This should have happened in the show, either Hotch or Rossi
Morgan, picking up the phone while not looking: Hey baby girl, tell me something I wanna hear.
Hotch, deadpan: There’s been another homicide, chocolate thunder.
Tumblr sucks for this, iv done it before its so irritating and theres 0 warnings anywhere
Anyway go follow them!! They're a really good writer :)
hi guys, so this is the owner of @golden1u5t or what used to be. uhm, i’m really almost in tears over this but i accidentally deleted that account because i had made a second blog and honestly i forgot what i was even going to use it for but i had decided i didn’t want to use it anymore and so i deleted it.
when i deleted that second blog i was unaware that it would also delete my main blog. tumblr has really pissed me off because it gave no warning whatsoever while i was going through the process to delete that second blog that it would delete my main blog. you have no idea how upset i am over this. like even though i stopped posting as much as i would have liked, i would like to think that i did work out on my work to make it so that you all would read it and it would be enjoyable for you all.
i really hate that it only took a few clicks of buttons for all my hard work to be gone. just like that. i’m not sure how long it’ll take for me to get my blog back to what it was before but i promise i’ll try my hardest.
so whenever you see this, if you read my work or followed me, i’d love it if you just popped in for a quick moment to let me know you saw this and know what’s going on. i think it’d make me feel a little less crappy too.
Being hard of hearing / deaf is so fucking awkward
I have -45 DB of hearing loss ish in each ear so like
I can hear shit
But also no i really cant
Request: Hiii, I love your stories! I dont know if you do things like this but I was wo dering if you could do one about a nonbinary reader. Like, TFW dont know they're nonbinary and reader gets fed up with being misgendered and let's them know and then gets scared they wont like them. You by no means have to!
Masterlist
Story:
"Hey, you seen [Y/N] today? I wanted to see if she'd come help with the supply run", Sam asked as he walked into the Bunker's library. He'd found Cas sitting at the table with a pile of books in front of him, and he looked up at Sam with a puzzled expression.
"Yes", he nodded once, then looked back to his book, leaving Sam standing there.
"Uh, wanna let me know where you've seen her?" He asked, crossing his arms. He was met by a sigh behind the pile of books.
"I'm here, Sam", [Y/N]'s head popped out from behind the pile. "I'm just helping Cas out with this archiving, I can come help in about twenty minutes?"
"Sure, meet out in the garage?" He asked, and [Y/N] gave him a nod and small smile before he left. They looked back down to the book they'd been reading, leaned their head on their hand and sighed again, lazily flicking to the next page.
"Are you alright?" Cas asked, looking up from his book.
"Yeah, I'm fine".
"You seem a bit... annoyed. Do you not want to go on the supply run?"
"No, it's not that", [Y/N] paused for a moment, thinking about whether or not to tell Cas why they had been a bit down since moving into the bunker not that long ago, but then decided they didn't feel up for the conversation, or the potential reaction. "I'm just tired".
He tilted his head at them for a moment before reaching his fingers to [Y/N]'s forehead.
"I said I was fine, Cas".
"You shouldn't be tired, it's only 11am", he closed his eyes in concentration before pulling his fingers back. "You don't have any ailments. Are you depressed?"
"What? No!" [Y/N] shook their head and closed the book they were looking at, before standing up from the table. "Look, can you just help Sam with the supply run? I just want to be alone for awhile". Cas looked concerned, and like he was about to say something else, but [Y/N] cut him off first. "Don't go saying anything to Sam or Dean, I don't need them worrying when there's literally nothing to worry about. I just want a nap, that's it, okay?"
"Alright", Cas didn't look convinced, "but if something is wrong, you should tell one of us, so we can help".
"Thanks Cas, but I don't need help from any of you, I just need a nap". [Y/N] started to walk out of the room, but stopped just as they were about to pass by him, and took a deep breath. They felt a bit guilty for being short with him when he hadn't done anything wrong. "I do appreciate you wanting to help". [Y/N] squeezed his shoulder gently and Cas nodded, the concern still evident on his face, but looked back to his book as they left the room.
***
[Y/N] did actually decide to go for a nap. Partially because they were a little bit tired, but mostly because they hated lying to Cas, and they knew that if Cas asked them how their nap was, and they hadn't actually taken one, he'd see straight through the lie. They'd woken up a few hours later and had just spent a few minutes lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. They'd had the conversation many times in their head since they'd met Sam, Dean, and Cas. [Y/N] had never told them their pronouns. The conversation always went south in their mind. They'd told other hunters before and it never once went well. In the hunting world, you either had to be a strong, tough man, or a strong, tough woman. Anyone who didn't fit into one of those two clearly defined roles was ridiculed and never taken seriously by the other hunters, who weren't known to be overly accepting or understanding at the best of times. [Y/N] thought back to when they'd met Garth, not someone who you'd typically think of as strong or tough, and he didn't make it as hunter in the end. [Y/N] knew it was because he didn't fit into the set roles. He ended up being a werewolf dentist. What would [Y/N] end up as if they weren't a hunter? They couldn't think of anything else they wanted to do.
They were pulled from their thoughts by a knock on the door, followed by it opening to reveal Dean's hand on the handle. "Hey, you decent?" He asked before looking.
"Yeah, you can come in", [Y/N] said as they pushed themself up to lean on their elbows. "What's up?"
"Sam said you ditched him earlier, and Cas said you were being weird", he said as he walked into the room. "You good?" He crossed his arms and looked down at them. They sighed and pushed up more to sit up properly, lessening the height gap between the two.
"Yes, I was just tired. I told Cas not to mention anything. I wasn't being weird".
"Are you awake enough for a movie marathon? We're each gonna choose a movie, and Sam picked up your favourite snacks on his supply run". He smiled at them and they couldn't help but smile back.
"Sure, sounds good".
"Great", he grinned and clapped his hands. "Come to the Dean Cave in about twenty minutes". He turned on his heels and left the room, a bounce in his step. Dean always got excited about movie nights. It was a nice break from the hunting. [Y/N] got off the bed and headed over to their closet, looking through it for something comfortable to wear. They settled on sweatpants and a t-shirt, but the cool air of the bunker made them decide that a flannel might be a good idea too. They picked one out, similar enough to what Sam and Dean wore, and threw it on over the t-shirt, leaving it unbuttoned to allow for comfortable lounging.
They dragged their feet down the corridor twenty minutes later, still not in the best of moods, but looking forward to hanging out with the boys without having to talk much. Sam's voice was echoing in their mind from the morning though. "I wanted to see if she'd come help", and "wanna let me know where you've seen her". He hadn't meant to hurt [Y/N] at all, and they knew that, but they couldn't help but feel hurt and like Sam and the others didn't really know them, like they were keeping secrets. Cas and Dean were already in the room when [Y/N] walked through the door, and while Dean smiled at them, Cas had that same concern on his face from earlier. They were about to sit down when Cas spoke up. "That's usually where Sam sits".
"Oh, sorry", they said, walking over to another chair. "Didn't realise we had assigned seating", they muttered under their breath. They saw Dean slap Cas on the arm while shaking his head out of the corner of their eye.
"She can sit wherever she wants Cas", he chuckled. "Sammy won't mind".
"Sammy won't mind what?" Sam asked as he walked into the room, a tray of snacks in his hands. He bent down to put it onto the table before sitting down in his chair, kicking his feet up onto a footrest to get comfortable.
"Nothing", [Y/N] said but Dean cut across them.
"She was about to sit in your seat, but Cas wouldn't let her", he chuckled and Sam laughed, his dimples showing.
"Cas, you don't have to protect my chair from [Y/N], this is her home too, she can sit wherever she wants".
"They", [Y/N] corrected them before clapping their hand over their mouth and widening their eyes, surprised by their own reaction.
"Hmm?" Dean asked, not really paying attention as he was looking through the snacks.
"Sorry [Y/N], I didn't catch that over Dean crinkling all the packets of chips", Sam said, sparing a moment to glare at Dean before looking back at [Y/N].
"[Y/N] said 'they'", Cas said. "I'm not sure what it means in this context".
"Dean, can you stop making noise for five minutes so I can hear her talk?" Sam furrowed his eyebrows at Dean who was still in the process of opening up all of the snacks and looking through everything. Dean gave him a look but sat back on the couch, turning to look at [Y/N].
"Floor's all yours, Sweetheart", he said and they cringed at the nickname.
"I'm not 'Sweetheart', Dean. I'm not she, I'm not her, I use they/them pronouns, okay?"
Dean looked to Sam in confusion, not knowing what to say, but Sam just sat there in silence too. When no one spoke, [Y/N] could feel their cheeks heat up in embarrassment, and their lower lip trembled as they pushed up out of the chair and ran out through the door, straight down the corridor to their room, and closed the door behind them. They immediately pulled out their hunting bag and began to haphazardly throw all of their belongings into it. That was it, they messed up, and now the boys were going to kick them out. They were going to lose the only home they'd known in years, the only family they had left, all because they'd snapped. They could barely see through their tears as they zipped up the bag, slung it over their shoulder and headed to the door. When they opened the door they were met with Dean, and Sam and Cas right behind him.
"Where are you going?" Dean asked with his eyebrow raised.
"I need to go", they wiped the tears from their eyes.
"Go where?" Dean asked, his arms now folded, his frame blocking the doorway.
"Dean", [Y/N] sniffed, "I need to go before you kick me out. I can't take that right now, okay? So please, just let me go".
"No one's kicking you out, [Y/N]", Sam said from behind Dean. "We just want to talk. You're clearly upset, just talk to us, explain how we can make it better".
"What?" [Y/N] asked as they wiped another tear away.
"You said you use they/them pronouns. We just didn't know. Why didn't you tell us earlier?" Sam asked.
"You're hunters. From experience, it's not a good idea to share that kind of thing with hunters. It can be dangerous".
"Has someone hurt you?" Dean's jaw clenched as he stepped into the room.
"Not recently", [Y/N] said quietly. "You're really not going to kick me out? I don't belong here".
"Just because you don't belong in a certain category doesn't mean you don't belong here with us", Sam said, following Dean into the room and placing his hand on [Y/N]'s shoulder. "You belong here", he squeezed comfortingly. "Is this why you've been seeming... down since moving in? Have we been making you uncomfortable?" They were avoiding his eyes, but his voice sounded genuine.
They shrugged, and then felt a hand on their arm. Looking down, they could see Dean's hand tugging them towards the bed. "Sit with us, talk to us, tell us who you are". He said, his voice sounding almost pleading. "We don't want you to leave". They looked him in the eyes and could have sworn there was a tear there. He looked genuinely upset at the thought of them leaving, which wasn't something they were used to seeing. They finally looked up at Sam, then Cas, and could see the same concern in their eyes too.
"You know who I am, Dean. I'm still me, I haven't changed. I'm just nonbinary. I don't like being called feminine words, and I don't necessarily like being called masculine ones either. I don't know, it's like I'm neither and both at the same time as being something else entirely. Sometimes I think I'm broken", they confessed, more tears coming out. Sam gently reached for the bag on their shoulder and slid it off, letting it fall to the ground. He then led them to sit down beside Dean, who put his arm around their shoulder and lightly squeezed. Sam kneeled down in front of them and looked up, a serious expression on his face.
"You are not broken. You're [Y/N], and we like [Y/N]. I want you to believe that, because it's true, okay?"
"Okay", they said quietly.
"You may not know this, but this is not my first time on earth", Cas said, walking over to stand in front of them. "I have seen many other societies of humans. You would be surprised by just how many of them had three, or four, or no limit to the number of gender roles one could identify as. I remember one that had no concept of gender at all".
"Yeah, and it's not just in the past either, there are societies that are alive and well today that don't have a binary system", Sam smiled up at them. "I was just reading about it the other day".
"It's a relatively recent concept, only having two genders. You're not broken, you're just living in the modern western society", Cas added.
"Yeah, and if you think about it, being a man or a woman doesn't even mean the same thing in this society as it did fifty years ago. It's a constantly changing thing". They looked to Dean as he spoke. "I'd know, I've time travelled", he winked at them and they chuckled a little, the panic they had earlier now dissipating.
"So, you prefer they/them, right?" Sam asked, and [Y/N] nodded. "Cool, that's what we'll use then".
"You don't think I should give up hunting? I mean, I don't really think I fit the role now that you know. Like how Garth didn't really fit the role".
"Garth?" Sam furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Garth only gave up hunting when he became a werewolf and fell in love and had kids. Even still he does a bit from time to time when he comes across something. Sure, he wasn't the stereotype you think of when you think of hunters, but he still was one. We worked with him plenty of times, never had any issues other than the fact that he could be a bit clumsy".
"And there was that time he tried to be the new Bobby", Dean shuddered slightly at the memory. "He livened up the place though, it would be boring if everyone was the same and grumpy all the time".
"Yeah, can you imagine a room full of Deans? The fuel of nightmares", Sam grinned as [Y/N] smiled at him.
"You feel up to our movie marathon?" Dean asked, squeezing their shoulder, and [Y/N] took a deep breath.
"Only if I can have Sam's chair", they smiled at them all and they all laughed, looking relieved that they'd managed to convince them to stay.
"It's all yours", Sam grinned, pushing himself up to stand and holding out his hand. [Y/N] took it and he pulled them up. Sam and Cas left the room, and [Y/N] started to follow them when Dean stood up to walk beside them, nudging their shoulder gently.
"Hey, kiddo", he said, and they looked to him. "No one's gonna hurt you again, not while the three of us are around. If someone so much as looks at you the wrong way, we've got your back".
"Thanks, Dean", they smiled at him. As they walked back to resume their movie marathon, [Y/N] felt a weight lift off their shoulders. For the first time, they felt like they fit somewhere, or like they didn't have to fit, like they belonged somewhere, were wanted somewhere, and they knew they were safe and loved. They only hoped that one day, it would be that easy no matter where they went or who they met, but this was a good start. They smiled.
The end
Dean Winchester taglist: @123passwort @janineb86 @k-slla @lyarr24 @candy-coated-misery0731 @jackles010378 @hobby27 @pizzagirlxnsfwx @itburnslikehelltobevega @queenie32 @livingdead-reilly @vmaier12 @littlemadamred @darthysfanfic @dramatic-long-coats @kr804573
Sam Winchester taglist: @123passwort @janineb86 @hobby27 @angelwiththeshotgun @pizzagirlxnsfwx @livingdead-reilly @fuiabarcelos @vmaier12 @littlemadamred @kr804573
Castiel Taglist: @123passwort @janineb86 @hobby27 @angelwiththeshotgun @pizzagirlxnsfwx @vmaier12 @kr804573
“english isn’t my first langua—“ say no more.
"You have to become comfortable with the fact that most people who enjoy your fic will never bother to kudos or comment on it."
Shockingly, I am comfortable with this fact. Lack of kudos or comments doesn't bother me.
That doesn't mean it shouldn't change.
If you enjoy a fic, leave a kudos or a comment.
This isnt the first time iv read the series and it certainly wont be the last
Tangerine
Oscar Piastri x reader
Masterlist // Part 1 // Part 1.5 // Part 2
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?
Word Count: 6.8k
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 swing 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 meetings 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 rowing 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 seep 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
one day you'll wake up and think, "life is okay". it'll happen gradually. you'll start to notice flowers blooming in a new light. your evening shower will be a sweet refuge. your morning coffee will warm your soul. things will seem bright and beautiful, and you'll wonder how you ever wanted to leave such lovely things behind
making a Spencer x Genius!SelectiveMute!Morgan!Reader purely for self indulgence, its going to be a series just bc I feel like adding a real one alongside my Autistic!Reader series
Real
I cant start a conversation but i can yapp once you start one
me when i wanna talk about my special interests but i got the vampire autism where you gotta invite me to talk about smth first, otherwise i wont say shit or dont know what to say because i feel like im annoying