speedynana

[speedynana]

A HEARTBREAKING DISCOVERY

Jason Todd x Reader

Dick Grayson x Reader (unrequited, sorry Dickie baby i love you)

SUMMARY: Nightwing saves a civilian and instantly falls in love with her. But there's something about her he doesn't know...

WARNINGS: fluff/crack fic, FEM!R but no use of Y/n, Dickie is a simp, Reader is a civilian and doesn't know about Jason being the Red Hood. Also Reader is a bit of a sunshine here because i like this type of character, if you don't like just write your own story (it's always better to set the record straight yk).

English is not my first language so feel free to correct me.

"Help! Someone help me!"

After that long night Dick was about to go home and lie down on the bed without even eating anything. But how could he do it when that frightened female voice was desperately asking for help? He simply couldn't.

So Dick leaned over the ledge of the building from which he was keeping watch to observe the situation. And there she was, in the middle of that squalid, dark street, surely dragged there against her will, a poor girl in distress in the clutches of two stupid, two-bit thugs, one of them holding her tightly in his arms, while the another was rummaging in her bag.

Dick sighed (not because he didn't want to save the woman, but just because he was tired and couldn't wait to get home as soon as possible) and stood up and then threw himself off the ledge with an elegant somersault, full Grayson style.

He landed perfectly behind the criminal with the bag and before his companion could react and warn him, Dick tapped his shoulder. The guy whirled around and his eyes widened when he saw Nightwing's figure in front of him.

"Don't you know that it's rude to look into a woman's bag without her permission?" Dick asked.

The thief remained silent, as if he was even thinking about the answer, but before he could say anything, Dick punched him in the face, knocking him backwards unconscious. Too easy.

"Hey!" then exclaimed the second one, the one who was still holding the woman. "You bastard!"

Dick turned to him with a bored expression, not surprised to see that the guy had now pulled out a small knife and was pointing it at the poor girl's neck. Dick put his hands on his hips and tilted his head.

"Listen" he said, nodding at the unconscious thief on the ground. "I'm going to tell you this in the kind way: if you don't want to end up like your friend here i suggest you let her go and i promise i'll let it slide. We all just want to go home and sleep, yeah?"

The guy looked at him with wide, undecided eyes and Dick noticed the tremor in the hand holding the knife. As for the woman however, Dick locked eyes with her (even though she couldn't see his behind his domino mask) and saw her terrified eyes fixed on him, while she was shaking like a leaf.

After long seconds spent in the silence of the city, Dick took a step forward and both the thief and the woman raised their heads to look at him, as his muscular form towered over them both. He slowly reached out and stole the knife from his hands without any problem, while the woman let out a big sigh of relief. In fact now that Dick noticed it, that guy was a pretty young boy, too young to be a thief and he was probably so scared of Nightwing that he couldn't react anymore. This was probably his first attempted crime and the girl had been their unfortunate test subject.

Dick bent his face towards him and the thief looked at his with a pale face, until...

"Run"

The guy didn't have to be told twice. He took a few steps back until he turned and ran away, running back the way he came. Dick watched him run with a smirk and put the pocketknife away, deciding it was best that that object was in his hands.

"Well, that was easy" he said proud of himself, running a hand through his raven hair to fix it.

Then he finally looked at the woman he had just saved, seeing that she was pressing a hand to her chest and breathing deeply, still shocked by what had happened. Dick turned to retrieve the bag that had been left on the ground near the first thief. Luckily he had arrived in time and nothing had been stolen. He picked up the bag and approached the girl again, handing it to her.

"I think this is yours, sweetheart"

The girl took the bag from Dick's hands with trembling fingers and when she raised her head to look at him again, Dick could finally get a good look at her.

Oh...

It was at that precise moment that Dick felt all the tiredness he was feeling disappear in a few seconds, as if he had recovered all his energy. As Popeye ate spinach to gain strength, Dick only needed one look at your innocent face to feel more alive than ever.

"Thank you" you murmured, looking at him shyly. "Thank you so much, i mean it. If you hadn't been here, i-i don't know wha-"

"Hey hey relax, it's okay" Dick interrupted you with a reassuring smile. "It's my job to save people and i do it with pleasure. Especially if they are cute girls like you"

Dick couldn't hold his tongue back. He couldn't let you go without first complimenting your beauty, which had enchanted him in the same way the sirens had done to Odysseus' companions with their hypnotic song.

"Oh..." you murmured, feeling your face heat up. "Well, thanks"

Dick felt his heart skip a beat when he saw you get shyer. He wanted to take you and put you in his pocket, keeping you like a little lucky doll. Yeah, there was no doubt: he had just fallen in love with a stranger. A very pretty stranger.

"You... You're Nightwing right?" you asked him then, tightening your hands on the straps of your bag. "I read a lot of articles about you in the newspaper, but i didn't think i would ever meet you"

Dick dramatically bowed, waving a hand.

"The most fascinating vigilante in the city at your service. Enchanté, my lady. May i have the honor of knowing your name too?"

You giggled lightly, hiding your giggle behind your hand and telling him your name. Dick almost wanted to tell you not to hide your smile from him, but he managed to stop himself. If he wanted to flirt with you he shouldn't have gone too far or he would have ruined everything.

"May i ask where were you headed?" he asked, getting back on his feet and you nodded.

"I was coming home from work. I always take this route and something like this has never happened to me before" you murmured in response, while your relieved tone faded at the mere thought of the danger you had just run. "But luckily you came, i'm so grateful that you were nearby. Is there something i can do to repay you? Anything?"

Bingo!

Perfect, now was the right opportunity to make the first step. So Dick gave you the brightest smile he could give a woman and offered you a hand in a gentlemanly manner.

"The only thing you can do is allow me to let me take you home. I wouldn't be able to sleep knowing i left you all alone after what happened"

When Dick saw you nodding with a wide smile on your lips he knew he had hit the nail on the head. Everything was going as planned: after taking you home he would ask you out so then you would fall in love with him and get together and then-

"My boyfriend is going to be so excited to meet you!" you said happily. "I can't wait to tell him that i was saved by Nightwing himself!"

CRASH!

With those exact words, Dick felt his heart shatter like a sheet of glass on which a fucking hammer had been dropped. Luckily you weren't able to see as his blue eyes widened behind his mask as he felt his dream crumble into dust and blown away by the wind.

Of fricking course! How could he have been so stupid to think that a sweet, cute girl like you was single?? Someone up there enjoyed making fun of him, evidently, because this was not fair at all!

"O-Oh... You have a boyfriend?" he asked, feeling his smile falter and trying not to point out how much that news had taken him by surprise.

"Yes" you nodded again. "He's very informed about Batman and other vigilantes, you know? I'm sure he'll love seeing you in person"

Despite the innocence with which you were unconsciously stabbing his heart with every single word, a small, very small part inside him told him to forget it and let you go home alone, not wanting for any reason to have anything to do with that stupid boyfriend of yours who had won you over before him. And who knows, he probably wasn't even as handsome as him... Or he definitely wasn't as beautiful as you... I mean, it wasn't fair that you were already taken okay??? Period.

But Dick mentally shook his head. No, he couldn't afford to leave you after what you had just been through, he couldn't let jealousy get to him like that.

So, reluctantly, he stopped himself from letting out a sigh and smiled at you.

"Well, then it's best not to keep him waiting. He'll be worried about you" he said.

He gestured for you to come closer to him and as soon as you were next to him he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. With his other hand he pulled out his grappling hook and after pointing it upwards, he muttered a simple "Hold on tight", to which you nodded dutifully and wrapped your arms around his torso.

Oh God, Dick almost fainted. And to think there was a lucky bastard in his place who enjoyed feeling your body heat against his practically every day!

It was better to bring you home and leave as soon as possible, so he would save himself from further humiliation. Yes, it was better that way.

Dick shot the rope from the grappling hook and within seconds you found yourself flying through the stars towards your house.

"Here we are" Nightwing said as he carefully brought you back down to earth, right in front of your front door.

"Thank you so much for everything you've done, Nightwing" you said, turning to him and taking his hand in both of yours. "What can i ever do to repay you? You can ask me anything, really"

Dump your boyfriend.

That's what he wanted to tell you. But Dick was mature enough to know when there was a line not to be crossed and in those few minutes he had known you he had understood that you didn't need a vigilante intruding into your happy love life, you didn't deserve it.

So he just gave you a wistful smile.

"You don't have to do anything to repay me, sweetheart" he said and you looked at him with admiring eyes. "Knowing that you are safe is enough for me. After all, it's my job"

Suddenly the front door flew open and both you and your savior jumped and a male voice rang through the air.

"Baby!"

You and Dick turned towards the one who had just called you and while you smiled toothily, Dick felt his heart sink in fear when he recognized the green eyes and the tuft of white hair on his forehead.

Oh no, there was no fricking way...

The stupid lucky bastard...

Your boyfriend was-

"Jason!"

Your hands let go of Dick's to be able to sling over his 'little' brother's body and hug him tightly around the waist, as if you hadn't seen him in forever and Dick felt his heart break even more than it already was when he saw him hug you back.

Remember when i said that someone up there enjoyed playing with poor Dickie's life? Well, apparently they were having a blast doing it and were probably enjoying the scene down below while munching on some popcorn at that very moment.

"Where the hell were you??" Jason asked in a worried tone, making you pull away enough to place his hands on your cheeks and look you in the eyes, stroking you skin with his thumbs. "I was worried, you weren't answering the phone"

You gave him a reassuring smile, closing your hands around his wrists and tilting your head to rub a cheek against his palm.

"I know, i'm sorry Jay, that wasn't my intention. There was a problem, you see uh... Two thieves attacked me on the way home and were about to rob me"

"What!?" Jason blurted out, his eyes widening. "Are you okay?? Did they fucking do anything to you??"

"No, i'm fine. I was a bit scared but i'm fine now, i really am" you nodded, then took a step back so you were pointing at Nightwing with one hand. "Look! Nightwing saved me"

It was at that moment that Jason actually became aware of the second presence in front of the front door and finally his eyes rested on Nightwing's, covered by his mask, and then they widened. Dick smiled unsurely and raised a hand to wave awkwardly.

"Hi..."

Jason remained silent, still shocked by the situation and Dick did the same even though the latter had a myriad of questions in his head to ask his brother. And the first one that needed to come out of his mouth was: how long has he had a girlfriend and why hadn't he told anyone???

But then your voice interrupted the mental conversation the two men were having, completely unaware of the dramatic situation.

"It's Nightwing himself! Can you believe it, bub??" you asked frantically, holding onto your boyfriend's muscular arm. "He fell from the sky and knocked out the first thief with one punch! Then the other one was probably scared because at a certain point he put a knife to my throat!"

At those words Jason suddenly turned to look at you in fear and saw you pointing to your neck with a finger to make him understand your story better. Fortunately, no stab wounds remained. Dick saw him turn so quickly that he thought he got whiplash.

"But i'm perfectly fine, i swear!" you quickly added and he seemed to relax visibly. "Nightwing took the knife from his hand like it was nothing and then made him run away! It was amazing! I mean, i almost died... But Nightwing saved me!"

Dick smiled touched by your enthusiasm. He didn't care if you were already engaged or not and he didn't care if the boyfriend in question was his damn adopted younger brother. There was no greater satisfaction for him than the gratification of having saved someone's life.

"Like i said" Dick said calmly. "This is my job and i'm glad i was able to help you. And if you ever find yourself in trouble again, which i hope doesn't happen, just give a shout and i'll be right there for you"

"I will" you promised.

You then leaned towards Jason's face to kiss him on the cheek.

"I'm going to take a shower and then we can have dinner" you murmured against his skin and your boyfriend nodded with a small smile.

"Go on baby, take your time" he retorted (and although usually he would have asked if he could join you, this time he held his tongue, a bit ashamed to say such things in front of Dick). "I'm just gonna have a chat with Nightwing, okay? I'll be back in a bit"

You nodded and turned to look at the vigilante in blue and black one last time, smiling sweetly at him. "Good night Nightwing. It was nice meeting you"

Dick waved goodbye by calling your name and watched you disappear behind the front door which Jason closed behind him. Oh, Jason was so, so lucky.

The latter let out a heavy sigh, finally sure that you were home safe and away from danger. Dick crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head slightly, looking at him with a smirk.

"I have so many questions-"

"I know, Dick" Jason harsly interrupted by raising a hand and muttering his name, to make sure no one could hear. "I was planning to tell you and the others, okay? Sooner or later..."

Jason then ran a hand over his face and Dick realized that this wasn't the right time to talk about it. He was probably still stressed about the fact that you've been in danger and he didn't even know and he wasn't there to save you. And Dick knew Jason was the kind of person that tended to put all the blame on himself when someone he cared about suffered because he hadn't been able to help them. Even if it wasn't actually his fault.

It was best to give you and Jason the quality time you deserved. So he reached out to give him a couple of pats on the shoulder.

"We'll talk about it another time" he said in an understanding tone and Jason nodded in relief.

Dick turned on his heel, ready to report to Bruce and head home, but Jason's voice called out to him again.

"Hey"

Dick looked back at Jason and saw him flash him a smile. A genuine one and full of gratitude, which he rarely saw on his lips.

"Thank you for saving her. I owe you one"

It was at that moment that Dick realized that it was better to get rid of that crush he felt for you as soon as possible, which would've only made him suffer. Jason made you happy and you made Jason happy, he understood it from the looks you exchanged. Maybe if you had met Dick first then something could have been born between the two of you... But fate had decided another path for Dick. You and Jason had your own way to go.

Dick nodded, smiling back.

"She's lovely, Jaybird. You're lucky. You both are"

Then he took his grappling hook and shot it upwards, disappearing into the darkness of the night.

"Jay?"

"Mh?"

You absentmindedly touched the food on your plate with your fork, too busy thinking, while Jason, sitting in front of you at the table, calmly continued to eat his dinner.

"Now that i think about it... I think Nightwing was flirting with me after he saved me, you know?"

The sound of Jason's fork falling onto his plate made you lift your head to look at him in surprise, seeing him cough heavily after the bite he was eating went sideways. Before you could get up and help him, he spat it onto his plate and then looked at you with wide eyes.

"He what?!"

The next morning Dick awoke to the phone ringing loudly in his room. With a grunt he turned to reach for the phone on the bedside table and picked it up, accepting the call without even seeing the name of the caller on the screen.

"Hello-"

"Did you fucking hit on my girlfriend Dickhead??!"

[speedynana]

1/2 (unedited)

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎ : in the year 3020, androids of all types are being produced globally. cybernautic technologies (cnt), the leading company in the field, is offering anyone who has bought an android from them the opportunity to be selected as a beta tester for any of their upcoming models at no cost—all you have to do is sign up. while the odds of being chosen are quite low, when cnt has revealed the imminent launch of their latest android, named 'the guard dog.' you arrive home to a large, heavy package bearing the cybernautic technologies logo waiting at your doorstep.

SEPTEMBER 11TH, 3020 ⸺ ANDROMEXUS CITY, FELICITY PORT— THE PROSPECT RESTAURANT | 10:16 PM.

“hello, welcome to the prospect, i’ll be your server for today.”

“will that be all?”

“thank you for dining here at the prospect!”

“what would you like to drink tonight?”

“would you prefer soup or salad?”

“will you be paying in credits?”

“it seems you're low on mexus currency, we’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“here at the prospect, everything is cooked and served by humans.”

“enjoy the rest of your stay here in felicity port.”

⸺⸺⸺⸺ ☙ ⸺⸺⸺⸺

everything slipped by in a haze, a blur of muted colors and indistinct sounds, as if the world outside had faded into a dreamlike state; and you don't remember eating at all today. the gnawing emptiness in your belly screaming for attention is testament to that, your body desperately trying to consume itself whole in mutiny. your fingers glide over the soft fat of your stomach, a tender caress meant to placate the piercing pains and the grumbling whale noises. however, it continues its revolt and doubles its efforts.

as a matter of fact, you couldn't remember if you’d even gone home the day prior or stayed to work through your off hours into this shift. because the moment you clocked in, time seemed nonexistent. hours evaporated into mere moments, while seconds stretched into agonizing eternities, voices overlapped and the heat of the kitchen crept underneath skin and charred bones, words pierced hearts and knives nicked flesh. claret hued blood confused with strawberry puree.

 there was no concept of time here at the prospect. you realized that a month into working. after weeks and weeks of grueling work, where each day bled into the next, a nightmarish cycle of labor that left you retching and gasping for air every single time you came home, time seemed to warp and stretch. it felt as if the second you crossed the threshold of your home, you were heading back to work, with barely enough time to brush the smell of puke from your breath. and for the entire bleak month of feburary, you found yourself ensnared in a twisted romance with your bathroom toilet; a tall glass of orange juice- your only companion in this grim affair.

and because there was never a point when the restaurant was empty, there was never a moment when the workers could break. never a moment to catch your breath, to declutter your mind, to steady your heart, never a time to think. thoughts raced like the orders flying out of the kitchen; contemplation was a luxury they could not afford. adapt or face the door—those were the unspoken rules. amy, one of the general managers, often said, “you can rest when you’re six feet under.” ironically, her break arrived just a few months later.

the prospect stood as a rare sanctuary in a world dominated by machines, and was one of the few places that hired humans and humans only. a coveted position here came with a lengthy waiting list, despite the shit wages which barely compensated for the grueling labor. so there was no way you would leave, no way you could quit. besides, it wasn't all bad— it was quite the close-knit family here, and working could be fun most days with the right manager scheduled. and the perks were good enough. you needed the money.

“chica? you leavin’?”

your head swivels tiredly in the direction of the smooth, rich voice of your co-worker nina, her long dark tresses are pulled into a low ponytail, and the familiar piercings that embellish her spheroidal face—tiny silver hoops and delicate studs— have been taken off for the start of her shift, giving her an unexpectedly fresh look. your thoughts scatter the moment you see her, like autumn leaves in a brisk wind, as if attempting to hide from nina's presence despite the woman not being able to hear them.

your hand drops from the hold on your pained stomach, gliding down to the unforgiving chill of the bench beneath you, the shock of the cold metal causes goosebumps to ghost along your skin. when the two of you meet eyes, you can't help but grin teasingly as you respond to her, “mhm, i’m off the next two days as well,” there's a keen lilt to your voice and nina groans, her head teetering back in disbelief, her soft, rounded hands settling defiantly on her curvy hips. nina's gaze resembles deep pools of dark chocolate, rich and indulgent, infused with a small hint of cayenne.

“tell me you're thinkin’ about pickin’ up,” her voice pleads, her curvaceous figure now leaning against the threshold of the changing room. nina’s lips, petite yet full with a pronounced cupid's bow, pull into a soft frown, her chin set and a small dimple forming in the skin.

nina’d been working at the prospect long before you came, but the two of you formed bonds quickly in only a couple of weeks despite the age gap, with her being a few years your senior, the connection felt effortless. “i have a new server comin’ in and i don't want to train him alone, you know how packed we get on saturdays.” she mutters bitterly and your nose scrunches up at the mere idea of having to work on the weekend.

because the prospect was one of the three human ran restaurants in felicity port, that wasn't in the glades, it was bound to be packed and always drew in crowds like moths to a flame. most of the dickheads and drunks came out on the weekends and most workers dreaded being scheduled for it. however, when you and nina were on the clock together, most would leap at the chance to work those nights. you let out a sigh and shake your head, lips pursing and toeing into your beat-up shoes. “i would– you know i would, but cody is on my ass for the amount of overtime i racked up last month, so i can't.”

nina’s forehead gently collides with the door frame as she processes your response, a rhythmic thud echoing in the air. after a few moments, she pivots her head to meet your gaze. “bitch, why do you do these things to me? creo que voy a dejarlo.” the question is filled with exhaustion and slight irritation that has your mouth opening in a boisterous laugh, much to nina's growing irritation. the hispanic woman's hand lifts from its grip on the doorframe, and the middle finger raises slowly, but it only makes you laugh harder as you clutch your weathered tote bag and rise from the cold metal bench. ( i think i'm going to quit. )

you lightly tap the toe of your shoes against the floor before walking towards nina and enveloping her shoulders with your arm, lips pressing to her olive toned cheek as a parting gift, soft chuckles still slipping from your lips. "i'll see you monday, nina." you tell her softly, patting her shoulder, then glide by her, walking to the back door of the restaurant.

SEPTEMBER 11TH, 3020 ⸺ ANDROMEXUS CITY, FELICITY PORT— THE PROSPECT RESTAURANT | 10:45 PM.

there's a chill in the air the moment you cross the threshold into the open, the warm autumn air from early in the morning feels like a figment of your imagination. and for a heartbeat, you linger, eyes lifted to the synthetic trees that stretch toward the artificial night sky, watching the transformation of leaves from vibrant green to fiery red, cascading down to the metallic earth below. where with each leaf that touches the surface, vanishes in a delicate explosion of shimmering blue motes.

the loud hum of machinery, and the occasional chirp of synthetic birds flitting between the branches makes your stomach churn. there was nothing real here.

despite it being deep into the night, felicity port was as bright and loud as ever. known to outsiders as: the place that never sleeps, andromexus city thrummed with life. the sharp sound of flying cars and the whoosh of hoverboards, the loud thrum of the machinery just beneath the metallic sidewalks and roads, the sound of pleasure androids promoting their workplace, and the sound of rowdy human men that came with it. there was never a moment where felicity port was silent, never a moment where shit wasn't happening.

it was a place where dreams were made and also came to die-- everyone yearned to call andromexus city home, yet only a select few could endure its relentless pace. it stopped for no one and at times, you wondered how you managed to survive.

your eyes flit around the darkened alleyway, well as dark as it could get with the flickering glow of promotional drones flying around, their neon signs casting a sharp light. you search intently until your eyes land on what you're looking for, or perhaps, who, you are looking for. with a steady stride, you approach the homeless man, joel, an older gentleman whose wisdom is etched into the lines of his weathered face. yet, despite the knowledge that comes with age, he has found himself adrift in felicity port, stripped of mexus currency and credits. "joel, i got you something to eat."

his lashes, wispy and white as gossamer, flutter before his eyelids lift revealing soft irises of honey brown and milky white. he was blind in one eye. joel's gaze seems to brighten the moment that they find you, a smile pulling at his thin lips, his crooked, yellow teeth on display to give you a warm smile. "you're here," the man murmurs, his voice raspy yet tender, as he shifts slightly beneath the thick blanket, a gift given to him by you.

you can't help the smile that blooms on your face as you crouch before him, rummaging through your well-worn tote bag to retrieve the food you had pilfered from the restaurant kitchen. "i am," you murmur back softly, grabbing his thin hand, blue veins protruding against his flesh. you gently place the hefty weight of the box in his grasp. "enjoy, joel,"

there's a soft pop of your joints when you stand from your crouched position and you grimace softly, hefting your tote bag over your shoulder once more and taking a few steps back from the man. with a swift turn, you exit the alleyway, a smile curling your lips when you hear the faint voice of joel calling out a, 'thank you', the bustling sounds of the street greeting you.

when you first moved to andromexus city, the sounds and smells of felicity port made you nauseous and dizzy. you could barely be outside for more than ten minutes without swallowing down the burning taste of vomit, without having your hands cushioning the weight of your skull in your palms. the lights were too bright, everything too loud, the smell of oil and smoke filling your lungs and clinging to the walls like an unwelcome guest you had been overwhelmed, with no one to help you become accustomed to it.

despite having resided in felicity port for a few years, there was still a dull ache in the back of your head the moment you stepped outside of your apartment. with a gentle shake of your head and a deep sigh, you deftly maneuver through the packed streets of the entertainment district, narrowly dodging teenagers zipping by on hoverboards and gliding on sonic razorblades. this was the familiar rhythm of your day, the 'dream' you had envisioned while living in nebulon city, where the population was only ten thousand.

"i'll take a corndog."

"that'll be five, in mexus currency."

the prices were cheap in felicity port but then again, the food wasn't real out here in the entertainment district. just crafted to resemble the culinary delights of a bygone era, a time when the world still had the animals and resources to create such dishes. you weren't too sure if this was even the original taste of a corndog, with its sweet, bready exterior and the savory meat hidden within, all generously slathered in ketchup and mustard. nothing was real.

as you turn down the familiar street that your apartment rests on, you observe the small android children frolicking on their porches, undeterred by the late hour. sleep was a concept foreign to them, after all; they weren't bound by human needs. your blunt human teeth bite into the familiar taste of the corndog, a treat you always got yourself the moment you got off of work. a soft sound of contentment escaped your lips, chewing slowly as your eyes took in the activity of felicity port.

"excuse me."

"sorry,"

the softness of your lips part to mutter, hips narrowly missing the patrolling security robot as you continue your way down the street. for a fleeting moment, your gaze lingers on the machine before you turn your attention ahead. andromexus city was no stranger to crime; it was a constant presence. it was inevitable with the number of jewle addicts and homeless that took up more than half the population and each night, countless individuals fell victim to theft, losing their credits and mexus currency. thankfully you had never been targeted before.

the moment your apartment complex comes into view, your eyes land on a huge box stationed in front of your door and your lashes flutter, your stomach clenching painfully from hunger. you instinctively press your fingers against your abdomen, trying to ease the discomfort, while you cautiously ascend the stairs to your floor. eyebrows furrowing and footsteps light. you hadn't ordered anything in months, yet with each step, your address becomes more distinct, and your name emerges clearly on the package.

your fingers glide across the surface of the box, your eyes darting around as you absorb its details, eventually settling on the tiny logo of cybernautic technologies nestled in the bottom right corner. your eyebrows lift in soft question before you slide past the box, placing your thumb on the doorknob. the scanner emits a red blinking light until the mechanical sound of your door unlocking is heard and the scanner flashes green.

as you turn the knob and push the door to your apartment ajar, you let your bag tumble to the floor with a soft thud. standing there, hands on your hips, you tilt your head back to scrutinize the top of the box that looms above you, lips trembling as you let out a sigh, muttering softly to yourself, "what the hell are you?"

SEPTEMBER 11TH, 3020 ⸺ ANDROMEXUS CITY, FELICITY PORT— PROXXY STREET | 11:57 PM.

it took more than half an hour for you to drag the box into your apartment and the center of your living room, it was as if it were a leaden weight that clung stubbornly to the ground. you were sure it weighed a ton, and in the process, you had chipped at least two nails.

now, standing before the box with your hip tilted to one side, you were drenched in sweat, your chest rising and falling with exertion. meanwhile, your android dog, who you named willow, was still stationed at its charging station and though the thought of letting her roam free while you tackled the unboxing was tempting, you ultimately decided against it.

walking to the kitchen, your hand instinctively reached for the laser knife nestled in its sheath. with purpose, you returned to the box, carefully slicing along the dotted lines designed for a precise opening of a package from cybernautic technologies. after a few deft cuts, the front of the box fell away, hitting the tiled floor with a resounding thud. your blade followed suit, clattering down just moments later as your gaze finally settled on the imposing figure within the box—a large, burly man, no android, firmly secured within it.

he was naked from his neck to the deep v-line at his hips; from then on he was covered by a pair of cnt boxer briefs that truly left little to the imagination. you swallow thickly, forcing your gaze to remain fixed on his face. he possessed a rugged handsomeness, his dark blonde hair tousled and his lips a delicate shell pink. he looked real, a vividness that made it difficult to believe he was an android. with a trembling hand, you reach up to brush softly against his cheek feeling the chill of his skin—a common trait among androids, especially when they were not connected to their charging stations.

your breath hitches just from the touch of his frigid artificial skin, and your fingertips brush and tap down his flesh until they get to his chest, where you press your palm firmly against him. your eyes remain fixed on his face, tilting your head slightly in a daze, lips slightly parted as your gaze roams over his features, the contours of his jawline, the curve of his lips, and the startling realness of his skin. there was something so different about him compared to the other androids that have been made. your fingers wander over the delicate hairs just below his navel, a soft, almost reverent touch, but then you withdraw your hand abruptly, as if you'd been shocked.

your gaze darts around your living room for a brief moment before it settles on a small envelope glued to the front of the box. in a swift motion, you lower yourself into a crouch, pressing your palm against the sturdy cardboard surface. with your other hand, you carefully peel the letter free, shaky hands, ripping it open, fumbling to get the note out of the envelope before your eyes roam over its contents.

exciting news: you've been selected as a beta user! dear [recipient's name], here at cyberbautic technologies, we’re thrilled to inform you that you have been chosen as a beta user for our latest innovation, the android robot known as "the guard dog." this advanced robot is designed to provide security and companionship in your home. you will have a full week to interact with the guard dog, testing its features and functionalities. we encourage you to explore all its capabilities, which include smart surveillance, voice interaction, personalized security settings and other functions. your feedback is invaluable to us, so please take note of your experiences, any challenges you encounter, and suggestions for improvement. best regards, [your name]

your lips part in a soft movement of disbelief, and your gaze darts back to the android confined within the box, his eyes closed in a serene slumber and framed by long, delicate blonde lashes. everything about him was so big, so masculine, and void of any gentle contours. broad shoulders taper down to a powerful torso, each muscle defined and pronounced and thick, muscular thighs, thick and sturdy.

your eyes travel down to his large hands with blunt fingernails, it reminds you of a life of labor, of toil and effort, as if he wasn't forged from metal and circuitry. each finger is thick and strong, capable of both delicate precision and overwhelming force. a sharp, prominent nose, slightly askew as if it has borne the brunt of countless battles. it was as if he was a greek god sculpted from marble.

letting the letter fall from your hands you walk forward and lean in close, eyes looking for the small power button nestled just beneath and behind his ear. with trembling fingers, slick with sweat, you press it, feeling a bead trickle down your temple. the sound of him powering on reverberates through the confines of your small apartment, and you carefully retreat a step back.

nothing.

no movement, unlike what you’d seen in countless galaxy network videos of android unboxings. your eyebrows twitch as you instinctively move to take a step forward, but then a voice echoes through the air—dark, deep, and tinged with a rough accent. it sent a warm wave of heat unfurling within your stomach, leaving you momentarily breathless. hand pressing to your heart to calm the fierce thumping.

“standby mode: off.”

a gentle hum emanates from his internal mechanisms and as if awakening from a deep slumber, his eyes slowly open, the brown irises glowing a pale blue, while streams of programming code flicker rapidly across their surface. you watch as his chest slowly starts to move, as if he is mimicking the act of breathing. and the moment you step closer, you can feel the heat rolling off his body in waves.

“performing quick self-diagnostic check.”

crouching, you retrieve the laser knife from the floor. you approach the android, your heart racing as you carefully slice through the straps binding his arms; descending back down to also cut the straps from his ankles; making sure to avoid looking anywhere below his waist. once the android is free from his bindings, you swiftly retreat a few paces, creating distance between you and the now-unrestrained figure.

“diagnostics complete.”

the gruff, deep, accented, and almost monotonous sound of his voice sends a chill racing down your spine, and the scent of pine and something akin to smoke invades your nose and lungs. then his brown eyes, so life-like and dark, are on yours, with an intensity that is hard to ignore. your eyes widen when he speaks, trying your hardest to keep your eyes on his face, “id code: #a36h920tr, you have been selected as a beta user for my model, ‘the guard dog,’ set to launch in the fall of next year. i am the only one of my kind and have been named, simon.”

what exactly have you signed up for?

your mouth gapes like a fish out of water, while your eyes blink in a startled manner, akin to an owl's gaze, as a tightness grips your throat, a constricting band that makes it feel as though you are being choked by an unseen force, “y-yes, my name is [your name].” you mutter, heart thudding so hard in your chest, it’s almost painful.

“your heart rate is above the normal range. initiatin’ a complete body scan for owner: [your name].”

hot. your flesh felt like it was peeling from your bones, dissolving into a pile of gore at your feet. you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. he was an android, he wasn’t real, just a mere construct of metal and circuits, yet he appeared so convincingly lifelike, both in appearance and sound, that it was disorienting. you could almost convince yourself he was real, as real as the oppressive warmth surrounding you. with a sharp intake of breath, you cleared your throat and raised your hand, halting his scanning gaze. “no! i’m fine, it’s just…hot.” you mutter sheepishly.

simon’s gaze is an unwavering, dark pit, drawing you in with an intensity that felt almost otherworldly. as if he could ask you to do something and you would, without hesitation. the way he spoke, low and deep, growly and gruff, like distant thunder, set all of your nerves on fire and scorched your bones to the marrow.

the two of you are silent for a moment, and you catch a glimpse of the android's gaze flickering momentarily to your breasts and thighs, see the soft clenching of his large hands, yet, just as quickly, his eyes return to meet yours. your lips part and his eyes follow dutifully, taking in the softness of your mouth, the delicate curve of your lips, the gentle nervous breath that escapes, and the slight peek of your pink human tongue. you wonder what thoughts race through his mind, what algorithms are at play as he watches you. wonder if he's aware of the way your skin tingles under his gaze.

was it even possible to have sexual tension with a damn robot?

you practically jump out of your skin when he shifts, thick powerful legs, connecting to a tapered waist, emerging from the confines of the box. in response, you step back, wide eyes on his. then his whole body is out, and somehow he seems bigger than he was before– it's as if he takes up all the space in your small apartment. you can't help the breath of awe that escapes, or the way your eyes trail down his neck, past the swell of his adams apple, before settling on the impressive contours of his chest.

there's something akin to amusement that seems to swirl in his eyes when you find his gaze again, that and something…dark, in a way. just as you prepare to speak, a subtle flash of red flickers from just behind and beneath his ear.

“my power level ‘s low,” he informs you, and you respond with a nod, feeling somewhat foolish as you remain rooted to the spot. his eyes narrow, like a predator watching prey, prompting you to finally break the silence. you wipe your sweaty palms on the back of your pants. “right, sorry. uh, i have a charging pad, just, um–” you motion towards the corner of the living room where your android dog was stationed on a charging port.

simon’s head cranes to look where you point and he lets out a soft, deep grunt before his dark eyes find yours, and it steals your breath, and causes heat to blossom between the apex of your thighs. you shake your head, attempting to dispel the swirling thoughts, and cautiously maneuver around him, you can’t help but notice the way his gaze follows you, breath hitching when you hear him take in a soft inhale of your scent.

you quickly make your way to the charging pad and gently pick up willow, cradling her plush body to your chest and stepping out of the way. “you can charge now, simon.” you murmur, pivoting to meet his gaze. however, he's already bridged the gap, now merely a foot away. the artificial warmth radiating from him sends a wave of dizziness through you, mingling with the earthy scent of pine and smoke that clings to his frame. he’s a massive android, perhaps the biggest creation cybernautic technologies has made.

a small startled sound escapes your mouth and you instinctively shuffle away, your back pressing against the cool surface of the wall. he looks as if he’s going to eat you whole, ravage your body, and leave you as nothing more than a heap of overstimulated flesh. you swallow thickly and his intense gaze flits down to your throat. there's a stall in his mechanics, you notice the way a vivid purple light flickers from his power button and turn red before his dark eyes finally break away from yours, and he strides toward the charging pad, the 'muscles' in his jaw tightening.

“standby mode: on.”

with a trembling inhale, you observe his eyelids fluttering close, and his chest stopping its movement; almost as if he were no longer alive. the moment simon is charging, you exhale sharply, pressing a hand against your heart, holding willow close.

“i think i’m gonna pass out.”

SEPTEMBER 12TH, 3020 ⸺ ANDROMEXUS CITY, FELICITY PORT— PROXXY STREET | 4:09 AM.

you're not sure what the time is or why you woke up, but your lashes flutter, and the stark white ceiling comes into focus, the shadows of your room slowly receding. despite the warmth from your comforter, you can feel a brush of cool air over your collarbones. your eyes glide around your room, groggily taking in the dark chamber before landing on a massive, bulky figure looming at the foot of your bed.

a scream lodges its way in your throat, attempting to claw its way out, but before it can break free, a deep, gravelly voice cuts through the tension. “your heart rate is elevated, and your stress hormones are off the charts. you’re frightened,” he states, his tone almost indifferent. you swallow hard, the scream lodged deep within you, your heart racing and your skin flushing with heat. “what the hell are you doing in my room?” you murmur, sitting up slowly in bed.

“i am programmed to always be within a certain range of you, sweetheart.” he states gruffly, his voice, while panty-dropping, had a bit of sass to it. “this ‘s a setting that can’t be overridden.” simon finishes, and you can feel his eyes on you, roaming over the exposed skin of your body, it sends a delightful shiver down your spine.

sweetheart? did he just call you sweetheart? why were your nipples getting hard right now?

you swallow thickly, and stretch your hand to flick on the lamp beside your bed, the soft click seemingly loud in your ears and the warm light chasing away shadows. you feel the pressure of your teeth against the inside of your cheek as you steal a glance at him, he’s still only clad in his cnt boxers, all tight to his skin. quickly, you avert your eyes, focusing instead on his face, before you can get anywhere lower.

the two of you stare at one another, his gaze, deep and smoldering, as if he could see straight into your soul, felt like having sex with just a look. it felt like his hands were sliding tantalizingly along your skin, tracing every curve, while his lips and tongue roamed your breasts with a fervor that sent shivers down your spine. you could smell his scent, pine, and smoke, engulfing you, threatening to suffocate you. was it possible to get turned on by just staring at someone? you could almost feel the weight of his hands, the way they would explore, mapping out the contours of your form with a deftness that no human could match.

you shattered the stillness, your gaze lingering a moment longer before you gestured toward the bed, right at your feet. “you can sit here.” you say softly, breath hitching as he swiftly follows your ‘command’, his huge body moving with the grace of a feline, that belied his size as he stalks over to the bed, the mattress dipping heavily and your bed frame creaking and groaning in protest under his weight. the soft glow of the bedside lamp cast gentle shadows across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze.

he’s close, way closer than you’d thought he’d be, so much so that his body heat seeped through the comforter and warmed your bones. you clear your throat and attempt to steel your frazzled nerves. “y-you feel…different, from the other androids cnt has made.” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper as you shifted beneath the sheets, rising onto your knees on the bed, the fabric rustling softly. you could feel his gaze on you, a steady presence that made your skin tingle. “…more real.” you hesitate, searching for the right words. “it feels like you're not just a collection of algorithms and circuits. you… you have a presence, a warmth that makes me forget you’re not human.”

“recent advancements have led to the development of new formulas that enhance androids with more human-like traits and emotions. we are now modeled after humans who are meticulously chosen through a rigorous selection process and subsequently analyzed across various disciplines to evaluate their characteristics.” simon replies smoothly, his gaze briefly dancing over the soft curves of the exposed plush of your thighs before they’re back on yours. had they not been basing androids off of humans this whole time? what does it mean to be human in a world where androids can evoke such genuine feelings? the warmth of his presence envelops you, and for a fleeting moment, you forget the boundaries that separate flesh from circuitry.

your breath snags in your throat, and heat engulfs the entirety of your body, your lips parting and your gaze stuck on his. he wasn’t flesh and blood; he was an android, a mere machine, yet the desire to reach out and touch him surged within you, stronger than anything you had ever felt, never wanted to be touched the way you wanted him to touch you, it felt almost primal. you blamed it on being a sex-deprived woman. there weren't many choices here in felicity port. in this city, where the neon lights flickered like distant stars and the hum of machinery drowned out the whispers of the heart, you had learned to navigate the loneliness that surrounded you.

"can i touch you?" your lips part, and the words tumble out before you can catch them. you notice the brief pause in his software, and see the vibrant purple glow that dances at his power button before it shifts to a deep crimson. you wonder what that meant, wonder if he's thinking about what type of touch you're talking about. you don't retract your words, hell you don't speak at all; just sit there with a bated breath, eyes flickering over his face.

"yes."

his reply is husky and deep, dark brown eyes glued to yours, and you feel a flutter of fear, afraid that if you look away, you'll wake up and realize that this is all a dream. that simon wasn't really here in your bedroom, clad in only tight boxer briefs, and eye fucking you. his eyes roam over the bare skin of your thighs, lingering as if memorizing every inch, every curve, and his large hand twitches, as if he’s fighting an internal battle, and there's a vivid flash of purple before it ignites red. the room feels smaller, the walls closing in as the space between you shrinks.

you shift your knee forward, inching closer, the fabric of your night dress gliding up to expose more of your skin, more and more until your knees rest against the warmth of his bare thigh. the eye contact makes your entire body thrum with burning heat, his eyes never veering from yours; his large hands pressed to the tops of his thick, muscular thighs. his body swamps yours entirely- and you were nowhere near small—despite your own size, you feel dwarfed by his sheer strength, and the sight sends a rush of heat pooling in your panties. you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be enveloped in his embrace, to have those strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer still. have his tantalizing scent—warm, musky, and undeniably masculine— invading your senses.

simon watches as your human hand comes up to shakily brush against his skin, your fleshy lips parted to take in shallow breaths, your slender throat and face flushed with heat. he can see inside of you, see the thumping of your heart, the speed at which it increases, the surge of testosterone coursing through you. can smell the heat of your skin, the sweet scent of your body wash, his senses study it and he recognizes it as sugared lavender, milk, and honey. every detail becomes magnified—the way your eyelashes flutter, the slight quiver of your lips, the way your breath catches in your throat as you meet his gaze.

the subtle rise of your chest with each breath, the gentle flutter of your heartbeat, and the way your eyes sparkle with emotion—all of it pulls him deeper into a realm he has only observed from a distance. he can feel the real warmth of a human, not his synthetic core that heats his body, and it's starkly different, it overwhelms him for a fleeting instant, causing a momentary short circuit in his system. can see the difference between the soft rise and fall of your chest compared to his fake breathing, the delicate curve of your breasts--

this is what he was based on, a human. and he couldn't compare, not in the slightest. you were the blueprint. he felt himself utterly lacking. simon can't help but lean his cheek into your palm when you shakily press it to his face, feeling the delicate contours of your fingerprints against his skin, each ridge and curve imprinted itself in his mind, and commits this entire moment to memory.

your fingers brush and trail over the expanse of his face, tracing the contours of his forehead, the sturdy line of his chin, the defined angles of his jaw, and his cheekbones. finally, they linger on his lips, a delicate shell pink, inviting, and soft. he watches you, despite your gaze following the soft line of your fingers on his artificial skin, he watches you as if it’s the last thing he’ll be able to do.

out of the corner of your eye, a flicker of purple catches your attention before it ignites into a vivid red, his hands clenching when it happens, as if frustrated. curious, you trail your hand down his cheek and behind his ear, to where it flashes; before you can utter a word, his voice, deep and rough, fills the air. “can i touch you?”

your heart stops and skips all in the same breath and you nod, captivated as he turns his body toward you, his gaze never leaving yours. simon’s large hand rises to cradle your cheek, it’s a confident movement that sends a shiver down your spine, his thumb brushing over the true warmth of skin. his long, sturdy fingers then meander along the curve of your nose, tracing the delicate arch of your brows, and as his fingers glide around your eye, you can’t help but close them for a brief moment, surrendering to the sensation of his touch. his fingers finally rest on your lips, a gentle yet possessive gesture that sends a rush of warmth through your entire being.

he wonders what it would feel like to have them wrapped around his--

your lips are plush and fleshy, and he can’t help but drag your bottom lip down gently with his thumb, revealing the delicate curve of your gums and the soft pink of your tongue. simon releases your lip, his hand gliding down your slender neck, fingers pressed to the rapid thumping of your pulse before his fingers trace the delicate line of your collarbone.

“you’re nervous.” simon states gruffly, his voice rumbling with a hint of authority as he observes, fingers sliding down your neck, a warm, deliberate touch that glides to your side, where they press into the gentle curve of your waist, kneading the soft flesh of your abdomen with a firm yet tender grip. there's a weight to his tone, a certainty that makes you feel seen in a way that both comforts and unnerves you.

“you make me nervous,” you whisper, your breath hitching as your fingers fumble to clutch his shoulders, when his hand trails over the soft, covered underside of your ass, fingers dancing lower until they flit over the back of your bare thigh. the power button just beneath his ear pulses a soft purple, flickering repeatedly before it finally shifts to a deep red.

curious, you press your fingers softly to it, nails pressing gently into his skin. “what does that mean?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, your mind swirling with the intoxicating scent of him, at how close you are to him. a small voice in the back of your mind reminds you that this simon is merely an android, a fleeting creation destined to vanish in a week, not truly yours. but you wanted him all the same.

“the filters installed in my hardware are functioning properly.” simon says gruffly, his fingers brushing against your thigh with a restless energy. “if the thoughts that i have of you or the touches that i attempt t’express conflict with the filter; i’ll recalibrate.”

“w-what kind of thoughts?” you whisper, throat bobbing as you swallow the lump that’s formed. his jaw tightens, and his gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “i’ve wanted my coc–.” simon’s power button flickers to life, glowing a deep purple before shifting to a fierce red. he’s silent for only a moment, then his jaw sets even harder. “the filters installed in my hardware are functioning properly.” simon restates and you nod loosely, briefly wondering if there was a way to turn it off that— no, what the hell were you thinking?

yet, before you can rein in your thoughts, your lips part, and the words tumble out in a rush, "is there a way to turn it off?"

a/n : ya'll...why is the smut killing me? like, i enjoyed writing the plot but then i get to the smut and i'm like...meh. is it cause that's all i post? maybe. anyways! i'll write the second part one of these days, but i wanted to post this cause i love it so much. (did i do some clickabit? absolutely)

[speedynana]

Mediaeval Prisoner!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley had a plight

his letters from knight mctavish in recent days were all the same questions. how’s the new countess, does she need anything from the crown to support her, and the most annoying one he had written back to simon. when can we start calling you the count?

cheeky bastard.

although the title of count did not entice him, the title of your husband was what he was really after. he didn’t care if you never promoted him to anything more than his knightly status, he just wanted you. he could still taste you on his lips and tongue from earlier that morning too.

during his patrol around the castle one afternoon, he had noted how the drapes and accent clothes around the castle were different. exchanged by your orders. in your favorite color.

he happened to cross paths with you and your newly appointed head chef as they asked you for your favorite dishes. you stated for them to surprise you on that front because you hadn’t had anything except stew and assorted cheeses all your life. simon could only imagine the way you’d light up at something new. once the chef took their leave, simon walked straight into your line of vision.

“countess” he bowed.

“sir riley.” you curtsied in return.

“the new colors of your house are marvelous. is everything exactly as you wanted?”

there’s that blush that spread across your cheeks and down your neck. his favorite color.

“yes, it is. thank you sir.”

he smirked under his shroud as he extended his arm to guide you through the castle doors. the most gentlemanly thing he could do despite being ravenous towards you in your bed this morning.

your conversation continued as you both walked the outer gardens together. the gardens were nothing special, just a few hedges that led to a secure private dock on the ocean. wherever you were didn’t matter to him, as long as he could just listen to you he swore he was in heaven. a sweet thought entered his mind, unlike any he’s ever had before.

your favorite color and his would look most exceptional together at your wedding, wouldn’t it?

<<PREVIOUS

NEXT>>

[speedynana]

“Since you’re always stealing my water bottle, I got you your own. Look, even got it in your favourite colour!” You announce proudly, setting his new bottle down on the counter.

“S’not my favourite…” he murmurs barely loud enough for you to hear, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s saying it aloud.

“What’s that, Si?”

“Black’s not my favourite colour.” He replies more steadily this time, surprising you with his answer.

“Oh. Really?” You clarify, to which he gives you a single curt nod. “I just thought- I mean everything you wear is black.”

“S’true.” He agrees, tilting his head to one side, as though he’s considering this for the first time himself. “Never really thought ‘bout it, but suppose it was, ‘til recently.”

“Why? What’s your favourite colour now?” You ask, curious to know what changed for him to have a new favourite colour all of a sudden.

Simon comes around closer to where you’re standing, leaning down enough to be face to face, gazing straight into your eyes as he holds a single finger up and points towards your eyes saying:

“Those right there, love. Most beautiful colour there is.”

“Also I’m probably still jus’ gonna drink from your bottle.”

“Simon, NO.”

[speedynana]

Lieutenant Simon Riley has a favorite nurse. She's sweet as sugar and polite, stitching up every bloodied soldier with gentle words and touches so light they barely feel the push and pull of the suturing. Appreciative, whether they return the soft conversation or not. He likes the way she floats around the medical wing, the way she smiles softly at everyone, even him. He's sure she knows what he's been doing, but she isn't stopping him, so he assumes she doesn't mind.

Every morning, without fail she gets up and comes into the wing in a different colored pair of scrubs. A new color every day, never the same one twice in a week. She sits at the front desk or at another station somewhere around and sips a can of ginger ale through a straw, pretending she doesn't see Simon's eyes on her while she works.

"Wha's it t'day?" Simon says gruffly as he approaches her, bypassing the other nurses almost completely. "Blackberry," She says softly, looking up at him and displaying the can. He takes a look at her scrubs, and of course, they're a dark purple, matching the can. It suits her, he thinks. Not an obnoxious shade, one that matches her skin tone well. "Good?" He asks her, like he always does. "Not my favorite,' she says as she sets the can back down. He hums lowly in reply as his eyes linger on the fabric of her scrubs, the way the cloth dips over her soft curves.

"You hurt?" She asks him cheekily, "Or just taken an interest in the medical field?" He grunts, pulling his eyes away from her scrubs and meeting her own. "Nae," He says lowly. "Just passing by," he adds, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. Or reaching out to smooth out a wrinkle in her clothing, or tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

He doesn't know what else to say, wanting to keep her attention on him. "Suits ya," He ends up saying softly, trying to sound as gruff as possible, but his eyes are trained on hers, his hazel eyes staring into her own irises. "The purple." He grumbles, cursing inwardly because why is he acting like he's never spoken to a pretty bird before?

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She says sweetly, a nice red tinting the apples of her cheeks. Simon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Small talk hasn't ever been his strong suit, but walking away feels wrong, like cutting a thread that’s barely started to weave.

"You sure you're alright?" she asks again, but this time there's something softer in her voice. A note of genuine curiosity, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "You don’t usually linger this long."

He scowls—not at her, but at himself for being so obvious. "Dinnae know I was bein’ timed," he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You’re not. Just... noticed, is all." Her gaze flicks over him, quick and subtle, like she’s trying to piece him together without openly prying. She's familiar with Simon, knows how private he is. "Busy morning?"

He shrugs. "Same as usual. Training, Paperwork."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, but there’s a shadow of worry behind her eyes. "Sounds like you could use a break."

"Aye," he says gruffly, a hand leaving his pocket to scratch at the base of his balaclava. "Reckon this is it."

Her smile softens at that, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. There’s a weight in the air, something unspoken that presses against his chest, and hers. He wants to say more, to keep her talking, but the words are tangled up in his throat.

"Y’know," she says after a pause, "I think purple might actually suit you too."

His brows furrow softly, squinting at her a bit behind the mask, and for a split second, he wonders if she’s teasing him. But her expression is sincere, her eyes glinting with a quiet kind of amusement.

"Me?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Don’t reckon that’s in regulation."

She shrugs lightly, leaning against the desk. "Wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe a mask or something. Just a little color." There’s a playful glint in her eyes now, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself.

"Don’t think I’d pull it off," he mutters, though there’s a faint warmth creeping up his neck, hidden by the black fabric.

"I disagree," she says softly, and the weight of her gaze feels heavier than before. He looks at her then, really looks, and finds himself rooted to the spot.

"You always this cheeky with the patients?" he grumbles, trying to mask the fact that she’s gotten under his skin.

"Only the ones who hover around the nurses' station without a good excuse," she quips, her smile widening just a fraction. "But I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime, Lieutenant."

His heart gives a traitorous thump at her words, but he swallows it down and grunts in reply. "I’ll hold ya to that," he says, his voice rougher than he intends.

As he turns to leave, her voice calls him back again, soft and lilting. "Oh, and Simon?"

He stops dead in his tracks. She’s never used his name before. Slowly, he turns his head to glance at her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.

"Next time," she says, lifting her can of ginger ale in a mock toast, "you could at least bring one of these to share."

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. "Aye," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll see what I can do."

And as he walks out of the wing, he finds himself already wondering what color she’ll be wearing tomorrow.

[speedynana]

Recovery

Summary: When Simon Riley is injured in combat and left temporarily paralyzed, his world is turned upside down. Forced to take time away from Task Force, he struggles with the loss of his independence and his own demons. His live-in nurse, hired to help him through his recovery, quickly becomes a point of frustration and comfort. Will Simon let himself heal not just physically, but emotionally—and open his heart to the one person determined to stay by his side? A big thank you to @daydreamerwoah for this idea <3 TW: Contains themes of physical injury, emotional distress, and recovery, as well as potentially explicit content. Reader discretion is advised. Word count: 3.5 k

The first thing Simon felt when he woke up was nothing.

A deep, awful nothing stretching from the waist down. A void that seemed to scream louder than any pain. He couldn’t lift his legs. Couldn’t feel them beneath the scratchy hospital sheets.

His throat was dry as sand when he tried to speak, and his hand instinctively went to tug the oxygen mask off. It didn’t take long for the rustle of movement beside him to sound—a chair scraping the floor, boots tapping forward. Familiar boots.

“Don’t do that, mate.”

John’s voice reached him before his blurred vision cleared. When it did, Simon wished it hadn’t.

Price sat at his bedside in that worn field jacket, arms folded, concern etched into every hard line of his face. It was worse, somehow, seeing the worry in a man who always had a plan, who never cracked when the odds were against them. Soap and Gaz hovered by the foot of the bed, not looking at Simon.

“Where…” Simon’s voice rought, catching in his throat. He managed one more word. “How?”

He meant the mission. The fire. The explosion—the light that cut across his vision before black. He remembered dragging Soap to cover while fire broke like thunder. After that... there was nothing.

“Doesn’t matter.” Price shook his head. “Mission got done. You’re here, and that’s the bloody miracle.”

Simon’s gaze cut toward his legs—or where his legs were supposed to be, covered now with too-crisp white sheets. He wiggled his fingers, feeling them clench around the fabric, rough against his palms. The hope flickered for only a second before it hollowed out completely.

He couldn’t feel his legs.

“Don’t pull that stoic shite right now,” Soap muttered suddenly. Gaz gave him a warning glance, but the words were already out there.

Simon stayed silent.

Pathetic.

The word stuck to his ribs like rust. The Ghost himself—useless. For a while, no one said anything. They couldn’t. What the hell was there to say?

By the time Price spoke up again, Simon had memorized every whir of the IV drip and every beep of the monitor at his bedside.

“Simon, listen to me.” Price straightened in his chair. “Doctors say the paralysis might be temporary. Not permanent. It’s the spinal cord—they think with physical therapy, you’ve got a chance.”

“A chance,” Simon echoed. He shifted the blanket over his lap, arms tense at his sides.

“Time and effort, that’s all,” Price replied. “We’re gonna get you back to yourself, alright?”

Simon wanted to scoff, to point out how that chair practically laughed at him from across the room. Back to himself? It sounded like a joke. The Ghost doesn’t limp into a mission—he damn well doesn’t roll.

Soap, who hadn’t spoken since earlier, scratched awkwardly at his buzzed scalp and managed a small grin. “We’ll chip in, mate. You’ll get tired of us pushin’ you around. Gaz already called dibs on who gets to drop you off curbs.”

Gaz sighed in irritation, shaking his head. “Jesus, Soap.”

And for a moment, Simon wanted to laugh. He didn’t, of course, but the heaviness settled just enough for him to reach for the water glass that had been set by the bed. Price moved faster, though, nudging Simon’s shaky arm out of the way before handing him the glass himself.

It pissed him off more than he could admit.

“Enough,” Simon muttered. He took one swig of water before practically shoving it back at Price. “Go.”

Price frowned. “Simon—”

“I’m fine.” Simon cut him off flatly, voice sharp. “Don’t you lot have a mission to fuck off to?”

There it was—thinly veiled venom that couldn’t hide what was really festering beneath it: shame, isolation. 141 still had their legs under them, the freedom to walk away without that mocking squeak of metal.

The silence dragged until Price finally stood. He stared hard at Simon like he wanted to argue but knew better. Simon was still Simon, and orders wouldn’t change how he felt.

“We’ll be back,” Price said as he tugged on his cap. “Behave.”

Soap hesitated before walking off, his hand landing briefly on Simon’s shoulder as he passed. Simon didn’t move. Gaz offered one more lingering look from the doorway before he shut it behind him.

Hours passed. Or minutes. Maybe days.

The doctors tried to explain his recovery timeline when they checked in, though Simon absorbed none of it. Words like spinal impact, therapy, and patience didn’t mean a damn thing when you had to stare at your own traitorous legs refusing to move.

By the time you, his nurse, arrived, Simon already had a bitter response loaded on his tongue.

“No.”

You raised an unimpressed brow at him, clipboard in hand.

“You don’t get to fire me,” you said, ticking something off the chart. “Captain Price hired me himself.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“And yet here I am.” You tucked the clipboard under your arm, looking down at him like he wasn’t the intimidating Ghost that made entire platoons piss themselves. It was jarring—annoyingly so.

“Let me make something very clear.” Simon glared at you, before continuing. “I don’t need a fucking nurse.”

You stared him down like it wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with a man who thought himself stronger than he was. “That’s the pride talking.”

The conversation ended on that note—his glare, your silence.

Alone again, Simon sank lower into the bed, feeling rage crawl under his skin. No legs, no control. And now a bloody nurse babysitting him?

It wouldn’t last, he told himself. Nothing did.

But he had no idea then, not even a clue, that you would be the person who stayed.

-

Simon Riley hated you.

Well, not you, exactly. It wasn’t personal—not in the beginning. It was the idea of you that grated on him like nails against glass. The nurse—his nurse—represented everything he despised. His weakness. His uselessness. His loss of control.

You refused to let him sit in silence, stubborn enough to ignore the heat of his glares when you’d sweep into the room each morning, clipboard in hand and professional cheer etched onto your features.

“Morning, Riley,” you would greet him each time, and he swore you got some twisted pleasure out of pretending he wasn’t already scowling at you.

“Fuck off.” Was his only reply.

“I’ll write that on your chart—improving vocabulary.”

You always said something. Whether it was to push back, joke, or break up the air in the room.

Simon wouldn’t let you win, though—not at first. The harder you pushed, the colder he became. You tried to lift him out of bed? He did his best impression of a statue. You set up basic stretching exercises? He would be sarcastic until you folded your arms with the patience of a goddamn saint and calmly reminded him the exercises weren’t optional.

You gave him no ground. No pity. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to strangle you, or on his worst days thank you.

One day, it had been a bad morning. Worse than usual.

Simon’s exercises were taking longer to yield even the smallest progress. He was so frustrated that he could hardly breathe. The phantom weight of his legs, his inability to move without someone’s damn help—it made his teeth grind and fists clench to the point of white knuckles.

You were there again, patient in the small room they’d converted into a temporary rehab area—white walls, artificial light, and the scent of disinfectant.

“You need to lift, Simon,” you said, standing in front of his wheelchair with your hands on your hips. “You’re improving. You just need to—”

“I need fuck all.” His voice was sharp. “Jesus Christ, you deaf? You’re wasting your time.”

You froze, eyes narrowing at him with something dangerously close to disappointment.

“You’re angry,” you replied, your voice calm. “But this doesn’t go away just because you ignore it, Simon.”

He laughed bitterly.

“Oh, spare me the motivational speech, sweetheart. What? You think a few stretches and cheerleading will get me crawling back onto a mission? Gonna teach me how to live happily ever after in this fucking chair?” He hissed the word—chair—like it poisoned his mouth.

His fists ground into the arms of the wheelchair.

Something flickered in your eyes. Before he could toss another bite of venom your way, you closed the distance between you and dropped to your knees—eye level now, your faces inches apart.

Simon didn’t move. Didn’t flinch, but he stared.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like I pity you.” Your voice was low. “You think I haven’t seen men like you before? Men who think anger makes the world listen?”

Simon’s jaw ticked, his breathing slow.

“You think this doesn’t scare me?” you pressed on, your gaze burning straight through him. “The weight of what I’m asking? Pushing you past what your body wants? I’m terrified every day I’ll say the wrong thing and make you stop.”

The air in the room shifted. Stopped.

Simon froze—just for a second. It wasn’t the words, exactly, but the fear beneath them. This wasn’t pity. It wasn’t shallow encouragement either. There was something real tangled up in what you’d said.

He didn’t answer you—not because he couldn’t think of one, but because no words would fit. Instead, he dropped his gaze and pressed his palms hard into the chair's wheels, turning himself away.

“Enough.” His voice was low.

You sighed but didn’t press him further. That was the first day you called a truce.

-

Simon didn’t realize when the fights had stopped.

The nurse—your name slipped out eventually, though he’d never say it aloud—was still there, day after day. The arguing faded into tense silences, which somehow became your routine. Sometimes, when you helped him maneuver into his chair or reposition his legs, your fingers would brush against him. Just a second of touch. A heat curled behind his ribs before he shoved it down where he buried everything else.

He hated needing your help.

But, God forgive him, it didn’t feel as awful as before.

One afternoon, after yet another stretching session, you sat on the floor next to his chair, clipboard abandoned beside you. Your head tilted back against the wall, and with a faint exhale, you rubbed at your neck.

“You don’t seem tired,” he muttered.

The words slipped out before he could stop them. You lifted a brow, looking up at him curiously.

“What?”

“You act like all this doesn’t wear you down,” he replied, gesturing vaguely toward his legs. Maybe it was the post-exercise exhaustion. Or maybe it was the quiet between them now that wasn’t quite as miserable as it had been weeks ago.

“I signed up for this, Simon.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

Silence again. When you glanced up at him fully, your smile wasn’t mocking or cocky this time.

“No. But it’s worth it.”

Simon didn’t let himself think about why those words echoed behind his ribs long after you left that night.

-

Their fights weren’t completely gone, of course. You would snap at one another like wolves when frustrations rose too high.

But one evening, when you helped him shift in his seat after his legs had been deadweight for hours, Simon froze. Just a second. Just long enough to feel your hands at his waist—steady and strong against his scarred skin—and notice.

The way you exhaled softly when you moved him. The way you looked straight at him when he stiffened—your eyes determined, never breaking like others did.

“There. Comfortable?”

He should’ve muttered a sharp, one-word reply. Instead, his voice came quieter than he meant:

“Yeah.”

In that tiny sliver of peace after the long-fought battles between you, Simon realized something strange. He still hated your presence in his life, hated needing you… but not in the way he used to.

And it terrified him worse than any battlefield he’d ever faced.

-

You noticed the change in Simon the moment the doors of the small house closed behind you. He might’ve been the same person—quiet, short-tempered—but here, outside the clinical walls of the rehab facility, something felt different.

This was his space. A glimpse into the life he'd kept carefully walled off from everyone.

Simon had needed help transitioning from the hospital, and somehow you were the one still here. What was meant to be a few nights stretched into weeks, your things tucked into a guest bedroom that was clean but cold, untouched like the rest of the house.

He didn’t stop you from unpacking or making meals or gently steering him through his day. But he didn’t make it easy either.

It had been a difficult day for him. You’d noticed it early—his shoulders tighter than usual, his movements stiff. Every attempt you made to coax him into his routine was met with an edge. You gave him as much room as you could until he made it impossible to leave things be.

Simon was in the living room, positioned near the window as rain slid down the glass in slow, uneven lines. You stood behind him for a moment, hesitant to interrupt the silence. He’d barely spoken all day, but his grip on the armrests of his wheelchair told you everything you needed to know.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked quietly, stepping into the space beside him.

He didn’t turn to look at you. “What’s there to talk about?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t owe you one.” His voice was sharp.

“Maybe not,” you said evenly, “but you’re miserable. It’s not helping either of us to ignore it.”

His shoulders stiffened, and his hands tightened on the armrests even more. He let out a long, rough exhale, tilting his head back against the chair.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” His tone wasn’t angry this time; it was hollow. “Every day, it’s the same. Same exercises. Same useless questions. Same people pretending I’ve got a fucking chance.”

You frowned, pulling a chair over to sit directly across from him. “Nobody’s pretending, Simon. Least of all me.”

He laughed bitterly. “Oh, come on. What, you think if you cheer me on enough, I’ll forget I can’t even move my own fucking legs?”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” you said calmly. “But it’d help if you stopped biting my head off long enough to actually make some progress.”

His gaze finally snapped to yours, full of frustration. “Progress? This is it. Sitting in this bloody chair, waiting for it to magically fix itself while the rest of my life just... stops.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” You leaned forward, forcing him to hold your gaze. “It hasn’t stopped. It’s slowed, sure—but you’re the one keeping it from moving forward.”

He scoffed. “You don’t get it.”

“You’re right. I don’t,” you said. “But I’m here anyway. I’m not going anywhere, no matter how much you bark and growl.”

Simon blinked at you, clearly taken off guard by the bluntness in your tone. He sat back slightly, running a hand over his face. “Why do you care so much?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked, surprised by the question.

His jaw clenched, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “Because everyone else moved on. Left me behind. Doesn’t make sense why you haven’t done the same.”

“Because I’m not them,” you replied simply. “Because you don’t deserve to be left alone to rot in here like you keep convincing yourself you do.”

Simon didn’t answer right away. His expression was hard to read. Finally, he shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

You smiled faintly, relieved to see even the smallest crack in his armor. “And you’re a pain in the ass.”

That earned the barest hint of a chuckle from him, the sound low and rough but genuine. For the first time in weeks, it felt like neither of you were losing the fight.

-

It had been raining all day, and Simon was in his chair by the living room window again, staring out at nothing. His mood had been more tolerable after your conversation, but this—this next part—was bound to ruin that truce.

“We need to take care of your shower,” you said, keeping your voice as neutral as possible.

Simon shifted slightly, still gazing outside. “I can skip it.”

“Skipping it isn’t an option,” you replied, standing firm. You expected maybe another excuse, but he just sighed and pushed his chair backward with a sharp shove of his hands on the wheels.

He didn’t say a word as you guided him toward the bathroom, he hated needing help like this; he didn’t even bother hiding that fact. You tried not to think too hard about it, about how deeply it hurt his pride to rely on someone for this level of care.

Inside, the bathroom was small but practical. You had already set up the necessary equipment: a shower bench, towels folded neatly on the counter, and grab bars mounted on the tiles. But it didn’t change what was about to happen.

“You’ll need to take off your clothes,” you said, looking anywhere but at him.

Simon turned his head slightly toward you. “Figured that much out myself.”

You bit back the response sitting on your tongue. “I’ll help steady you once you’re ready,” you added instead, keeping the professionalism intact.

The rasp of his movements filled the room as he worked on shrugging out of his hoodie. When it got caught around his shoulders, you reached instinctively to help, freezing when he flinched.

“I’ve got it,” he muttered.

It was a slow process, his injury making even small tasks difficult. You busied yourself with adjusting the water temperature, but there was no way to avoid noticing when he finally managed to pull his hoodie and shirt off. His broad chest, riddled with scars and tattoos, caught your gaze for a second longer than it should have. You forced yourself to look away, biting down on the edge of your lower lip as your face heated.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself silently.

“Problem?” His voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“No,” you said too quickly, busying yourself with handing him a towel to place over his lap before helping him move.

Simon caught the hesitation in your movement and raised a brow, his face shifting to faint amusement. “Haven’t you done this before?”

You refused to take the bait, stepping behind him to help support his transfer to the bench. “With far more cooperative patients, yes.”

He didn’t make a comment after that, leaning on you just enough to get himself in place. His skin was warm against yours where your hands pressed to steady him, and you found yourself hyperaware of every subtle flex of muscle beneath your touch.

Once he was settled, you adjusted the showerhead and stepped back, taking a moment to breathe while he wet his hair. But of course, the towel across his lap was already damp and clinging to the sharp angles of his thighs.

Stop. Thinking. About. It.

Simon was oddly quiet, letting you rinse shampoo from his hair without protest. His usual scowl was softened by the heat of the shower, and for the first time since you’d met him, he seemed... at peace. His breathing slowed, the lines in his face easing as your hands worked through his hair.

When you reached to adjust the handheld showerhead, your elbow brushed his shoulder, and you swore you felt him stiffen just slightly. You froze, heart pounding, and quickly stepped back, pretending nothing happened.

Simon’s eyes opened then, and he looked at you for a long moment before saying anything. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Your lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Just trying to avoid you biting my head off later.”

His smirked. “You’re doing alright, nurse.”

The unexpected softness in his voice caught you off guard. You felt heat creeping up your neck and busied yourself again with rinsing his arms and chest. But the light in his eyes lingered, and you caught the faintest glimmer of... something.

Interest.

You couldn’t stay here too long—near his warmth, his edges softening just enough to draw you in. This wasn’t supposed to feel intimate, wasn’t supposed to make your chest tighten. But there you were, brushing damp hair out of his eyes, your fingertips lingering just a second too long before stepping back.

“All done,” you said quickly, grabbing a dry towel from the counter.

Simon let out a low breath and nodded, tilting his head back slightly. “Thanks,” he muttered.

You helped him move again, the warmth of his body radiating through the fabric of your shirt as he leaned on you. It wasn’t until you left him to dry off that you let yourself exhale fully, feeling the rapid thrum of your heart settle into something steadier.

You might’ve been the one helping him, but there were moments like these where it felt like Simon had all the control.

PART 2

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

There will be one more part to this story, so watch out for that :)

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate

[speedynana]

Recovery

Summary: When Simon Riley is injured in combat and left temporarily paralyzed, his world is turned upside down. Forced to take time away from Task Force, he struggles with the loss of his independence and his own demons. His live-in nurse, hired to help him through his recovery, quickly becomes a point of frustration and comfort. Will Simon let himself heal not just physically, but emotionally—and open his heart to the one person determined to stay by his side? A big thank you to @daydreamerwoah for this idea <3 TW: Contains themes of physical injury, emotional distress, and recovery, as well as potentially explicit content. Reader discretion is advised. Word count: 3.5 k

The first thing Simon felt when he woke up was nothing.

A deep, awful nothing stretching from the waist down. A void that seemed to scream louder than any pain. He couldn’t lift his legs. Couldn’t feel them beneath the scratchy hospital sheets.

His throat was dry as sand when he tried to speak, and his hand instinctively went to tug the oxygen mask off. It didn’t take long for the rustle of movement beside him to sound—a chair scraping the floor, boots tapping forward. Familiar boots.

“Don’t do that, mate.”

John’s voice reached him before his blurred vision cleared. When it did, Simon wished it hadn’t.

Price sat at his bedside in that worn field jacket, arms folded, concern etched into every hard line of his face. It was worse, somehow, seeing the worry in a man who always had a plan, who never cracked when the odds were against them. Soap and Gaz hovered by the foot of the bed, not looking at Simon.

“Where…” Simon’s voice rought, catching in his throat. He managed one more word. “How?”

He meant the mission. The fire. The explosion—the light that cut across his vision before black. He remembered dragging Soap to cover while fire broke like thunder. After that... there was nothing.

“Doesn’t matter.” Price shook his head. “Mission got done. You’re here, and that’s the bloody miracle.”

Simon’s gaze cut toward his legs—or where his legs were supposed to be, covered now with too-crisp white sheets. He wiggled his fingers, feeling them clench around the fabric, rough against his palms. The hope flickered for only a second before it hollowed out completely.

He couldn’t feel his legs.

“Don’t pull that stoic shite right now,” Soap muttered suddenly. Gaz gave him a warning glance, but the words were already out there.

Simon stayed silent.

Pathetic.

The word stuck to his ribs like rust. The Ghost himself—useless. For a while, no one said anything. They couldn’t. What the hell was there to say?

By the time Price spoke up again, Simon had memorized every whir of the IV drip and every beep of the monitor at his bedside.

“Simon, listen to me.” Price straightened in his chair. “Doctors say the paralysis might be temporary. Not permanent. It’s the spinal cord—they think with physical therapy, you’ve got a chance.”

“A chance,” Simon echoed. He shifted the blanket over his lap, arms tense at his sides.

“Time and effort, that’s all,” Price replied. “We’re gonna get you back to yourself, alright?”

Simon wanted to scoff, to point out how that chair practically laughed at him from across the room. Back to himself? It sounded like a joke. The Ghost doesn’t limp into a mission—he damn well doesn’t roll.

Soap, who hadn’t spoken since earlier, scratched awkwardly at his buzzed scalp and managed a small grin. “We’ll chip in, mate. You’ll get tired of us pushin’ you around. Gaz already called dibs on who gets to drop you off curbs.”

Gaz sighed in irritation, shaking his head. “Jesus, Soap.”

And for a moment, Simon wanted to laugh. He didn’t, of course, but the heaviness settled just enough for him to reach for the water glass that had been set by the bed. Price moved faster, though, nudging Simon’s shaky arm out of the way before handing him the glass himself.

It pissed him off more than he could admit.

“Enough,” Simon muttered. He took one swig of water before practically shoving it back at Price. “Go.”

Price frowned. “Simon—”

“I’m fine.” Simon cut him off flatly, voice sharp. “Don’t you lot have a mission to fuck off to?”

There it was—thinly veiled venom that couldn’t hide what was really festering beneath it: shame, isolation. 141 still had their legs under them, the freedom to walk away without that mocking squeak of metal.

The silence dragged until Price finally stood. He stared hard at Simon like he wanted to argue but knew better. Simon was still Simon, and orders wouldn’t change how he felt.

“We’ll be back,” Price said as he tugged on his cap. “Behave.”

Soap hesitated before walking off, his hand landing briefly on Simon’s shoulder as he passed. Simon didn’t move. Gaz offered one more lingering look from the doorway before he shut it behind him.

Hours passed. Or minutes. Maybe days.

The doctors tried to explain his recovery timeline when they checked in, though Simon absorbed none of it. Words like spinal impact, therapy, and patience didn’t mean a damn thing when you had to stare at your own traitorous legs refusing to move.

By the time you, his nurse, arrived, Simon already had a bitter response loaded on his tongue.

“No.”

You raised an unimpressed brow at him, clipboard in hand.

“You don’t get to fire me,” you said, ticking something off the chart. “Captain Price hired me himself.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“And yet here I am.” You tucked the clipboard under your arm, looking down at him like he wasn’t the intimidating Ghost that made entire platoons piss themselves. It was jarring—annoyingly so.

“Let me make something very clear.” Simon glared at you, before continuing. “I don’t need a fucking nurse.”

You stared him down like it wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with a man who thought himself stronger than he was. “That’s the pride talking.”

The conversation ended on that note—his glare, your silence.

Alone again, Simon sank lower into the bed, feeling rage crawl under his skin. No legs, no control. And now a bloody nurse babysitting him?

It wouldn’t last, he told himself. Nothing did.

But he had no idea then, not even a clue, that you would be the person who stayed.

-

Simon Riley hated you.

Well, not you, exactly. It wasn’t personal—not in the beginning. It was the idea of you that grated on him like nails against glass. The nurse—his nurse—represented everything he despised. His weakness. His uselessness. His loss of control.

You refused to let him sit in silence, stubborn enough to ignore the heat of his glares when you’d sweep into the room each morning, clipboard in hand and professional cheer etched onto your features.

“Morning, Riley,” you would greet him each time, and he swore you got some twisted pleasure out of pretending he wasn’t already scowling at you.

“Fuck off.” Was his only reply.

“I’ll write that on your chart—improving vocabulary.”

You always said something. Whether it was to push back, joke, or break up the air in the room.

Simon wouldn’t let you win, though—not at first. The harder you pushed, the colder he became. You tried to lift him out of bed? He did his best impression of a statue. You set up basic stretching exercises? He would be sarcastic until you folded your arms with the patience of a goddamn saint and calmly reminded him the exercises weren’t optional.

You gave him no ground. No pity. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to strangle you, or on his worst days thank you.

One day, it had been a bad morning. Worse than usual.

Simon’s exercises were taking longer to yield even the smallest progress. He was so frustrated that he could hardly breathe. The phantom weight of his legs, his inability to move without someone’s damn help—it made his teeth grind and fists clench to the point of white knuckles.

You were there again, patient in the small room they’d converted into a temporary rehab area—white walls, artificial light, and the scent of disinfectant.

“You need to lift, Simon,” you said, standing in front of his wheelchair with your hands on your hips. “You’re improving. You just need to—”

“I need fuck all.” His voice was sharp. “Jesus Christ, you deaf? You’re wasting your time.”

You froze, eyes narrowing at him with something dangerously close to disappointment.

“You’re angry,” you replied, your voice calm. “But this doesn’t go away just because you ignore it, Simon.”

He laughed bitterly.

“Oh, spare me the motivational speech, sweetheart. What? You think a few stretches and cheerleading will get me crawling back onto a mission? Gonna teach me how to live happily ever after in this fucking chair?” He hissed the word—chair—like it poisoned his mouth.

His fists ground into the arms of the wheelchair.

Something flickered in your eyes. Before he could toss another bite of venom your way, you closed the distance between you and dropped to your knees—eye level now, your faces inches apart.

Simon didn’t move. Didn’t flinch, but he stared.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like I pity you.” Your voice was low. “You think I haven’t seen men like you before? Men who think anger makes the world listen?”

Simon’s jaw ticked, his breathing slow.

“You think this doesn’t scare me?” you pressed on, your gaze burning straight through him. “The weight of what I’m asking? Pushing you past what your body wants? I’m terrified every day I’ll say the wrong thing and make you stop.”

The air in the room shifted. Stopped.

Simon froze—just for a second. It wasn’t the words, exactly, but the fear beneath them. This wasn’t pity. It wasn’t shallow encouragement either. There was something real tangled up in what you’d said.

He didn’t answer you—not because he couldn’t think of one, but because no words would fit. Instead, he dropped his gaze and pressed his palms hard into the chair's wheels, turning himself away.

“Enough.” His voice was low.

You sighed but didn’t press him further. That was the first day you called a truce.

-

Simon didn’t realize when the fights had stopped.

The nurse—your name slipped out eventually, though he’d never say it aloud—was still there, day after day. The arguing faded into tense silences, which somehow became your routine. Sometimes, when you helped him maneuver into his chair or reposition his legs, your fingers would brush against him. Just a second of touch. A heat curled behind his ribs before he shoved it down where he buried everything else.

He hated needing your help.

But, God forgive him, it didn’t feel as awful as before.

One afternoon, after yet another stretching session, you sat on the floor next to his chair, clipboard abandoned beside you. Your head tilted back against the wall, and with a faint exhale, you rubbed at your neck.

“You don’t seem tired,” he muttered.

The words slipped out before he could stop them. You lifted a brow, looking up at him curiously.

“What?”

“You act like all this doesn’t wear you down,” he replied, gesturing vaguely toward his legs. Maybe it was the post-exercise exhaustion. Or maybe it was the quiet between them now that wasn’t quite as miserable as it had been weeks ago.

“I signed up for this, Simon.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

Silence again. When you glanced up at him fully, your smile wasn’t mocking or cocky this time.

“No. But it’s worth it.”

Simon didn’t let himself think about why those words echoed behind his ribs long after you left that night.

-

Their fights weren’t completely gone, of course. You would snap at one another like wolves when frustrations rose too high.

But one evening, when you helped him shift in his seat after his legs had been deadweight for hours, Simon froze. Just a second. Just long enough to feel your hands at his waist—steady and strong against his scarred skin—and notice.

The way you exhaled softly when you moved him. The way you looked straight at him when he stiffened—your eyes determined, never breaking like others did.

“There. Comfortable?”

He should’ve muttered a sharp, one-word reply. Instead, his voice came quieter than he meant:

“Yeah.”

In that tiny sliver of peace after the long-fought battles between you, Simon realized something strange. He still hated your presence in his life, hated needing you… but not in the way he used to.

And it terrified him worse than any battlefield he’d ever faced.

-

You noticed the change in Simon the moment the doors of the small house closed behind you. He might’ve been the same person—quiet, short-tempered—but here, outside the clinical walls of the rehab facility, something felt different.

This was his space. A glimpse into the life he'd kept carefully walled off from everyone.

Simon had needed help transitioning from the hospital, and somehow you were the one still here. What was meant to be a few nights stretched into weeks, your things tucked into a guest bedroom that was clean but cold, untouched like the rest of the house.

He didn’t stop you from unpacking or making meals or gently steering him through his day. But he didn’t make it easy either.

It had been a difficult day for him. You’d noticed it early—his shoulders tighter than usual, his movements stiff. Every attempt you made to coax him into his routine was met with an edge. You gave him as much room as you could until he made it impossible to leave things be.

Simon was in the living room, positioned near the window as rain slid down the glass in slow, uneven lines. You stood behind him for a moment, hesitant to interrupt the silence. He’d barely spoken all day, but his grip on the armrests of his wheelchair told you everything you needed to know.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked quietly, stepping into the space beside him.

He didn’t turn to look at you. “What’s there to talk about?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t owe you one.” His voice was sharp.

“Maybe not,” you said evenly, “but you’re miserable. It’s not helping either of us to ignore it.”

His shoulders stiffened, and his hands tightened on the armrests even more. He let out a long, rough exhale, tilting his head back against the chair.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” His tone wasn’t angry this time; it was hollow. “Every day, it’s the same. Same exercises. Same useless questions. Same people pretending I’ve got a fucking chance.”

You frowned, pulling a chair over to sit directly across from him. “Nobody’s pretending, Simon. Least of all me.”

He laughed bitterly. “Oh, come on. What, you think if you cheer me on enough, I’ll forget I can’t even move my own fucking legs?”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” you said calmly. “But it’d help if you stopped biting my head off long enough to actually make some progress.”

His gaze finally snapped to yours, full of frustration. “Progress? This is it. Sitting in this bloody chair, waiting for it to magically fix itself while the rest of my life just... stops.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” You leaned forward, forcing him to hold your gaze. “It hasn’t stopped. It’s slowed, sure—but you’re the one keeping it from moving forward.”

He scoffed. “You don’t get it.”

“You’re right. I don’t,” you said. “But I’m here anyway. I’m not going anywhere, no matter how much you bark and growl.”

Simon blinked at you, clearly taken off guard by the bluntness in your tone. He sat back slightly, running a hand over his face. “Why do you care so much?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked, surprised by the question.

His jaw clenched, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “Because everyone else moved on. Left me behind. Doesn’t make sense why you haven’t done the same.”

“Because I’m not them,” you replied simply. “Because you don’t deserve to be left alone to rot in here like you keep convincing yourself you do.”

Simon didn’t answer right away. His expression was hard to read. Finally, he shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

You smiled faintly, relieved to see even the smallest crack in his armor. “And you’re a pain in the ass.”

That earned the barest hint of a chuckle from him, the sound low and rough but genuine. For the first time in weeks, it felt like neither of you were losing the fight.

-

It had been raining all day, and Simon was in his chair by the living room window again, staring out at nothing. His mood had been more tolerable after your conversation, but this—this next part—was bound to ruin that truce.

“We need to take care of your shower,” you said, keeping your voice as neutral as possible.

Simon shifted slightly, still gazing outside. “I can skip it.”

“Skipping it isn’t an option,” you replied, standing firm. You expected maybe another excuse, but he just sighed and pushed his chair backward with a sharp shove of his hands on the wheels.

He didn’t say a word as you guided him toward the bathroom, he hated needing help like this; he didn’t even bother hiding that fact. You tried not to think too hard about it, about how deeply it hurt his pride to rely on someone for this level of care.

Inside, the bathroom was small but practical. You had already set up the necessary equipment: a shower bench, towels folded neatly on the counter, and grab bars mounted on the tiles. But it didn’t change what was about to happen.

“You’ll need to take off your clothes,” you said, looking anywhere but at him.

Simon turned his head slightly toward you. “Figured that much out myself.”

You bit back the response sitting on your tongue. “I’ll help steady you once you’re ready,” you added instead, keeping the professionalism intact.

The rasp of his movements filled the room as he worked on shrugging out of his hoodie. When it got caught around his shoulders, you reached instinctively to help, freezing when he flinched.

“I’ve got it,” he muttered.

It was a slow process, his injury making even small tasks difficult. You busied yourself with adjusting the water temperature, but there was no way to avoid noticing when he finally managed to pull his hoodie and shirt off. His broad chest, riddled with scars and tattoos, caught your gaze for a second longer than it should have. You forced yourself to look away, biting down on the edge of your lower lip as your face heated.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself silently.

“Problem?” His voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“No,” you said too quickly, busying yourself with handing him a towel to place over his lap before helping him move.

Simon caught the hesitation in your movement and raised a brow, his face shifting to faint amusement. “Haven’t you done this before?”

You refused to take the bait, stepping behind him to help support his transfer to the bench. “With far more cooperative patients, yes.”

He didn’t make a comment after that, leaning on you just enough to get himself in place. His skin was warm against yours where your hands pressed to steady him, and you found yourself hyperaware of every subtle flex of muscle beneath your touch.

Once he was settled, you adjusted the showerhead and stepped back, taking a moment to breathe while he wet his hair. But of course, the towel across his lap was already damp and clinging to the sharp angles of his thighs.

Stop. Thinking. About. It.

Simon was oddly quiet, letting you rinse shampoo from his hair without protest. His usual scowl was softened by the heat of the shower, and for the first time since you’d met him, he seemed... at peace. His breathing slowed, the lines in his face easing as your hands worked through his hair.

When you reached to adjust the handheld showerhead, your elbow brushed his shoulder, and you swore you felt him stiffen just slightly. You froze, heart pounding, and quickly stepped back, pretending nothing happened.

Simon’s eyes opened then, and he looked at you for a long moment before saying anything. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Your lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Just trying to avoid you biting my head off later.”

His smirked. “You’re doing alright, nurse.”

The unexpected softness in his voice caught you off guard. You felt heat creeping up your neck and busied yourself again with rinsing his arms and chest. But the light in his eyes lingered, and you caught the faintest glimmer of... something.

Interest.

You couldn’t stay here too long—near his warmth, his edges softening just enough to draw you in. This wasn’t supposed to feel intimate, wasn’t supposed to make your chest tighten. But there you were, brushing damp hair out of his eyes, your fingertips lingering just a second too long before stepping back.

“All done,” you said quickly, grabbing a dry towel from the counter.

Simon let out a low breath and nodded, tilting his head back slightly. “Thanks,” he muttered.

You helped him move again, the warmth of his body radiating through the fabric of your shirt as he leaned on you. It wasn’t until you left him to dry off that you let yourself exhale fully, feeling the rapid thrum of your heart settle into something steadier.

You might’ve been the one helping him, but there were moments like these where it felt like Simon had all the control.

PART 2

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

There will be one more part to this story, so watch out for that :)

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate

[speedynana]

Lately I’ve been getting a kick outta the idea of Ghost having a girlfriend that Johnny is painfully interested in (tale as old as time). But she a lil neurodivergent and selectively mute (edit; I originally labeled reader as non-verbal, but I was made aware mutism more accurately describes this!). She’s comfortable enough with Simon that she’ll talk to him when they’re alone, but she won’t say a word to Soap (she doesn’t talk to the other guys either, but you know that Johnny chooses to take it so damned personally).

The worst part is that Soap will say shit to her, and she’ll give Simon her little signal so he can bend down and she can talk to him so fucking quietly. It’s like they speak a different language and Simon is the interpreter. And it’s so infuriating to him because shit like this will happen.

“Ain’t you looking a right picture, bonnie— that dress new? Fits ye like a damned glove, sweetheart.”

You tug on Simon’s sleeve so he can lean down. Soap is rocking back and forth on his heels, anticipating an answer. He’s down so bad, he doesn’t even care that he’ll hear it from Simon’s lips and not yours. You whisper for what feels like minutes on end.

“She says thanks.”

“God damn, L.T.— you know she fuckin’ ‘ad to ‘ave said more than that!” He whines indignantly, Simon smirking. Simon knows all about his little crush, and chooses to let the lad suffer. His time will come when you’re ready.

This goes on and on for months on end— and you know what? It’s hard for Johnny to jerk off to the image of you wedged between him and Ghost when he has no idea what you sound like, moaning or otherwise. You can probably see him half hard in his jeans every time he heads home from a movie night with you and Simon.

“G’night, L.T. Night, hen.” Soap’s almost all the way down the walkway when he hears something almost inaudible over the ambient sounds of the night.

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

Now that’s gonna keep his fantasies fed for weeks.

[speedynana]

Wife at First Sight

A mini series of drabbles where Simon decides you’re his wife the moment he laid eyes on you

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five

Part six

Part seven 18+(coming soon)

Main masterlist

[speedynana]

RICK GRIMES

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all rick grimes stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, let me know <3)

MASTERLIST • THE WALKING DEAD • 11/30/24

@lilgoblinbitch ✰ gossip rick overhears you and some alexandrian women gossiping, and he decides to confront you.

@murdrdocs ✰ drabble

@specialagentlokitty ✰ what was supposed to be our last night

@dollfacefantasy ✰ request

@itsgrimeytime ✰ when you love him part 2 ✰ when he clarifies things ✰ feelin' flirty Being a long-lost friend of Maggie's, you wind up at the prison, a line of dead walkers behind you. You are promptly confronted with one Rick Grimes, and it's suddenly your life's goal to flirt with him as much as you can. Rick doesn't usually respond, but what if one day he does? ✰ i know i got him Ever since you showed up, you've had an effect on Rick. At least, that's what everyone said. Initially, you hadn't recognized it. But after one too many coincidences, it's starting to become a little impossible to ignore. ✰ the life we could've had Rick knows you're gone, he does. He just keeps seeing you in everything -the distant smell of coffee in the morning, or the sand beneath his toes (when he finds himself on a beach.) And as he tried to scrub what pain he felt out of his head, he wondered just when he could see you again. ✰ the nurse Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You'd always wondered where he'd ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

@cultofdixon ✰ little one had other plans Timing is never perfect when it comes to babies coming into the world. Rick just wished the group wasn’t…homeless when his baby decided to make an entrance

@myanmy ✰ time You just got to Alexandria and are settling in, however Rick seems to have forgotten he has a girlfriend.

@inthe-dark-tonight ✰ three days too long you wake up to a surprise after rick comes back from a three day long supply run

@weretheones ✰ rest Some days, it felt like the weight of the world rested on Rick’s shoulders. The night after the farm fell was no exception.

@gxtitobxby ✰ mean!rick

@grimesgirll ✰ request

@movidita ✰ request

@paradisedixon ✰ dreamy you’re tired of having to ask everyone for supplies after shane forbid you from going on runs for no reason, so you ask the next best man for permission.

@virginsexgod69 ✰ sweetheart

[speedynana]

Hey, can write one where rbr!reader and Ollie prank the grid and tell them that Ollie accidentally got her pregnant. Maybe they all have different reactions. Pretty please♥️

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

I am currently obsessed with writing driver!reader, so maybe some requests for her or similar to this story.

-xoxo babygirl 💜

The greatest prank of all times

The sun had barely risen over the paddock when Y/N and Ollie, full of mischievous energy, hatched their plan. Both young, vibrant, and constantly on the lookout for some fun to break the tension of race weekends, they decided it was time to pull a lighthearted prank on their fellow F1 drivers. It wasn’t often the grid got to see the two of them in action, but today was going to be different.

Y/N, the youngest driver on the grid and a star for Red Bull Racing, teamed up with Ollie. They had been best friends for years, their bond often the source of harmless trouble. This time, however, they were aiming for something bigger—a prank the grid would never forget.

They booked a small, private room in the Red Bull hospitality area. It was cozy, with just enough space for a couch, a table, and a couple of chairs. Perfect for their "serious" conversation. Hidden cameras were expertly positioned around the room, capturing every angle without raising suspicion. They’d already tested the setup earlier in the morning, making sure every tear and every frantic gesture would be caught on film.

The story was simple yet effective. Y/N would pretend to be distraught, eyes puffy and red as if she’d been crying all night. Ollie would play the role of the nervous boyfriend, pacing the room, wringing his hands, and muttering apologies under his breath. The "problem"? Y/N was "pregnant," and they didn’t know what to do.

To make it believable, they sent text messages to each driver on the grid, tailored to their personalities:

"Hey, I really need to talk to you. It's serious. Can you come to the Red Bull lounge? Please don’t tell anyone."

One by one, the drivers were lured into the trap.

Y/N and Ollie ran through the scenario a dozen times before anyone arrived.

"Okay, so you’re crying, and I’m like, ‘I don’t know what to do!’ And then maybe I sit down and put my head in my hands?” Ollie suggested, pacing the room.

“Yeah, yeah, and I’ll be like, ‘I’m so scared!’ and then just stare at them for help. They'll definitely freak out!” Y/N added, barely suppressing a laugh.

----

The first text had already been sent, and the countdown began. Y/N dabbed her cheeks with a damp tissue, smearing her mascara slightly to complete the "crying" effect. Ollie threw on a hoodie and deliberately messed up his hair, making himself look as if he hadn’t slept.

"Alright, camera rolling?" Ollie asked, glancing at the monitor hidden behind a stack of Red Bull merchandise.

"Rolling," Y/N confirmed, grinning despite herself.

The door creaked open, and the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Showtime,” Ollie whispered, shooting Y/N a conspiratorial wink before slumping into character.

The first victim was about to walk in.

----

The door opened slowly, and Lewis stepped into the room, his presence immediately filling the small space. His usual calm and reassuring demeanor was evident as he scanned the room, his eyes softening when he saw Y/N with her head in her hands, shoulders trembling as if she were crying. Ollie, meanwhile, was pacing frantically, his hands running through his hair like a man on the verge of a breakdown.

"Hey, hey, what’s going on?" Lewis asked gently, closing the door behind him. He moved toward Y/N, lowering himself to her level on the couch. "Y/N, are you okay?"

Y/N sniffled dramatically, her face buried in her hands. She peeked at Ollie from the corner of her eye, who nodded ever so slightly, signaling her to go ahead.

“It’s— it’s bad, Lewis,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

Lewis immediately placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his tone soft and full of concern. "It’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. Just breathe, alright?"

Ollie let out a shaky sigh, his pacing picking up. "I messed up, Lewis. I really messed up."

Lewis glanced between the two, his brows furrowing. "What happened? You two are scaring me."

Y/N wiped her eyes dramatically, hesitating for a moment before blurting out, "I’m pregnant."

Lewis froze, his expression blank for a second as he processed the information. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out immediately. The weight of the news settled over the room like a thick fog.

Then, he took a deep breath, his face softening once more. "Okay. Alright," he said, nodding slowly. "First of all, it’s going to be okay. Both of you, calm down. We’ll figure this out together."

He turned to Y/N, his voice gentle and steady. "Y/N, does anyone else know? Your parents?"

Y/N shook her head, biting her lip. "No. We don’t know how to tell them. I don’t even know what to do," she mumbled, her voice cracking.

Lewis exhaled, leaning back slightly as he processed the situation. "Alright. Here’s what I think. You need to talk to them. They’ll be shocked, sure, but they love you. They’ll want to help."

Y/N gave a small, hesitant nod, while Ollie finally stopped pacing, standing awkwardly by the couch.

"But listen, Y/N," Lewis continued, looking her directly in the eyes, "this is your decision. Whatever you want to do, it’s your choice, and no one else’s. Don’t let anyone pressure you into anything, alright?"

She nodded again, sniffing.

Lewis then turned his attention to Ollie, his gaze serious but kind. "And you, Ollie. You need to ask yourself something important—do you want to be a dad?"

Ollie gulped, glancing at Y/N before muttering, "I—I don’t know. I mean, I want to be there for her, but I’m scared."

Lewis placed a hand on Ollie’s shoulder, grounding him. "That’s natural. But if this is happening, you need to be ready to step up. Support her. Be a team. This isn’t just about you anymore."

Ollie nodded, looking genuinely thoughtful, even as he fought the urge to crack a smile at how seriously Lewis was taking it all.

"Listen, both of you," Lewis said, his tone resolute. "Whatever happens, I’m here for you. You’re not alone in this. I’ll help you figure things out, no matter what you decide. You can call me anytime, alright?"

Y/N let out a small sob, hiding her face again to disguise her laughter. It was Ollie who couldn’t hold it in any longer. He burst out laughing, doubling over as the tension in the room snapped like a rubber band.

Lewis looked utterly confused. "Wait—what’s happening?"

Through her fake tears, Y/N managed to choke out, "It’s a prank! We’re joking!"

The realization dawned on Lewis, and he leaned back, his mouth falling open in disbelief. Then, he started laughing, shaking his head. "You two… are terrible. I was ready to call your parents!"

Y/N and Ollie were in hysterics, tears of laughter streaming down their faces.

Lewis stood, hands on his hips, a bemused smile playing on his lips. "I hope you know, you’ve got a prank coming your way now."

Even as they laughed, they knew they’d never forget how kind and supportive Lewis had been.

----

The door opened, and Charles stepped into the room, his brow already furrowed with concern. "Y/N? Ollie? What’s going on?" he asked, his voice edged with worry as his eyes darted between them.

Y/N sat curled up on the couch, her head down and shoulders shaking as if she’d been crying for hours. Ollie, meanwhile, was pacing like a trapped animal, muttering under his breath. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, and it immediately put Charles on edge.

“Y/N,” Charles said softly, stepping closer. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Y/N sniffled dramatically, peeking up at Ollie, who gave her a quick nod to go ahead. She hesitated, biting her lip, and finally whispered, “It’s really bad, Charles.”

Ollie stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair, letting out an exaggerated, shaky sigh. “We… We don’t know what to do, man.”

Charles’ expression shifted to alarm, his hands fidgeting nervously as he crouched down to be at Y/N’s level. “Okay, okay. Just tell me. What happened?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her voice trembling as she finally said, “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, it looked like Charles had been struck by lightning. His face went pale, his eyes wide as he stared at them in disbelief. “You’re… pregnant?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded, her lip trembling, while Ollie looked down at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck like a guilty schoolboy.

Charles sat back on his heels, visibly struggling to gather his thoughts. He rubbed his face with his hands, exhaling shakily. “Mon Dieu,” he muttered. “Okay… Okay.”

After a moment of silence, he stood, trying his best to mask his panic with determination. “It’s… It’s not the end of the world, okay? It’s hard, yes, but we can figure this out. You’re both so young, but… we’ll make it work.”

Charles looked at Y/N with genuine sincerity, his voice soft. “If you need somewhere to stay, you can live with me. Both of you. My home is open to you.”

Y/N sniffled again, nodding while biting her lip to suppress a smile.

“And… And I can help, financially, emotionally—whatever you need,” Charles continued, pacing now, his hands moving expressively. “This is big, but you’re not alone. You’ve got me, okay?”

Ollie looked up, his face a picture of fake anguish. “Thanks, Charles. That means a lot.”

Charles stopped pacing and turned back to them, his eyes glassy with emotion. “Listen,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “I know this is overwhelming, but it’s also… it’s also something to celebrate.” He gestured between them. “New life. That’s something beautiful. Scary, yes, but beautiful.”

Before either of them could respond, Charles stepped forward and pulled them both into a hug, holding them tightly. “You’re going to be okay. Both of you. I’ll make sure of it.”

Y/N buried her face in his shoulder to stifle her laughter, while Ollie awkwardly patted Charles on the back, barely able to contain his own giggles.

“Charles,” Y/N finally said, her voice muffled.

“Yeah?” he replied, pulling back to look at her.

“It’s a prank,” she blurted out, a burst of laughter escaping her.

Charles froze, his jaw dropping as the words sank in. “Quoi?”

Ollie was already doubled over with laughter, and Y/N followed suit, tears streaming down her face—not from crying but from laughing so hard.

Charles stood there, his face a mixture of shock, betrayal, and relief. “Are you serious? You… You scared me to death!”

Y/N gasped for breath, still laughing. “I’m sorry, Charles! We couldn’t resist!”

Charles shook his head, a small smile breaking through his initial disbelief. “You two are unbelievable. I was ready to start building a nursery for you!”

As the laughter died down, Charles joined in, shaking his head at their antics. “You’re lucky I love you both. But you’d better watch out, because revenge is coming.”

-----

Oscar opened the door, his brow furrowing at the sight in front of him. Y/N sat on the couch, her head buried in her hands, and Ollie was pacing again, his face a picture of distress. The room was thick with tension, and Oscar could immediately sense that something was wrong.

“Oi, what’s going on?” Oscar asked, his voice laced with concern as he stepped in, looking between the two of them.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes red and her face a mask of fake sadness. She hesitated for a moment, waiting for Ollie’s silent cue. Ollie stopped pacing and gave her a nod.

Oscar stood there, completely bewildered, trying to make sense of what he was walking into. He looked at Y/N, who took a deep breath and said, “Oscar… I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Oscar just stared at her, his mind struggling to process what she had said. His face drained of color, and his eyes flickered over to Ollie, who was now standing silently, looking every bit the panicked figure.

“Wait… what?” Oscar whispered, taking a small step forward.

Y/N nodded slowly, and Ollie let out a shaky breath, as if the weight of the situation had just hit him all at once.

Oscar sat down on the arm of the couch, placing his head in his hands, clearly shaken. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the ventilation system, and it felt like time had slowed down.

“I— I don’t know what to say…” Oscar murmured, still processing the shock.

After a few moments, he lifted his head and looked at them both, his voice more steady now, though tinged with concern. “Look… whatever happens, everything’s going to be fine, okay? You two are family, and you’re not in this alone. I’ll help you. I’ll be here for you.”

Oscar’s voice cracked slightly, but he quickly gathered himself. “You don’t have to go through this by yourself. I’m here, I promise.”

But then, his expression softened as he looked at them, his eyes filled with honesty. “But... to be real with you, I’m not sure I know how to help. We’re all so young, and maybe... maybe we should talk to someone who knows what they’re doing. Maybe we should ask Mark for help, someone who’s an adult and can guide us.”

Y/N and Ollie both stared at him, and for a moment, the sincerity in Oscar’s voice seemed to bring them back to the gravity of the situation.

“But…” Oscar continued, his eyes softening as he looked at the two of them. “I’ll go with you. I’ll support you. We’ll figure it out together, okay? Because no matter what, we’re friends. And that means we stick together. You don’t have to face this on your own.”

Y/N was on the verge of tears, not from distress but from holding back laughter. She could see the genuine concern in Oscar’s eyes, and despite everything, it made the prank feel all the more heartwarming.

Ollie, too, felt a rush of gratitude for his friend’s unwavering support, even if it was all based on a huge misunderstanding.

“Oscar,” Y/N said softly, her voice full of emotion, “thank you. I swear we’ll make it up to you for scaring you like this.”

Oscar blinked, clearly still trying to make sense of everything, when suddenly the tension snapped. Y/N burst into laughter, and Ollie followed suit, unable to keep it in any longer.

Oscar’s face went from concern to confusion to disbelief. “Wait... What?!”

“It’s a prank!” Y/N managed to gasp between laughs. “We’re just messing with you!”

Oscar’s expression froze, and for a moment, he was completely still, trying to comprehend what was happening. Then, his eyes narrowed playfully, a grin slowly breaking through his initial shock.

“You two… I’m going to get you back for this,” Oscar said, shaking his head, though a smile tugged at his lips. “I was ready to become a dad! What are you doing to me?”

Y/N laughed even harder, wiping tears from her eyes. “We thought you’d be the one to react the most seriously, and we weren’t wrong.”

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you got me. But seriously, next time you prank me, you better make sure it’s not something that serious. I almost had a panic attack.”

“I’m sorry, Oscar!” Ollie said, still grinning. “We promise we’ll make it up to you!”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You better, because I’m never trusting either of you again.”

The room was filled with laughter, the tension of the moment finally broken, and despite the craziness of it all, they knew their bond as friends was stronger than ever.

----

The next one who walked in was Carlos, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with concern as he noticed the tense atmosphere in the room. Y/N sat on the couch, head down, and Ollie was pacing, his hands nervously running through his hair. It was clear something serious was going on, and Carlos immediately felt a knot form in his stomach.

“Hey, what’s going on? You guys okay?” Carlos asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes red and tearful, but there was a flicker of mischief in them that Carlos didn’t notice right away. Ollie, on the other hand, was pacing with purpose, his face scrunched up as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Carlos…” Y/N began, her voice shaky. “I… I’m pregnant.”

Carlos froze in place, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His eyes widened in shock as he tried to process what he had just heard.

“Wait… what?” Carlos stammered, his mind struggling to catch up. “Y/N… you’re… pregnant?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her face a picture of fake sadness. Ollie stopped pacing, his eyes wide as he looked at Carlos with a mixture of fear and guilt.

Carlos began pacing himself, running his hands through his hair, trying to make sense of the situation. “This... this is big, Y/N. You’re so young, and Ollie too—this is really serious, you know? You guys… this wasn’t planned, right? It was careless.”

He paused, looking between them with concern, his voice rising with panic as he spoke. “You’re too young for this, both of you. What were you thinking?”

Y/N’s expression faltered, her lip trembling as she struggled to hold back a smile. Ollie, too, looked down, feeling the weight of the words as if they were truly being scolded.

But when Carlos noticed how devastated they looked—how broken and unsure they were—his steps faltered. He immediately stopped pacing, his hand lowering from his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos said quickly, his voice softening as he turned toward them. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not mad. I was just… shocked. I didn’t know what to say at first. I didn’t know how to react.”

Y/N looked up at him, her expression vulnerable, and Ollie shifted uncomfortably, his eyes meeting Carlos’ for the first time in what felt like forever.

Carlos took a deep breath, stepping closer to them, his gaze softening. “Listen, I’m still shocked. You guys are so young. I wasn’t expecting this. But I will help. I will be there for you both.”

Y/N’s lip quivered as she looked at him, taking in his words. Carlos kneeled down in front of them, looking each of them in the eyes. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to help exactly. But I’ll be there. We’ll figure it out together. But…”

He paused, his face showing his own uncertainty. “I still can’t believe you’re pregnant, Y/N. You’re so young… this is a huge thing to take on. But… if you need anything—anything at all—I’m here. I’ll support you.”

Ollie let out a shaky breath, still looking down at the floor. “We’re scared, Carlos. We don’t know what to do, and we didn’t know who else to turn to.”

Carlos reached out, putting a hand on Ollie’s shoulder, then turning to Y/N with a reassuring smile. “You’re not alone in this, okay? You’ve got me. But seriously, maybe we need to talk to someone who can help us more. We’re too young to know how to navigate all this, you know? We need to talk to someone who knows more about this.”

The sincerity in his voice broke through the tension, and Y/N finally let out a small, relieved breath, though her face was still full of fake distress.

Carlos stood up and took a step back, wiping his hand over his face. “And I’ll help you talk to your parents if you need me to. We’ll figure it out together, I swear. But… I really didn’t expect this.”

Y/N couldn't hold it in anymore. She and Ollie both burst out laughing, and Carlos stood frozen for a moment, his mouth falling open in shock.

“Wait, what?!” Carlos exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Is this a prank?”

Y/N wiped the tears from her eyes, still laughing. “It’s a prank, Carlos! We were messing with you!”

Carlos’ face slowly shifted from confusion to a mixture of shock and relief. He took a deep breath, shaking his head in exasperation. “You guys are unbelievable,” he said, the tension melting away as a laugh escaped him. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry!” Ollie said between fits of laughter. “We just had to do it to you!”

Carlos sighed dramatically, but a smile tugged at his lips. “You two are insane. But seriously… next time you want to pull a prank like this, maybe make it a little less… real.”

Y/N and Ollie just grinned, still laughing. “We’ll make it up to you, promise.”

Carlos shook his head, chuckling, though he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride. After all, the two had truly pulled off a masterclass in pranking him—he’d almost believed it.

“You better make it up to me,” Carlos said with a playful grin. “And by the way, when you two start planning your real life decisions, let me know. I’ll give you actual advice then.”

----

Max strode into the room, his sharp eyes scanning the tense scene in front of him. Y/N sat curled on the couch, her head buried in her hands, while Ollie was pacing frantically. Something was clearly wrong, and the heavy atmosphere hit Max immediately.

“What’s going on?” Max asked, his voice firm and direct.

Y/N sniffled but didn’t answer, and Ollie froze mid-step, turning to look at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

“Max,” Y/N whispered, her voice shaky and small. “I… I’m pregnant.”

The words landed like a bomb. Max’s face immediately shifted into a mixture of shock and disbelief. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out as he processed what he’d just heard.

“You’re what?” Max finally said, his voice sharp.

“Pregnant,” Y/N repeated, her voice trembling.

Max stared at her, his eyes narrowing as the weight of the situation settled in. “You’re kidding, right? This is some kind of joke?”

Ollie shook his head, his voice low. “No. It’s real. We don’t know what to do.”

Max took a deep breath, his hand dragging over his face as he tried to contain the storm of emotions swirling inside him. “You two are too young for this! How could you be so careless? Do you even realize what this means?”

Y/N flinched at his words, her lip trembling as she fought to keep her composure.

“You’re just kids,” Max continued, his voice rising slightly. “Do you even know what it takes to raise a child? This isn’t just some small mistake—it’s life-changing!”

Y/N let out a shaky sob, and Max immediately stopped. His harsh tone softened as he saw how devastated she looked. In an instant, he crossed the room and knelt in front of her, pulling her into his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he said gently, wrapping his arms around her and stroking her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

Y/N buried her face in his shoulder, her fake tears muffled by his jacket. Max’s hold tightened as he whispered, “It’s going to be okay. I’ll help you figure this out.”

He glanced up at Ollie, his expression hardening. “And you,” Max said sharply, his tone like a scolding parent. “You better be ready to step up, Ollie. You can’t leave her to deal with this on her own. She needs you to be there for her.”

Ollie nodded quickly, trying his best to look apologetic. “I will, Max. I swear.”

Max sighed, shaking his head. “Stupid teenagers,” he muttered under his breath before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead. He pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a mix of worry and determination.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Max said softly, his hand still stroking her hair. “We’ll figure it out. But… I can’t believe you two let this happen.”

Y/N sniffled again, barely able to keep the giggles bubbling up inside her from escaping. Ollie bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing at the sight of Max in full protective mode.

Max looked between them, his brow furrowing. “What?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

“It’s a prank,” Y/N blurted out, laughter finally breaking free.

Max froze, blinking as the words sank in. “A prank?” he repeated slowly, his voice dangerously calm.

Ollie nodded, unable to stop himself from laughing now. “Yeah, Max. It’s a prank.”

Max pulled back, his expression a mixture of relief and exasperation. “You two are unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me? I was ready to adopt the baby myself!”

Y/N and Ollie were laughing uncontrollably now, the tension in the room replaced with giddy energy.

“I’m sorry, Max!” Y/N said between giggles. “We couldn’t resist!”

Max stood, crossing his arms as he looked at them both with mock severity. “You two are going to pay for this,” he said, though the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips gave him away. “And don’t expect me to believe you next time you cry wolf!”

Y/N grinned, wiping fake tears from her eyes. “We’ll make it up to you, Max. Promise.”

Max shook his head, his smile finally breaking through. “You better. And next time you prank someone, don’t make it about something that serious. My heart can’t take it.”

----

Lando strolled into the room with his usual carefree energy, a playful grin on his face. He immediately noticed the tension in the air, but instead of worry, his first instinct was humor.

“What’s going on? You two look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he joked, his bright eyes darting between Y/N and Ollie.

Y/N glanced at Ollie, who gave her a subtle nod. Taking a deep breath, she looked at Lando, her voice trembling. “Lando… I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Lando just stared at her, his grin frozen on his face. Then, he burst out laughing, clapping his hands together. “Good one! You almost got me there!”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a quick look before Y/N shook her head. “Lando, I’m serious. Ollie’s the dad.”

The laughter immediately died on Lando’s lips, his smile fading as he looked at them both. “Wait… what? You’re serious?”

Y/N nodded, her face the picture of fake distress.

Lando’s playful demeanor shifted in an instant, his brow furrowing as he processed the situation. “How did this happen? I mean, I know how, but… you guys are so young. What were you thinking?”

Ollie shifted nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “We didn’t plan this, obviously. It just… happened.”

Lando sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Tell me everything. I need to know exactly what’s going on before we figure out what to do.”

For the next few minutes, Y/N and Ollie stumbled through their fabricated story, trying their best to keep their composure as they watched Lando’s serious expression. Once they were done, Lando sat back in his chair, his arms crossed as he nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said, his tone surprisingly calm and measured. “Here’s what we’re going to do. First, tomorrow morning, the three of us are going to the doctor. We need to make sure everything’s okay with you and the baby, Y/N.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, not expecting Lando to take charge so quickly.

“After that,” Lando continued, “we’ll go to your parents. Both of you. I’ll come with you when you tell them. They’ll need to know, and you’ll need their support.”

Ollie opened his mouth to protest, but Lando raised a hand to stop him. “No arguments. They’re your parents, and they’ll want to be there for you—even if they’re mad at first.”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a glance, both trying to hide their surprise at how practical Lando was being.

“Once that’s done, we’ll find a place for you two to live together,” Lando said, his voice growing more determined. “Somewhere big enough for a nursery but close to me so I can help if you need anything.”

Ollie gaped at him. “Lando, that’s… a lot.”

Lando ignored him, already deep in thought. “We’ll design the baby’s room together. I’ll help you pick out furniture, decorations, everything. And I’ll go with you to every appointment if you want me there. I’ll even help with the baby when they’re born. Diapers, bottles, sleepless nights—you name it. We’re in this together.”

By now, Y/N was struggling to keep a straight face. Lando’s level of commitment and detail was far beyond anything she’d expected.

“Lando,” Y/N said, her voice wavering with emotion, “that’s… really sweet of you.”

Lando turned to her, his expression softening. “You’re my friend, Y/N. And Ollie, you too. You’re not doing this alone, not if I can help it.”

Ollie scratched the back of his head, looking both grateful and overwhelmed. “Wow, mate, I didn’t think you’d have a whole plan ready.”

Lando shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, someone has to keep a cool head in this situation. And honestly, it’s kind of exciting in a weird way. A little scary, yeah, but exciting too.”

Y/N’s lip trembled as she tried to hold back her laughter, but it was too much. She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as the tension in the room broke.

“Lando,” she said between giggles, “it’s a prank! We’re not actually having a baby!”

Lando’s jaw dropped, and he stared at them both in disbelief. “Wait, what? You’re kidding me, right?”

Ollie joined in the laughter, shaking his head. “Nope. It was all a prank. We wanted to see how you’d react.”

Lando slumped back in his chair, letting out a groan. “You two… I can’t believe I fell for that. I was already planning your entire future!”

Y/N wiped away tears of laughter. “You were amazing, though! You had everything figured out!”

Lando sighed, shaking his head, though a small smile crept back onto his face. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to go all out like that again anytime soon. You’ve officially used up your prank privileges.”

The three of them laughed together, the air now light and full of warmth. Despite the prank, Y/N and Ollie couldn’t help but feel touched by how quickly Lando had stepped up to support them, proving just how much he cared.

----

Fernando entered the room with his usual composed yet curious demeanor, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the scene before him. Y/N was curled up on the couch, "crying" into Ollie’s shoulder, while Ollie looked up at Fernando with an expression of guilt and desperation.

“What happened?” Fernando asked, his voice calm but laced with concern.

Y/N sniffled, pulling back slightly from Ollie’s hold to look at Fernando. “I… I’m pregnant,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

Fernando froze for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking between the two young drivers. His silence stretched for a beat too long, making Y/N and Ollie exchange a brief, worried glance.

Then, to their utter surprise, Fernando’s face broke into a wide, genuine smile. His entire demeanor shifted, radiating warmth as he stepped closer to them. “That’s wonderful news!” he said, his voice filled with excitement.

Before either of them could respond, Fernando leaned down and wrapped them both in a strong, reassuring hug. “Congratulations, both of you,” he said, his tone so heartfelt that it momentarily disarmed the pranksters.

When he finally pulled back, his expression softened as he noticed how “scared” they looked. Without missing a beat, Fernando sat down on the couch between them, motioning for Y/N and Ollie to sit closer. He gently pulled Y/N to his right side and Ollie to his left, placing a comforting arm around each of them.

“I know you’re scared,” he began, his voice soothing and steady. “But this is going to be one of the most beautiful experiences of your lives. A new life, a part of you both, is coming into the world. You’ll love that child more than anything else—more than racing, more than winning.”

Y/N’s “tears” slowed as she listened, her heart softening at Fernando’s words despite the prank. Ollie leaned in slightly, his nervous energy fading as Fernando continued.

“You’ll get to watch them grow up,” Fernando said, his eyes shining with a rare tenderness. “Their first steps, their first words, the way they’ll look at you with so much love and trust… There’s nothing like it. And you’ll give them the world because you’ll want nothing but the best for them.”

Fernando paused, smiling warmly at the two of them. “This isn’t something to be afraid of. It’s something to celebrate. A child will bring you joy, purpose, and a love you never knew was possible.”

For a moment, Y/N and Ollie could almost see the future Fernando was painting for them—a cozy home filled with laughter, the small hands of a child reaching for theirs, and the kind of love that could make anything possible.

Ollie cleared his throat, his voice quieter than usual. “You really think we could do this?”

Fernando squeezed his shoulder, his smile unwavering. “I know you can. You’re strong, both of you. And you won’t be alone in this—you’ll have each other, your families, your friends… and me. I’ll be here every step of the way if you need me.”

Y/N glanced at Ollie, her resolve wavering under the weight of Fernando’s sincere encouragement. Finally, unable to keep up the charade any longer, she let out a small laugh.

“Fernando,” she said, wiping her fake tears away, “it’s a prank.”

Fernando blinked, his smile faltering as he processed her words. “A prank?”

Ollie nodded, a sheepish grin on his face. “Yeah… we wanted to see how you’d react.”

For a moment, Fernando just stared at them. Then, a deep laugh rumbled from his chest, and he shook his head in disbelief. “You two are unbelievable! You had me going for a moment there.”

“We’re sorry,” Y/N said, her voice still tinged with laughter. “But honestly, your reaction was so sweet.”

Fernando chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “Well, when it does happen someday, you’ll know exactly what I think about it.”

Ollie grinned. “Thanks, Fernando. You were amazing, honestly.”

Fernando waved a hand, still smiling. “Just promise me one thing—when you pull your next prank, make it a little less heart-stopping for me, okay?”

The three of them laughed together, the warmth of Fernando’s words lingering long after the prank had been revealed.

----

Yuki walked into the room, his usual curious and slightly mischievous energy in full swing. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking at Y/N, who was hunched over, fake crying into her hands, and Ollie, who looked awkwardly guilty while pacing the room.

“Yuki, we need to tell you something,” Ollie began, his voice serious.

Yuki blinked, glancing between them. “Okay… What is it?”

Y/N sniffled dramatically, wiping her “tears” with her sleeve. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Yuki just stared, his head tilting slightly to the side. “Huh?”

“I’m pregnant,” Y/N repeated, trying to sound exasperated but sad.

Yuki squinted, his confusion only deepening. “Wait, like… for real? Or are you talking about some kind of food baby? You ate too much sushi or something?”

“No, Yuki!” Ollie interjected, his hands on his hips. “She’s actually pregnant.”

“Oh,” Yuki said, nodding slightly, but his expression was still blank. “Okay… so, um… what do you want me to do about it?”

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh, looking at Ollie for help. Ollie sat down beside her, trying to maintain the act. “Yuki, it’s serious. Y/N is having a baby, and I’m the dad.”

This only seemed to confuse Yuki more. He blinked rapidly, his eyebrows knitting together. “Wait, you’re the dad?”

“Yes, Yuki,” Ollie said slowly, as if explaining to a child. “I’m the dad.”

Yuki’s brow furrowed further as he processed this information. “Okay… but who’s the dad?”

Ollie groaned, rubbing his temples. “Me. I’m the dad, Yuki.”

Yuki looked genuinely puzzled, glancing at Y/N and then back at Ollie. “But… how? You’re, like, just… Ollie.”

At this point, Y/N let out a frustrated laugh, breaking character. “Yuki, what do you mean, ‘just Ollie’? How do you not get this?”

Yuki shrugged, looking completely unbothered. “I don’t know. It’s just weird. Are you guys pranking me or something?”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a glance before collapsing onto the couch across from Yuki, utterly defeated. “Yes, Yuki,” Y/N said with a sigh. “It’s a prank.”

Yuki’s face lit up. “Oh! Okay! That makes way more sense.” He stood up, stretching casually. “You should’ve just said that from the beginning. Anyway, I’m going to get a snack. Let me know if you need help with, uh, whatever.”

With that, Yuki walked out of the room, leaving Y/N and Ollie staring after him, dumbfounded.

“He didn’t get it at all,” Ollie muttered, shaking his head.

“Nope,” Y/N agreed, slumping back against the couch.

From down the hall, Yuki’s voice echoed back to them. “You guys are weird!”

----

Franco stepped into the room with a concerned expression, immediately sensing something was off. His eyes darted between Y/N, who was "crying" into her hands, and Ollie, who was pacing nervously with a hand in his hair.

“What’s going on?” Franco asked, his voice laced with worry as he moved closer. “Are you two okay? Did something happen?”

Y/N sniffled dramatically, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes—an excellent fake cry performance. “Franco… I’m pregnant.”

Franco froze, his eyes going wide. He opened his mouth to say something but immediately closed it again, clearly unsure how to react. “Wait… are you—like, seriously? For real?”

Ollie nodded solemnly, stopping his pacing. “Yeah, and… I’m the dad.”

“Oh, my god,” Franco breathed, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. He took a step closer to them, his nervous energy bubbling over. “Okay, uh… okay. Are you happy? Are you scared? Sad? I—I don’t know how to feel right now. What about you guys?”

Y/N hiccupped, pretending to be on the verge of another sob. “We don’t know what to do, Franco. We’re so young…”

Franco immediately crouched down in front of her, his hands hovering nervously as if he wanted to comfort her but wasn’t sure how. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said quickly, his tone soft and motherly. “Deep breaths, Y/N. Deep breaths. It’s going to be okay. You too, Ollie—deep breaths.”

Ollie blinked in surprise. “Franco, you’re the one freaking out.”

Franco ignored him, pulling a chair close and sitting down, his knee bouncing anxiously. He clasped his hands together, his knuckles turning white as he tried to gather his thoughts. “Alright, listen. This is big. It’s huge. But we’re going to figure it out. You’re going to figure it out.”

He glanced between them again, his gaze softening. “Look, this is scary, but it’s also… kind of amazing, right? A new life! But—wait, no, sorry, I don’t want to freak you out more,” he added quickly, shaking his head. “Are you happy about this? Or scared? Or both? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Oh god, I’m not helping, am I?”

Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing, shaking her head. “No, Franco, you’re helping,” she said, her voice quivering with fake emotion.

Franco exhaled in relief, reaching over to pat her hand awkwardly. “Okay, good. That’s good. So, uh… first thing’s first: don’t panic. Take deep breaths. Have you thought about telling your parents? Or… no, no, wait, one thing at a time. I’m sorry, I’m just…” He ran a hand through his hair, visibly flustered. “I’m freaking out for you. But you’re going to be okay, I promise.”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a quick glance, barely holding back their laughter as Franco continued to fret over them like a worried parent.

Finally, Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. “Franco,” she said gently, reaching out to touch his hand.

He looked up at her, his face a mix of concern and determination. “Yeah?”

“It’s a prank,” she said, unable to hold back a laugh.

Franco blinked, his brain taking a second to catch up. “A… prank?”

Ollie nodded, his grin sheepish. “Yeah. We just wanted to see how you’d react.”

For a moment, Franco just stared at them, his jaw slightly slack. Then he let out a groan, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hands. “Are you serious? You two put me through all that for a prank?”

Y/N burst out laughing, reaching over to pat his arm. “Franco, you were amazing. Seriously, you were so sweet.”

Franco peeked at her through his fingers, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well, next time maybe prank someone who doesn’t care as much.”

Ollie clapped him on the shoulder. “You care too much, mate. But that’s why we love you.”

Franco groaned again, though his smile lingered. “You’re both lucky I love you too. But don’t ever do that to me again!”

The three of them laughed together, the tension melting away as Franco finally relaxed, shaking his head at the duo’s mischievous antics.

----

The press conference room was abuzz with the usual pre-event chatter. Reporters settled into their seats, armed with notebooks, voice recorders, and cameras, ready to pepper the drivers with questions. But the atmosphere shifted when Y/N and Ollie walked in.

Y/N’s eyes were red and puffy, as though she’d been crying for hours. Her shoulders were hunched, her body language radiating nervousness. Ollie, on the other hand, had an almost frantic energy, his leg bouncing as he sat down next to her. Yet, he kept a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles and leaning in every so often to whisper something comforting.

The other drivers on the panel—fully in on the prank—exchanged knowing glances, some biting their lips to keep from laughing. Lewis had to clear his throat and look away, Max pretended to be overly focused on his water bottle, and Lando barely managed to keep a smirk off his face.

It didn’t take long for the reporters to notice that something was off.

“Y/N,” one of them finally asked, leaning forward, “are you alright? You look upset.”

Y/N sniffled audibly, looking down at the table as though gathering herself. Ollie leaned closer, whispering something inaudible, which only seemed to make the situation more curious.

Another reporter jumped in. “Ollie, is everything okay with Y/N? You seem… tense.”

The tension in the room became palpable as reporters shifted in their seats, sensing a story. Finally, Y/N lifted her head, her voice shaky as she spoke. “We… we weren’t planning on talking about this today, but…” She paused, looking at Ollie, who nodded solemnly.

Ollie took over, his voice steady but filled with a faux nervous edge. “Y/N and I… we just found out she’s pregnant.”

The room erupted.

Gasps, hurried whispers, and the frantic clicking of cameras filled the air as reporters scrambled to process the bombshell.

“What does this mean for your career, Y/N?”

“Ollie, how are you going to support her through this?”

“Did Red Bull know? What’s the team’s response?”

Y/N buried her face in her hands, and Ollie leaned closer to shield her from the barrage of questions, murmuring fake reassurances like, “It’s okay, we’ll get through this.”

The other drivers played their parts to perfection.

Fernando leaned forward with a supportive nod. “We’re here for them, of course.”

Charles shook his head solemnly. “It’s a difficult situation, but they’re strong.”

Lando, biting his lip to keep from laughing, muttered, “Yeah, we’ll all be there for them.”

Max, perhaps enjoying the chaos a bit too much, smirked and added, “It’s a bit shocking, isn’t it? But these things happen.”

The questions only grew louder, reporters tripping over one another to get their takes. But then Y/N, who had been trying to “compose herself,” let out a small snort of laughter. Ollie followed suit, and within seconds, both of them were doubled over, laughing uncontrollably.

The reporters froze, staring in confusion. “What’s so funny?” one finally asked.

Lando couldn’t hold back any longer, bursting into laughter. Fernando chuckled, Charles shook his head with a grin, and even Max let out an amused huff.

Y/N finally managed to speak through her laughter. “It’s—it’s a prank! We’re not pregnant!”

The room went silent for a moment before an uproar of disbelief and groans erupted from the reporters. Some laughed along, shaking their heads, while others looked like they’d been played harder than ever before.

Ollie grinned, leaning into the microphone. “Sorry, we couldn’t resist. The reactions were too good.”

The other drivers laughed harder, with Fernando adding, “You should’ve seen your faces!”

Within hours, clips from the press conference flooded social media, from Y/N’s dramatic performance to Ollie’s earnest act and the reporters’ chaotic reactions. The prank went viral almost immediately, with fans and media outlets alike praising the creativity and humor of it all.

“Y/N and Ollie: F1’s Ultimate Pranksters” trended worldwide, with the prank cementing itself as one of the most memorable moments of the season. Even the reporters, though initially annoyed, couldn’t help but laugh at themselves once the dust settled.

[speedynana]

Little thing about Konigs surprise birthday party?

Making this Colonel König x his little secretary because it’s my fixation.

Not proof read so we die on the typos friends

He’s always in the office before you, waking up at some ungodly hour, likely even before the dawn chorus begins. Sometimes you itch to ask him whether the shadows underneath those downturned blues are wrung from nights spent awake in his sheets. Or perhaps the depths of his oceanic orbs churn sea foam coloured for other reasons, ones you can’t comprehend.

You always lose your nerve though, when it comes to asking him about personal matters. Instead you cling to the little glimpses he gives you throughout the hours you spend together, enthusiasm leaking out in his words as he speaks. Secret and silent smiles are exchanged often when you run into him outside the office, his canines biting into the fullness of his bottom lip endearingly.

König rarely grins at anyone else, seemingly reserving that softness for you alone, something you let hearten you more than it probably should.

But today, you’re determined to beat him to his desk, rising at five and dressing quickly in the chill of your room. By the time you make it outside, the horizon is painted red and amber, as if a fire has been lit somewhere beyond the mountains that surround the base. People are always about, no matter how late or early in the suns progress across the sky is. Either returning post mission, or waiting for pre flight briefings.

Quickly you scurry into the drab military building that houses the officers space. Corridors painted gunmetal grey, like it couldn’t be any more depressing. König’s room is the one with the nicest view. While you set up, you watch the brilliant light begin to wash across the worn floor, staining it gold then bright orange.

It’s his birthday, you know because you helped him review his death in service policy. A morose task, he only had one beneficiary and she was unlikely to outlive him. You pushed through it, even though the thought of needing to forward that paperwork on to the insurance company made you sick to the stomach. Quietly you hoped you never had to see the words death and his name on the same page again.

You put the final flourish on his decorations, stepping back to admire your handiwork. Hopefully he doesn’t think you’re insane, actually you nearly talked yourself out of it last night, wondering if you stepping over some invisible line between you both. But the thought of him only getting a happy birthday card from his Oma, her shaky handwriting on one solitary card, made you so sad.

You resolved to fix it. Because that’s what you’re best at.

You sit down at your desk and stifle a yawn, pretending you’re reading emails, even though you keep eyeing the door nervously. Eventually you hear his heavy footsteps as he rounds the corner onto your corridor. Struggling not to hop with the anticipation of it, you smile at him, his hair still damp from showering, collar turned up against the cold weather outside, cheeks a little rosey from it.

He blinks in surprise and falters to a lurching halt, heavy lids always faintly sleepy even when he’s perfectly alert. Then he gives you a lopsided smile, ambling over to your desk.

“Guten morgen!” You tell him brightly, while he tilts his head, still looking down at you, more than a little perplexed.

“You are here early? Did I fuck up the release reports again huh?”

“Nope! I just thought I’d get a head start!”

He lingers at your desk, shuffling on the balls of his large feet. You’re itching for him to head into his own office, but he seems far more interested in you being here before he arrived. As ever, he gazes into your face dreamily, still wearing his small grin.

“A head start on what?! Tell me maus? I want to be prepared for your plans and schemes.”

“I don’t have plans and schemes! Honest sir!”

He wrinkles his nose a little when you call him sir, even though properly that’s how he should be addressed.

“I wish to know…before I reward whatever it is by getting you a coffee. This is only fair no?!” His voice holds that lilting tease that makes a ringing sound in your ears while your head buzzes. Idly he toys with the post it notes on the corners of your computer screen, glancing between his dark lashes shyly.

“I’ll get us coffee! You go and take the weight off your feet!”

One eyebrow rises as you jump up and try and herd him towards the door.

“Did I get your order wrong last time or?”

König knows he didn’t. He has it memorised alongside his own. You take it with frothed milk and sugar. He has now copied that, deviating from his black and bitter previous roast.

“Am I not allowed to get you drinks from now on?! On the drinks blacklist huh?!”

Impatiently you nudge him with a toe and the eyebrow climbs higher at that. No one else would ever dare, but from you it makes him giddy. You’re so fearless, bold and beautiful, why you even grace him with your words he doesn’t know, but it’s thoroughly intoxicating.

“You’re not on the drinks blacklist!” You snort. “I just need the exercise today! Lots of energy!”

You curl your bicep and imitate the picture of health. He barks out a laugh, gaze glittering wickedly.

“Very impressive. Okay, I take the hint, you are on first coffee run.”

“Finally! That took so long, I thought I was going to have to wrestle you over it. Go and sit!”

You’re out of the door in a flash, while he stands a little dumbstruck, the idea of wrestling with you in ways definitely not in the KorTac handbook have crossed his mind a shameful amount of times. Shaking his head like a dog with water in it’s ears, he fumbles his way inside his office blearily. So bossy, fuck he adores it. Loves that you’re not afraid of him in any sense, treating him as more than some kind of dangerous creature ready to bite at any moment.

Hanging up his coat, König doesn’t immediately see the little balloons tied to his chair, or the glittered confetti sprinkled over his table. A beautiful apple cake sits proudly in front of his keyboard, candles ready to be lit, two cards side by side just behind it.

He stares until his eyes water, until the back of his throat starts to burn and prickle. Your handwriting neatly spelling out his name, he picks up the envelope with trembling fingers.

König is never affected like this. Hasn’t cried for years. Utterly out of tune with his own emotions, he struggles there for the length of time it takes you to return with two steaming drinks in hand.

“Shit, is it too much? I’m sorry sir…I just wanted to make you smile!” You’re standing at the door, watching your rugged and fierce boss glazed over, endlessly watching the celebration of his life on the surface in front of him.

A big knuckle gets rubbed hastily across his eyelids.

“Nein Schatz. This is…” He swallows thickly. “This is very kind of you. I am not used to such things.”

Relieved, you grin at him.

“Can’t not celebrate your birthday sir, when you’ve got that many years under your belt.”

“You know I have killed people for less than comments like that?!” He chuckles in a watery voice.

“Liar. Anyway, you can’t kill me. Who else knows how the online filing system works now?!”

[speedynana]

eli: Okay, so tell me, when exactly will I be allowed to hang out with uncle peter? derek: When stiles and I are both dead. Plus three days, just to make sure we're actually dead.

[speedynana]

I would have to be restrained to stop making these

masterlist

[speedynana]

Fernando Alonso and Lance Stroll behind the wheel of Monte Carlo's first ever Super Tourer.

[speedynana]

The 2024 Beginners' Guide to F1 from Shunted Towers.

[speedynana]

Aston Martin are Strollonso truthers confirmed.

When’s the wedding guys?