mailbox. Joel’s outside his house, loading up his work truck with some tools and supplies. He waves to you and you wave back, a small stack of mail in your hand.

“Whose mail you got today, sweetheart?” he calls to you.

You check the names on some of the letters. “Davidsons’ and Pierces’,” you answer through a chuckle. Joel rolls his eyes and laughs. The incompetent mailman is a running joke amongst yourself, Joel, and your other neighbors. He never seems to deliver anything to the right address, so you and your neighbors are often hand delivering each other your misplaced mail.

You laugh with Joel until you notice his smile disappear. He’s narrowing his eyes on his Chevy. Your heart drops as he steps closer to the vehicle, then pinches his nose in frustration. Fuck. Joel stomps back to his work truck, haphazardly tosses something in the bed and then slams the tailgate. Yeah, he’s fucking pissed. Your neck and your face heat in shame as you quickly run back inside.

In the two weeks since Joel’s car was hit, he’s been working to repair it tirelessly. He’s ordered a new tail light, since whoever hit his car shattered it and he’s spent a pretty penny ordering the exact shade of baby blue paint to touch up all of the scratches. Joel only trusts himself to touch his car, but the situation necessitates that he’ll have to take it in to a local repair shop to get the dents out. Fucking fantastic.

When Joel gets off work tonight, he notices he’s got some packages on his doorstep, hoping it’s the shit he ordered for his car. He’ll open them shortly, but he first notices that one of the packages is addressed to you. Go figure, he thinks, chuckling to himself. He walks the package over to your house, noticing your car is parked outside of the driveway. And it’s backed in too, which is odd. Joel assumes your car must’ve been blocking your brother’s, so he probably played musical chairs with your cars to get his out and then backed yours up onto the driveway. You never back your own car in the driveway, and Joel’s pretty sure it’s because you don’t know how. You probably can’t parallel park, either. He’ll have to show you how to do that sometime.

What’s also new is a bit of baby blue paint on your red Honda Civic’s exterior, right by your headlight, the same headlight he’s been nagging you to let him fix. Joel bites the inside of his cheek. Interesting. He knocks on your door, package in hand, but he’s met with no answer. No biggie. He leaves the package on your porch and goes back to your car, inspecting the paint once more. He scoffs in astonishment and walks home. Unbelievable.

The next evening, you check your mailbox after forgetting to do so earlier. As always, you never have just your own mail. This time you’ve got Joel’s. You walk it over to Joel’s house with the intention of dropping it off on his porch and going back home, not wanting to bother him as he works on his Chevy but his whistle startles you. “Hey you,” he says. “C’mere.”

“O-oh,” you stutter. “I’m just dropping off your–”

“Yeah, I know. Just c’mere a minute,” Joel says. “Got a fuckin’ bone t’pick with you.”

Your palms are beginning to sweat. He doesn’t know anything. Maybe he just wants some company while he works on his car, it wouldn’t be the first time. But still, there’s something about his tone. You step off of his porch and cut through his lawn to get to his garage. Once inside, you help yourself to a root beer from his refrigerator. Something cold and fizzy and sweet to help you calm your nerves.“Oh, sure, help yourself,” Joel mumbles. He notices your fingers slipping off the tab of the pop can and pulls it from your hands, then opens it for you. He’s wearing a stained Prince and the Revolution t-shirt and a slightly too tight pair of jeans that squeeze his ass just so. His garage is decorated with old license plates, posters, other odds and ends.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Joel says nothing as he walks to his work bench. He pulls a lightbulb out of a cardboard box and waves it in your direction, he’s only a couple of feet from you. “Ordered the wrong bulb,” he tells you.

You can only nod. You think about maybe making a joke about the mailman screwing it up somehow, but you bite your tongue. You don’t trust yourself not to stutter right now.

“M’sure you saw, my baby here’s all banged up,” Joel puts the bulb back in the box and leans against his work bench, facing you. “Happened a couple weeks ago.”

“Mm,” you hum.

“Hit and run, can you believe that?”

“No, I can’t. That-that’s terrible.”

“I know it is. And here I thought we had a nice neighborhood…” he trails off before speaking again, “You think you know someone, huh.”

Someone. So he has someone in mind? “Yeah, it’s terrible…what happened to your car. Can’t believe someone would uh…would do that, knowing how you, your car…yeah. Terrible.”

Joel stares at you for a minute before speaking again, taking note of how you can’t seem to hold eye contact with him. He steps closer to you.

“You wouldn’t know a thing about it, right?”

“Yes,” you answer, quickly realizing your word mishap when Joel raises his eyebrows. “No, yeah. I don’t know–yeah, nothing,” you sip your root beer before fidgeting with the pop tab and shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Joel notices. “Squirmin’ an awful lot over there, sweetheart. You got something you wanna tell me?” You shake your head, still playing with the tab on the pop can. Joel removes it from your hand, his fingers gracing over yours before placing it on the workbench. He’s moving closer to you now, matching your pace as you walk backward until the back of your legs hit his car. You gasp, he stands so tall and imposing in front of you. “Easy,” he warns. “You be careful with her.”

“Yeah, I know. Always,” you reply. Your voice is beginning to shake.

Joel hums at your response. “Not always, though, sweetheart. Think you were pretty careless with my baby a couple weeks ago.”

The familiar pressure behind your eyes is beginning to build as tears are pricking your waterline, “I don’t know what–”

“Awh, don’t do that. Don’t lie t’me.”

The tears spill over. You’re caught. You don’t know how Joel figured out what you did, but he did. “You’ve got a guilty conscience, dontcha?”

You nod before you can speak. “I’m so sorry,” you cry. Sobs begin to wrack your body, your tears now flowing freely. You’re so guilty. You should’ve told Joel what happened that night. It was an accident, and he might’ve been mad, but you’ve probably made it worse for yourself with your dishonesty. “I’m so sorry, Joel, it was late and I was so tired–”

Joel pulls you in a tight embrace, stroking your back with his fingertips. “Shhh, I know. I know,” he whispers in your ear, “S’okay, sweet girl.”

“It was so…” you try to explain, choking on your sobs and your sniffles. “So late and d-dark and I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I know. Quit your cryin’, s’gonna be fine,” Joel whispers. He pulls away from you, looking at you with those deep brown eyes of his as he wipes the tears from your face with his thumbs. Know you’ll make it up to me.”

“I will,” you agree quickly. “I’ll pick up some more shifts, Joel, and I’ll save and–”

“Oh, no. Not that. Save your money,” he tells you earnestly. “Somethin’ else,” Your eyes follow Joel when he leaves you for a moment to flip a switch on the wall of his garage. Something in the air changes then, a thick, heavy feeling between you both when he makes his way back to you. “Use your head, sweetheart. How are we gonna make it right?”

Your mouth is dry, your tongue swollen as you pick up what Joel’s putting down. “Let me give ya a hint,” Joel grunts, sucking in his gut slightly as he unbuttons his jeans. He wears no underwear, a thatch of coarse hair littering his skin is what you see when he pulls down his zipper. He grips your wrist and shoves your hand beneath the denim where you feel his package, already half hard. It’s warmer, thicker than you would expect. He feels heavy in your palm, his pubic hair wiry and scratchy against your knuckles.

He doesn’t tilt his head in confusion at your hesitancy. “Don’t know what to do with all this, do ya?”

You shake your head no. “I’ve never…with anyone, before.”

“S’alright. I’ll walk ya through it all,” Joel says, seemingly unsurprised at the revelation. With your hand still on his cock, Joel pulls himself out of his jeans entirely. He’s harder now. “Like this,” he instructs, bringing your hand to his mouth and spitting in it. A pang of arousal fills your gut at the action. He pushes your hand lower and guides you to wrap your hand around his cock. It feels heavy, warm to the touch, sticky with his sweat and his saliva. Rock hard, but smooth like satin. You admire him, his blushed tip, the prominent veins on his shaft.

Your breath hitches as Joel takes control, using his strong, weathered hand to guide your own to massage his cock. “You got it,” he encourages, sensing your rigidity. “Tighter,” he instructs, squeezing his hand around yours. You’re slow to gain confidence but he’s patient, doing the work himself for now. “You move your hand all the way up, all the way down my cock,” he tells you.

You nod in understanding. Joel drops his hand but yours stays stroking his member. He sighs and tilts his head backward as you focus on the task at hand. Without the pressure of intense eye contact, you take the opportunity to admire him, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the small drops of sweat rolling down his throat. You’re shy when he smiles at you, quickly averting your attention from him and to his cock, watching the way it twitches beneath your hand, where a little bead of precum forms. Experimentally, you swipe your thumb over the tip. “That’s it,” he whispers, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. He ruts his hips into your hips, “Doin’ just fine.”

You stroke his cock like this for a while, gaining confidence in yourself until he stops you suddenly.

“Is that it?”

“Is that it,” Joel mocks with a feigned pout. “No, hon. You banged up my baby pretty good. We ain’t quite square yet.”

His leaking cock bounces against his tummy as he approaches his work bench. Your heart pounds as you can’t quite see what he’s reaching for. “Know it’s new to ya,” he says. “Just listen to me, s’all you gotta do.”

Joel returns to you with a dirty rag in his hand and lays it on the concrete ground, then reaches for your face. He pulls your bottom lip down and lets it go to watch it bounce back up. “Knees,” he whispers, gently pushing you by your shoulders to the ground. The rag he laid on the concrete for your knees is a sweet touch, all things considered. His cock is inches away from your face as he holds it between his thumb, middle, and forefingers. He presses himself to your lips, encouraging you to open your mouth. “Give it a taste,” he instructs you. “An’ you can kiss it too, if you’re feelin’ amorous.”

You part your lips and tentatively lick the weeping slit of his thick head just once. After a moment, taking in the saltiness of his precome, you lick him a couple more times, gaining confidence quicker than you did using just your spit soaked hand on him. Bigger stripes now, using more pressure. Like Joel advised, you kiss his cock a couple times, each kiss sloppier than the last before swirling your tongue around the tip. You’re learning it all, the softness of his skin, his musky, heady taste.

“Give me your hand,” Joel says. “Goes right here,” He wraps your hand around the base of his cock, same as before. He places one of his hands on your head, guiding you closer to him, encouraging you to take him deeper now. You do as such, sputtering and choking when you get overzealous and take him too quickly.

Joel chuckles, “Not all at once, sweetheart. Go slow. Try it again.” This time, Joel controls the pace at which you take him. He pushes himself into your mouth and senses when it becomes too much, pauses for you. He pulls his hips back, then rocks back into your mouth, building a slow, shallow pace for you to get used to.

He’s pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. His tip teases the back of your throat as he whispers, “Little more. Be brave,” You gaze up at him, searching his eyes for some sort of approval. He nods with his brows furrowed. “Do it for me, hon.”

You allow him to fuck himself deeper in your mouth now, your eyes pricking with tears as you gag and sputter on his cock. This time, Joel doesn’t stop himself. He’s grunting, groaning, savoring the warmth of your wet, soft mouth. “So good,” he tells you before tapping your hand, reminding you to put it to use.

What you can’t reach with your mouth, you massage with your hand as you cup his balls with your other. You and Joel work in tandem, him drawing in and out of your mouth as you bob your head and flick your tongue against his shaft. Your jaw is sore with the newness of it all, and just as you’re becoming used to the thickness of his cock between your lips and on your tongue, he pauses. “M’gonna stop you now,” Joel mumbles as he pulls out of your mouth, his eyes focused on your swollen lips and how the string of saliva connected from them to his cock breaks. “S’your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Mhm. It’s etiquette, hon,” Joel says with a grunt, lifting you to your feet. He reaches between your bodies and unbuttons your pants, pushing both them and your underwear down your legs. “Always return the favor.” Joel lifts you slightly, sitting your bare ass on the hood of his car, then pulls your pants off your legs the rest of the way. “Arms up,” he tells you. He lifts your shirt off of your body, unhooks your bra and lets it fall to your lap. You’ve never been so vulnerable, so exposed in front of someone before. Instinctively, you cover your chest with your arms and cross your legs.

“You’re shy,” he whispers. Joel drapes your clothing over his shoulder before reaching for your arms, removing them from your chest and placing them on either side of your body. “Stay like this,” He holds your knees next, uncrossing your legs and spreading them wide for his view.

Joel takes in your body and admires your wet cunt, how your thick curls frame it beautifully. A shiver goes down your spine as his eyes scan the rest of your body before he holds intense eye contact with you as he folds your clothes, placing them in a neat pile next to you on his car. You watch his chest rise and fall with steady breaths as he drops to his knees, situating himself between your thighs.

He presses a sloppy kiss against your inner knee, then another on your other leg. He kisses his way up your inner thigh, nipping at your flesh and soothing the marks with his tongue. He holds your legs firmly apart, knowing your instinct is to shut them when he reaches your cunt, his hot breath fanning over your center. “Wider,” he whispers, “I gotcha.”

The once cool metal of Joel’s car is now hot and slick under your sweaty, trembling palms. Your pulse beats as you look up at the garage ceiling, lacking the courage to look at Joel between your thighs. “Relax for me,” he tells you. You try.

You gasp when he finally begins exploring you, first his thumb parting open your folds. Adding a couple more digits, he hums in satisfaction as he finds you’re already wet, your slick glistening on his fingers. He dips one of those fingers inside of you slowly, watching how you react to his touch. You twitch and fight to keep yourself still and silent as he adds a second finger, curling it rhythmically and stroking that sweet spot inside you.

“Oh, god,” you moan as he dives into your cunt, the soft and warm, private place between your thighs, his mouth now joining where his fingers touch. His tongue is hot and wet as he drags it through your sex, circling your clit with it. “Joel, please.”

Joel’s satisfied as he hears sounds of pleasure fall from your lips, feeling your hips bucking and grinding gently against his mouth. He sucks one fold, nips at the other as he curls his fingers inside you rhythmically. With the hand that’s not teasing your pussy, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your thigh. “Quit squirmin’ on my car,” he warns with a firm squeeze to your thigh, hard enough to bruise you. “Ya tryin’ to scratch her again?”

His wiry stubble drags across your skin, scratching gently against the inside of your thighs. You can feel it building up quickly, that hot, sparkling feeling deep in your core as he works you, sucks your clit between his lips.

“Please,” you cry, the only word you can form at the moment.

“I know, hon,” he murmurs, escalating his efforts on your pussy. Sucking, licking, curling his fingers harder. He works you through your orgasm, feeling you gush against his mouth, your arousal dripping down his fingers and pooling into the palm of his hand. Your hands fly to his scalp, twitching and jerking from the sensitivity with your fingers tugging on his curls when he licks a stripe up the seam of your cunt.

Joel pulls away from your center with a satisfied grin, lips shiny, his facial hair damp. He rises, standing above you, and sloppily kisses your lips. You’ve never tasted your own arousal before. His strong hands find your ass cheeks, pulling you closer to where he wants you.

From there, you gasp when he slides his cock through your slick folds, rubbing thick head against your sensitive clit and watches how you react to his touch. “What do you think I’m doin’ to ya next?”

“Joel,” you whimper, your hips chasing his movements, following where his cock teases your cunt.

“Yeah, you know what I’m doin,” he purrs. “Crossin’ it all off your list tonight.”

You tense when he notches just the head of his cock in your pussy, reaching for his arm, his shoulder, any part of him you can hold.

“Know you’re nervous,” he says softly, rubbing circles into your thighs. “But s’just me an’ you here. Wider, hon. Spread your legs for me.”

You nod quickly, following suit and spreading your legs to accommodate him. “Like this?”

“Yeah, like that. S’perfect, hon, that’s all I need from you. C’mere,” Joel adjusts his hold on you before inching his cock into you a bit more. You’re so tight, squeezing him hard and whining through the stretch as he pushes into you further, the gradual slide inside your body causing him to grunt quietly. “Relax for me,” he groans through a strained breath, parting your insides as he’s sheathed himself inside you fully now. “Bite me f’ya need to, sweetheart. It’ll be okay. You’ll get used to it.”

It aches, but the pain dulls as Joel lets you get used to the feeling, the newness of his cock inside you. He holds you close and you take advantage of his suggestion, biting softly into the flesh of his neck, tasting the saltiness of his skin as you whimper quietly. Joel groans, his eyebrows furrowing together. “Shh,” he hushes, “You’re okay, hon. You’re doin’ alright.”

Joel slowly pulls out of you and fills you up again. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he praises as you tilt your hips, opening yourself to accept more of him. You’re humming into his neck as his cock recedes and then pushes in once more. “Eyes on me now. There it is, easy. Easy.”

You do as instructed, pulling your face away from him to meet his gaze. His sparkling brown eyes stay on yours as he pulls out of you, pushing into you slowly, deliberately. You hold onto his neck, his broad shoulders, clutching the fabric of his sweat dampened shirt as he builds a steady pace now. He holds you close to his body, one of his hands traveling up your body and groping your bouncing breasts, teasing your sensitive nipples.

“You just follow my lead,” Joel says, fucking you faster now. His fingers are pressed firmly into your waist now as he rolls his hips against yours. The pain is gone now, dissipated with his continued languid thrusts into you. You feel so full, so satisfied with his thick cock inside you, massaging your insides.

He fucks you steadily but gently, maintaining a quick rhythm. You didn’t know sex could make you feel this way, so much pleasure. You’re moaning freely, overwhelmed with emotion, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. God, you love it, and it’s nothing but pure pleasure.

Joel’s not oblivious to your enjoyment. He’s watching you, your face contorting, he’s listening to your moans and your cries, feeling you shiver and twitch beneath his touch and how it’s all because of him, all of your pleasure at the hands of Joel and only ever Joel. He feels a sort of carnal sense of power over this, the effect his touch has on you. You’re soft, so soft and all for him, your flesh for his hands and his teeth alone to squeeze, dig into, to bite on.

You reach for his arm and guide his hand to your center, pressing his fingers against your clit as that familiar tightness in your gut begins to build once more. “Please,” you beg.

“Thought this was supposed to be a deal for me. Didn’t need to hit my car f’ya needed me like this,” he taunts, laughing breathlessly. But Joel obliges, of course he obliges you. He moves his calloused fingertips in circles over your clit, coaxing out your release. “Takin’ me so good, sweetheart. Look at you, m’gonna make you come again. Makin’ out like a fuckin’ bandit, aren’t you?”

Indeed you are. It’s not long before you’re coming for him. With his ministrations on your clit, his thrusts now faster, harder, deeper, you’re coming undone for him as his name pours from your lips, long and slow like honey. With your lips parted open, you’re twitching and shuddering against him as you watch his face, letting yourself go. You whimper and moan, and your release is volcanic in the way it washes over your body so fiercely. Heavy, vivid waves of pleasure washing over you the way lava rolls down the earth. Slow, fiery, intense.

Your pulsing cunt milks Joel’s own climax, his orgasm crashing through him in such a way that he loses focus on you. His eyes screwed shut, the noises he’s making louder than he intended–what starts as a grunt turns into a moan, long and libertine as he fucks you harder than he probably should as you whimper in overstimulation. His thrusts turn harder and frenzied as he milks himself with your cunt, spurting hot ropes of his come inside you. You take everything he gives you, feeling so warm and full of his spend.

His movements then begin to ease, slowing down some more until he eventually stills inside of you. He takes the quiet moment to check on you, holding your face in his hands as he makes sure you’re okay. Your chest heaves as he wipes your tears, but you silently nod, reassuring him that you’re alright.

With a soft grunt, he pulls out of you. He watches how your combined arousal spills on the baby blue paint of his Chevelle, then uses his thumb to push a bit of his escaped come back inside you. Such a lewd action from the man.

Joel helps you to your feet, steadying you as you stand on shaky legs. He reaches for your clothes from the hood of his car, helping you dress yourself. “Didn’t want ‘em to get dirty,” he explains. “Everything’s covered in fuckin’ dirt and grease in here.”

“Thank you,” you smile shyly. Joel opens the garage door, the once peachy and blue sky now inky black. You didn’t realize how much time had passed. You take off back to your house, but Joel grips your bicep before you can step any further.

“Nuh uh,” he tuts. “Ya already hit my car, hon, you don’t wanna leave your mess on the hood now too, do ya?” Joel gestures to your combined arousal on the hood of his Chevelle, swipes his pointer finger through the mess and pushes it between your lips. Your brows furrow at the taste, that salty, heady flavor you’ve never tasted before now. “Use your tongue, sweetheart.”

“You want me…”

“Lick it up,” he instructs in a quiet voice. Joel figured he might’ve let you off too easy, seeing as how you came twice–once on his tongue and once on his cock when this was all supposed to be for him. He bends you over the hood of his car, groping your ass as he leans over your shoulder to inspect your work, making sure it’s a job well done. “Good girl,” he praises, watching you lick his car clean. When you’re done, he kisses you softly.

He walks you home, dropping you off on your doorstep. You’re not quite sure what to say, whether you should apologize again, thank him, say goodnight. Joel fills the silence for you. “Gonna teach you how to drive right one of these days. Keep you out of another mess like this one, hm?” he smirks as he kisses your cheek. “Goodnight, hon.”

If you enjoyed, please reblog, leave me a comment, and/or send an ask 🩷 your words mean the world to me and your interaction keeps me motivated to write. Love you all <3

From now on I’ll be sharing cat pics at the end of my fics. Hope you don’t mind 🐈‍⬛😻

#strang3lov3 #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller fic #joel tlou #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x virgin reader

3K notes · View notes

aviscarrentals · 1 month

Text

why i believe alex replacing logan is the worst possible decision williams could make

#1: logan’s confidence

we saw this exact thing happen with checo last year. after his brief stint of trading wins with max, max continued to consistently wipe the floor with him via the gap in their performances. this continued to eat away at checo’s confidence until, by the end of the season, he was t-boning alex albon in singapore for no reason and somehow retiring twice in suzuka. now that there has been an extended break and he has had the chance to grind and truly work on himself nonstop, he has returned with incredible form. but who knows how long this will last? as soon as there’s a race that isn’t a red bull 1-2, he will be completely torn into and i believe the downward trajectory of last year will repeat itself.

this is very similar to what logan went through last year. once he was announced, there was so much hope for an incredible debut season, but that never came his way. i think the first big nail in the coffin was getting his first p20 at his home race and i think the biggest hit was qatar. even though he should never ever be ashamed of putting his safety first, i understand why, from an athlete’s perspective, he would look at that race as a failure.

fortunately for him, he has had a team with incredibly strong leadership backing him up. giving him the opportunities he needed, never giving up on him, celebrating the single point he scored last year like he lassoed the fucking moon, and re-signing him because he has such incredible potential as a formula 1 driver. everything went wrong for logan, except for williams, who did everything right.

except now, williams has publicly stated that they have no faith in him to score points. now the only support logan has is random fans at races, strangers on the internet, and his own friends and family. that must feel fucking awful. logan has been so positive throughout the struggles of this year and last, but he has to be hurting right now. there’s no way he isn’t.

logan sargeant is not a bad driver. you can disagree with me as loud as you want to, but i won’t hear a word of it.

absolutely stunning junior career aside, logan showed incredible improvement towards the end of the season. not only did he score a point in austin, but he came unbearably close in mexico, and if it weren’t for a hydraulics failure, he very easily could have had two points finishes in a row.

this year may seem like it has gotten off to a bad start for him, but i heavily disagree. in bahrain he had great pace and was steadily climbing closer and closer to the points when he had a brake failure. the car switched his balance completely on its own and made it literally impossible for him to turn. even max couldn’t recover from that.

in jeddah his pace was wonderful again. i think his biggest struggle currently is qualifying, but he was overtaking beautifully and making his way up the field. while 15th isn’t a spectacular finish, he was matching alex quite well throughout the whole race. (also jeddah sucks so he gets a pass 👎)

george russell did not score a SINGLE point during his rookie season for williams and he is now a race-winning future championship contender and beating his 7x wdc teammate in the standings at p4. logan has already beaten that AND he has an experienced driver that he seems to get on with quite well as a teammate to mentor him, which george didn’t have; he was william’s number one driver from day one. logan has so much potential that is only being hindered by his lack of confidence, unpreparedness (reminder he was brought to f1 an entire year earlier than he was originally supposed to be; they planned for him to be a 2024 rookie), and a shitty car.

#2: alex albon

now poor alex is in the worst position of his life. brother already probably feels like shit for putting logan through this (even though it is NOT his fault and he has absolutely zero say in this decision) and if he doesn’t score any points this weekend, he will be torn to shreds by the media.

i have already seen multiple posts including alex in their list of fuck yous. this will do incredible damage to him pr-wise and will also make him feel even worse if he doesn’t somehow pull off a miracle performance.

#3: albert park

alex is an incredible driver, constantly pulling a back marker car into the points. however, this is a track that he has historically struggled at (in the exact same turn might i add!!) for multiple years in a row. who’s to say this mistake could not be made tomorrow or sunday as well? that will make everyone involved look and feel horrible.

not to mention that the fw46 is NOT SUITED for albert park. AT ALL. vcarb’s official website describes it as a ‘medium-high’ downforce track, which is exactly what the car is suited to struggle with, making it nearly impossible for albono to score points (which, like stated before, will be terrible for him) as well as making this gp a likely inconsequential race! meaning this is the perfect opportunity to let logan drive on the limit and really showcase his true talent and capabilities as a driver.

but now williams has chosen to do the complete opposite and ruined logan’s trust in his team as well as any other offers from rival teams for him for the 2025 season. if logan’s own team would bench him for his teammate, why should they take him over a talented upcoming rookie? (this is a rhetorical question; i truly believe he has the potential to, with a good enough car and team behind him, become a race-winning driver in the future.)

#4: james vowles and the future of williams

james has justified this decision by mentioning how every race counts and that a single point can make a world’s difference in the midfield. while this is true, james has also been on the record multiple times saying that he doesn’t give two shits about this season (as well as the next few). he has stated that his goal is long-term, to rebuild the team and return it to its former success of the 90s and early 2000s. so why ruin the reputation of your driver who you have been supporting since his junior career over the possibility of a single point or two? that is a short-term solution, not a long-term one. james is usually a wonderfully eloquent speaker, however, he has completely contradicted himself here.

in my opinion, the best decision would be to race logan. while i love alex to death, he’s the one who crashed his car, completely on his own with no fellow drivers or failures on the car’s side to blame. logically, he should be the one to sit out the race, no?

like i briefly touched on before, i also think this is a golden opportunity to put logan in a race where they will most likely come away with nothing anyways and give him the opportunity to pull off something incredible (which he absolutely can under the right circumstances). if he was able to have a good drive on sunday, he would be a star and williams would look like geniuses. with this decision, everyone just looks like an asshole.

final thoughts

to conclude, i am no certified expert, but this decision makes zero sense to me, as it also does to many others from what i’ve seen. i usually wholeheartedly agree with all of james’ decisions, but this one beats me. i cannot for the life of me figure out why williams would choose this.

there is a part of me that hopes williams will reverse this decision before sunday in order to save themselves from all of the pr backlash they are facing, but i understand that that is very much wishful thinking. the only good thing that can come from this is williams finally learning how to be prepared and/or logan being able to channel his frustration into motivation (although i don’t think there’s any way for him to possibly work harder than he already has).

if anyone disagrees with me and thinks this is the right decision for williams to make, i would love to hear why. no one has to agree with me, these are just my personal thoughts on the situation.

-avis 🏎️💨

#f1 #formula 1 #logan sargeant #williams racing #alex albon #james vowles #australian gp 2024

457 notes · View notes

withahappyrefrain · 2 years

Text

Parking Spots and Matcha Lattes

Summary: In an attempt to get coffee, you meet a grade A asshole whose head you want to rip off. Meanwhile, Jake Seresin is pretty certain he just met his future wife in the parking lot of a coffee shop.

AKA Jake Seresin likes mean women, pass it on.

Shout-out to @p3mybeloved who isn't in the TGM fandom, but is the inspiration for this fic ♥️♥️

Part two is up! As is part 3!

It hadn’t been just a long day. It had been a long week.

And it was only Tuesday.

You were exhausted from working after hours to meet critical deadlines. If Barbara from admin found one more thing to nitpick, you were going to lose it.

So you decided to get coffee. Could you have made some at home? Absolutely. But you needed something, just a little something to make your morning brighter. Something that would remind you there was some good in the world and help you get through the first two hours of your day.

Instead of hitting snooze on your alarm clock five times, you got up after hitting it twice. You even remembered to apply deodorant and swipe on mascara. You left five minutes before your alarm to leave went off. Five whole minutes. You were on track to get coffee and get to work in plenty of time. Things were going well.

Too well.

You should have known something was about to fuck up your day when you saw the perfect parking spot. When the hell did that even happen? Never, you should have just gone to the back of the lot.

Foolishly, you started making your way towards the spot, thinking of all the things you could do with the extra minutes you would receive from your soon to be princess parking.

Your car and body lurched forward as you slammed on the brakes in order to not run into the white Jeep Wrangler that sped out from around the corner.

The heart palpitations you were experiencing from the sudden, potentially life saving decision descended into anger as you watched the speed demon take not just your desired parking spot, but also the one right next to it due to parking at an angle.

You gripped the steering wheel as rage seethed through your body. Instead of an elderly lady who just shouldn’t be driving, a tall blonde man dressed in some type of military uniform got out of the car. He didn’t even check his horrendous excuse of a parking job, walking into the coffee shop without a care in the world.

What a fucking asshole.

Normally you’d just find another spot and try to move on.

Not today. Because today was supposed to be a good day and you had done everything in your power to ensure it would start off on the right foot and this douchecanoe just ruined it.

So you found a nearby parking spot, walked over to the eyesore of a car and waited. All the rage and anger built up into you, thinking about his horrendous parking job, as well as the bullshit of your job.

You didn't even wait for him to say anything before tearing into him. The fact he was blonde and conventionally attractive added to your anger because of course a real life Ken doll would think it's okay to park like that.

"Hey dickhead! Who the fuck do you think you are, parking like that?"

"What the-oh wow," his voice trailed off when he took in all of you, not that you noticed.

"Is that how you drive tanks in the army? Because if so, holy shit, our country is-”

He scoffed, “Sweetheart, please. I’m a Lieutenant pilot for the Navy. And one of the best ones at that.”

Whether it was the Texan drawl that dripped through his voice or how he expected you to fall to your knees by revealing this information, you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, so you can fly million dollar planes but can’t park without taking up two spaces?” You remarked. He seemed to be taken aback by your comment, which gave you the motivation to keep going.

“First off, who the hell drives through a parking lot at forty-five miles an hour?! There are kids-well teenagers-who walk through here! I know your car is obnoxious as your personality, but not all of us get an adrenaline thrill from having to slam on their fucking breaks so they don’t crash into you.”

You didn’t notice how his emerald eyes were wide and staring right at you. You were on a roll.

“In fact, you probably wouldn’t have had to park so offensively if you had fucking slowed down. Or, you could have had a shred of decency and repark. Don’t they teach that in the military? To have honor or some shit? Or were you too busy doing bicep curls at the gym that day?”

It was then you noticed that his eyes were wide, reminding you of those stupid disney princes your cousins used to fawn over as kids. The look he had on his face made it seem like he was in a far off place, it was almost…..dreamy?

“Hello?” You waved a hand in front of his chiseled face, “Are you even listening to me?”

“I’m trying, but your eyes are super distracting, has anyone ever told you that?”

It took your brain several seconds to process what he just said. Then you had to take another ten seconds to process that he wasn’t being cocky or a smartass when he said it. He was being genuine.

What the actual fuck?

—---------------------------------------------

Jake Seresin woke up this morning, like any other day. He got up early so he could get coffee off base. The Starbucks they had on base was always overcrowded and bitter. Plus, it was nice to get off base for a little bit, get away from things and have a sense of normalcy.

He was not expecting to meet his future wife in the parking lot of a local coffee joint.

Nor was he expecting her to introduce herself by yelling at him.

But it was kinda perfect.

You were stunning, even though you assumed he was in the army, of all things (he’d let that one slide, you’ll learn eventually).

The passion in your eyes as you pointed out exactly what was wrong with his parking job was admirable, alluring, even enticing.

Jake couldn't lie, he'd thought you'd be impressed or at the very least, taken aback by his rank.

Instead, you steamrolled right past it, continuing to list what he had done wrong, taking stabs at him along the way.

It was hot.

You were making valid points. He didn't have to drive that fast, it wasn't like he was late.

But it was also extremely difficult to focus on what you were saying when those big bright eyes of yours were burning into him.

How could he focus on anything else?

So he was honest and told you so.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" You threw your hands up in exasperation.

That we aren't making out right now, is what Jake wanted to say. But his mother would smack him if she found out that's what he said to her future daughter-in-law during their first interaction.

"I have no problem darlin'. In fact, I'm pretty great. Got a matcha latte and have just met the most stunning girl in the world," he flashed that blindingly white smile, ready for you to ask for his number.

"You parked like that for a matcha latte? You couldn't have made me slam on my breaks for something that doesn't taste like dirt?" You spat.

Huh, normally that line worked. The fact it didn't was more exhilarating than nerve-wracking.

Jake honestly found it borderline erotic.

"I didn't realize I had met a parking and coffee expert," He preened, that award winning smile remaining on his face. He was curious, what could get you flustered?

You swore you could see red.

Oh, he was trying. Trying to knock you off balance. Trying to see if he could rattle you. It fueled you.

"I'm not an expert, it's called being a decent human being with common sense, you knockoff Ken doll." The lovesick look on his handsome face remained. If he was a cartoon, hearts would appear over his head.

Oh, you were perfect.

Outright asking for your number wouldn't work. Compliments were going right over your head. He had to change tactics.

He looked over at his parking job before facing you again, "Y'know, you're absolutely right. That was a shitty parking job."

Your eyes widened, surprised that this walking Crest Whitening Strips advertisement could admit he had done something wrong.

Jake continued, "And I'd love to learn more about how to park correctly from you…over dinner."

When you started ripping into him, you weren't exactly sure what to expect. Most likely an argument that would end with middle fingers thrown in the air as you both walked away.

Not him asking you out.

"You want me to continue yelling at you about your inability to park over dinner?" You asked. Perhaps the lack of oxygen he experienced from flying planes had affected his ability to think. Perhaps folks should study the effects his job had on the brain. Not that Congress would allow it (couldn't interfere with recruitment).

That stupidly white smile remained on his face, "I was also hoping I could learn more about you too."

Hesitation filled you. The officer (or whatever his rank was) was being genuine. His compliments didn't feel forced. It was just odd that after being yelled at for nearly ten minutes, the conclusion he came to was that he wanted to go on a date with you.

"Buy me coffee first." You challenged, crossing your arms over your chest as an attempt to come across as intimidating, despite how much taller the soldier was compared to you.

A smile broke out onto his face. Not a cocky one, but one that was soft and sweet.

It was almost endearing. Almost.

"Anything for you darlin'," he declared, sea green eyes sparkling, "I'm Jake by the way."

You didn't expect him to go through with it. Nor did you expect him to jog ahead so he could hold the door open for you.

A warm feeling began to flutter in your stomach, until you remembered his heinous parking skills. That warm sensation would transform into a quiet, bubbling rage.

"Hangman? The fuck kind of name is that?" You asked upon hearing him say it to the barista.

"It's my callsign darlin'," he explained, like it was the most obvious and sensible thing in the world.

"First off, my name is not darlin, I just told you it two minutes ago. Second, you are way too smug to be telling me how your callsign is after a children's recess game, Officer." You ignored the confused stare of the barista who handed you your drink.

"I didn't get it from the game and it's Lieutenant," he corrected, his voice the sharpest it had been since talking to you.

A nerve had been struck. Or so you thought.

You leaned forward, your cardigan brushing against the khaki shirt he wore.

"Learn how to park properly and maybe then I'll get your rank right, officer." You were quite proud of yourself for that one, considering he was actually silent for a few moments.

Meanwhile, Jake was doing everything in his power to not sport an erection in the middle of the coffee shop. Because holy shit, you were hot. It was ridiculous how your smirk almost made his knees buckle.

He wondered if you'd prefer an early summer or fall wedding. He had always envisioned getting married in late May. But the rust colored cardigan you had on perfectly complimented your complexion. You'd probably looked great in mustard too. But those colors were more appropriate for a fall wedding and not-

"Cat got your tongue? Or does the navy have their own expression?" Your voice broke Jake out of his thoughts.

He just smiled, shaking his head, "Just got distracted by how pretty you are. Gonna tell you now, I don't know if I'll be able to focus on parking standards during our date tonight. Might need a second one for review."

You rolled your eyes, "It's not a date it's…. actually I don't know what you call it when you are teaching a grown ass man how to properly park over dinner-"

"It's a date." The barista called out before turning around to work on the other orders. Heat rushed to your face as Jake slipped a five dollar bill into the tip jar.

"Whatever" you fumbled to get your phone out, pulling up a new contact, "just give me your number so I can text you the address of the restaurant."

He quirked an eyebrow, "You're picking the place?"

"You can't drive for shit and out of all the types of tea lattes you could drink, you go with matcha," you leaned in to look at the sticker on his cup, "with skim milk. The federal government may trust you with their jets, but like hell I'm gonna trust you to pick a restaurant."

Oh, he was definitely going to marry you. In his head, he already tried out pairing your first name with Seresin and it sounded heavenly.

He just grinned, his emerald eyes shining and you really wished he'd stopped doing that.

The scent of cedar wood flooded your nostrils as he leaned in, his face much closer to yours than it had been so far. Was he bending his knees to be at eye level with you?

Focus, you told yourself. He can't park for shit and got zero sweetener in his drink. Who the hell does that?

"I look forward to showing you on our date that I have great taste, as well as many talents that will have you overlooking my parking skills," his voice was low, dripping with a pathetic attempt of seduction that made you want to bang your head against the counter of the coffee bar.

"Type your phone number in before I throw my drink at you. I don't care if I get fined with 'defacing government property'." You all but shoved your phone into his chest, earning a chuckle from him that sent more heat to your body than rage.

"Anything for you, Venus." Did the obnoxiously bright smile ever go away?

"Y'know, you could have a really strong legal case for what all the lack of oxygen has done to your brain, like not being able to remember my name."

Jake shook his head, "Oh, I remember your name. Venus suits you better. Hottest planet, looks great in rust," he motioned to your cardigan, "Goddess of love and beauty. It's quite fitting for you."

This guy was unreal. The grip you had around your drink tightened, your bottom lip pushing forward to form an annoyed pout.

"I look forward to our date tonight, Venus," He said as he handed you back your phone, his long fingers brushing against yours.

Your eyes couldn't roll harder, "I look forward to serving my country by teaching you how to properly park, Hangnail."

"It's Hangman."

Now it was your turn to smirk, "Nah, Hangnail suits you better," your voice dropped, mocking his southern accent.

With that, you left the coffee shop. You had to, otherwise you were going to throw your drink at him.

You missed the downright lovesick smile that adorned Jake Sersin's face as he watched you walk out.

"Thanks for helping me meet my future wife y'all," He said to the very confused baristas.

"She looked like she wanted to murder you," one commented.

Jake laughed, shaking his head, "Don't worry. I'll win her over."

As you got in your car, a vibration from your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out, a message from an unknown number flashing on your screen.

Looking forward to our date tonight. Can't wait for your lesson Venus ;)

Oh that bastard. When the hell did he have time to send himself a text to get your number?

You shook your head despite the fact he couldn't see you.

A loud horn made you jump. You looked up from your phone to see the living embodiment of a Ken doll in his car that was now in the middle of the parking lot, right across from your car.

He waved. God, you wanted to wipe that smirk off his stupid face.

Instead, you rolled down your window.

"What the fuck are you doing?! You're going to block traffic!" You yelled.

"Text me your address Venus! I'll pick you up at seven!" He winked, driving away as he ignored your comment.

At least he wasn't speeding through the parking lot this time.

Maybe there was hope. Maybe. Doubtful. Probably not.

On the way back to base, Jake wondered if you'd prefer a silver or gold band for your engagement ring.

-------------------------------------------

@spidervee @sebsxphia @hangmanapologist @xbamboowishesx @rae-gar-targaryen @theharddeck @abibliophobiaa @mothdruid @stranger-nightmare @princessphilly

#my writing #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake 'hangman' seresin #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you #hangman x reader #hangman x y/n #hangman x you #Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x you #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun fic #hangman fic

6K notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 1 month

Text

I’m sorry but Formula 1 media drives me insane!

If Max didn’t DNF in Australia, he would be leading the World Championship. If Charles had functioning brakes in Bahrain, he would be leading the World Championship.

See how these hypotheticals work?

The narratives surrounded the Australian Grand Prix are slowly making me lose my mind. Did Carlos have a commendable drive? Yes. Was his win due to luck more than anything (simply because no one is getting ahead of Max if he doesn’t have mechanical issues)? Yes!

Carlos won because, for the first time in nearly two seasons, Max had a DNF. It’s really that simple.

The difference in how media treats Carlos versus Charles simply does not make any sense to me. A lucky P1 for Carlos and fans and pundits alike are saying that he is better than Charles and that Ferrari is keeping the wrong driver.

I can’t deal with it anymore!

How are these same people content to pretend that Charles didn’t have major brake issues in Bahrain that rendered his car all but undriveable? That him being able to finish P4 was a miracle in itself. How do seven straight front row starts get ignored or dismissed as unimportant because Charles didn’t manage to convert them to wins … when the Australian Grand Prix clearly showed the importance of starting the position?

The only difference, as luck would have it, the one race that Max has mechanical issues is also the one race that Charles had issues with the car in qualifying and had to start on the second row instead.

Sometimes I wish that Charles had a national media to defend him and have his back like all the other drivers do because the double standards that he constantly has to deal with are making me lose my mind.

It truly feels like some of these people don’t bother to actually watch races or take context into consideration and just go purely off of the standings.

Charles Leclerc deserves better.

#i needed to rant #charles leclerc #cl16 #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #scuderia ferrari #australian gp 2024 #aus gp 2024

337 notes · View notes

frosted-hyacinth · 3 months

Text

You have a bad day

Feat. sae itoshi

Tags. fluff

cw. near-death experience (if there are any more, please let me know)

You practically collapsed on your chair after you finished the huge mountain load of work and documents. After how tiring and mentally draining your day was. You'd almost gotten hit by a car that screeched to a halt after seeing you in front of it, crossing the road. It was a green light so you proceeded to walk across the road, looking around to check if there were any cars around. After making sure that there were none, you crossed the road only to be met with headlights in your face and the loud noise of brakes. You were shocked, after all, you almost got killed on your way to work. You stood there stunned before seeing the flashing red numbers on the traffic light and ran towards the sidewalk. You were expecting to continue on your way to work peacefully, continuing on your day like you hadn't almost died but just before you could take a step forwards, the driver of the car decided that this incident was entirely your fault and logically, the only thing they could have done was to open their car window and start screaming at you.

They thought that it was because of your carelessness that they could almost have been sent to prison yet the driver was the one who almost ran a red light. So you just sped up and walked to your work building. As you finally arrived at the building, you set your stuff on your desk and sat down on your chair, opening your computer screen since you were preparing to pick up on the work you were doing yesterday. Before you could open the document, your co-worker tapped you on the shoulder. You didn’t notice but she had been silent walking behind you while you got your things prepared.

“The boss asked for you.” She said, a smile on her face.

“Thanks Mika.” You replied with a similar smile then took your laptop with you to walk towards a glass covered room. These types of rooms made you nervous, not only because every time you came into these types of rooms you were going to have serious conversations but also because the room itself felt scary. Sometimes it could be claustrophobic and feel like the perfect environment to have panic attacks but this time, you were seeing your boss. The one that helped you keep your job but also the one that could fire you at any moment. You couldn’t just break down in front of them, that could make you risk your job that you’d worked so hard on finding! You walked into the room with some non-existent confidence that was made last moment, taking a deep breath before your eyes were met with the very direct eye contact of your boss.

Her eyes were still on your but she gestured for you to take a seat on the chair in front of you, an order to which you easily complied to. The two of you sat in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds that felt like hours. If you had to sit there any longer in silence, you felt like you would suffocate. Thankfully, before you could die mentally, your boss spoke up.

"I have been... Watching your work that you hand in, and I've noticed some things about the pattern that you give me your work. You tend not to finish you work as fast as other employees and to try to make your adaptive skills better, I have decided to assign you an amount of work that you must finish today." She said while reaching under her desk and handing you a pile of papers and documents.

You nodded slowly then was motioned to get out of the room and resume your activities with the workload that your boss had just given you.

You walked as quickly as possible out of the room as an attempt to get more time to work done.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You sighed, clicking off your pen and shutting down your laptop. You were finally done. When you walked into the elevator, you heard a small ding sound coming from your phone so you turned it on.

Sae: When are you coming home

When you saw that text, you let out a small chuckle as you realised that you forgot to tell your boyfriend that you would be coming home a little bit later than usual due to the work that you had to quickly finish. You stepped out of the elevator once it had reached the floor you needed then you replied to the text that Sae had sent you with some explanations to why you were late but not much else other than that. You didn't send him the time that you'd get home since it was dark out. When you sent the message to him, it had the symbol that it was sent underneath the text and just as soon as that appeared, it was read by Sae.

Sae: Do you need a ride

You looked out of the building. It was snowing. So it was cold, slippery and dark outside... Not the best combination, not the safest either... You responded with a quick and straight forwards, yes.

Sae: I'll be there in five

And now you were set to wait five minutes before your ride arrived.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Sae's car arrived in front of the building, you saw so you walked out of the warm building towards the car. Just before you entered the car, a large gust of wind caught you off guard, making you shiver and stumble backwards before opening the car door and entering the car. You slid swiftly into the front seat of Sae's car, when you made contact with the seat's leather, a large and fluffy jacket was placed over your body, covering your head as well. You pushed the jacket off your head and smiled at Sae, buckling your seatbelt. When you smiled at him, he saw a glint of stress in your eyes but right now, it seemed like all you wanted to do was go home. He'd ask you about it later but for now he'd focus on driving.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You and Sae changed into a comfortable sweater, you having stolen a hoodie from his closet. When you finished changing, he quickly pulled you to the couch, on his lap, making sure that you were comfortable then he looked directly into your eyes.

"Did anything happen today?" He asked, tone dead serious. "..Yes'' He continued staring at you, initiating a silent request for you to tell him what happened. You were hesitant to tell him but continued anyway, listing everything that happened, from almost getting killed by a car on your way to work to getting overwhelmed with work. When you were done saying everything, you asked him if he could watch Howl's Moving Castle with you to unravel from the day, he silently agreed then proceeded to turn on the tv, playing the movie you mentioned. For half the movie, you watched with your head nuzzled into your boyfriend's chest until you dozed off.

He stayed in this position with you for a few hours, almost falling asleep in the process but he managed to somehow stay awake. He quietly crept out of your grasp, grabbing his phone and wallet from the table, getting ready to use any and all contacts he possibly could to try and fire your boss and make the life of the person who had almost killed you, a living hell. So don't be surprised if you wake up to find that your boss has been fired. It shouldn't be shocking if you have a boyfriend like Sae.

-I don't actually have a job so... This is probably inaccurate. I also don't know how this ended up this long but... Also, I don't have much on Sae's personality so he might also be a little out of character. 映

#sae itoshi #sae itoshi fluff #sae itoshi x reader fluff #sae itoshi x you #itoshi sae #itoshi sae fluff #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #blue lock x you #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk fluff #bllk imagines #⌕ 茶ʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ᵍᵃʳᵈᵉⁿ

235 notes · View notes

loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

When Dustin bikes past Steve’s car, left abandoned and empty by the edge of the woods, for some reason the first thing that comes to his mind is a phone call from last summer.

July 5th 1985.

He’d picked up the phone before his mom could get to it, thank God, because Steve hadn’t bothered with any pleasantries, just said in a garbled rush, “Henderson, your house, is it—you’re safe, right?”

“I mean, I’ve not used the toaster yet,” Dustin said, eyeing the bagel he’d set out for breakfast, “but the house is still standing.”

“No but, like—” Steve snatched a breath, almost like he’d been running. “Like, no-one’s… y’know, watching you or anything?”

Then it hit Dustin: remembering Steve, finally somewhat lucid, muttering sheepishly, “Yeah, we might not wanna go to your house… Well, I might’ve told them your full name.”

Dustin took pity on him, answered sincerely. “No, we’re all good, Steve.”

He didn’t even tease about how, if the house was being watched, then Steve phoning him probably wasn’t the smartest move, because the line would’ve been tapped.

Maybe everything at Starcourt had sharpened his senses, because Dustin could now hear that Steve’s voice was slurred around the edges, like he’d just woken up, breathing harshly as if he’d ran to the phone; and he had a sudden image of Steve jolting awake, wincing from the gnarly bruises on his face, Dustin’s safety being his first thought.

Steve breathed out in a whoosh of relief. “Okay… good. Great. I’m, um. Gonna sleep. Yell if you need… I dunno. Something.”

And then he’d hung up before Dustin could work out how to say that he didn’t really mean it, when he complained about Steve not “resisting” whatever nightmare cocktail of drugs he’d had forced into him.

There was a little knot in his stomach for the rest of the day—a quiet mixture of panic and concern. The next time he saw Steve, he acted like he’d never made the phone call, so they never talked about it, and the knot faded away until Dustin almost convinced himself that it wasn’t there anymore.

But now, as he brakes then steers himself round to Steve’s car, the knot has returned—along with a little prickle of goosebumps that he usually only associates with any and all Upside Down shit. This isn’t quite a Code Red, he knows that, but he also knows that it’s…

It’s something.

The knot doubles in size when he peers into the car windows, sees that the keys have been left in the ignition. When he tries the door handle, it’s unlocked.

He bikes to the nearest payphone. He’s memorised Steve’s work schedule, knows that he’s not in today, that Robin has the late afternoon to closing shift.

He listens to his gut and dials Eddie’s number.

At first, Eddie thinks that Dustin’s calling him for a ride because his bike got a flat tire again. But as Dustin explains, he gets quieter and quieter until he’s just making anxious little hmm noises.

“I think I know where he’s gone,” Dustin adds, and Eddie’s sigh is a bit like Steve’s had been that morning he called, like he’s been holding his breath.

“Oh, thank God. You’d know better than anyone, Henderson.”

Dustin hangs up the phone after promising Eddie that he’ll stay by Steve’s car until he arrives.

He thinks about the relief in Eddie’s voice when he said he had a hunch about Steve’s whereabouts, like Dustin is the chosen one for understanding what makes Steve tick. Eddie’s joked about it before; he’d called it “sibling telepathy” when Dustin had silently communicated his popcorn order at the movies, and he’d nudged Steve in the ribs when Steve’s nose wrinkled meaning Gross, dude. Then Steve had huffed a laugh, nudging Dustin back. Okay, okay. I’ll pay for it, you little shit.

But Eddie gets Steve, too, Dustin thinks; that’s why he called him. And yeah, it’s different than the way Dustin understands Steve, but it’s significant enough for Eddie to make the cut of Steve Harrington Interpreters in Dustin’s mind.

Eddie’s van comes into view, and he actually uses his turn signal perfectly as he parks next to Steve’s car, like the panic has made him extra cautious.

“I’ll leave my bike here,” Dustin tells him as Eddie hops out.

Eddie’s lips turn into a thin line when he sees Steve’s keys. He nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll—okay.” He takes a breath, looks Dustin up and down. “Uh, I’ve got a coat if you need it, man.”

Dustin rolls his eyes, and Eddie at least smiles through his concern. It’s started to rain, that slow misty kind that clings to the skin, but Dustin reasons that he’ll be fine; he’ll be warm enough once he gets moving.

Eddie eyes the trees nervously. He jerks his head back to the van. “There’s—you need a flashlight? Just in case, um. Just in case?”

Dustin shakes his head. “It’s not that dark,” he says, not unkindly; Eddie kind of has a thing now for always having a flashlight on hand. Dustin can’t remember the last time he’s even come this close to the woods after March—his eyes keep darting down to the ground like he’s going to see vines there instead.

Eddie nods again, sighs. He checks his watch, then says, “Two hours tops, okay? And if it gets too dark and—just come back the way you came, even if you’ve not—” Eddie swallows. “We’ll figure it out.”

Dustin acts like he agrees and leaves his bike with Eddie—but there’s no way he’s gonna turn back, not without Steve.

He heads for the railroad tracks.

#this’ll probably be 2 parts but tbd #dustin henderson fic #dustin henderson #steve harrington #steve and dustin #eddie munson #eddie and dustin #steddie with dustin’s pov #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #henderfam

2K notes · View notes

bobluvbot · 2 months

Text

drivers license

pairing: james potter x f!reader summary: 'cause he said forever, but now you drive alone past his street. notes: muggle&modern!au, angst, reader gets in a slight panic attack. james as your high school bf :') first fic in a looong while, pls be nice! 2.6k wc

The moment you set the parking brake on, the evaluator began writing furiously on the long sheet of paper.

You should be combing through your actions and decisions for the twenty minutes that seemed to go by quickly, but you don’t. You know you did your best. You remembered what those green arrows and red signs meant. The yielding and the measured speeds. That the car follows where your eyesight lands so you have to be careful on what you set your focus on. Everything by the book.

Why is it that the things that stick would be those taught to us by the people who are simply not there anymore?

But then again, you remember that you also made hard brakes that made both you and the evaluator lurch an inch forward; and you got confused when he tried to distract you by fidgeting with the trinkets your mom left in her car and asking about it, like her work name tag. So who really knows if you get this or not?

You probably wouldn’t. Damn, you already bought your own key ring and neck pillows for this car, and your mom called off from work for this---

“..you’ll be getting your license in a few days or so in the mail so continue checking for that.”

Your what? You stare at the man blankly as he hands you the sheet before unbuckling his seatbelt. You could tell he was confused at your blank stare, so he reiterates, “You passed. You have to go inside to get your temporary license, ‘cause the card one will take a while to arrive.”

You could have gone with a more sensible, mature choice of words. He always gushed about how he loved your wit whenever you both were writing or doing something with words. He would get this idea of a feeling he wants to put down, but it couldn’t fit in the tone he was going for, so he’d ask you for a word or a phrase that encapsulated all that. It would be a perfect fit most of the time; and if it wasn’t, he’d work around it and be stubborn about not changing it ‘till he has to (even if you assure him many times that you won’t get mad). You asked him once why, and he says so nonchalantly, as if he did not set alight fireworks and butterflies in your chest, that his works are collages of his feelings, memories, and the people he loved most.

But despite all that, you were just able to give the evaluator an “Oh my god?!”, complete with a gaping mouth; to which he responds with an emotionless ‘congratulations’ before shutting the door and walking away.

When you got out of the car— still in disbelief and in confusion— you hyperfocus on how your parking was too askew that it took two spots in the lot.

You inwardly groan as the fact that you can legally be incarcerated now for driving above the speed limit when you’re late for class start to sink in more.

Your mom would probably be so giddy once you meet her at the waiting area, carrying that tiny white slip that had ‘temporary license’ plastered across it, since she’s not going to pay for driving school anymore, plus the fact that she’ll be free from having to drive you to school and around the city anymore.

To be honest, you weren’t planning for it to end like this. You– no you and James– actually had the perfect plan months prior. Test day would be on the twenty-fifth. You’d go around town by the twenty-sixth to go get party supplies, groceries for dishes he wanted to cook, and order his cake for pickup the day after. Then on his birthday, twenty-seventh of March, You’d come over to the Potter house to celebrate with everyone, and before the day ends, you’ll drive him around San Francisco. You’ll both pretend to be tourists, joining the crowd of visitors as they marvel at the city’s popular spots, as if you and James didn’t grow up having these places a short drive away.

You love your home. Even with the everpresent traffic, lack of decent parking, and ridiculous prices of nearly everything the city sports, going home to the suburbs everyday provided balance. ‘We have the best of both worlds’, James would say. ‘We both can go out and be whoever we want in the city, but we still have the familiar quiet to go home to.’

He made loving this place easier— even if you can’t walk to the nearest McDonalds anymore since it’s a good drive away, far from having your old school, the library, the park, and a Walmart being in the same plaza back in your former suburb, a few minutes away from Los Angeles. Everything was more spaced out here, but you never felt the gaps in between destinations. You didn’t need to, especially when there’s always James, his beloved blue Chevy pickup he inherited from Monty for his fifteenth birthday, and his endless stories about football team practice that day or the most recent shenanigans Sirius and him had devised during Minnie’s AP English class, that kept you company.

You grew to love this place as much you did home. So much so that you never considered leaving, while James apparently did.

“Y/N, do you still have somewhere to go? I’m heading in.” Your mom says as she taps on your window, shaking you from your reverie. You got home a while ago. She finished unloading all the groceries from the back to the kitchen inside. Those were multiple trips back and forth, yet you never noticed. A cold breeze runs past you despite the closed windows and you shiver. Not this again.

Rolling down your window, you give her the best smile you can muster up. “You can go ahead, Mom. I’ll try to drive around a bit on my own, you know, for practice.” You throw in an awkward chuckle hoping it was convincing enough for her to let you go.

“Don’t go too far now, it’s getting dark. Be back for dinner.”

You give her a nod and a smile. You wonder if she knew why, but you appreciate her for not prodding. You don’t even know why you’re acting like this.

After circling your block for the third time, you decide to park the car under a willow tree, taking time and effort to park flush against the curb for no reason at all. You just think maybe somewhere, somehow, a familiar voice will pop up behind you and gush about your near-perfect parking skills.

It was, what, two months ago?, that you saw that car sticker on James’ Etsy cart that said ‘cute girls hit curbs’. It was right after a (semi-successful) driving session after school, and James decided that it was a parallel parking day. He had knowingly directed you to a busy city street, where the only available parking was street parking, and everyone seemed to get the memo of his evil agenda and parked irregularly, leaving you with little to no choice but to squeeze your mom’s family van in between them.

With a number of curb hitting that would’ve sent your mother’s insurance agent to consider hiking up prices just for the fact, you were close to tears.��

James was quick to drop his teasing smirk as he saw how your face fell, dejected. With a warm smile, he placed a hand on your shoulder and gently reassured you, 'Hey, you did this perfectly on your own a few hours ago, you got this, doll.”

“No, James,” you choke out, trying to stifle down the sobs down your throat. Someone honks behind you, and your body took it as a cue to start hyperventilating, the shivers making its way down the nimble fingers clutching the wheel hard. “I don’t think I can, there’s so many cars—”.

James was quick to roll down his window to gesture something to the other car. Could be an expletive to tell them to fuck off or a kind wave to tell them to go ahead (James could’ve easily done both), but the car moves away nonetheless, returning you both back to the earlier predicament.

He tried to redirect your attention back to him without touching you, nicknames and encouraging words leaving his mouth out of habit. He learned from past experiences that in moments where you get overwhelmed with something, touch could either jolt you back to him or spur on a full on panic attack. His attempts were futile, however, as you were too entranced by watching the side mirror closest to you, flinching each time a car passes the van, even making it lurch forward if the oncoming traffic goes too fast and too close.

Unbuckling his seatbelt and placing the car on park in quick succession, he reached over the console and gently cupped your face in both his hands, tilting your chin up to meet his soft hazel gaze. James had always looked intimidating; the most rambunctious one in his kindergarten class, the one who stood up against taller students that pick on the quiet ones, and once the growth spurt kicked in he quickly rose up the ranks, from little league to your magnet high school’s uber-selective football team.

But he also had the kindest of eyes, those precious ones where you don’t even have to look hard and wonder what they’re feeling as it provides a window straight to their soul. It’s always a gift to feel his gaze on you, to have the privilege of knowing where the seven tiny specks of green in each iris merge with the honey brown.

He gently cupped your face in both hands, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “Eyes on me, pretty.”

James’ best trait was not patience, both of you had established that when you met in middle school. But when he got to know you and your tender-hearted nature, he tried his damndest to learn how. It’s crazy to think how much time spent in love can change a person inherently. You could’ve met James right then and there, and think he’s a natural.

You shift your focus on his warm palms on your trembling cheeks, on his steady breathing. It slowed yours and soon became in sync with his. “There’s my girl. Let’s try again, hm? I'll guide you through it.”

Compelled by a mystical force, likely strong love and devotion to the boy who sat beside you, who looked at you like you’re capable of doing all things beautifully (one of which is parallel parking, apparently), you found yourself behind the wheel again with renewed vigor.

As you carefully edged the car towards the parking spot, James leaned over, his hand lightly resting on your thigh. “A little to the left,” he murmured.

“Turn the wheel slowly.”

Firm hand on your shoulder, his steady presence gave you confidence to make adjustments based on your gut. “You're doing great, love.” You couldn’t see, but you felt the smile in James’ voice.

Before you knew it, you were parked, albeit a snug fit. You heard shuffling, then you were wrapped in a tight embrace, bodies twisted in weird angles because you both forgot that unbuckling the belts were an option. “Knew you could do it, baby.”

You tried to throw some light punches to his chest despite your difficult position. “I still hate you for subjecting me to Geary street traffic.”

“Gotta throw you out on the deep end to learn how to swim!” he’d said, earning him a slap on the chest.

You laughed at that time, but maybe you should’ve taken that as a hint to what came next.

To kill time, you decide to take a picture of your temporary license and edit it for an instagram story.

You get more and more lost through pictures and stories posted, trying to forget what you saw, that you forgot why you opened the app in the first place.

You wished, during the driving lessons, that you’d bothered to ask him, not only how to yield for an unprotected turn but also to live without him. So that you can make the most out of your senior year. So that you can drive around San Francisco without lugging a heavy heart. So that you could write songs again that weren’t about loss. So that you could be okay now that he’s gone.

Mom says he’s not gone gone. He’s just off to college. You would be, too, soon enough. You could go to Yale too so you can be together. You give her a nod to satisfy her, to let her know it was something you’re considering; but in all honesty, you just wanted her to stop.

You and James weren’t perfect. There were ugly fights and soaked pillows and days spent without talk, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything better. You learned to finally befriend life because hatred was just too consuming to carry everyday. It was replaced with something bright and lovely you can carry around to keep you company. You’ve never felt anything remotely similar to it before. Somehow, someway, the warmth always came by when James was with you.

One night while laying in his bed, after a long session of application essay revision, he tells you that Sirius broke off his long-term relationship because of college.

“What, why?”

He shrugs. “They’re heading to different ones.”

You were waiting for more details but he remained silent. “Just because of that?” You laugh. “That’s dumb.”

Now it was his turn to ask. “Why’s that?”

“It’s just college, Jamie. It’s just like when we go spend the holidays or summers with family. We don’t break up. We work around it. Because we know it’s not permanent. Nothing worth ruining a good relationship over.” You scoff, shifting your gaze from his hazel eyes to the white of your ceiling. “What a waste, I actually thought they were it for each other.”

He was silent. You turned to face him and he just gazed at you with an unreadable expression. “We’ll make it work like we always did, right, Jamie?”

He kissed your forehead in response. “Always.”

That was six months ago.

Your knuckles turn white, a stark contrast to the black leather as you clutch the wheel as hard as you can. You could barely see through the tears that run uncontrollably down your cheeks.

How can he be so okay now that I’m gone?

You floor the brakes hard, flinging yourself forward before getting yanked back by the seatbelt. Some kid had kicked their red and gold striped ball towards the street.

“Sorry!” You wave at the kids, signalling that it was okay. That they didn’t just give you a heart attack right then and there.

You wipe your tears away in haste. It’s probably time to head home. Maybe these rogue feelings were just due to your sugar levels dropping, making both your mind and vision hazy.

But when you check your left if there’s something there you could hit, your eyes get caught on a familiar view.

The Potter house. Same as before. It’s almost as if he’d go barreling out the doors to meet you outside, envelop you into a bear hug, and spin until you both feel dizzy with laughter. Now, his bedroom’s dark. A reminder that he’s not there. Your Jamie isn’t home anymore.

You head back to your house for dinner.

#james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter imagine #james potter fluff #james potter angst #james potter x fem!reader #marauders era #marauders #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter oneshot #marauder x reader #young james potter

179 notes · View notes

bvidzsoo · 4 months

Text

Forget-me-not

⫿Illegal racer!Mingi⫿

TW: cursing, unprotected sex

Word count: 4,7k

A/N: Well yeah...this is Mingi's fault for posting those freaking pics and my fault for getting inspired at the most random ass times. I know I'm not the greatest smut writer, but don't take my head off for it, thank you. Your feedback is very much appreciated!

⭒Toge racing: 1-1; lead driver <--> chase driver

⭒Sprint: race has more drivers

⭒Dig: refers to all participants toeing a line, aligning the front tire of the vehicles, after which all vehicles race from a stop to a prearranged point

My car came to a screeching halt as I slammed on the brakes, which were new. I got them changed a week ago, I have fried the old ones off after the toge race I pulled off in the mountains. My jaw was set tightly as I took in a deep breath, long fingers tightening against the leathery wheel.

“What are you doing—”

“Get out.” I snapped; eyes focused on the road ahead. The other female in the car gasped quietly before I heard her huff in annoyance.

“What did you just say?”

“Get out, Jennie.” I snapped more aggressively this time as my head whipped around, shooting dagger at her. She looked incredulous as she didn’t make any moves to get out of my car. I wasn’t having it anymore; I just couldn’t focus with her around.

“Are you seriously kicking me out of your car when we’re one block away?” She hissed, lips pulled into a snarl, making me smirk at her in annoyance.

“Yes, I am.” I told her, leaning back in my seat, “Get. Out.”

She didn’t have much of a choice as I glared her down, Jennie’s fierce eyes staring back just as harshly while she bit her lower lip. It didn’t take long for her eyes to fill with tears, which were faker than the eyelashes she had on, and I just rolled my eyes before she finally undid her seatbelt and grabbed her purse aggressively.

“I can’t believe you!” She screamed as she threw open my car’s door, making me hiss when it cracked open loudly, “You’re seriously throwing me out of your car on a deserted road in the middle of the night?!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have fucked my fiancé a week before our wedding, cousin.” I hissed at Jennie, who was also my cousin, as I revved the engine of my 3gen burgundy Honda Prelude. The car was a gem and I cherished it dearly, taking more care of her than I have ever taken care of myself.

“I told you he was—” Jennie started shrieking as she slammed the car’s door shut, her window having been rolled down, but I quickly pressed the button to roll it up and sped off, not wanting to hear another sound coming from her mouth. It’s not like I dropped her off miles away from the car meet, she was just a block away. She should be thankful I even gave her a ride after everything she made me go through not even four months ago.

I thought Jennie and I were like sisters, always there for each other no matter what the matter was. We could talk about anything and discuss all of our issues. I confided in her when problems arose with my fiancé, and her advice had been the best, it helped our relationship…until it completely shattered. Until she went and slept with San like he wasn’t engaged to me, just a week away from his own wedding. She would’ve been the bridesmaid, but there was no wedding to be held. I called it off the second San drunkenly told me about his infidelity, and I also took all of my stuff and moved out from our shared apartment. Indeed, it was a rash decision, in the spur of the moment as my head was coated with anger, hurt and betrayal, but I couldn’t stand to see his face for even one more second longer.

The small house I rented out wasn’t in the best part of the city and it was far from being luxurious, but it worked for now. It felt cozy and the neighborhood was quiet…unless Song Mingi was out and about, keeping everyone up on the street with his obnoxiously loud Dodge Challenger. The car was a specimen, however, truly rare as it was well kept and had zero flaws. Mingi took great care of it and never failed to show it off. Even if it was in the middle of the night, when people were trying to relax and sleep as he didn’t seem to care. Whether he had just come home from racing or God’s knows from where or he was bringing girls over and showing off…he’d keep the engine running for at least ten minutes before he finally shut it off. Mingi and I had known each other for more than a year now as the both of us go to the same car gatherings and do the same illegal street races, and even better than that, we’ve raced each other countless of times already. There was only one problem with him and that was his obnoxiously large ego. His car was good, he was a skilled racer, and he knew he looked good. So, all three combined made him an insufferable jerk and I couldn’t stand being around him for more than five minutes. Imagine my shock when I moved in across from him, his car being the give away of who my neighbor would be for an undetermined time. And what made it even worse…was his bedroom facing the main road whereas it was my living room facing it, and Mingi seemed to not know the concept and usage of curtains. Whether he didn’t do it purpose, seriously have major doubts about that, or it was on purpose, it seemed to be his habit to strip naked and change in front of his windows. He never gave it away that he knew I could see him, so out of embarrassment, I never brought it up to him. Not that this would ever be something I would talk to him about, I try to stay away from that prick as he gets on my last nerve. But some things were inevitable and I would be lying to myself if I said his body wasn’t perfect from top to bottom.

I rolled down both windows of my car as I turned down the usually deserted road, which was now filled to the brim with cars on both sides, creating a pathway in the middle. People were swarming between the cars, looking at them and talking to each other. Some were even fighting, needing to be separated as I slowly rolled down the pathway, nodding my head at the familiar faces as they sent waves my way. My arm hung through the window as I steered with one hand, headed to my usual spot. People who were regulars in the illegal races had their own spots and were paid fairly better than the newcomers. Which meant it was totally worth it to race…unless the cops caught you, it was game over then. I put my car in reverse as I carefully parked my car, Soonyoung cheering loudly from the side as he watched, gaining more people’s attention. I rolled my eyes at his theatrics. Soonyoung and I have met three years ago, at a race where we both drifted off into the ditches. Unfortunately his car suffered unfixable damage, unlike mine. The Universe must’ve been on my side that day, because I was convinced I was going to die, yet here I was…unmarried and completely miserable as I plastered on the most genuine looking fake smile on my face that I could.

“Hey, buddy!” I greeted him as I got out of the car, knocked breathless when Soonyoung’s best friend raced towards me, colling into my body and lifting me up into a hug as he started twirling me around aggressively. I had to hold onto his body out of fear of scratching my own car and Soonyoung’s purple Subaru BRZ as my legs gripped around Wooyoung’s waist tightly.

“You made it!” He shouted into my ear and I cringed, crying out as he abruptly stopped, giving me whiplash, “Soonyoung said you were coming but seeing the time—I thought you changed your mind.”

“I didn’t,” I breathed out as Wooyoung finally released me, only for Soonyoung to engulf me into a hug; they both knew I hated hugs, yet never stopped tackling me into one, “But my mother made plans for me and forced me into picking Jennie up—”

“That bitch!” Wooyoung called out at the same time as Soonyoung went off saying, “I thought you were past the age where your mother tells you what to do.”

“Yeah, okay,” I shrugged, pushing my hands into the pocket’s of my leather jacket, “I didn’t know until I got there, Soonyoung, and yes, Jennie is a bitch, Wooyoung.”

“She is! Oh, my God, how dare she still face you after everything she’s done?!” Wooyoung seemed to be annoyed all of a sudden as he huffed, making Soonyoung glance at him. His eyebrows were furrowed as he nodded in agreement. They both hated my cousin, rightfully so, and I did too.

“She still blames it all on San—”

“Bullshit!” Soonyoung suddenly exclaimed, his face pulled into a scowl, “Where’s she anyway? I don’t see her in your car.”

“I kicked her out a block away.” I couldn’t help but giggle as I told my two friends the shit I pulled off. In full honesty, I really couldn’t listen to her ramble on about her apparently picture-perfect life anymore. I hated her guts, I really did. After she ruined my life she had the nerve to rub hers in my face? I don’t think so, not anymore at least; I have made myself very clear after the ugly hysterical fit I had at my mother’s. Soonyoung and Wooyoung shouldn’t have cackled as loudly as they had, palms pressing against their mouths as they congratulated me for being a bad bitch. I wasn’t, I was simply triggered and still hurting.

“You’re iconic, love.” Wooyoung said as he reached out and touched a wavy strand of my hair. I wasn’t planning on dressing up tonight, but something pushed me to do. It’s been too long since I have looked put together, I have missed feeling beautiful and desirable, “And you look absolutely amazing.”

“Thank you.” I bowed playfully as Soonyoung grinned, bumping his shoulder against Wooyoung’s.

“Dressed up for a certain someone to see?” He teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“As if!” I exclaimed and rolled my eyes, knowing very well Soonyoung was referring to Mingi. No, that prick deserved none of my attention or effort, “Before you can spew out more nonsense, I’ll head over to Hongjoong and enter my name in the race.”

“Oh!” Wooyoung exclaimed with excitement as I walked out from between my car and Soonyoung’s, “Which one are you entering?”

“Which one should I?” I stopped to think for a moment as a wicked grin crossed Soonyoung’s features.

“Do the two blocks drifting one.” He instructed with a glint in his eyes and I narrowed mine at him, wondering why he had that face while suggesting such a mild race. Wooyoung glanced at our friend for a second before realization crossed his features and he giggled into his palm, avoiding eye contact with me.

“Fine, but I have a feeling I shouldn’t trust the two of you…” I muttered as Soonyoung and Wooyoung high-fived each other and sent a wink my way, turning their backs as they went to join their other friends once I took off.

My strides were long as I was headed towards the front, where the checkered flag was being waved aggressively, the path having gotten narrower as I was forced to push my way through the crowd. People were loud around me as they cheered for the driver of their choice, egging them on to show a better performance, to win. Four cars were lined up at the starting line, about to start a Sprint. Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s right hand and who handled the races in this part of the town, went and checked on every driver before he walked up to the front, standing in between two cars, holding the checkered flag as he raised his hand. People started shouting like crazy as Seonghwa started counting down and then, dropped the flag, the cars shooting off one by one, each fighting to win the race. I recognized one car, Choi Jongho’s, he was a newcomer but he was rising in the ranks rapidly, creating a name for himself on these streets. Hongjoong stood to the side, leaning against a pole as he was counting the money in his hands, smirking at Seonghwa as he approached him once the coast was clear of any speeding cars. I watched the two as I approached them, Seonghwa talking to Hongjoong softly as the shorter one reached out for his waist with one hand, placing something in the taller one’s back pocket with his other hand. I raised my eyebrows at them as I came to a stop in front of Hongjoong, Seonghwa’s mouth closing abruptly as he stopped talking. Apparently I wasn’t allowed to know what their conversation was about.

“Oh, hey.” Hongjoong’s demeanor changed as he greeted me with a friendly smile, “You’re racing tonight?”

“I sure am.” I said with a grin and Seonghwa took out a small notebook, eyebrows furrowed as he searched for a pen.

“Which category?” He asked as he finally found it and watched me expectantly. I was feeling like going for a Dig tonight, but I remembered what Soonyoung had told me.

“Drifts, the two blocks one.” I said casually, making Hongjoong look up. He looked a little bit surprised as he shared a look with Seonghwa, one which I didn’t understand. But Seonghwa just hummed and jotted my name down in the notebook before he looked up.

“The usual sum?” I nodded and handed them two stacks of money as Seonghwa jotted down the amount, Hongjoong taking the stacks from my hand with a hungry glint in his eyes. I lingered for a second as I wanted to ask who I’d be racing against tonight, but I changed my mind and thanked the two instead as I walked back to my car, deciding that I wanted to live dangerously tonight. Not knowing my rival made it more satisfying when I would win, not having made a strategy for myself beforehand as I didn’t know who the person would be and their driving style. My mind and body craved for the little adrenaline racing infused into my bloodstream and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the prize too.

Of course, I should have known by Soonyoung and Wooyoung’s giggles that they were setting me up. Losing tonight was as possible as winning, really, it would be about who was more skilled and faster. I watched Mingi’s black 2000 Dodge Challenger pull up to the start line, front tires on the line just like mine. The rumble of his car’s engine was already a tell-tale sign of whom I’d be racing tonight, and I couldn’t help but curse as I saw Wooyoung and Soonyoung high-five each other on the sidelines before showing me a thumbs-up. I could only scowl at them as Seonghwa walked around, gathering money as people made bets on who would win this time. Mingi’s window was rolled down and I saw movement from my peripheral so I looked over lazily, raising an eyebrow at him as he waved his ring clad fingers at me in a mocking way. I rolled my eyes and rolled down my own window, Mingi’s mouth already opening to speak up.

“Evening, doll.” He called over the loud crowd and rumble of our cars engines, “Fancy losing tonight?”

“Don’t get too cocky now, Mingi.” I plastered on a fake smile, “I might smoke you out.”

“I have to admit your ass is pretty fine—” He paused for a dramatic effect as my jaw clenched, knowing well he meant it both ways; car’s and my ass, “but I don’t plan on looking at it for too long tonight.”

I chuckled and pushed my wavy hair behind my shoulders as I leaned over the middle console, my low-cut top not leaving much to imagination, “I would hate to kick you off your high-horse, sweetheart, but your Dodge got nothing compared to my Honda.”

“I thought I have showed you my skills countless times, doll.” The way Mingi caught his lower lip between his teeth shouldn’t have made my stomach flip, but I couldn’t help it as my eyes remained fixed on them. Then, Mingi suddenly smirked as if he could see even from the distance where my eyes were fixated and he lowered his sunglasses slightly, leaning over his open window, “You seem to have forgotten, let me remind you tonight.”

My skin got covered in goosebumps at the offer in his tone, knowing damn well what he was talking about. And it wasn’t about racing anymore. But I wouldn’t let him know how quickly his words could make my body react, therefore, I just leaned back in my seat and started revving the engine of my burgundy car, smirking at Mingi as a displeased look crossed his face. I rolled up my window as he started revving his, Seonghwa having made it between our cars with a flag in his hands. He grinned at Mingi before looking at me, earning a firm nod from me. I decided to take a peek at Mingi swiftly, wondering how he could still see and drive while wearing sunglasses at night, but I quickly pushed all thoughts away as Seonghwa’s hands raised. I gripped the steering wheel tightly with my left hand as my right went to grip the gear stick, eyes set on the road ahead. My left foot was on the shift pedal and the second Seonghwa released the flag, I kicked into action as I shifted into first gear and shoot off, leaving Mingi in a dust behind as I worked my way up through the gears, focusing on the road only, familiar with Mingi’s driving. Beating him tonight would be a piece of cake.

The windows were fogged up and the leather was scrapping against my knees painfully as I panted, eyebrows scrunched together as I tried to find the perfect rhythm. Mingi’s calloused hands were gripping my waist but he wasn’t doing anything, he was just watching me with an open mouth, leaning forward to press his reddened lips against my flushed skin in no time. He would grunt from time to time as my hips moved up and down, his dick deep inside, hitting every sensitive nerve I had as his tongue licked against my collarbone before I felt him sucking. The small top I was wearing was of no-good use as Mingi’s right hand came up to grope my left breast and I whined as my thighs were starting to strain. It wasn’t a surprise that I have ended up in Mingi’s car not long after our race, which he had won this time, panting and on top of him, desperate for my own release as Mingi didn’t do anything, as he tortured me longer than it was necessary. Mingi’s lips trailed upwards, kissing and biting the skin of my neck before he kissed behind my ear, making me whine as I fastened my pace. A low groan left Mingi’s lips as his nose pressed against the skin of my neck, his hot breath hitting my skin uneven.

“Fuck, I can’t take this any longer.” I panted out, hands tangling into Mingi’s black hair as he slightly pulled back to look up at me. His pupils were blown and his eyes were hazed over with lust, yet he still managed to smirk as his hands went around my naked waist and grabbed my bare ass, helping me out as I moaned loudly, going faster with Mingi’s help. My walls clenched down around him and in response Mingi cursed quietly, biting my neck as his fingers dug into the flesh of my ass, soon enough his body leaning back into the leather cushion of his passenger seat. My arms went to hold onto the headrest of it, whimpers getting louder as my lower region burned, desperate for a release after so much teasing and edging from Mingi. His grunts were constant as I gyrated my hips more frequently, my lower lip in between my teeth as suddenly Mingi hit the sweet spot, making me stutter out a gasp as my walls clenched down around him.

“Fuck.” He cursed in a low rasp, hands releasing me as his hands raised behind his head, eyes shut close for a second, “Fuck, tell me I’m better. He could never fuck you like this, doll.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I went down on his dick again, but missed the angle I have previously found. My brain was in a haze, and I didn’t want his words to register as I continued chasing for an orgasm, but Mingi just wouldn’t shut up, “San could never make you feel this good.”

My body stiffened and muscles contracted as I was snapped out of whatever euphoria I was feeling at the moment, face contorted into disgust as I threw a glare at Mingi, “Why the fuck would you bring up my ex-fiancé during sex, Mingi?!”

Mingi gulped as he opened his eyes, forehead covered in a sheer coat of sweat, “Why? Are you not over him yet?”

I hated the arrogance dripping from his voice, the way he was looking at me, with such superiority, as if he was better, “It’s been four months, only. Would you be over the person you’ve loved for six fucking years and were meant to get married to?”

“I certainly wouldn’t start mopping about it during sex with another man—”

“You brought him up, he wasn’t even in my mind.” I snapped as we remained unmoving, Mingi’s hands latching onto mine against the headrest as he squeezed them.

“He better not be while I have my dick inside you, doll.” Mingi rasped and I scoffed, leaning closer to him, our lips almost touching.

“You sound an awful lot like you’re jealous, sweetheart.” I whispered against his lips before I licked his lips, Mingi’s eyes darkening for a second as he shifted underneath me. He only moved slightly, but the burning and yearning was back as my eyebrows furrowed, “You talk too much. Shut up and fuck me brainless, Mingi.”

“Gladly, doll.” Mingi whispered as he suddenly thrusted upwards, making me yelp in surprise as he suddenly started moving. He wasted no time as he moved fast and sharply, slamming back in before I could even meet his thrusts. My head fell back as I braced myself against his shoulder and neck, mouth open as whimpers kept falling and falling. Mingi’s length reached places nobody’s had before and with his precise and sharp thrusts my thoughts were slowly becoming incoherent again. His face was contorted into pleasure as his eyebrows pulled together, a moan slipping out every now and then as his left hand pushed against the roof of his car as his right hand came down to grab my hips and maneuver them to his liking. The fire was quickly building up in my stomach now with his continuous thrusts and it was starting to get harder and harder to focus on anything else but on chasing my own release. Mingi suddenly leaned up and circled his left arm around my torso as he flushed our bodies together, pivoting his hips up at a relentless pace, making me keen against his ear as my fingers tangled into his hair tightly. Mingi moaned loudly and fucked me harder as I moved messily against him, toes curling from the feeling.

“Fuck, Mingi—” My voice broke off into a loud moan as he finally found my sweet spot again, walls clenching down on him tightly. Mingi gasped and pressed his tall nose against my collarbone as he hit the spot again and again, his moans strained as I screwed my eyes shut, moving my hips in time with his, my hand coming down between us to rub circles against my clit.

“Doll—” Mingi groaned as my muscles tightened, so close to releasing finally as I threw my head back, Mingi’s name falling off my lips in whispers and broken moans. I could feel Mingi twitching inside me constantly and I knew he was close too as his breathing got even more uneven and arms tensed against my body as he leaned back, suddenly holding my jaw, making my eyes snap open, “Look me in the eyes.”

And so I did as I rubbed against my clit faster, Mingi’s thrusts wilder as his hand slipped from my jaw to my neck, putting the right amount of pressure against it. My lips fell open and in a few more desperate thrusts, I was coming undone against Mingi as my body tensed up and spasmed in his arms, moans spilling from my lips until I couldn’t breathe anymore, Mingi’s long fingers cutting off my air. My body shook as euphoria washed over every sense in my body, skin on fire and stomach coiling as I came down crashing hard, ears ringing before I could finally breathe, sputtering nonsense against Mingi’s lips as I fell forward, pressing my lips against his messily. He still hasn’t released yet and as my body went mush in his arms, he continued fucking up into me, head falling back as his moans grew loud. My lips sucked against the sensitive skin of his neck as my body ached from being used too much, but I knew he was close and I wanted him to fill me up.

“Mingi—” I moaned out in pain as my walls felt abused by Mingi’s relentless and messy pace, but when we made eye contact he knew what I was asking of him. His face contorted into pleasure once again and he bit his lower lip and whined as I clenched my walls around his dick, his hands coming to hold onto the headrest as his hips stuttered, stomach stiff as he came too, spilling inside me his warm seed. My stomach twisted at the feeling and I watched Mingi as he panted loudly, pressing his head into the headrest harshly. My right hand cupped his jaw and he lazily blinked his eyes open, watching me with clear eyes. A small smirk crossed his lips as he grabbed me by the nape and pulled me down, our lips meeting for a kiss as we both opened up, tongues meeting in a hot frenzy. I could feel my face heat up as Mingi’s tongue explored my mouth, slowly and sensually, making my skin tingle again as I pressed closer against him, kissing back with the same fervor as he was. He still hadn’t pulled out and I could finally feel the strain in my thighs as everything caught up with me at once, the yearning of my body. I could never get enough of Mingi, but I never allowed myself to think too hard about it. Mingi licked into my mouth with finality, sucking on my tongue before pulling away, a small string of saliva snapping as he went and sucked on my lower lip, making me push him away when he bit down on the soft flesh harshly. He seemed pleased with himself as he trailed his hands down the sides of my body, gripping my hips steadily.

“Wanna go for another race?” He asked seriously and I looked at him with an incredulous look.

“To lose more money that would go to you?” I asked with a scoff, making Mingi smirk as he lightly squeezed my hips.

“So, you do admit I would win again?”

“Don’t think you’re too special,” I rolled my eyes as Mingi smirked, “I’m just too spent after our little session…”

“Poor you,” Mingi mocked and pursed his lips, “Here I was, feeling like going for a second round…”

“I can’t feel my thighs anymore, forget it.” I snapped and made to finally get off him, but Mingi didn’t let me as he smiled, batting his eyelashes at me like he wanted something.

“And if we go home?” He asked airily, jutting his lower lip out, “Will you let me fuck you into the mattress?”

My jaw almost fell open, but I managed to stop myself as I tsked, smirking at him, “Can’t get enough of me?”

Mingi smirked and slightly raised me up by the waist, making me gasp at the friction, “Apparently I can’t.”

I chuckled as Mingi leaned up to peck my lips before lifting me off himself, an unfamiliar glint in his eyes which told me the rumble of our cars engines wouldn’t be the only thing keeping up our neighbors tonight.

Masterlist (divider)

289 notes · View notes

slutforpringles · 6 months

Text

The key difference to McLaren that makes Ricciardo's revival real

Ricciardo drives the car very differently to regular driver Yuki Tsunoda, but also to Pierre Gasly - who was Alpha Tauri’s spearhead for several seasons. They prefer a later-braking approach with a sharp, later rotation - the V-style we often hear drivers talk about, and that Ricciardo wanted to move away from at McLaren but couldn’t. The way Ricciardo brakes and approaches a corner puts very different demands on the car and tyres, and requires (and instigates) a different kind of car behaviour. What you saw in Mexico was the result of Alpha Tauri really adjusting the car to that for the first time.

“The driving style is different and not only from the mechanical or aero platform, but we know the Pirelli tyres are quite sensitive,” says Alpha Tauri’s chief race engineer Jonathan Eddolls. “The way he drives we can see different tyre temperatures, different tyre temperature balance. We're not talking big numbers, it's not massive, but we can see differences in the way he drives. And he makes the laptime in different parts of the corner. Therefore he exposes different weaknesses to say Yuki does - he drives it in one way, Daniel in a slightly different way. So we just need a slightly different set-up direction for him.”

Ricciardo prefers to carry more speed through the corner by making it more of a ‘U’ shape. To do that he needs a little rear instability on entry to turn in, and enough grip to rotate the car mid-corner without the rear braking away. The McLaren had a lot of peak downforce but it was not always usable, making the car unstable and inconsistent to drive in certain corners and conditions. That was murder for Ricciardo’s preferences. And even now, in a McLaren regularly scoring podiums, Lando Norris says he wants to ‘U’ a corner but has to ‘V’ it off because the car can’t handle that.

Ricciardo admitted he’d had a limitation exposed by his failure to switch styles in the way Norris could, and even how Ricciardo’s replacement Oscar Piastri has. But give him the right car and he was adamant he could still work wonders. That’s what he seems to be moving towards with the AlphaTauri. But achieving that by pursuing this set-up direction was not the work of a moment. AlphaTauri started to experiment after the summer break but Ricciardo only managed one and a bit practice sessions at Zandvoort before breaking his hand.

Then the first attempt at his second comeback of 2023, at Austin, was hamstrung by it being a sprint weekend. Given it was his first race back, upgrades had changed the car’s behaviour in his absence, and the sprint format meant just the one practice session before qualifying, AlphaTauri played it safe and put Ricciardo on Tsunoda’s set-up. That didn’t really work for him. So it was all about getting to Mexico and working on different set-ups to try to unlock a bit more potential from the car based around his driving style. “One of his big limitations has been the front end,” says Eddolls. “So the [new set-up] directions have been able to improve the front end of the car for him, accepting the stability compromise and how that impacts the tyre temperatures through the corner and through the lap.”

It may sound surprising given this was his Kryptonite at McLaren but what Ricciardo has been clear on from the start at AlphaTauri is that he could live with a bit more rear instability. There were signs of this right back in Hungary, where Ricciardo drove the car for the first time. There, and in his second race in Belgium, there was some under-rotation in the car. While the AlphaTauri lacks the aerodynamic peaks of what Ricciardo was driving at McLaren, it seems to have a more stable platform. It’s consistent, and understandable. So Ricciardo actually found that he could cope with some more rear instability than it had, to help give him the front end he needed, without it prompting the kind of inconsistency in car behaviour that he could not handle the way Norris could at McLaren.

The key to understanding the difference is to consider that not all rear instability is the same. AlphaTauri has battled some specific corner entry trouble all season, mainly when its drivers were braking late into heavy braking zones. Given he generally struggled with rear instability at McLaren, it was initially a concern that this might be an issue for Ricciardo. But with the way he drives compared to Tsunoda, Ricciardo didn't counter the same issues with the AT04. Instead, Ricciardo knows what to expect from the car and is able to take it to its limits more comfortably.

“Probably the car that we've got, the characteristics, it behaves,” says Eddolls. “Maybe we haven't quite got the load or efficiency of some of the top teams. However, there's no big fundamental weaknesses of the car other than a lack of a bit of load. He knows what it's going to do. And the fact that it does the same thing, every lap, corner to corner, it's given him the confidence to be able to throw the car into the corners and know that it's going to stick and knows that it’s going to do the same every time. Once we've got that platform in those couple of races earlier in the season, then we can start working on changing the balance corner to corner or through corner with the set-up to try to extract a bit more performance. It's a car that's given him the confidence to be able to push it closer to the limit than maybe he had in McLaren.”

Since Ricciardo’s early races before the summer break, the team has added a bit more aero load through upgrades, and the new set-up direction has now unlocked an even more Ricciardo-friendly balance. In Mexico, Ricciardo was able to use the stronger front end to rotate the car through the corners more to his style - braking a little earlier but riding it a little longer, giving him the grip to turn the front in mid-corner and carrying speed through. The result was being at ease with the car in qualifying, visibly leaning on the front and throwing the car around more.

It doesn’t mean he was on another level to Tsunoda, who looked like he could have been just as quick were his qualifying not sacrificed because of a predetermined engine change and grid penalty. But it did mean Ricciardo was more at the limit of this car for the first time, and feeling more like his old self. This continued in the grand prix itself. The controlled tyre management and comfortable race pace was different to the vast majority of his grands prix for McLaren. Were it not for a red flag, Ricciardo probably would have finished fifth – the final stint suggests he’d have had the race pace to fend off George Russell’s Mercedes (who jumped him at the restart instead), and Norris would have been too far back to catch and pass him on his recovery drive from the back of the grid. Ricciardo also looked feisty at both the start and the post-red flag restart, doing a good job amid frenetic runs to Turn 1 and beyond, and even launched an attack on Russell the final lap. It didn’t quite come off, but how often did you see him able to try that in papaya?

“It was a little weird, at the start of the stint, I didn’t feel as good as towards the end,” Ricciardo said of the second part of the race. “It felt like it took me a little bit to get a rhythm with the tyre. Then the last probably 10 laps, I was able to really start pushing harder. Lando getting George probably hurt George’s tyres a little bit, so that brought him back to me. It was tough. I probably didn’t expect to get that close. When you’re that close, you’re like ‘ah, we could’ve!’. But he protected well in Turn 4. At one point, I was trying to go on the outside, but I could see we were both going to run off and had to abort the mission. We tried, but ultimately, just to be battling a Mercedes at the end, that makes me more happy than just missing out on sixth.”

Ricciardo probably does need a Red Bull Racing promotion to start doing that on a regular basis. Getting the most out of the car he has now must be the objective for the rest of the season – and on this evidence, it should be sustainable. “After last week, it’s funny,” he said. “You can never guarantee a good weekend [but] I’m not surprised we had a good weekend. I was just ready for it, and I think the direction we went with set-up, I knew that would allow me to have a bit more confidence with the car. There’s still certainly some things to get out of it. Even in the race, my first sector was a little average, I wasn’t very consistent there through the first chicane. For sure some things I could improve on, but overall I was very happy with the weekend.”

via: The key difference to McLaren that makes Ricciardo's revival real | The Race

#daniel ricciardo #dr3

249 notes · View notes

spidervee · 1 year

Text

a little blurb in which tangerine nearly kills you…on accident! tangerine x fem!reader; cursing, tan being a bit of an ass, but also liking when reader is mean to him; some lewd dialogue and dark humour, almost car accident

When you’d left your flat to go for a jog that morning, the last thing you expected was to nearly be flattened by a sleek black Ferrari driven by a man who clearly spent too much time caring for the pornographic moustache over perpetually smirking lips.

Expected or not, however, it’s exactly where you find yourself as you turn a sharp corner and move into the intersection.

It’s early, and the streets are near-empty, so perhaps you’d let your guard down a bit. Or perhaps that barmy fucker behind the wheel was on some six a.m. joyride. Either way, the car skids to a halt, all screeching brakes and blaring horn and you’re frozen for a moment in the fluorescent glow of headlights before you realize just how close you were to being a fucking statistic.

And then, from through the windshield, you meet the driver’s eye and he has the gall to look annoyed rather than apologetic.

“You fuckin’ wanker! Watch where you’re going!”

Inside the car, Tangerine is gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. But the shock of the moment passes and he’s pleased as pudding he was able to stop on time. Civilian casualties are one thing while he and Lemon are working, but there’s no clean-up crew, no protections, no payoff should he accidentally off a cute jogger.

Your fists coming down on the hood of the car jolt Tangerine from his stupor and though he wants to rage at you, he can hardly find it in himself to be angry—a shocking realization that he’ll have to keep quiet from Lemon, lest his brother try to psychoanalyze him with some Thomas the Tank Engine bullshit.

Tangerine doesn’t think as he swings open the car door and slips out to indirect the hood. Your fists are comparatively small and he doubts someone of your stature could do any real damage. And, of course, the Monza is stolen so who the fuck actually cares what happens to it?

He registers that the jogger is cussing him out and he can’t help the patronizing look that etches itself onto his face, the arched eyebrow and smirking curve of his lip. With an air of impatience he tuts at you, interrupting the flow of curses you’re levelling in his direction, a stream of consciousness enough to rival James fucking Joyce, rat paddy bastard and his fucking make-no-sense shitehead Leopold Bloom.

“Best be careful, love,” Tangerine chastises, “Didn’t mummy and daddy teach you to look both fuckin’ ways? And don’t fuckin’ touch my fuckin’ car. Y’know how many pricks you’d have to suck off to pay for what those little hands might fuckin’ do?”

You blink at him, shocked into silence, and for a moment Tangerine savours the sweet sensation of victory. But then, he watches as you pull a wad of bright pink bubblegum from between your clenched teeth and stick it right on the hood ornament of the Monza. Tangerine is certain his eyes bug out of his fucking skull because where the fuck do you get off?

“You little bitch,” he hisses, forgetting the few manners he has for a moment. He takes a lurching step forward, anger finally surging through him at the sheer gall of your action because you’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid or incredibly reckless and it doesn’t matter which one because, whatever character flaw it is, it’s going to get you into deep shite one day and Tangerine decides in that moment he wants to be there to get you out of said shit.

And, when he sees the self-satisfied smirk on your face, the perverse glee you’re getting from witnessing his reaction, the deal is sealed. He laughs, a genuine laugh from deep in his belly. He almost slaps his fucking knee like some nob but the sound of your laughter now mixing with his distracts him enough from that embarrassing almost-action.

“You’re a fuckin’ psycho.” Tangerine catches his breath and fixes you with an amused glare. You cross your arms over your chest and he knows, instantly, that you’re trying to distract him with your fabulous chest. It’s almost working, so he quirks an eyebrow and refocuses on your face which is somehow even more distracting.

Well, fuck him sideways, right?

#tangerine fic #bullet train tangerine #tangerine imagine #tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x fem!reader

2K notes · View notes

lightwing-s · 10 months

Note

I feel it in the air, second date is coming for biker!jason

a/n: not a full comeback, but i was dying to write for biker!jason so after the first, he is a second date and more to come ♡

Do you wanna learn how to ride? were the last words you expected you’d hear tonight. But there you were now, legs hanging on each side of Jason’s motorcycle, as your feet barely touched the floor. The black dress you had worn for dinner was now rolled up your thighs, and your heels thrown somewhere on the floor of the empty parking lot you were on.

Your date, standing right beside you, instructed you on how not to fall face first on the ground with his precious bike. Jason’s hand rested on top of yours, his thumb caressing the cold skin as he continued to teach you the mechanisms of the bike.

“So, here on your left you have the clutch. You’re gonna use it every time you need to change gears, just like a car. And to do that… ” he lowered himself to be levelled with the gear pedal, moving his touch to your bare leg. “You’re going to use your pretty legs to work this pedal, alright?”

Listening attentively, you could only shake your head and hope all that information would get to your head, but it was quite hard to do it, as his hand slowly slid up to rest on your tights as he stood from his former position, taking away all your concentration.

“On your right you have the brakes. Hand is front, feet is back. Be careful with those ones, they’re both important but used wrong can also be dangerous.” he told you sternly, eyes glued to yours. “Why do I feel you’re not listening?” he lowered his voice, almost whispering against your neck.

“I promise, I am” you laughed, confident but still avoiding his eyes, fearing what would happen if you kept staring at it for too long.

“Alright” breathed a laugh, stepping away from you. “Give it a try now, but don’t go crazy on the throttle…”

Before he could finish, you rolled the throttle heavier than you imagined all the while releasing the clutch faster than you should have, the bike jumping forward and immediately being held down by Jason’s strong arms.

“I really can’t do it.” you told him, while awkwardly laughing the embarrassment away.

“Yes, you can.” he assured.

“I can barely keep my balance.”

Trying to find an excuse to quit was too hard around Jason, who was adamant on having you drive, even if just two metres, on his bike tonight. Head shaking at your attempts to leave, he was definitely amused, as a smile didn’t cease to remain on his face. “Here, let me help you.”

You felt Jason’s leg moving behind you, as he took the back seat. Soon after, his chest met your back as his arms reached over yours, caging you to the bike. His hand now rested on top of yours and guided you on a ride that lasted a few minutes, but longer that you’d expected.

“Here, you did it” he said, as you raised your arms up in celebration. “I told you could, didn’t I?”

“I guess I had a great teacher.” you smile at him over your shoulder, tongue between your teeth, and a quick wink as you feel his hands moving to your waist.

“No, you just have a lot of potential.” he complimented, placing a kiss on your shoulder. Feeling the air grow thicker around you, you move a bit on your seat, accidentally grinding his crotch, feeling a big volume hit against your ass. Biting your lip, you bend forwards, laying your chest on the tank and making sure to lower the space between you both in the back.

You heard a loud sigh and his grip tighten around your waist. One of his arms curled around your middle, pulling you back up to rest your back on his chest again, while his free hand roamed to where your dress rolled up to expose your thigh.

“Stop grinding on me, little dove. Or we won’t make it out of this parking lot.” he whispered in your ear, causing goosebumps to run down your spine and wetness to form between your legs. A side of you really hoping to not make out of that parking lot.

403 notes · View notes

neonghostlights · 4 months

Text

Chapter Seven: An Eventful Trip

Summary: Your dull life gets flipped upside down when a stranger crash lands on your farm. When the mystery of what he is unravels, he takes you and your heart for a ride that is out of this world.

Warnings: Cussing, this series is 18+ only

Wordcount: 1.2k

Series Masterlist

One month later

You stood under the flow from the shower head, letting it soak your skin.

You had gotten used to taking lukewarm showers every morning instead of your preferred scalding hot ones. Eddie couldn’t handle the temperature when it was too high.

But he also couldn’t handle showering without you. He knew how to work the shower, knew what every bottle was for but he still insisted you got into the shower with him to show him.

You didn’t mind.

It was your favorite part of the day, you thought as you wrapped your arms around his lanky body and pressed your face into his chest. His long wet hair cemented to your skin but you didn’t mind.

Eddie caressed your arm, smelling like the new soap you had bought him at the store, like a clean man but also with the scent that you knew as Eddie and it made you want to nuzzle your face into him further.

He whispered something into your ear in his language and it sent goosebumps down your body. You pressed into him further.

It had been a month and you still didn’t understand his language, but he was picking up a few words in English.

After your shower you dried off together and you got dressed for the day. You had already done all the work that needed to be done, all was left for you was having to run into town.

You slipped into your jeans and threw on a t-shirt.

“Beautiful,” Eddie said to you now that his translator was in, a long arm wrapped around your waist.

He could barely keep his hands off of you.

“I have to go to the store,” you said softly as you kissed his jaw.

“Take me with you,” he begged.

He had been asking this a lot lately, not being left alone anytime you had to go somewhere. You felt bad leaving him on the farm but it wasn’t safe for him.

“Eddie, we can’t risk it,” you explained, stepping away from him to put on your socks.

He made a sound like a groan as he followed you and sat beside you on the bed.

“I can wait in the truck,” he begged, making his already large eyes comically larger as he pouted at you.

You sighed, thinking of how it might work. He hadn’t seen much of your world except for the farm and what he had seen on the TV.

“Please,” he added, running a thumb across your cheek.

You sighed. This was probably a bad idea.

“You have to keep your hoodie on and stay in the truck,” you said sternly.

He smiled wide.

“I am so excited to see more of your world.”

The trip to the grocery store was uneventful.

Eddie stayed true to his word. He stayed in the car, watching people as they walked in and out of the store.

The worst part for him was not being able to help you load the groceries into the truck.

You pulled out of the parking lot and down the roads that led you home.

It was weird to consider your home not just yours any more but also Eddie’s.

Eddie fiddled with the stations, not happy with how low technology your truck was compared to his spaceship.

You had to remind him that earth hadn’t caught up to his planet yet.

Other than that, he enjoyed watching the people and cars, asking you why certain things looked the way it did which of course you didn’t have an answer to.

He thought that the one traffic light in Hawkins was hilarious for some reason.

The radio cut to static before the beginning sounds of Master Of Puppets by Metallica started to play.

Eddie gasped and you nearly slammed on the brakes.

“That’s it!” He yelled.

“What?!” You yelled back, hand over your pounding heart.

“That is the song I heard! The song that led me to you,” Eddie grinned.

“Why the hell was Master of Puppets playing in space?” You asked as Eddie started to sway his head to the music.

You thought back to the day he told you about the music he heard and about the saying ‘Shocking Needle Fool.”

It didn’t make sense.

You looked around, just before you pressed on the brake to freeze at what you noticed you were stopped in front of.

Hawkins Middle School.

“Wait here,” you said sternly as you got out of the truck.

Had Eddie misheard the broadcast and mistaken ‘shocking needle fool’ for Hawkins Middle School?

You couldn’t think of anything else that made sense.

But why was the middle school broadcasting music into space?

You strolled into the school. It was the middle of summer vacation and the door was unlocked.

Odd.

“Hello?” You called down an empty hallway.

It had felt like it had been forever since you walked these halls. They used to feel so much bigger, scarier.

You paused for a moment about to give up until you heard the sound of arguing outside of a door that you assumed was a closet.

You stepped closer, pressing your ear up to the wooden door.

“No, Lucas, you gotta move it to the left!”

“That is the left!”

“No! The other left!”

“God damnit! Do I need to do everything myself?!”

You listened to young voices arguing. Definitely sounded like middle schoolers that were way too young to be throwing around words like ‘god damnit.”

You opened the door, not bothering to knock.

Four kids surrounded a metal table, all in various stages of shock at you just busting in. They had their hands on a metal device in the center of the table that had wires sticking out of it.

One of them with curly hair gained his wits and threw a jacket over it to hide the device from you, but you had already seen it.

“What the hell is that?” You asked and the kids continued to stare at you wide eyed, like you were going to call their moms and tattle.

“Who the heck are you?” Asked the one with black hair.

“A concerned citizen. Now what is that?” You asked again, using your stern grown up voice.

To their credit, they didn’t back down.

After a tense stare down the shortest one with straight light brown hair cracked first.

“It’s a super radio! It’s supposed to be able to broadcast far away! Dustin made it!” He practically yelled, pointing at the curly haired one.

“What is wrong with you, Will?!” Dustin screeched.

“Everyone, be quiet!” You said loudly, clapping your hands like you were trying to get the attention of kindergartners.

It worked. They all looked at you in silence.

“I’m telling you right now that you need to stop using that thing.”

“And why should we listen to you?”

“For the sake of humanity,” you said dramatically before adding, “Your broadcasts are going into space and it’s leading aliens directly here. To you.” You pointed to each of them. “Next time someone comes in here and crashes your little party it’s going to be either a government agent or a flesh eating alien.”

They stared at you slack jawed as you turned and shut the door behind you, hoping you scared them enough to keep them from leading anymore extraterrestrials to Hawkins.

You climbed back in the truck with a very confused Eddie.

“The music stopped playing,” he said as you put the truck in gear and started to pull out of the parking lot.

“I’ll buy you a tape with the song on it, okay? That way you can listen to it whenever you want to,” you promised.

You stopped at the stop sign, waiting for a few cars to pass so you could turn to right.

A silver car slowed in front of you and you didn’t realize why until you saw Jason Carver as he made direct eye contact with you and Eddie.

“That’s not good.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson series #alien!eddie munson x farmer!reader #alien!eddie munson x reader #alien!eddie munson

130 notes · View notes

gods-favorite-autistic · 8 months

Text

Good Omens incorrect quotes:

Aziraphale: You know, I'm starting to regret showing you how that blender works.

Crowley, drinking toast: Why do you say that?

Aziraphale: Violence isn't the answer.

Crowley: You’re right.

Aziraphale: *sighs in relief*

Crowley: Violence is the question.

Aziraphale: What?

Crowley, bolting away: And the answer is yes.

Aziraphale, running after them: NO-

Aziraphale: Do you take constructive criticism?

Crowley: I only take cash or credit.

Aziraphale: I've already sent good vibes your way… they’re coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop them.

Crowley: This is the most threatening way I’ve ever been cheered up.

Aziraphale: *Kicks the door down looking panicked*

Crowley: What did you do?

Aziraphale: Nobody died.

Crowley: WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!

Aziraphale: Treat spiders the way you want to be treated.

Crowley: Killed without hesitation.

Aziraphale: No.

*how season 3 should start*

Aziraphale: Top 30 reasons why Aziraphale is sorry... Number 5 will surprise you!

Crowley: Top 30 anime deaths. Number One: YOUR FUCKING ASS RIGHT NOW!!!

Crowley: You're right.

Aziraphale: That's... That's an unusual phrase for you. Did you just learn it?

Beelzebub: I’m going to take you out

Gabriel: great, it’s a date!

Beelzebub: I meant that as a threat.

Gabriel: See you at five!

Crowley: *Walking in to a room* Sorry I’m late... I was... doing things.

*Sounds of running footsteps progressively getting louder*

Gabriel: *Out of breath* THEY PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKIN’ STAIRS.

Beelzebub: I made tea.

Crowley: I don’t want tea.

Beelzebub: I did not make tea for you. This is my tea.

Crowley: Then why are you telling me?

Beelzebub: It is a conversation starter.

Crowley: That’s a lousy conversation starter.

Beelzebub: Oh, is it? We are conversing. Checkmate.

Aziraphale: This is bothering me.

Crowley: Well, you are digging up a corpse.

Aziraphale: No, not that. That's, uh, pretty par for the course, actually.

Aziraphale: Whaddya call a fish with no eye?

Gabriel, not looking up: Myxine Circifrons

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: fsh

Crowley: God, give me patience.

Gabriel: I think you mean 'give me strength'.

Crowley: If God gave me strength, you'd be dead.

Aziraphale: You know, not every problem can be solved with a sword.

Crowley: That's why I carry two swords.

Gabriel: So what’s for dinner?

Beelzebub, staring at the food they just burnt: Regret.

Muriel: Why are you on the floor?

Crowley: I'm depressed.

Crowley: Also I was stabbed, can you get Aziraphale, please.

Store Worker: Would a Mr. Fell please come to the front desk?

Aziraphale, arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem?

Store Worker: points to Crowley and Muriel

Store Worker: I believe they belong to you?

Crowley and Muriel, simultaneously: We got lost :(

Aziraphale: I didn’t even bring you guys here with me-

Muriel: Sometimes I drink milk straight out of the container.

Crowley: The cow???

Muriel: What?

Aziraphale: Crowley, W H Y?

Aziraphale: Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Crowley?

Crowley: … No.

Muriel: I do!

Aziraphale: I know, Muriel.

Muriel: I’m sad!

Aziraphale: I know, Muriel.

Muriel: What if I press the brake and gas at the same time?

Crowley: The car takes a screenshot.

Aziraphale: For the last time, get the fuck out.

Crowley: Aziraphale and I don’t use pet names.

Nina: I see. Hey, what are those things with the halos called again??

Crowley: Angel?

Aziraphale: Yes, dear?

Crowley:

Nina: Don't ever lie to my face again.

Muriel: I really like this whole ‘good guy, bad guy’ thing you guys have going on.

Crowley: It’s not an act, it’s just that I’m mean and Aziraphale isn’t

Aziraphale: We need a distraction.

Crowley: Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises?

Muriel, whispering: My time has come

Aziraphale: Let me show you a picture from last night that really upset me

Muriel: Okay, but in my defense, Mr. Crowley bet me 50 cents I couldn’t drink all that shampoo.

Aziraphale: That’s not what I wanted to- you drank SHAMPOO?!

Aziraphale: Crowley, keep an eye on Gabriel today. They're going to say something to the wrong person and get punched.

Crowley: Sure, I’d love to see Gabriel get punched.

Aziraphale: Try again.

Crowley, sighing: I will stop Gabriel from getting punched.

Maggie: Are you the big spoon or the little spoon?

Crowley: I'm a knife.

Aziraphale, from across the room: They're the little spoon.

Aziraphale, driving Crowley and Muriel: So how was your day?

Muriel: We almost got surprise adopted!

Aziraphale: What?

Crowley: We almost got kidnapped.

Aziraphale: Oh, okay.

Aziraphale: *slams on the breaks* WAIT WHAT?

Aziraphale: You have to apologize to Gabriel

Crowley: Fine.

Crowley: 'Unfuck you' or whatever.

Crowley: Hey angel,

Aziraphale: Yes?

Crowley: Can a person breathe inside a washing machine while it’s on?

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Where’s Gabriel?

Aziraphale: WHY. why did you give Muriel a KNIFE?!

Crowley: I’m sorry. They said they felt unsafe.

Aziraphale: Now I feel unsafe!

Crowley: I’m sorry.

Crowley: ... would you like a knife?

Muriel: Hey, Mr. Crowley? Can I get some dating advice?

Crowley: Just because I’m with Aziraphale doesn’t mean I know how I did it.

Aziraphale: Crowley and I are having a baby.

Muriel: That's gre-

Aziraphale, slamming adoption papers on the table: It's you, sign here.

Muriel: Are you sure this is the right direction?

Crowley: Certainly, I'm as sure as I am honest!

Aziraphale: In that case, we're definitely lost

Muriel: What do you think Mr. Crowley will do for a distraction?

Aziraphale: They’ll probably, like, make a noise or throw a rock. That’s what I would do.

*Building explodes and several car alarms go off*

Aziraphale: ... or they could do that.

Aziraphale: I trust Crowley.

Muriel: You think they know what they're doing?

Aziraphale: I wouldn't go that far.

Aziraphale: While I’m gone, Muriel, you’re in charge.

Muriel: Yes!!!

Aziraphale, whispering: Crowley, you’re secretly in charge.

Crowley: Obviously.

Aziraphale: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity?

Crowley: *turning to Gabriel* How tall are you?

#featuring a lot of inneffable husbands #Crowley and Aziraphale being Muriel’s parents essentially #Aziraphale refusing to let Crowley drive with Muriel in the car #a tiny bit of inneffable bureaucracy #a whole lot of Crowley openly hating Gabriel now that he can’t get smited for that #bad influence Crowley #Maggie and Nina supporting the dumbass gays #they/them Crowley and Muriel #and just Crowley being my favorite character #maddy’s thoughts (taken straight from the brain)#good omens #good omens 2 #inneffable husbands #inneffable bureaucracy #incorrect good omens quotes

282 notes · View notes

dotieeee · 2 months

Text

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 9

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, drugging, somnophilia, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 9 Warnings:

Graphic violence, torture and experiments conducted on children (because it isn't Hunger Games without it lol), jealous Snow if you squint

Replay Level 8

Ready? Level 9 Start:

The tyres screech when your Uncle Cas hits the brakes. You’re still several blocks away from your apartment building and you’ve just reached a red light, although, with your uncle’s questionable driving skills, you’re not quite sure you’d both make it home intact.

“Uncle Cas? I’m pretty sure we hit someone back there and they’re still twitching.”

Thankfully, your attempt at lightening the mood isn’t in vain. Your uncle chortles behind the wheel.

“Really? I thought I did a decent job running them over.”

A pause ensues in the car before your uncle glances sideways at you. “Nellie, are you okay?”

You could only nod, bracing yourself as the red light turns green and your uncle steps on the gas pedal like a madman.

“What’s on your mind?” He presses.

“Nothing much,” you reply in a mock-nonchalant tone. “Just crossing my fingers we don’t actually hit anything.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” he deadpans. “Enough wisecracks about my driving. What’s going on? I mean, I know it’s always about that bastard you call your ‘mentor,’ but is there anything you’d like to tell your dear old uncle?”

You release a drawn-out sigh. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin, Uncle Cas.”

He nods in understanding. “Okay. You can tell me once we get home.”

You pull up to the Corso III in a matter of minutes, and you step out of the car hoping you’d never have to endure being in a ride with Acacius Innis driving. Your uncle playfully throws the keys to his dumbfounded driver, who’s waiting by the building entrance.

“I didn’t know you could drive, sir,” he says with a confused expression when he catches the keys.

“I’m just as surprised as you are, Gustav!” Your uncle says brightly, much to Gustav’s bewilderment.

Once you get inside the apartment, your uncle makes tea, which you politely decline, and sits you down on the kitchen counter. He only says one word after a single sip on his mug:

“Talk.”

“I want to quit,” is the first thing you blurt out.

“I didn’t know that was an option,” your uncle says.

You shake your head miserably. “No, it isn’t. But I can’t let them have that program. It’s yours. They shouldn’t be allowed to do whatever the fuck they want with it.”

You let out a deep exhale but a few tears of frustration come along with it.

Your uncle offers no words and just continues sipping his tea in contemplation. Maybe, just like you, he’s also run out of ideas. Maybe there really is no escape from any of this, and you’re better off just letting Snow have his way with your uncle’s work.

Perhaps your uncle punching him was the only way any of you could ever get back at him.

“Did any shipments come in when I left the office?”

You frown at his question. “Yes, a few boxes of drives arrived.”

Why is he asking this out of the blue, you wonder?

Uncle Cas hums as he takes another sip. “Huh. That’s... peculiar . Peculiar, indeed.”

“It is?” you ask, now getting mildly annoyed. You’re about to surrender his most important work to the most dangerous child-killing woman in Panem and her younger, potentially more tyrannical male version and he’s worried about packages arriving that he didn’t order? “You mean, you didn’t send for them?”

Seemingly oblivious to your dilemma, he maintains this abnormally carefree attitude. “I guess it doesn’t matter now who did. Have you done a malware scan on them?”

You sigh and decide to humour him. Who knows, maybe this is his copium. “What for? They’re blanks. And shouldn’t your staff be doing that?”

Uncle Cas lets out a derisive laugh. “Not my department anymore, plumcake.”

“But within your scope!” Growing more and more confused, you argue, even though you don’t know what for anymore.

He just snorts. “Yeah, because we have all the time in the world to check blank hard drives and not at all busy running the entire government’s military cyber defence system and keeping it safe from rebel cyberattacks. What do I know?”

He makes himself another cup of tea, and, joining you back on the kitchen counter, he asks, “What else did the drives come with?”

You shrug. “A single floppy disk?”

And once again, he just lets out another contemplative hum. You narrow your eyes at him, your confusion slowly being replaced by suspicion. He knows something you don’t.

He always does.

“Check the drives. I’d start with the floppy disk if it were me,” he says airily. “You know, your aunt Marcelline and I separated just shortly before I became your guardian. Even after I moved to the Capitol, I used to really want to get under her skin.”

Knowing your uncle by now, this is his way of trying to make a point, so you go along with him.

“True, I was mad at her at first for leaving me, but after a while, it just became banter. Nothing more than a practical joke,” he chuckles. “I started creating viruses and sending them to her. The first one I sent was in this drive I claimed to be defective, and she checked it out herself. Big mistake. It wiped half the source code all our factories ran on.”

“What?” you ask incredulously. But your uncle is laughing heartily, and imagining your aunt fuming mad at his prank makes you laugh with him. The Aunt Marcelline you know is rarely ever fazed.

“Oh, she was flying off the handle. Operations went on a standstill for half a day until they installed the backups. She then video-called me just to tell me I was a ‘fucking nutcase.’ Next thing I know, every single personal shipment I requested came with this harmless little worm that entered in my name spelt ‘Ac-ASS-cius’ for every fourteenth line of code I type,” he pauses as he wipes the tears of laughter from his eyes. “That shit went on for months, I tell you.”

Your Uncle Cas empties his mug with a single swig and asks you, “Are you getting a lesson somewhere here?”

In between bouts of light chortling, you admit, “No, not really...”

He gives you a look between exasperation and amusement. “Just check the floppy disk. I built a virtual machine environment on the station you’re using, so test it within that environment. You may never know what that contains. Who knows, maybe it’s a virus harmful enough to render most of your code completely unusable.”

Your laughter dies down at once as his point dawns on you.

Is this him giving you permission to kill his brainchild? The head of Cybersecurity, hinting at infecting Citadel property?

Was Acacius Innis the one who sent you that disk?

Now, your curiosity is even more piqued.

“Why would any creator nuke their own work?” you ask carefully.

Your Uncle Cas just gives you an unconcerned look. “Maybe to them, it’s just that: work . Just a simple set of codes they can easily write again. Sure, they were probably attached to it at first, as all creators are, but maybe down the line, they realised how their work could impact others negatively and decided it wasn’t worth the effort. It happens all the time.”

He gets up from his seat and sighs. “That’s it: enough riddle talk.”

He deposits his empty mug on the sink and leans against it with his arms crossed. He declares with mocking authority, “Check the floppy disk. This is an official mandate from the head of Cybersecurity. Noncompliance could result in the issuance of an interdepartmental memo.”

Ah yes. That little piece of paper – essentially an airing of a list of grievances from one department to another disguised pretentiously in the form of corporate claptrap. Just more red tape your mentor would gladly put on top of your growing pile of paperwork.

“Oh no, a memo, so scary,�� you joke back with an eye roll.

“You bet it is. Now go to bed. This is now your uncle speaking, by the way.”

Now filled with renewed hope, you nod. Your uncle had once again carved a way out for you. If you can pull plant the virus in one of the supercomputers without drawing suspicion, you can destroy a huge chunk of the code, rendering the program useless, thereby making you appear inadequate for the job in the eyes of the Citadel, and most of all, your mentor. You can turn in your resignation and work for your uncle, just like before, while staying away forever from Coriolanus Snow.

Sounds like a plan.

You get up from your chair and hug your dear old Uncle Cas around his midriff.

“Uncle? Thank you. I’m sorry.” For destroying your work in the near future. “For everything.”

He ruffles your hair, grinning at you affectionately when you let go.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, plumcake.”

“You shouldn’t have punched him, you know,” you say as an afterthought.

“Really? It felt great. Nine out of ten will do it again. Now for the umpteenth time, plumcake, go to bed.”

You bid him goodnight and saunter to your room to shed your work clothes in favour of something more comfortable. You’re a bit miffed your stockings are now ruined owing to the gash on the right leg, so you peel them off to throw them away. Strangely enough, you also obtained this nasty purplish little bruise, even if you don’t really remember hitting something when you fell. Sighing to yourself, you resolve to be more careful around the folks at the Citadel and mostly, around him.

You take the little vial that he gave you out of your coat pocket, debating whether you’re going to try it or not.

You fell asleep without help a while ago, right?

You decide to stow it on your nightstand just in case. It turns out that after an hour or two of just tossing and turning in bed without the mercy of unconsciousness, placing it nearby was an excellent decision. You take a tiny sip directly from the bottle and let it do its work.

True to its promise, you wake up in the late morning hours of a free Thursday without ever being woken up by your uncle in the middle of a nightmare.

I guess there are things even he can’t lie about, you conclude.

Friday. The day you’re dreading has finally come to a close, and you begin it by getting to your office at ten past six in the morning when even the Peacekeepers on night shift have cups of coffee in their hands to try and power through the last hour of their shift. You make no detours and head straight to your office, remaining vigilant in case any of your team decide to come in early as well.

Under no circumstance must you ever, ever be caught with a potential malware powerful enough to destroy one of the Citadel’s best assets.

So, turning on the virtual machine environment, you insert the disk and let your uncle’s system do its magic.

You almost choke on your second cup of coffee as your computer alerts you of its findings.

In the disk are two harmless-looking folders that are designed to run in the background – one, a little virus that replicates tasks at lightning-fast speeds. Essentially harmless on its own, the most it can do is overload the chips, leading to overheating, and eventually alerting the antimalware which would shut down the system to prevent further hardware damage. But by the time of the shutdown and an unsuspecting user is drawn to trying to fix what looks like a hardware issue, the second more devastating virus in the disk would have already wormed its way around the cybersecurity measures and into the other computers, attacking any and all files it can latch onto. By the time the antimalware would have been alerted of its presence and taken the other computers offline, the virus would have dealt with significant corruption in the program’s source code and its backups. All it takes for a user to unknowingly activate both is a simple set of keyboard commands.

It’s an astonishing work of art in the form of malicious code crafted by none other than the genius that is Acacius Innis.

A beep at the door, followed by two others, indicates the arrival of the triplets, so you immediately eject the disk and shut down the virtual environment machine. You manage to hide the disk in your drawer just as they greet you ‘good morning’ in unison, which you return with just as much enthusiasm. They all seem to look forward to seeing what they have been labouring for come to fruition, with F1 and F3 more so, with their lighthearted chatter filling the room while a more reserved F2 prints out the list of test cases for the trial.

You follow the triplets to the testing room by eight for final preparations for the start of the official grey-box tests. Every minute that passes, your stomach sinks further in dread, thinking of the three district teens who are going to be subject to bouts of experimentation that could potentially kill them, plus the added bonus of being in possession of something only a Capitol rebel would have at hand.

The arrival of your mentor thirty minutes before the briefing just amplifies your anxiety.

Coriolanus Snow, with his dapper suit and his combed-back locks, greets you in his normal fashion like your uncle did not attempt to pummel his face right in front of his own apartment building the other night.

“How are you?” you ask him softly as you approach. You feel a bit guilty about what your Uncle Cas did – after all, he was only trying to help. “How’s your…lip?”

His smile just widens further while he observes your face. “Relax, it was nothing I couldn’t handle. You were worried about me,” he concludes.

You don’t miss the way his eyes twinkle when you nod. “I’m really sorry.”

He dips his head closer to your space and responds, “You have nothing to apologise for, my sugarplum. Your concern, however, warms my heart.”

You say nothing and merely flash him a quick smile, intending to walk off to continue your work, but his hold on your arm keeps you close.

“I could ask the same of you. The Games upset you, I can see that,” he says, as he takes your chin between his fingers to keep you from facing away. “But this is merely a test, so one is going to die. It’ll only last a day. And you’ve seen it yourself – these children are being paid for these tests. They know what they signed up for.”

You know Coriolanus’s words are meant to reassure you, but it’s hard not to feel pressure when you know your freedom from him depends on how successful you’ll be in planting the virus.

Just a few more hours of this.

The thought should be enough for you to power through the day, so you nod and say, “I’ll be fine, Coryo. Thank you.”

“Good.” Your mentor flashes you a look of approval as he releases your chin and your arm, his hand travelling down to clasp your hand. “I made reservations at The White Knight for dinner tonight at eight. Let’s hope we finish this by then because I have an important matter to discuss with you.”

Oh no. “What is it?” What could it be that it needs to wait until tonight? “W-we…we have time, now…” you trail off.

The last time you had a conversation with him about ‘important matters,’ you ended up getting blackmailed to work for him. So naturally, you aren’t too keen on giving him another chance to potentially corner you into a vulnerable position.

Coriolanus just crinkles his eyes and lets out a mix of a sigh and a chuckle, his grip on your hand shifting so he can lace your fingers between his. “As much as I find your enthusiasm endearing, sugarplum, you’re distracted at the present. I’d like to have your full attention when we broach this matter.”

You’re a few seconds shy of just pulling your hand away, but thankfully a clearing of someone’s throat behind you makes him release his hold first.

“Sorry to interrupt this little office romance, kids, but we got about fifteen minutes before the boss lady gets here,” F1 says, trying to hold back a smirk.

Laughing lightly, Coriolanus flicks his gaze to yours knowingly before sauntering over to the male computer engineers huddled over the main command console. You move away from the group for the sake of productivity to help F2 check the other consoles.

By the time the Head Gamemaker makes her entrance, you’re all awaiting her arrival in a semi-circle, and you exchange polite morning greetings before F1 and F2 take the reigns and signal the start of the grey-box tests.

“Using highly advanced technological randomisation, we shall begin with assigning you a test tribute,” F1 declares.

F2 takes out a small glass bowl containing three rolled-up pieces of paper, smirking slightly as she shakes it, much to everyone’s amusement. She hands it out, and together, you, F3 and Coriolanus unfurl the tiny roll.

Test Tribute 2

“I got Tansey,” you say.

F3 hums curiously as he gazes at his piece of paper before he puts it back in the bowl.

“Test Tribute 3. I get the feral girl,” he says simply.

Coriolanus puts his back, looking satisfied with getting Callahan. He, too, confirms his tribute and adds, lifting a corner of his mouth, “I’ve worked with worse odds than this before.”

F3 nods in agreement. “Yes, that kid’s never given us trouble.”

F1 leads the three of you outside the testing room and you follow him about two doors down into another room where the three test tributes await. The room is overwhelmingly grey and sparse of furniture, save the tables and chairs, all bolted to the floor, where the three of the teenagers are chained to by their hands and feet.

Callahan’s face instantly lights up when he sees you and even manages a small wave despite his shackles. You give him a tiny wave back.

“You’re given ten minutes to talk to them, give them instructions, and...whatever else you feel like,” says F1. Bringing out a pocket timer, he then hangs back at the corner while you each take your place at the empty seat before your test tributes. Coriolanus proceeds to the far left corner of the room where his tribute is, immediately motioning Callahan to come closer and whispering something you can’t hear over his ear. The boy blanches and mutters sorry as he stares at the table with a shaken expression. Audrey, to your far right, refuses point-blank to engage after F3’s multiple attempts to call her name as she fixates on her chains. F3 sighs in defeat, crossing his arms and leaning against his chair to observe her. You smile warmly at Tansey, which she returns shyly.

“Hello, Tansey,” you greet her.

“Hi,” she manages.

Wordlessly, you place three large pieces of strawberry-flavoured candy – the only sweets you’re able to bring with you, unfortunately – on the table and push it towards her. Her eyes widen as she looks at the candy and then at you, as if asking if it really is for her. You urge her to take it with a nod.

Tansey’s smile brightens significantly as she peels off the wrapper on one.

“Thank you,” she mumbles. “I...I don’t remember the last time I had one of these. They really smell like the strawberries we pick.”

“You’re welcome. If I knew we’d be meeting like this, I could’ve brought blackberry-flavoured ones.”

You try not to feel sorry for her because you’re aware that doesn’t help her, and the only thing that will is ensuring that she gets to live at the end of this trial. Coriolanus’s promise of keeping everyone alive is fanciful at best, knowing that the game environment itself could be lethal.

“Keep the rest for later,” you advise, placing the candy in her palms. “I don’t know what time I’ll be able to send you food. Have you been given breakfast?”

She nods, and you note how she seems a little more chipper. “They gave us two pieces of bread instead of one. Even smeared a bit of butter on them.”

You’re glad to hear they at least were given more food, but you wonder whether this is because the team thinks this might be their last.

“And some tea, too. No sugar, but it was good. My aunt likes it that way.” Then she adds, “I miss her. She gets sick sometimes.”

“Why did you enlist, Tansey?” you ask softly.

Tansey seems to hesitate before answering, “I had to.” She licks her lips, and continues, “Once I get the money, I’d buy her a better wheelchair and she can start taking care of chickens so we could sell them in the market.”

So much responsibility assumed so willingly at such a young age. Sejanus would’ve hated the thought of Tansey doing so much for so little. He would’ve helped her however he could.

Now more determined to make sure Tansey gets home safely back to her aunt and lives a better life, you begin instructing her on what she’s about to face.

Tansey listens aptly to every detail, but the further you go on, the more the fear behind her eyes grows. Guilt for what you’re about to make her face gnaws at you the entire time, seeing as you’re partly to blame for creating the system that could fatally injure her later in the day.

F1 calls out the last remaining minute.

“Tansey, please be careful down there, okay?” you say. You hold both her hands clasped with the shackles.

“Thank you. I wish everyone here was as nice as you,” she says in her usual faint tone. “If I make it, do you think I’ll be allowed to say goodbye to you at least before I go back home?”

“Ten minutes is up!”

With a sorrowful smile, you respond to her, “I don’t know. Good luck, Tansey.”

“Mentors, please follow me back to the testing room. The tributes will be escorted to the test arena during your final briefing,” F1 says as he gestures to the door where you came in.

You spare Tansey a final glance just as Coriolanus catches up to you and ushers you to the door by the shoulder. Once you're back in the testing room, you assume your mentor station which has a stapled file labelled ‘test cases’ sitting just under the keyboard. You also note Dr Gaul’s glaring absence from the room. Perhaps, she’s grown bored of waiting? It can’t be, the woman thrives on watching children suffer; she would not pass on this opportunity.

F2 clears her throat and begins the final briefing as the monitors fitted on the wall turn on, displaying the Hunger Games screensaver.

“The tributes should be escorted by now to the test arena and are awaiting the start of the Games, which will be signalled via a siren. As test mentors, you’re given the additional task of checking inconsistencies and errors not only with the gamemaker console and its software but also with the software installed on your stations. Your checklist of test cases should be on your stations, as well.”

You pore through the ten-page document with an inaudible sigh. F2 had been thorough with the test cases and made sure not to miss a single, important detail.

“Each tribute has been allocated sponsorship money to use for testing, which you can choose to send out at any time,” she continues. “Dr Gaul, who will be observing the entire test –” she waves lightly behind you where the Head Gamemaker is, inside the glass observation deck, grinning down at everyone with her arms crossed – “Will grant additional sponsorship money to any tribute whenever she pleases to test the sponsor console, which I will run. In the event of a test winner, a siren will go off, indicating the end of the Games. The Peacekeepers will unlock the basement and escort the mock tributes out for medical attention.”

F1 adds, “While they do so, we initiate the final steps of the game, and that is saving the footage and the data we gathered and uploading it on the database for the other gamemakers to analyse. Saving and uploading can take a bit of time, by the way, because of the massive amount of data the program will gather,” he pauses, adding lightheartedly, “In short, we’ll be here a while, ladies and gents.”

Turning to you, F2 asks, “Will you do the honours, Nellie?” she gestures at the main command console with a flair.

You saunter over to the console while you will your hands to stop shaking. On the keyboard, you initiate the Begin Game command, and the program wizard starts.

Here we go.

The program finishes detecting cameras and microphones installed in the arena, along with the programmed environmental elements. You simply enter Continue. It goes on detecting vitals trackers and flashes:

3 Out of 24 players detected.

Press Enter to Continue.

Press ⬅️to cancel.

Once you hit Enter, your screen begins another progress bar as the big screen on the wall flashes the list of tributes for the very first time. The smaller screens simultaneously begin to display the different camera angles across the test arena. In no less than a fraction of a second, the current tribute odds appear according to the motion-tracking algorithm:

Audrey at 46%, Callahan at 38%, and Tansey the lowest at 16%.

You peer at the gamemaker console, which shows the three tributes’ vitals on one screen and the odds on another, and on your station, where only Tansey’s appears. Elevated heart rate and a slightly higher-than-normal blood pressure brought about the increase in cortisol levels – Tansey is understandably nervous.

You watch as they’re escorted by three peacekeepers to an open clearing in the middle of the old equipment, where three small bags are placed containing what you think are weapons. Their hands are still bound together by chains, so they all stand awkwardly a few feet away from each other as if they’re unsure what to do.

It’s a painful wait for the system to give the go signal, as it’s timed to start at the next exact hour. Once the clock strikes ten, the siren sounds in the makeshift arena, and the trial Hunger Games begins.

Everyone in the room seems to hold their breath as they all stare at the big screen, watching as the shackles that bind their hands simply fall off and land on the tiled floor beneath them with a clang. It takes a few moments for it to sink in, but Audrey gets there first – she runs straight to the centre and grabs a bag before scampering off to hide among a row of control panels located at the farthest eastern part of the basement. Tansey and Callahan share a look and they wordlessly divvy up the remaining bags between themselves before striking up a conversation.

Or in this case, it’s Callahan talking Tansey’s ear off as they explore the grounds together.

“This is a great time to check camera software,” you say as you peer through the gamemaker console F2 is navigating. You check your list of test cases for the camera while F1 and F2 shift between several cameras on the big screen.

“My stats are increasing, the algorithm is picking up movement from Test Tribute 3,” F3 observes after a while and then points at one of the smaller screens. “Check camera nineteen.”

At his prompt, the view on camera nineteen is flashed on the big screen – it shows Audrey holding up a dagger and swishing it in the air. She may not look entirely adept at it, but her temperament alone makes her dangerous in the test arena.

F2 moves on to the rest, finally landing on the view of the last one where Callahan and Tansey are visible. Located opposite Audrey’s chosen hideout, Callahan is hunched over a decades-old computer set with a knife in hand, presumably intending to take it apart, while Tansey just looks on curiously as she sits on the floor where the contents of their bags are spread. They seem to be in the middle of a friendly exchange judging by the way their mouths are moving on occasion, but the microphones aren’t quite picking the conversation up. You take to the vacant gamemaker console and put on the headphones to hear the sound better. There seems to be a hint of audio, so you amp the volume just in time to catch what Callahan is saying.

“ – what he said to me when he first came up? He said,‘You look her in the eyes again, and I’ll gouge yours out with my bare hands.’”

Callahan sighs in resignation, adding under his breath, “Jerk.”

Is he talking about Coriolanus Snow?

Tansey scrunches her brows. “Really? He’s her boyfriend?” She asks. “But she’s nice. She gave me candy and everything.”

“Yeah, she’s nice; he ain’t. Dunno how she can stand him, honest.”

We’re not together, dammit.

A touch on your forearm nearly startles you. It’s F2, saying she found low volume on a few of the microphones as well. Overall, you and the others spend about two hours troubleshooting the audio settings and testing changes on the camera angles, finding no other minor problems.

The lunch hour rolls without event, which in this case is an immense relief for you and the test tributes. No bloodshed (yet?). You ask F1 if you could go first with testing the drone software as an excuse to send Tansey some food.

“Nah, they can wait,” he shrugs.

Apparently, catered food courtesy of The White Knight was brought in while you were busy with the tests. A tad too extravagant even for six people, the long table that was brought in was filled with pasta dishes, meatball platters and pastries, and they also supplied fresh juice and coffee for drinks. It’s almost laughable how they choose this exact moment to host this fare when you have three underfed teens locked in the basement and nothing but bread and water to feed them.

You make no move to get food, going back to your place behind the mentor console, but a cup of coffee and a croissant sandwich is placed on your peripheral. Coriolanus has taken it upon himself to ensure you partake. You whisper your thanks with a small smile and eat mechanically. Thankfully, the food seems to lighten everyone else’s mood, and F1 gives you permission to test the drones at five minutes past one.

On your console, you add a bottle of water and two slices of bread to a drone. Tansey’s odds are predicted to increase by about three per cent on the preview.

“Odds preview working just as intended,” you say as you cross it out of the checklist.

F3 peeks into your screen as he bites into a cream puff. “That’s it? Three per cent? If this was the actual Games, this kid would be done for.”

You could’ve defended her, but you decide against it – Tansey might have little chance of making it out of this alive if she’s ever reaped. You hit enter on the keyboard and let the system send the drone her package.

Everyone’s eyes are glued to the big screen as the drone flies over the rows of gigantic electronic waste, carrying a grey drawstring pouch, and hardly emitting any noise now with its recent enhancements. It reaches Tansey at a surprising speed and drops the pouch off gently on the ground about three feet shy of where she’s sitting before flying off back to its base. Tansey just looks at the bag with a flabbergasted expression and Callahan has to throw a couple of keyboard caps at her to nudge her into taking it.

“Before that other girl steals it,” he adds.

Tansey’s eyes turn to saucers at the mere mention of Audrey. She then sprints and snatches the bag so quickly before taking it with her back to her previous spot. This move of hers adds four per cent to her odds. Her face lights up at what she sees inside, takes a slice of bread out and holds it out to Callahan. The boy seems reluctant to accept the offer.

“Shouldn’t you be savin’ that for later?” He asks.

She shakes her head and replies, “There’s one more in the bag.”

Smiling warmly, Callahan scoots over to her side on the floor and accepts the piece of bread. He whispers his thanks and they eat together in companionable silence.

You and Coriolanus point out that the vital signs chip software is working perfectly.

The teens continue finishing the humble meal, then take little sips of the water from her bottle. Having nothing else to do, they gather their loot and decide to explore more of the basement together. They reach the area where the artificial rain drenched from the previous test, where large puddles of water still littered about. A couple of hours into their uneventful exploration, Audrey gets to her feet from her corner at the far end of the basement and begins a trek among the labyrinthine pathways littered with massive junk.

F3 hums as he stares intently into his screen, observing, “She’s on the move. I think she’s looking for food. According to her hormones, she’s hungry.”

Audrey eventually gets close to where Callhan and Tansey are, but she ducks behind a rusty file cabinet the moment she hears their voices.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice your mentor typing something on his station, on the big screen everyone sees a drone making its way to his tribute. The bag is dropped on top of a dusty table just within meters from the file cabinet where Audrey is hiding. Callahan falls behind Tansey and tells her he’ll catch up to her in a bit to retrieve the package. His hands are but a few inches from the pouch, but Audrey springs from behind the cabinet and tackles Callahan to the floor with her entire weight, pushing him out of the way and knocking the wind out of him.

F3, grimacing, lets out a tiny ‘oof.’ Coriolanus’s face is as impassive as ever, but you can sense the mirth behind his eyes watching the entire scene unfold.

Cursing under his breath, Callahan looks around, more confused than hurt, and it takes a few seconds for him to spot Audrey running on her heels with the bag in tow.

“Hey, what in the livin’ fuck?!” He shouts after her.

Tansey had heard the commotion and had rushed back to where her friend was. She helps him get to his feet as Callahan mutters what sounds like ‘crazy-ass bitch’ to himself. He calls out to the direction where Audrey ran off to, “Whatever happened to askin’ nicely?”

In the testing room, F3 breaks the silence with a lighthearted comment. “Sorry about that. I wouldn’t mind if your tribute steals this, so we’d be even.”

Coriolanus just smirks as he watches F3’s drone reach Audrey.

Of course, he’s��enjoying this.

“You knew Audrey was hungry, yet you chose that moment to send Callahan something,” you blurt out.

Coriolanus’s smirk doesn’t fade when he turns to you, leaning back coolly against his chair. “I was merely curious.”

But to a man like him, curiosity often blends with cruelty. Still, you purse your lips and let the matter go. There is so much work to be done, and if you do it right, this could potentially be the last interaction you’d ever have with him.

At F1’s prompt, since everyone has finished sending food to the test tributes, you take turns trying out and crossing out cases on your list related to the drones, sending bottles of water to check for any abnormal drone behaviour. When every test yields satisfactory, you conclude the drone software to be fully functional.

Which is a bummer because that means you’re now moving on to testing the game environment controls.

F1 rubs his palms and whispers, “Here we go.” He types a command you’ve never seen used before, so you peek into his screen behind his back.

He just activated the Muttations Release function.

From the basement’s tall ceiling, a chasm opens wide from which a glass case descends. It’s difficult to make out what’s inside the tank given the limited lighting in the basement, but whatever species is inside is brown, palm-sized, and writhing .

“What in the world are those?” F2 whispers, her eyes bulging at the display.

“That, my lovely little miracle workers, are my Genetic team’s brand-new itty-bitty side project.”

Everyone in the room turns their heads to the glass observation deck, where Dr Gaul just spoke through the intercom. She waves her gloved fingers at all of you, baring her teeth in a diabolical smile.

“Fire-ant muttations, modified to be two-hundred times their original size and weight – voracious, aggressive little buggers. The catch? A single bite not only causes severe burning sensations courtesy of the solenopsin venom, but also induces convulsions, delirium, and, the best out of all of them? Either intense displays of aggression or a deep state of comatose, brought about by a slow-acting compound genetically added to their venom glands.

“In short, not your typical ant bite,” she says, followed by a deep, throaty chuckle that makes your hair stand on end. “Feast your eyes.”

You’re on your feet at once, madly searching the screen for Tansey, whom you find twice as terrified as you are and clinging onto Callahan’s sleeve. Callahan, however, takes a single look at the tank with eyes bulged, grabs Tansey’s arm and makes a run for it.

Just seconds before the glass cage splits at the bottom and releases the creatures.

Your eyes are trained on the pair as droves and droves of the crawling freaks of nature chase after them. Callahan and Tansey are both thankfully light on their feet, jumping over obstacles without much issue, except this advantage doesn’t last. Mere inches away from being overtaken by the ant mutts, Callahan all but hauls his companion to the top of the nearest control panel before climbing to safety, while an ant that manages to crawl on top of another ant for leverage narrowly misses his ankles with its pincers.

Audrey had also managed to make it on top of a short cabinet physically intact not far away from where the tank had dropped from the ceiling.

“Goddammit, goddammit,” you can hear Callahan mutter under his breath. He’s rummaging through their bags frantically for something he can use to fend the accursed insects off, as they have begun to climb the control panel they’re perched onto. He finally fishes out a machete with a loud ‘ha!’ before throwing it to Tansey, and launches himself to the row of shelves on the left.

Is he leaving her?

Tansey seems to have the same question in mind.

“Wait, Callahan - !” – she impales an ant with the machete – “Come back!” she screams after her friend, but it’s too late – the boy is already several rows of cabinets and shelves away, rummaging through the junk he can reach in search of something. Eventually, he hops back on the floor, disappearing from her view entirely.

“Callahan, don’t leave me, please!” Tansey’s panicked scream echoes in your ears.

“Their vitals are going haywire...” F1 says as he checks his console.

More ants begin reaching the top of the control panel which Tansey defends with all her might, and she stomps on and slices as many of them as she can. Audrey, too, seems to manage well on her own with the knife she was rehearsing earlier despite her perch being closer to the floor.

Tansey’s control panel, however, starts getting flanked on three sides by the climbing ant mutts, and you know it would only be a matter of seconds before she herself, gets overtaken –

“TANSEY, GET OUT OF THE FUCKIN’ WAY!”

Tansey heeds the scream of warning just in time for most of her to avoid getting licked by huge bursts of flame that attack the ant mutts and keep them at bay.

It’s Callahan, who looks like he managed to successfully build the flamethrower out of parts he scavenged from the electronic trash he was rummaging through just a short while ago.

Relief, however short-lived, washes over you as you note Tansey’s appearance – she takes in the scene before her with a mixture of fascination and relief, her curls partly singed from the flames earlier, but otherwise, safe and unbitten.

“There’s too many of ‘em – fuck!” Callahan’s frustration becomes more evident in his yell as waves of ant mutts keep coming at them from all sides. Tansey still holds her ground from behind him with her machete, hacking at every moving, crawling thing coming at her.

The boy shifts his position as he observes the horizon. His eyes land on something to his south before a look of realisation hits him.

“Hey, Tansey, remember that area with them puddles? We gotta get there, I got a plan,” he tells her over his back. “Follow me, and whatever you do, don’t fuckin’ fall, got it?”

Tansey shouts in the affirmative. Callahan begins hurdling on top of the sea of shelves, computers and cabinets, with her tailing from behind. The ant mutts pursue them relentlessly, which puzzles you. Fire ants, after all, only attack a target which they've marked with their pheromones.

“How did they manage to get fire-ant pheromones on them?” you wonder out loud.

“My, my, aren’t you just astute, Ms Innis,” Dr Gaul’s drawling, delighted voice comes through the intercom. “Their shackles were smeared generously with them – a rather brilliant idea you can thank your mentor for.”

You flick your gaze sharply at Coriolanus, who simply beams at you. You open your mouth to react, but a scream from Tansey makes you whip your head to the big screen.

An ant mutt had managed to crawl on her back, but a hand swats it away.

It’s Audrey, falling into step beside her. Tansey mouths her thanks, which the other doesn’t acknowledge. Together, they spring towards the massive computer that Callahan had just landed on, with Audrey landing square at the centre. Tansey, however, barely makes it, her torso draped over the edge as she attempts desperately to pull herself up to higher ground with one hand while clutching the flamethrower with the other. Below her are several ant mutts, emitting clicking noises, as if calling for the rest of their colony.

To everyone’s surprise, Audrey rises to her rescue yet again: she takes the flamethrower and pulls her up to safety, only this time, Tansey doesn’t bother with niceties and just smiles at her. Audrey just blinks once, indicating she understands.

The tributes finally make it to their target area, so Callahan looks around, and as he does, his eyes land on their new companion.

“How nice of you to join us,” he says with a sarcastically formal flair. “Make yourself useful and fend ‘em off. Tansey!”

“They’re coming!”

“I know that – listen to me – I’mma need you to draw these little shits to the largest, deepest puddle,” he urgently instructs her. Turning to Audrey, he says, “Protect each other, and the both of you: when I tell you to get off the floor, get off the damn floor, understand?”

The girls nod in accord and at their leader’s prompt, they steel themselves and hop down the floor, where the mutts are but a few rows away. Callahan takes this time to hastily head to his left.

Where the main electrical source is.

F1 whoops in approval in the testing room. “And once again, the nerd saves the day.”

Everyone in the room is collectively holding their breath and ignoring their systems, now aware of Callahan’s grand plan.

He turns off the main power source, which automatically activates the secondary source. With brute force, he yanks the massive wires and drags them with him over the mountains of metallic trash. It’s obviously not an easy feat, having to lug wires heavier than his entire body weight.

From several rows away, Tansey and Audrey kill as many of the bugs as they can, the former with the flamethrower and the latter with her dagger, while they keep them in the puddle as Callahan instructed.

Callahan arrives heaving the wires and taking them apart. Then, he drops the wires to the floor where the copper ends touch the puddle, before taking off and back to the switch.

“You two: get off the floor NOW!” he hollers.

The two scramble through the hoard of mutts upon hearing Callahan’s cue. They make sure to trample some of the mutts along the way for good measure before ferrying themselves on top of the control panel, just as Callahan flips the switch to main.

For a fraction of a second, all the screens in the testing room turn black. Tiny high-pitched clicking noises are heard, which you assume are the mutts’ final cry before being fried to their death, along with sparks flying and electricity crackling, and the surges of electricity continue until you hear the switch being turned off.

The lights, however, don’t turn back on and are replaced by the tiny, flickering yellow emergency lights mounted on the basement walls. Callahan must’ve inadvertently fried the secondary electrical source as well.

“Switch to night vision view, please,” you say, to which F2 complies.

Panicking internally, your eyes scan for Tansey’s whereabouts, and you release the breath you’d been holding once you see her, crouched down and on top of the control panel, slowly rising to her feet as she looks around at the mess of an aftermath. Audrey follows suit, whipping her head around for any imminent danger.

“Is everyone alright? I didn’t zap ya’ll, did I?” shouts Callahan from right before the electrical switches. He sprints among the debris right to where they are.

“No, we’re okay,” Tansey responds. “You?”

Callahan just lets out a heavy sigh, followed by an eruption of relieved laughter from him. “Aside from wantin’ to puke at this stinkin’ pile of shit we just fried, I think I’m good.”

“Uh, guys? I think camera fifteen is conked out,” F3 notices.

F1 attempts a reboot of the camera, but the feed doesn’t return. He concludes eventually after multiple attempts, “The surge must’ve fried the chip.”

F2 logs this down on her checklist.

“Whoa, that was some great footage,” F1 whistles. “The other gamemakers are going to have a blast reviewing these files.”

The rest of the team nods in agreement.

They made it. Despite the glaring odds stacked against them, the three teens made it. Barely.

“You said nobody was going to die. That was a close call, Coriolanus.”

You had not meant to say that out loud but you do. You face him with your brows stitched together, ignoring the way he narrows his eyes at the name you used on him. You had not called him that in a long time.

“Nellie, we could not have gathered that much valuable data if we skipped that part of the test,” he replies gently. His console, however, lights up and emits the notification sound. “Sponsorship worked seamlessly, F2,” he calls out to her.

“Yep!” F2 nods enthusiastically. “Lucky Callahan.”

Pursing your lips, you head back to your station while your mentor sends more food to his tribute, perhaps as a reward for keeping everyone alive and, in consequence, extending the tests further. Instead, you quietly stew in your irritation and try to find comfort in the way the three of them finally descend to the floor and share the slices of bread among themselves. As an added treat, Tansey brings out the two remaining candies that you gave her that morning. She tries to give it to the two of them selflessly, but Callahan isn’t having it. In the end, they agree to share one between themselves and save the last for later.

Your joy at seeing them partake in a heartwarming moment is dampened by the fact that in your world, you can never imagine sharing a single piece of candy with two other people.

A few more uneventful hours pass as you and the rest of your team assess electrical damage that might’ve been dealt with by the electrical surge. You discover along the way that several cameras have a few microsecond delays in transmitting the footage, but nothing the team can’t repair or replace.

The three have already taken to foraging weaponry amidst the debris. Just in case, Callahan had said. Audrey had gone off by herself to do the same and had found electrical parts that Callahan had instructed her to find.

And then she just crumples on the floor into a screaming heap.

It’s visceral, haunting, and she sounds like she’s in extreme agony. Callahan rushes instantly to her side, but it’s Tansey who pries the source of the apparent pain: a lone ant mutt that had been left alive had latched its pincers on her left ankle.

“We got no meds for this,” Callahan says as he and Tansey carry her back to their makeshift camp where they earlier had shared the food. All they could do is wrap her in a blanket they pulled out from one of their bags. The pitiful cries continue for a while. Tansey just sobs helplessly in the background as she takes Audrey’s head and places it on her lap, stroking her blond hair in a vain attempt to soothe her.

And you don’t know what’s harder to watch: Audrey’s screaming or her convulsing on the floor.

“Hey, hey!” Callahan spots a camera nearby and waves at it. “You gotta stop the Games, or whatever, she can’t go on like this…”

His appeals, of course, are ignored by Coriolanus and F3.

Not like you could do anything either: there isn’t any anti-venom for that specific mutt programmed in the source code.

And then the convulsions stop, followed by a deathly silence, indicating the venom had finally put her into a coma she may never wake from.

“He’s right; we have to stop this.” You walk over to your mentor's station. “Coryo, please. We can save whatever data we have and continue next week when she’s better.”

Coriolanus just regards you with a strange look, like he’s contemplating what you just said. Wordlessly he rises from his seat and walks over to F1, probably to inspect the data the console has on Audrey before glancing at the big screen.

“I think you’re right, Nellie. Time is of the essence.” Your mentor says finally. He turns to face you with the stoniest smile you’ve ever seen in him yet. “Let’s test the remaining environment controls, but we need to hurry. We have a few more of them left to run.”

You could feel the blood drain from your face to your feet. He’s willing to let Audrey die just to see the test to completion. And because his word is the only authority next to Dr Gaul’s in this playing field, F1 simply shrugs and presses a command you can’t see on the gamemaker station.

“Wait - !”

The next thing you know is that thrumming pain in your ears, followed by that unbearable ringing that makes you close your eyes. A cloud of dust is all that greets you when you open them next.

You know this day; you’ve revisited it countless times in your life. Always vivid and exactly as you remember it to be, but that fact doesn’t make it any less painful.

When the dust finally clears, that’s when you see her.

“Mommy…no…”

You always sob like a baby at this part. You can’t even bear the thought of seeing her mangled body bathing in her own blood, but here you are, walking over to that heap of a woman who’s barely minutes away from dying. Just like you always do, you cradle her in your arms, letting yourself soak in her blood as you watch the life drain from her eyes.

Daddy's hand. You're supposed to find Daddy's severed hand now.

Cold hands cup your tear-stained cheeks, and a pair of lips touch the top of your head – something that has never happened to you before in any of these visions.

You lift your eyes, and instead of seeing a cloud of dust that you know should be clearing by now, it’s the all-too-familiar pair of the emptiest, most soulless blue eyes you’ve ever seen in your life, tearing you away from a nightmarish memory and shoving you into an even more nightmarish reality.

Enter Level 10

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!!

Sorry for the delay and forgive any typos. I shall edit when I wake up. Level 10 out tomorrow (crossing my fingers), I just had to cut what was supposedly Level 9 and divide it into two because it was getting too lengthy and the pacing might not make sense so... :P

Also, any guesses what 'important thing' that was that Snowball wanted to talk to her about?? Hmmm...

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #x OC2ndPOV #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

91 notes · View notes