Perfect Strangers - Charles Leclerc

Summary: Charles knows that he should never live with regrets. Especially when the thing he might regret is letting go of the love of his life because he thought he was just too young to have met the love of his life. They were each other’s first everything. At one point they were each other’s everything. Now they’re strangers.

Though upon seeing her. Charles intends to change that.

2014

In the darkness and grief of Jules death, y/n was Charles’ guiding light. Keeping his head out the water and making sure he remembered what he was doing and why he was doing it.

“You…are…magnifique.” Charles states kissing down her body while she relishes in his touch. A giggle passing her lips as the soft stubble brushes her skin. “I could waste days in bed with you, mon amour.”

Keep reading

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

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

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

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

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

Gotham.

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

5K notes View Post

teastoriesandforgottentime

1 year ago

Summoning the High King

“Are you sure it’s the only way, Zatanna?” A worried John asks from his seat at the round table inside the meeting room of the Justice League’s satellite watchtower.

The wall-like window that faces the open space in front of them allowing them to see numerous space ships ready to invade Earth right outside. Usually, JLD does not meddle with space but this time the weekly random evil alien dictator decided to also use fucking ancient magic from who-knows-fucking-where to strengthen their troops! So, now Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Zatanna and John have to find a way to fight back, and Zatanna did find a way to fightback, well, little Timmy Hunter did, but hot hell he wished the kid didn’t.

“According to Timothy, it’s the only way.” Zatanna answers.

“Ugh, great, just what I needed.” John complains as he ruffles his hair in frustration. “Another eldritch abomination to own a favor to.”

“How fast can you summon this High King of the Infinite Realms?” Batman questions.

“Timothy is looking for the summoning’s ingredients, as soon as he arrives, we will begin the summoning.” Zatanna responds.

“Where in bloody-dammed-hell did the kid found the book to summon the gods-forsaken-King of the Infinite Realms?!” John exclaims as he lights another cigarette between his lips.

“Apparently the Queene herself gave it to him.” Zatanna informs. “It seems that the book our weekly villain used to magically strengthen his army is one of a set of three.”

“Where is the third one?” Superman asks.

Zatanna shakes her head in negation as she answers. “According to what Timothy told me, these books were separated thousand of years ago to keep them away from the wrong hands. The first tome was thrown to the void of space inside a prison of perpetual ice, or at least what they thought was perpetual ice, the second one was given to the fae, for they were of the few that comprehended the dangers of using these books, and the third one was given to the Ancients.”

“The Ancients?” Batman questions. Where have I heard that before?

“Embodiments of the very same concepts that give form to all of reality, like Destiny, Death, Time, Hope, the rulers and guardians of these very same concepts.” John is the one who answers this time. He is looking at the ceiling as he gives a drag to his cig, then he slowly exhales the smoke and continues. “The OG primordials, older than any god or known divinity in this modern times.”

“I have heard stories.” Wonder Woman interjects. “It is said that even Uranus, and later Chronos, had to pay his respects to a being known as the Master of all Time, and that Pandora was not what the old tales say.”

“Correct.” John nods from his seat, too tired to give any more shits until the start of the summoning.

“And we are going to summon something that even those Ancients think it’s dangerous?” Superman asks.

“Bullocks, right?” John responds with a manic, sarcastic smile.

It is in that moment that the mechanic sliding door opens up, allowing Flash to walk into the room.

“So, uhm, there’s this Harry Potter look alike that just popped up into existence in the lobby looking for Zatanna?” Flash informs as he points behind himself with his thumbs.

“That’s our boy.” John says as he stands up and starts walking towards the only physical door in the room, the other occupants of the room following him.

When they arrive to the lobby there is a young man with messy pitch-black hair and equally black eyes, he is wearing a black turtle neck, a burgundy sweater over that, black jeans and black sneakers, on his left shoulder is hooked al old military green backpack.

“Timothy.” Zatanna calls before giving him a hug.

“Zatanna, so good to see you.” He says as he returns the hug. “Constantine.” The young man directs to the only blonde in the room.

“Timmy.” John nods in acknowledgement.

“Welcome to the Watchtower, Timothy Hunter.” Wonder Woman greets.

“Thank you for helping us.” Superman adds.

“Well, when it comes to weird, ancient magic, I’m your guy.” Timothy says as he shakes hands with each of the big three.

“So, Timmy, what’s in the bag?” Jonh asks as he eyes Timothy’s backpack, knowing very well that whatever is inside will be for the summoning.

“Actually, I’ll just show you guys because you’re not going to believe it.” Timothy says as he proceeds to open his backpack and proceeds to take out the summoning ingredients and make them float in front of everyone.

A red apple, the crunchy kind, a turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich, a black coffee, hot, and a granola bar with choco-chips.

“Why are you showing us your breakfast?” John asks with bewilderment.

“That’s the thing!” Timothy exclaims back as he also pulls out from his backpack an ominous looking, glowing, Lazarus green book. “This is what the book says it’s necessary to summon the High King of the Infinite Realms!” He adds as he opens the book in the page with the instructions for the summoning. “Take a look yourself!”

And Constantine does. John snatches away the book from the younger’s grasp and starts to read the list of ingredients.

1 Red Apple, the crunchy kind.

A sandwich, any sandwich, but if you can get turkey and Swiss cheese, that would be the best.

A granola bar with choco-chips, no coconut.

1 large black coffee, piping hot, four shots of espresso and ten of sugar.

“Bloody fuck?!”

“I know, right?! And when I asked mother what was that about, she only giggled her little giggle and said: The king surely is an amusing one.” Timothy says with fake, high-pitched voice.

“You know? The fact that the Queen of Tír na nÓg herself thinks that the being we are about to summon is amusing just makes it sound even more ominous to me.” Zatanna says as she takes the book from Constantine’s hands and reads the list of ingredients as well.

Superman, Wonder Woman and Flash are looking at the three sorcerers with curiosity while Batman is looking at the ingredients for the summoning with interest.

“Whatever! Let’s wrap this mess up so I can fuck off away!” John huffs as he starts to walk away towards the conference room where they were going to perform the summoning.

The conference room is empty and the chairs and table were moved away to give enough space to perform the summoning and to not get hit by stray, flying furniture. The glass-wall still showing the magically mutated alien troops waiting out in open space for orders to invade the Earth.

John, Zatanna and Timothy are drawing the summoning circle on the floor with some chalk when Flash, who tagged along to see cool witchcraft, asks:

“One question, why do we need this specific dude to fight back?”

“The spell used to magically mutate these aliens is very specific.” Zatanna starts to explain. “To begin with, its base is ecto-energetic, ergo, what we need to deal with our current problem is obviously to summon the one who rules over all ecto-based things and beings.”

“Ecto…?” Flash mumbles in confusion.

“The thing ghosts are made of.” Batman helpfully adds, which gains him the attention of all the occupants in the room.

“Since when do you know about ghost stuff?” Superman asks.

“There is one in Gotham.” Batman adds.

“There is a ghost in Gotham?!” Superman exclaims.

“And when were you going to tell us?” Wonder Woman inquires.

“I have it under control.” Batman continues. “He is not a hostile.”

“Why is there an active ghost in Gotham?” Timothy questions.

“He is investigating the curse over the city.” Batman answers.

“Ha-ha! Poor bastard.” John laughs at the thought of the poor ghost dealing with that curse. The curse over Gotham is thicker and dirtier than a hundred-thousand layers of slimy grime. Constantine can feel Batsy’s glare on his nape but he doesn’t give a shit about it.

“There we go, summoning circle finished.” Zatanna states as the three sorcerers proceed to take place to start the ritual. Wonder Woman, Flash, Batman and Superman walking away while Timothy places the summoning ingredients by the middle of the circle.

The three sorcerers place themselves evenly by the external circle of the summoning drawing, extending their arms towards each other. First, a Lazarus green electric current flows between them and along the lines of the summoning circle. All of the watchtower’s lights flicker ominously.

“I’m starting to think that doing a mystical, magical summoning inside a satellite in open space is a very bad idea.” Flash says as the white lights of the watchtower turn a disgusting grimy green color, the temperature dropping, and dropping, and dropping so quick that in mere seconds everyone in the room is making small hot breath clouds.

“They have not uttered a single word and the atmosphere is already like this.” Wonder Woman musters in incredulity as she watches the sorcerers’ work.

The ingredients for the summoning once again levitate, a Lazarus green sheen covering them ominously.

“Relur etinifin ho eeht llac ew.” Timothy chants. “Aelp ruo raeh.”

The lights flicker some more and then completely burst, the only light in the room becoming the sickening Lazarus green emanating from the summoning circle. The electric current has turned into a slimy thingy while Constantine, Zatanna and Timothy have started to float, each of their bodies in perfect T position as their eyes and mouths are wide open and emanating the very same Lazarus green fulgor as the summoning circle. Then, the same sickening toxic green slime stars to pour out of the sorcerers’ mouths and eyes, falling onto the summoning circle where along with the slime bleeding out form circle it starts to crawl towards the center of it, where the breakfast menu is placed.

“Ugh, I think I’m gonna puke.” Flash mutters as he feels his stomach twist in disgust at the sight of the three sorcerers basically barfing Lazarus water.

Zatanna, Timothy and Constantine seem to have finished vomiting slime when a vicious wind starts to blow inside the room and around the summoning circle, making the Lazarus looking slime twist inside the circle as it consumes the breakfast menu and dissolves it within itself before turning into a shiny green ball. The antinatural tornado then turns thinner as it centers in the middle of the summoning circle, shaping the Lazarus green slime into a ball as big as a basketball, then the wind dies down and the ball starts to pulsate, the vibration kinda like a low bass reverberating withing the very soul of every individual inside the room, as if the air itself was shaking in fear of what is to come.

The Lazarus green slime ball beats twice and it starts to elongate.

It beats twice more and five protuberances start to form from the torso like shape.

As the ball keeps beating like a strange and disgusting heart, the protuberances begin to take shape; two arms, two legs, a head…

All of a sudden, the toxic Lazarus green light dies down. Zatanna, Timothy and Constantine falling onto the floor and then the damn summoning circle floods everything in a blinding white light.

When the light dies down the conference room’s temperature is below 0° and where the summoning circle used to be is now standing a white cloaked figure, the cloak is white yet it glows Lazarus green and it’s formed by what seemed to be hundreds of thousands of ethereal petal shaped fabric that perpetually flows downside, the hood of the cloak hides its face from view. A top of the High King’s head floats a twisted, wicked looking crown, ice black in color and toxic Lazarus green in glow.

As the High King only stands, immobile and uncaring, Constatine, Zatanna and Timothy begin to regain consciousness but the instant they see the High King their eyes open so wide in both fright and surprise that the three of them teleported right to where Flask, Batman, Wonder Woman and Superman where standing.

“The bloody breakfast menu worked?!” Constantine exclaims in disbelieve.

It is then that the High King moves, it’s head turning to where the seven heroes are standing, allowing them to see two bright, toxic green orbs floating in a void darker than space itself.

“Who calls upon myself?”

Says – growls – a guttural, dark voice, as if a death metal lead singer was reading poetry. The room vibrating like a leave with a breeze at the deep tone.

It is Timothy Hunter who once again takes the lead. “Infinite Ruler.” The young man greets as he properly bows towards the High King. “It has been us, punny mortal souls, that have dared summon your presence.”

“Mortal souls?” The High King scoffs in disbelieve. “You dare take me for a fool, Child of Titania?”

The room shakes at the booming, dark growl that leaves the High Kings void of a face.

“We don’t have time for this.” Batman mumbles and then steps forward, shielding Timothy from the view of the High King. “Your majesty, with all due respect but the fact that we summoned you will not change, so you still have to grand us our request.”

Silence reigns within the room for exactly three very tense seconds when…

“Mr. B? What are you doing with a bunch of sorcerers?” Questions the High King, his voice completely changing form dark and guttural to a smooth baritone with a slight Midwest accent that Batman quickly recognizes.

“Phantom.” Batman says and, oh, someone is in trouble, for the bat has used his slightly annoyed tone that means that he recognizes who he is but he didn’t know he was going to be here.

“W-Wait! I can explain, sir!” The High King, Phantom, stutters as he pulls down the hood from his head and takes away the cloak, twisting it away along with the black crown into a void of inexistence.

Everyone is slightly surprised at the High King’s actual appearance. Before them floats a young man, about twenty years old, as tall as Kon-El, lithe like a swimmer, with weird flowy white hair that reminded of a dense mist and bright, oh so bright, toxic Lazarus green eyes that perfectly match his pale, pale, pale skin. He is wearing something akin to a personalized hazmat suit, mainly black, the top has some white lines that went from around the white turtle neck flowing down towards his forearms where the white lines turned into white gloves, covering his feet are a pair of white boots that do not touch the ground. All of him is radiating a soft Lazarus green hue.

“Later, Phantom, there are more pressing matters to attend right now.” Batman says as he rises the palm of his hand to stop Phantom from rambling anymore.

“Oh, yeah, the reason you guys summoned me.” The entity says as he stops midair to later follow Batman to the window/wall of the room to show him the thousand alien troops about to invade Earth. “Ancients, that does look like a very serious problem.” Phantom comments. “I can feel ecto from them, why?”

“Their leader found a forbidden magical book that he used to enhance his army’s strength with ecto-based magic.” Batman explains.

“Rude.” Phantom mumbles. “Yeah, alright, I can deal with it, but I want the book used for that in exchange.” The entity says to Batman.

“Fair enough.” Batman agrees and then they shake hands.

While all of the above is happening, the other six individuals in the room are watching with open mouths and eyes the exchange between the bat and the ghost.

“Alright.” Phantom nods and then turns towards the other six heroes in the room. “Hey, shattered soul blondie, you and I will have a chat when this is done, alright. And no, it’s not a question nor optional.” He says while pointing at Constantine.

John shakily nods his head, eyes wide open.

“You should warn your allies I’m gonna be the one outside.” Phantom says with light tone. “I don’t want the JL and associates to think of me as a hostile.”

“Flash.” Wonder Woman says to the speeder, who in return only nods his head once and then exits the room, his super-speed not even allowing a blur to form.

A loud, red alarm then screams inside the watchtower, the voice of Flash warning all individuals in the watchtower that the High King of the Infinite Realms is an ally and that he is about to perform an attack against the enemy’s forces.

“You may proceed.” Batman says to the ghost.

“Sir, yes sir.” The white-haired entity mock salutes and then pops out of view.

Right after High King Phantom popped out of view inside the building a bright halo of light opened a portal right in front of the waiting alien troops out in open space. The eerie Lazarus green glow that surrounds Phantom making him look like an ominous star against the pitch-black void that is space, he is full royal attire again, the white, flowing white cape the reminds of petals covering him from head to toe and beyond, and the wicked black crown floating on top of his head, his eyes once again looking like toxic Lazarus green fires burning in the void that is now his face.

He rises one of his white gloved hands, opens up his palm and…

BEGONE

He says in something ancient yet strangely familiar, a language that reverberates inside every single of the individuals that heard it. A primal fear settling in the gut of every being inside the watchtower, making goosebumps bloom on their skins, even Superman and Wonder Woman feel the cold of fear and death flood their souls at the command of the High King of the Infinite Realms.

A void of toxic Lazarus green then pulls in the enemies’ troops, like a vacuum, making them disappear inside of the open palm of the young-looking eldritch king. In less than five seconds the whole army was gone, even the mother ship is gone, the only remaining thing is a neon purple glowing, ominous looking book that Phantom takes and puts inside his chest. Not inside a pocket on his chest, not inside his ethereal fancy cloak, no, he puts the ominous book right inside his chest.

“Did you know he could do that?” Superman asks Batman as he rubs on top of his own chest.

“The vacuum thing? No. That he puts things inside his body? Yes.” Batman answers while outside the watchtower Phantom pops out of view…

Only to re-appear inside the room not even a blink later. “There, all done!” The ghost says with a satisfied smile on his pale lips. The cloak and crown once again out of view. “Anything else you need from me, Mr. B?”

“A whole report on all of your powers and abilities on my desk by tomorrow morning.” Batman immediately responds.

“But that will take me the whole night!” Phantom complains.

“Then I suggest you to begin right away.” Batman says.

“We thank you, King Phantom.” Wonder Woman says as she appears by Batman’s left side.

“Are you sure you only want the book?” Superman adds as he appears by Batman’s right side.

“Yes, the book will be enough sir, oh, and don’t worry, I solemnly swear I won’t use it for evil.” Phantom answers as he crosses a finger over where a human heart is supposed to be.

“How can we trust you?” Zatanna inquires, arms crossed over her chest.

“I advocate for him.” Batman says.

Everyone in the room turns to look at Batman like he has suddenly grown another head.

“Alright, that’s it!” John exclaims. “What is your relationship?! How the fuck do you two know each other?! And don’t you dare tell me the he is just investigating Gotham’s curse thing!”

“But I do am investigating Gotham’s curse.” Phantom mumbles.

“You will have to excuse me, King Phantom, but The Batman advocating for you speaks of something deeper in your relationship.” Timothy says as he joins the conversation.

“Oh, well…” Phantom does not finish his sentence, instead his worriedly side glances to Batman, clearly asking for either permission or further instructions on what to do. Batman notices Phantom looking at him and then just nods, finally giving permission for the young man-ghost to speak his truth, Phantom visibly relaxes. “Thank ancients.” He sighs. “Ahem, besides investigating the curse over the city I also aid Red Hood with stuff related to his haunt.”

“Haunt?” Wonder Woman questions.

“Like his territory? You mean Park Row?” Superman adds.

“I’m pretty sure it’s called Crime Alley but yeah, exactly!” Phantom finger-guns them with a big smile on his face. “Also, since Gotham is one the cities with most murders and assassinations in the U.S.A. there are a lot of lost ghosts that need some guidance to cross to the other side, that’s when I come in. I mean, as King of ghost I have to take care of them.”

“And you do this in the whole world?” Superman asks, feeling a sense of kindredness with the being.

“Yeah… I mean, not always; Lady Death and her reapers do most of the heavy lifting but sometimes I move around.” Phantom says while shrugging his shoulders.

“It doesn’t change the fact that you are doing something very noble, King Phantom.” Wonder Woman says.

“T-Thank you, ma’am.” The ghost blushes bright green. “Oh, that reminds me, you!” Phantom then points accusingly towards Constantine. “Are you John Constantine?”

“Why do you care?” John defiantly, a brand-new cig between his lips. He is too nervous to not have a cig between his lips, dammit!

“Dude! I’ve looking for you for years!” The ghost exclaims. “Excuse me, Mr. B, is there an empty office or something where I can speak to him in private?”

“Sorry, your majesty, but if you want to speak to John it will have to be here.” Zatanna quickly interjects, her tone making clear that it was not negotiable.

“What she said.” Constantine obviously followed Zatanna’s lead. Like hell he was gonna be alone in a room with what is basically The God of all Eldritchs and Supernaturals.

Phantom looks at Zatanna with his big, toxic Lazarus green eyes, then he looks at John, finally he shrugs his shoulders again, like saying Alright pal, if you want an actual adult with you in the room, I get it. “In that case…” Phantom starts and then he opens a miny portal in mid-air, he just did a motion up with his pointing finger, a slight finger gun and bah-bam! He opens an interdimensional portal as easily as blinking. From said mini portal Phantom pulls out a small ball, as big as the fist of a child, it is bright and glowing in rainbow. It’s beautiful.

“I-Is that…” Timothy babbles at the sight of what the other in the room assumed was a sort of energy ball.

“You have sharp eyes.” Phantom says to Timothy.

“What is that?” Zatanna asks in wonder.

“A soul.” Phantom answers with tenderness. Everyone in the room gasps in surprise… except Constantine. “Well, more like seventy percent of a soul… John Constantine’s soul.”

Everyone in the room turns to the blonde, their gazes demanding answers. “H-How…?” Constantine manages to mumble as he takes a step back, his cigarette falling from his lips.

“When I started my king training thingy, the first thing I did was to clear de desk from all the paperwork the previous king ignored. One third of said paperwork was about a sorcerer that was selling pieces of his soul left and right like it was effing candy! I was not gonna deal with that so I asked how I could clear it out and the answer was actually quite simple: To neutralize the contracts all I had to do was to get back the pieces of the soul and give it back to its still living mortal recipient. So, I asked for the soul pieces as welcome to being a King gifts and ta-dah!” Phantom explains and does jazz hands at the soul floating in the middle of the group. “So, here, take what is yours, oh, and next time you don’t want to end up with cancer what about, uhm, I don’t know, STOP SMOKING MAN!” The green-eyed entity exclaims as he pushes the ball inside of Constantine’s body. “Oh, and since you still need your powers I offer myself as your new patron.”

The small ball of light goes right into John without any type of resistance yet John walks back like trying to avoid it but the ball still got into him. Constantine palms at his chest and stomach area, his clear blue eyes so wide they look about to pop out from his face, his breathing heavy, elaborated. He might be having a slight panic attack.

“Why?” John manages say, his tone small, full of doubt and fear.

“Firstly, to make a third of my paperwork disappear.” Phantom answers. “Like for real, it literally vanished. And second, because a soul is something precious, you shouldn’t be using it like pocket money, dude.” The ghost chastises. “I mean, to me it feels like the right thing to do.”

John looks at Phantom like he is the most bizarre thing he has ever encountered in his life; the blonde cannot just comprehend… why? Why? wHy? Just because it was easier that way? Because it was the right thing to do? WhAt?! Constantine is flaggerblasted, he cannot compute, he… he needs to get out of there.

The blonde sorcerer stumbles back, as far away from Phamton as possible and while still looking at the ghost with wide, confused eyes he snaps his fingers, teleporting away once again, running away into the safe shadows.

“Did I do something wrong?” Phantom asks Zatanna.

“No, he is just… he just doesn’t understand why someone would help him without expecting anything in return.” Zatanna explains as she looks mournfully in the direction where Constantine vanished.

“Oh… right, the equivalent exchange thing sorcerers do.” Phamton realizes.

“Yes, that too.” Zatanna sighs, then she squares her shoulders as she takes a deep breath. “Thank you, your majesty, for what you did for John. I’ll try to keep him in the right track.”

“You do you, lady.” Phamton responds. “Once he calms tell him to contact me, I meant the part about being his new patron.”

“Understood. If that is everything, I’ll take my leave.” Zatanna says as she looks at Batman, Wonder Woman and Superman. “My report will also be tomorrow morning on your desk, Batman.” She jokes. “Let’s go Timmy.”

“It was a pleasure your majesty, everyone.” The young sorcerer says as good bye before he and Zatanna vanish away in the shadows just like Constantine had done a moment ago.

“Can I leave too? Apparently, I have a report to redact for tomorrow.” Phantom deadpans in Batman’s direction.

Wonder Woman and Superman laugh at that. “We are no one to retain you, King Phantom. You have already fulfilled our request and also gotten your payment, there is no reason for you to remain with us.” Wonder Woman says.

“Cool. Oh, and don’t worry guys, if you ever have any other ghostly problem just ask Mr. B for my number.” Phantom reveals even more delicate information about him and Batman. “Buh-bye~.”

And just like that the endearing Eldritch God like entity vanishes within himself.

“Now, for real, what’s your relationship with the very obviously middle-west young man?” Clark asks Bruce as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Bruce turns to his friends and decides to have some fun. “He is Jason’s boyfriend.” He drops the bomb, making both Diana and Clark open their mouths and eyes wide open in surprise. “He arrived at Gotham about four years ago to study Aerospace Engineering at G.U. Jason met him during patrol, as Red Hood, apparently the instinctual and proper way for ghosts to greet each other is by fighting so Jason basically jumped on him like a rabid dog, Phantom’s words, and that’s that.”

“Jason’s a ghost?” Clarks asks with worry; he knows how much that thing with Jason affects Bruce.

“A type of Half-a-ghost… apparently whatever revived him it did not do a good job at it. Phantom has helped him, us, to adjust.” Bruce reveals. To heal. It was left unsaid but Clark and Diana heard it loud and clear.

“Oh, Bruce.” Diana mumbles with a relieved smile as she hugs her friend.

“And then along the way they fell in love?” Clark guesses as Diana stops hugging Bruce.

“It was a really entertaining soap opera.” Bruce admits.

“Like father, like son.” Diana adds, a shark like smile on her face.

Bruce just grumbles at the joke.

“And when it’s the wedding?” Clark questions, his tone clearly a joking one, forgetting that The Batman never jokes when it comes to his children.

“This December, on the twentieth-first.” Bruce says as he hands both Clark and Diana wedding invitations. “Phantom has a lot of Christmas related trauma so we try to celebrate Yule for him.”

“Oh.” Clark mumbles as he looks at the wedding invitation in his hands.

“Any more questions?” Bruce inquires.

“You have shut us up with this one Bruce, you may go on your way.” Diana says as she waves her invitation.

Batman nods once and then proceeds to leave in silence, when he completely exits the room Diana and Clark look at each other.

“What a day.” Clark says.

“You said it.” Diana agrees.

______________________________________________________________

Some other time:

“What does de S stand for?” Phamton asks Superman like he wasn’t fanboying about being in the Watchtower mere seconds ago.

“It’s kryptonian, it means Hope.” Superman gently answers the wonder struck looking entity.

“Oh.” It’s the young supernatural king’s smart answer.

“What does the D stand for?” Superman asks back, genuine interest in his voice.

A bright green blush blooms on the pale gray face of king Phantom, he proceeds to rub the back of his head in embarrassment and his Lazarus green eyes look away from Superman’s face. “Uh… it was a gift from a friend… just to look cool… I-I was fourteen, ok?”

Superman laughs. It’s soft and tender and for some reason it reminds Danny of a farm he visited in Kansas when he was a kid.

1K notes View Post

teastoriesandforgottentime

1 year ago

—the mark of athena

—the chalice of the gods

2K notes View Post

teastoriesandforgottentime

1 year ago

Tangerine

Oscar Piastri x reader

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise your brows right back. “Working?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be ridiculous,” you laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

“Right.” He says. “Thanks, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at him. “Oscar, it’s 3am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right, we established that.”

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

You shrug. “Because I like Red Bull.”

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

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

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

“I’ll tell Kim about your snacks.”

“No, you won’t.”

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No judgement?” You ask.

“No judgement,” he promises.

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

He nods. “Sleep?”

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

He nods again. “Can I come with?”

You blank, staring at him. “What?”

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

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

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

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

You hook yours with his and seal the deal.

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Insomnia,” he suggests.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles. “Are you tired?”

You sigh. “No, but you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”

“Me neither.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you say, blinking slowly again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs. “We could put on a movie.”

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“For what?” He asks, voice steady.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would you want to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” you tell him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

check out the companion blurb, Glad You’re Here

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

2K notes View Post

teastoriesandforgottentime

3 months ago

#Tbr

the 'one look and they'll know' collection

click here if you want to revisit only certain arcs in the story

pre-relationship era

my whole life in a moment

Your boyfriend presented you with a challenge to "walk a mile in his shoes"…imagining what life would be like if you weren't in a relationship with him

charades

After a particularly horrible day on set, Chris extends an invitation for you to join the cast in a game of charades to unwind.

dating era

one look and they'll know

You go to work on the set of Thor Ragnarok one day and you're greeted with the sight of one Tom Hiddleston on his knees and your coworkers whispering about how he perfected his posture.

when the feeling sinks in

Ragnarok wrapped up filming and now you're back in your apartment, waking up a little too alone and feeling a little too lonely. You thought that you were the only one until you heard a knock on your door.

the warmest bed i've ever known

Tom has convinced you to go back to London with him for a few weeks, and a photo of you two out and about together has opinions firing left and right.

empty baskets

Tom makes a concerning discovery on laundry day

remote consults behind enemy lines

You casually reveal that you consulted on costume design for another supersuit, leading to an unexpected reaction from your boyfriend

a sizing mishap

You hand Player #6 his uniform but it's the wrong size… part of the Soccer Aid Collection

a tale of ice baths and hot sauce

An effort is made to find out who your mystery boyfriend is during the Elementals challenge when some members of the staff see some marks on your neck that weren't there before… part of the Soccer Aid Collection

save my room for last

One of the duties you're assigned for Soccer Aid Training Week is to run wakeup calls for a handful of players. Today you and your fellow staff members draw names for who you have to wake up. part of the Soccer Aid Collection

after hours visits

An unwelcome visitor knocks at the door of Tom's hotel room while you two were trying to enjoy your evening together part of the Soccer Aid Collection

everybody's watching him…but he's looking at you

Old scars start hurting once again in the wake of your brazen and disrespectful visitor from the night before, and Tom's there to comfort you…on and off the field part of the Soccer Aid Collection

to turn me on [coming soon]

with his name on it [coming soon]

married era

come on, england

When the video director for Tom's promo seems uncomfortable with articulating the vision that was instructed of him, you step in to help things along part of the Soccer Aid Collection

a proper fit

You return to the Soccer Aid training grounds to prep for this year's game and promotional events, having to spend a day away from your husband. part of the Soccer Aid Collection

this magnetic force of a man

A watch party livestream on TikTok catches sight of you and Tom in the VIP tent of the final night of the Eras Tour in London