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pucksandpower · 21 days

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Do-Over

Logan Sargeant x Andretti!Reader

Summary: Logan drowns his sorrows after being dropped by Williams and passes out in 2024 … he wakes up slightly hungover and very much in 2022 (aka the time travel fix-it fic)

Logan’s hands are shaking.

He’s staring at the email on his phone, reading it over for the third time, hoping the words will somehow rearrange themselves into something different. But they don’t. The screen doesn’t lie, and neither does the cold, detached tone of James Vowles.

Logan, I’m sorry to inform you that Williams Racing has decided to terminate your contract effective immediately. Your performance this season has not met the team’s expectations, and the decision has been made to move forward without you for the remaining races. We believe this is in the best interest of the team as a whole. You’ll find the details of the termination and the necessary steps moving forward in the attached document.

His eyes blur, and he forces himself to blink, trying to hold it together. He knows what this means — his F1 career, the thing he’s worked for his entire life, is over. And it’s not ending with a bang, but with a fucking email.

A knock on the door snaps him back to the present. He looks up, swallowing hard as James walks in without waiting for permission, just like he always does.

“Logan,” James begins, his voice calm, almost clinical. “We need to talk.”

“I got the email,” Logan mutters, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Is this really how it’s going to end?”

James’s face is unreadable. “We’ve discussed this at length. The crashes, the lack of progress … it’s just not working out. The engineers and mechanics are frustrated. We’ve been more than patient.”

Logan feels a wave of anger rising in his chest, but he pushes it down. He knows it won’t help. “So that’s it? Nine races left, and you’re just … dropping me?”

“It’s not an easy decision,” James replies, crossing his arms. “But we have to think about the team. We can’t afford any more setbacks.”

“Setbacks,” Logan echoes, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. “That’s all I am to you? A setback?”

James hesitates, his expression softening for just a moment. “Logan, you’re talented, but this sport is ruthless. You know that.”

“Don’t,” Logan snaps, his voice sharp. “Don’t try to soften the blow now. You could’ve at least told me in person, before sending the damn email.”

James sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know it seems cold, but this is the reality of Formula 1. You’ll land on your feet. You’ve got potential.”

“Potential,” Logan mutters under his breath. “That’s not going to get me back in a car, is it?”

There’s a tense silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on both of them. Logan feels like the walls are closing in, the air in the room growing thicker with each passing second.

“I’m sorry,” James says finally, and for the first time, he sounds genuine. “I really am.”

“Yeah,” Logan replies, his voice hollow. “Me too.”

James lingers for a moment, as if searching for something else to say, but there’s nothing that can fix this. Nothing that can make it right. Finally, he nods and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

Logan stands there, staring at the door, his mind racing. This can’t be happening. It feels like some kind of nightmare, one he can’t wake up from. But the harsh reality is setting in. It’s over. All those years, all that effort, and it’s over just like that.

He sinks down onto the couch, his head in his hands. His chest feels tight, like he can’t get a full breath. He needs to get out of here, but he has no idea where to go. Where do you go when your dreams have just been crushed?

His gaze falls on the bottle of whiskey sitting on the small kitchen counter. He bought it a few years ago, intending to open it after a win that never came. The irony isn’t lost on him.

Logan pushes himself up and walks over to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle and a glass. He hesitates for a moment, then shrugs and puts the glass back. What’s the point of pretending there’s any dignity left in this?

He twists the cap off the bottle and takes a long drink, the burn of the alcohol offering a brief distraction from the pain gnawing at his insides. He leans against the counter, staring out the window at the darkening sky. How the hell did it come to this?

He’s replaying every mistake, every missed opportunity, every race where he could’ve done better. It’s a torturous cycle, one that he can’t escape. He takes another drink, then another, hoping to drown out the thoughts, to numb the ache in his chest.

But it doesn’t work. The alcohol just makes it worse, amplifying the guilt and the regret. He feels like a failure. No, he is a failure. The team didn’t even have the decency to let him finish the season. That’s how little they think of him.

The room starts to blur around the edges as the whiskey takes effect, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. He’s spiraling, and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. This is the only way he knows how to cope, the only way to forget, even if it’s just for a little while.

Hours pass, or maybe minutes — he’s lost track of time. The bottle is nearly empty now, and he’s slumped on the floor, leaning against the kitchen cabinets. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. What’s the point?

The apartment is silent except for the occasional sound of cars passing by outside. It’s eerie, this quiet, and it makes the emptiness inside him feel even more profound.

Finally, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. The screen is cracked from a previous fall — one of many — but it still works. There are messages from friends, from his family, but he doesn’t open them. He knows what they’ll say. They’ll be supportive, encouraging, but it won’t change anything. They can’t fix this.

Instead, he opens his camera roll and scrolls through the photos. Pictures of him in the car, of the team, of moments that once meant everything to him. Now they’re just reminders of what he’s lost.

He stops on a photo of himself, taken just after he signed with Williams. He looks so damn happy, so full of hope. He barely recognizes that person now.

“What a joke,” he mutters to himself, his voice slurred. “What a fucking joke.”

He takes one last drink from the bottle, then tosses it aside, not caring as it rolls across the floor. He feels the darkness closing in, pulling him under, and for once, he doesn’t fight it. He lets it take him, lets it drown out the pain, the regret, the fear.

And as he finally drifts into unconsciousness, the last thought that crosses his mind is that maybe — just maybe — he deserves this.

***

Logan wakes with a start, his head pounding, the taste of stale whiskey thick on his tongue. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut against the assault of the light streaming through the windows. His whole body feels like it’s been put through a blender — sore, achy, heavy. But it’s not just the hangover, it’s the weight of everything, of what happened yesterday.

He takes a deep breath, bracing himself as he sits up, his hands pressing into the bed beneath him. Except, the texture’s wrong. It’s not the rough fabric of his apartment’s couch or even the smooth, cool sheets he’s used to.

Logan’s eyes snap open, and he looks around, confusion crashing over him like a cold wave. He’s not in his apartment. The walls are different — cleaner, the color a familiar light blue he hasn’t seen in years. The bed is narrow, uncomfortable, with plain white sheets. There’s a desk pushed against the far wall, a locker in the corner with his name printed on it in block letters.

This isn’t his apartment. This is … his driver’s room. The one he used when he was driving for Carlin in Formula 2.

“What the hell …” Logan mutters, running a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of it. He must still be drunk. Or maybe he’s dreaming. But no — he can feel the dull ache in his temples, the dryness in his throat, the uncomfortable press of the mattress beneath him. This is too real to be a dream.

But it doesn’t make any sense. The last thing he remembers is passing out in his apartment after finishing nearly a whole bottle of whiskey. He was a mess. He is a mess. But here he is, waking up in a place he hasn’t seen since 2022, a place that shouldn’t exist in his present reality.

Panic starts to set in. He fumbles for his phone, which is miraculously still in his pocket. The screen lights up, showing the date and time.

September 10th, 2022.

His heart stops. That’s impossible. It’s been two years. Two years since this date. His mind races, trying to piece together what the hell is happening, but nothing fits. He’s not in 2024 anymore. Somehow, he’s back in 2022.

It’s the only explanation, but it’s insane. None of this is possible. It’s not even like those vague dreams where everything’s familiar but distant. This is his life two years ago, down to the worn fabric of the team jacket hanging on the back of the door.

Before he can spiral any further, there’s a sharp knock at the door. Logan barely has time to react before it swings open, and Gary Catt, his manager, strides in with his usual briskness, already talking before the door is fully open.

“Logan, I just got off the phone with Jost Capito,” Gary says, his voice all business, not noticing Logan’s stunned expression. “Williams wants you. They want to lock you in for next season. It’s the best possible scenario. This is it, Logan — this is what we’ve been working toward.”

Logan feels like he’s been hit by a freight train. This conversation — he remembers it. It happened. Gary, standing in this very room, telling him the exact same thing, with the exact same excitement in his voice. The memory is vivid because it changed everything. It was the start of his F1 career. And also … the start of everything that led to that email.

“Logan?” Gary’s voice cuts through the fog in Logan’s mind, pulling him back to the present. “Are you even listening? This is huge, mate. You’re going to be in F1.”

Logan’s throat is dry, his mind racing with possibilities, with consequences. He remembers how he felt the first time he heard these words — pure elation, followed by a rush of nerves. But now, with the knowledge of what’s to come, all he feels is dread.

This is his chance to change things. To make sure it doesn’t end the way it did yesterday. He’s been given a do-over, a second chance, and he can’t afford to mess it up.

Logan takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Gary,” he says, his voice rough from sleep and the alcohol, “I don’t think I should take the offer.”

Gary stops mid-stride, turning to face Logan with a look of utter disbelief. “What did you just say?”

“I don’t think I should take the offer,” Logan repeats, more firmly this time, even though his heart is pounding in his chest. “It’s too soon.”

“Too soon?” Gary looks at him like he’s just sprouted another head. “Logan, this is Williams. It’s F1. There is no such thing as ‘too soon’ when an opportunity like this comes around. What are you talking about?”

Logan stands up, pacing the small room, trying to gather his thoughts. How does he explain this without sounding completely insane? He can’t tell Gary what he knows — what he’s seen, what’s happened. But he also can’t go down the same path again. Not when he knows where it leads.

“I just … I don’t think I’m ready,” Logan says, finally turning to face Gary. “If I rush into F1 now, it could end badly. I need more time. More experience.”

Gary’s expression shifts from disbelief to concern. “Logan, listen to yourself. You’ve been preparing for this your whole life. You’re as ready as anyone can be. If you pass this up, there’s no guarantee another chance like it will come along. You know that.”

Logan shakes his head. “I know it sounds crazy, but … I have a feeling that if I take this now, it’ll be a mistake. A big one. I’ll end up in a situation where I’m not able to deliver, where the pressure is too much. And that’s not good for anyone — me, the team, my career.”

Gary is silent for a long moment, studying Logan with an intensity that makes him squirm. “Where’s this coming from? You were over the moon about this before. What changed?”

Logan hesitates, searching for the right words. “I just … I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. About what I want my career to look like. And I don’t want to be one of those drivers who gets rushed into F1 and then crashes out because they weren’t ready. I want to do it right. I want to be fully prepared.”

“You don’t get to be fully prepared in this sport,” Gary says, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “This is Formula 1. It’s sink or swim, and you know that. You’re not going to get a better opportunity than this, Logan.”

Logan feels a knot of frustration tightening in his chest. He knows Gary is right, in a way. This is F1. It’s not supposed to be easy. But he also knows that if he takes this offer, if he goes down the same road, it’ll end in disaster.

“I get that,” Logan says, his voice firm. “But I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to take the seat. Not this time.”

Gary stares at him, his expression a mixture of shock and confusion. “Logan, this could be career suicide. You understand that, right?”

Logan nods, swallowing hard. “I do. But I’d rather take that risk than go into something I know I’m not ready for and crash out in a blaze of failure. I can’t do that. I won’t.”

Gary runs a hand over his face, clearly struggling to comprehend what’s happening. “This isn’t like you. You’re not one to back down from a challenge. Why are you doing this?”

Because I know how it ends, Logan thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, he takes a deep breath and says, “Because I want to do this right. I want to have a long career in F1, not a short one that ends in disappointment. And to do that, I need to be smart about the choices I make now.”

Gary lets out a slow breath, clearly conflicted. “This is … I don’t even know what to say, Logan. You’re turning down a seat in F1. That’s not something you do lightly.”

“I’m not doing it lightly,” Logan assures him, though his heart is racing. “I’ve thought about this a lot, and it’s the right decision for me.”

There’s a long silence as Gary processes this. Logan can almost see the gears turning in his head, the calculations, the weighing of options. He knows how hard this must be for Gary to accept — hell, it’s hard for Logan to accept, and he’s the one making the decision. But he has to stick to his guns. He has to believe that this is the right choice.

Finally, Gary lets out a resigned sigh. “Alright, Logan. If this is really what you want, I’ll back you. But you need to understand the risks. This could close doors for you. Big ones.”

Logan nods, his stomach twisting with anxiety. “I know. But I also know that if I take this now, it could end up closing even more doors in the long run.”

Gary studies him for a long moment, then gives a slow nod. “Alright. I’ll let Jost know. But don’t expect him to be happy about it.”

Logan feels a mixture of relief and dread. “I won’t. But thanks, Gary. I know this isn’t easy.”

Gary gives him a tight smile, still clearly grappling with the decision. “No, it’s not. But you’re the one driving the car, Logan. Just make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Logan nods, watching as Gary turns and leaves the room, the door closing softly behind him. He stands there for a moment, taking in the silence, the surrealness of what just happened. He’s just turned down a seat in F1. The one thing he thought he wanted more than anything. But as the anxiety ebbs, a new feeling takes its place — determination.

This time, things are going to be different. He’s going to do it right, even if it means making the hard choices. Logan takes a deep breath, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over him. This is his second chance, and he’s not going to waste it.

***

The 2023 F2 season ends in a flurry of champagne, confetti, and flashing cameras. Logan stands on the top step of the podium, the P1 trophy clutched in his hands, a grin splitting his face. He’s done it. He’s proved to everyone — most of all to himself — that he was ready. This time, he didn’t rush, didn’t let the pressure consume him. And it’s paid off. He’s the Formula 2 Drivers’ Champion.

But as the celebration winds down and reality sets in, Logan faces a new challenge. Despite his victory, the F1 grid is full, and F2 champions can’t return to the series. He could take a reserve role, bide his time, wait for a seat to open up. But that’s not what he wants. He’s not willing to spend another year on the sidelines, waiting for an opportunity that may never come.

So when the offer from IndyCar comes, Logan doesn’t hesitate. He’s heard the stories — about the speed, the fierce competition, the thrill of racing on ovals. It’s not Formula 1, but it’s still racing at the highest level. And right now, that’s what he needs.

The decision surprises everyone. The media buzzes with speculation, but Logan remains focused. He knows what he’s doing. This is a new path, one that he’s chosen for himself, not because it was expected of him. He’s determined to make it work.

A few weeks later, Logan finds himself in the heart of Indianapolis, standing outside the office of Mario Andretti. The legendary name still carries a weight of history and reverence, even in this new world of racing. It feels surreal, like stepping into a different era of motorsport.

Inside the office, Mario is all business. The contract is laid out on the table between them, a simple piece of paper that represents Logan’s future. Mario goes over the details with the kind of thoroughness that only comes from years of experience, but Logan can barely focus. His mind is racing, thoughts darting between the past season, the unknown future, and the thrill of what he’s about to embark on.

“Everything looks good?” Mario asks, breaking Logan from his thoughts.

Logan blinks, then nods, forcing himself to concentrate. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

Mario slides the pen across the table. “Then let’s make it official.”

Logan takes the pen, feeling the weight of the moment as he signs his name at the bottom of the contract. It’s done. He’s an IndyCar driver now.

Mario nods in approval, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “Welcome to the team, Logan. We’re excited to have you.”

“Thank you,” Logan says, meaning it. This is a new beginning, and he’s ready for it.

They shake hands, and Mario stands, motioning towards the door. “I’d love to chat more, but I’ve got to head out. My granddaughter’s picking me up for lunch.”

Logan heads out of the office, his mind still reeling from the whirlwind of emotions. He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the person rounding the corner until it’s too late. They collide, and Logan’s first instinct is to reach out, steadying the person as they stumble backward.

“Whoa, I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, his hands gripping her arms as he helps her regain her balance.

“It’s okay,” you reply, laughing softly as you look up at him. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Logan’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at you, the apology dying on his lips. You’re beautiful — stunning, even — with eyes that seem to sparkle with life and a smile that’s warm and inviting. For a moment, all he can do is stare, struck by how perfect you seem, like someone who’s stepped straight out of a dream.

“You alright?” You ask, tilting your head slightly as you study him.

Logan snaps out of it, quickly releasing his hold on you and stepping back. “Yeah, sorry again. I didn’t see you there.”

The door to Mario’s office opens, and the man himself steps out, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the scene. “Everything okay out here?”

You turn to your grandfather, smiling brightly. “Just a little bump, Grandpa. Nothing to worry about.”

Mario’s expression softens as he looks at you, the sternness replaced by affection. “Good. I don’t want anyone getting hurt before lunch.”

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, and Logan finds himself smiling along, despite the awkwardness of the situation.

“Logan,” Mario says, turning to him, “I’d like you to meet my granddaughter.”

Logan’s heart skips a beat. This is Mario’s granddaughter? Of course, she is. It makes sense now, the confidence in your stance, the way you carry yourself. You’re part of a racing dynasty, just like Mario.

“Logan Sargeant,” Mario continues, introducing him to you. “He’s going to be racing with us next season.”

You offer him your hand, your smile never faltering. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Logan takes your hand, feeling a jolt of electricity as your fingers brush against his. “Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you too.”

You glance at Mario, then back at Logan. “We’re heading out for lunch. You should join us.”

Logan’s mind goes blank for a second, and all he can do is blink at you, trying to process what you just said. “Lunch? With you and … Mr. Andretti?”

You laugh again, and Logan thinks it might be the best sound he has ever heard. “Yeah, with us. Unless you have somewhere else you need to be?”

“No, no,” Logan stammers, trying to regain some composure. “I’d love to join you.”

Mario claps Logan on the shoulder, his laughter booming through the hallway. “Looks like you’ve made an impression already, kid. Come on, let’s get out of here before the press catches wind of this.”

Logan nods, still somewhat dazed as he follows you and Mario out of the building. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts — about the contract he just signed, the new chapter he’s stepping into, and now, about you. He can’t quite believe his luck. Not only is he starting a new adventure in IndyCar, but he’s also just met someone who, in the span of a few minutes, has completely captivated him.

As they walk to Mario’s car, Logan steals glances at you, trying to be subtle but failing miserably. You seem so at ease, chatting with your grandfather, your laughter punctuating the conversation. There’s a lightness about you, a warmth that’s infectious, and Logan finds himself drawn to it, to you.

“Logan,” you say, turning to him as you reach the car. “So, what made you decide to join IndyCar? It’s not every day an F2 champion makes that leap.”

Logan pauses, caught off guard by the directness of your question. “Well, uh,” he begins, trying to find the right words, “I guess I just wanted something different. F1 wasn’t an option, and I didn’t want to sit around waiting for a seat to open up. IndyCar seemed like the right challenge. Something new, but still competitive.”

You nod, clearly intrigued. “That makes sense. It’s a bold move, but I think it’ll pay off.”

“Bold,” Logan repeats, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” you assure him, your eyes sparkling. “I admire people who take risks. Especially when they’re as calculated as yours seems to be.”

Mario clears his throat, a knowing grin on his face as he watches the two of you. “Alright, kids, enough shop talk. Let’s get some food.”

You and Logan exchange a smile before sliding into the back seat of the car. The conversation flows easily, despite Logan’s initial nerves. You ask him about his time in F2, what it was like racing on the different tracks, how he handled the pressure. Logan finds himself opening up more than he expected, the words coming easily under your encouraging gaze.

Mario chimes in every now and then, adding his own insights, but it’s clear he’s content to let the two of you do most of the talking. He watches with an amused glint in his eye, as if he’s already figured out something that Logan is just beginning to realize.

By the time you reach the restaurant, Logan feels like he’s known you for much longer than the short time you’ve actually spent together. There’s an ease between you that he’s rarely felt with anyone else, a connection that seems to have sparked almost instantly.

Inside the restaurant, Mario insists on taking the head of the table, leaving you and Logan to sit across from each other. As you settle in, you continue to ask Logan questions, but now they’re more personal — what does he do outside of racing? What’s his favorite movie? Does he have any hidden talents?

Logan answers as best he can, though he’s still reeling a bit from how quickly this day has turned into something he never expected. He’s just signed with IndyCar, but more than that, he’s sitting across from someone who makes his heart race faster than any car ever could.

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Logan,” Mario says suddenly, breaking into the conversation. “I’ve seen a lot of young drivers come and go, but you … you’ve got something special. Just keep your focus, and you’ll go far.”

“Thank you, Mr. Andretti,” Logan says, his voice sincere. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

“Call me Mario,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “We’re family now, after all.”

Logan smiles, feeling a warmth spread through him at the word “family.” It’s strange, how quickly things have shifted, how he’s gone from a solitary driver trying to make his way in the world to someone who might actually belong here, in this new place, with these new people.

As the lunch continues, Logan finds himself growing more comfortable, the initial awkwardness fading away. You keep the conversation lively, sharing stories about your grandfather, about your own life, and Logan can’t help but be drawn to your passion, your intelligence, your warmth. It’s clear that you’re not just Mario Andretti’s granddaughter — you’re your own person, with your own dreams and ambitions.

Eventually, the meal winds down, and Mario excuses himself to take a phone call, leaving you and Logan alone at the table. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, but charged, filled with the unspoken things neither of you have quite put into words yet.

“So,” you say, leaning forward slightly, a teasing smile on your lips, “what do you think of Indy so far?”

Logan grins, feeling a boldness he didn’t expect. “Well, it just got a whole lot more interesting.”

You laugh, your eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m glad to hear it. I have a feeling you’re going to fit in just fine here.”

“Yeah,” Logan says, his voice softening as he looks at you, really looks at you. “I think I am too.”

You hold his gaze, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing second. For a moment, the world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, caught in this moment that feels almost like fate.

Before the silence can stretch too long, Mario returns, his phone call finished. He glances between the two of you, his eyes twinkling with a knowing look that makes Logan’s ears burn. “Ready to head out?”

You nod, standing up and giving Logan one last, lingering smile. “It was nice meeting you, Logan. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

Logan stands as well, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. “Definitely. I’m looking forward to it.”

As you and Mario head out of the restaurant, Logan lingers for a moment, watching you go. He can’t quite believe what just happened, but one thing is certain — his life just got a lot more complicated, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

As he walks out into the bright sunlight, Logan can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. He’s taken a leap into the unknown, and it feels like the start of something incredible.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening, vibrating through the very core of the Speedway as Logan crosses the finish line first. It’s the 107th running of the Indianapolis 500, and he’s just won it. The realization hits him like a tidal wave, almost knocking the breath out of him. He’s an Indy 500 champion. In his rookie season, no less.

The engine growls as he coasts to a stop, and for a moment, all he can do is sit there, hands trembling on the steering wheel. His heart pounds in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he lets out a breathless laugh, disbelief and elation mingling into something indescribable.

“Logan Sargeant wins the Indy 500!” The announcer’s voice echoes through the speakers, barely audible over the cheers of the crowd. He hears it, but it still feels surreal, like something out of a dream.

The pit crew rushes over, the celebration already in full swing as they haul him out of the car. He’s immediately surrounded by a sea of people — team members, media, officials — everyone wanting a piece of this historic moment. But through it all, there’s one thing on his mind. One person.

You.

He’s searching the crowd, trying to spot you among the chaos. His vision is blurred with sweat and tears, but then he sees you — pushing your way through the throng of people, a look of pure joy on your face. You’re clapping, laughing, your eyes shining with pride, and all Logan can think is how he needs to get to you.

But first, there’s tradition to uphold.

One of the crew hands him the iconic bottle of milk, the symbol of victory. Logan takes it, still in a daze, and tilts it back, taking a long swig. The cold liquid is refreshing, cutting through the heat of the moment, and he can’t help but laugh as he lowers the bottle, milk dripping down his chin.

Without hesitation, he lifts the bottle above his head and pours the rest over himself. The milk runs down his face, soaking into his race suit, and the crowd goes wild, the noise level somehow reaching new heights. He feels on top of the world — unstoppable, invincible.

And then he spots you again, closer now, just on the edge of the crowd. Logan doesn’t think, doesn’t pause to consider anything else. He just moves, pushing through the throng of people until he’s standing right in front of you.

You’re smiling up at him, eyes bright with something that makes his heart race faster than it did on the final lap. Before he can stop himself, Logan reaches out, pulls you in, and kisses you.

It’s the kind of kiss that’s been building for months — the culmination of all the moments, all the glances, all the unspoken words between you. You taste like the victory he’s just claimed, like the adrenaline that’s still pumping through his veins, like everything he’s been chasing since he first set foot in this world.

When you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, milk dripping from Logan’s face and onto yours. You laugh, and the sound is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.

“You’re lucky I’m not lactose intolerant,” you tease, licking the milk from his lips with a grin that’s both playful and suggestive. “But honestly? It’d be worth it even if I was.”

Logan laughs, a deep, full-bodied sound that comes from a place of pure, unfiltered happiness. He feels like he’s floating, like nothing in the world could possibly bring him down from this high. Not now, not ever.

“Best win of my life,” he says, his voice rough with emotion, still holding you close, as if afraid that letting go might make this moment disappear.

You tilt your head, still smiling up at him with those eyes that have captivated him from the start. “I’d hope so,” you say softly. “You just won the Indy 500.”

He shakes his head, a playful grin on his face. “No, I mean this.” He gestures between the two of you, the words hanging in the air, heavy with meaning.

For a second, you just stare at him, the noise of the crowd fading into the background, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. And then you’re laughing, throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

This one is softer, sweeter — less about the heat of the moment and more about the connection between you, the way everything just seems to fit when you’re together. Logan loses himself in it, in you, in this moment that feels like the culmination of everything he’s ever wanted.

When you finally break apart, the noise of the crowd floods back in, the celebration continuing around you. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters except the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the only person in the world.

“Come on,” you say, tugging him towards the podium. “You’ve got a trophy to collect.”

Logan follows, still holding onto your hand, not willing to let you go just yet. The team is waiting, cheering him on, and as they hoist him up onto their shoulders, Logan realizes that this — this moment, this feeling — is what he’s been racing for all along.

Standing on the podium, the trophy in his hands, Logan looks out at the sea of faces, at the fans cheering his name, at the team celebrating their victory. But his eyes find you in the crowd, and that’s where they stay.

You’re smiling up at him, and Logan knows, deep down, that this is just the beginning. The beginning of something incredible, something he never saw coming but can’t imagine living without.

As the anthem plays and the confetti rains down, Logan lifts the trophy high, his heart full to bursting. He’s done it — he’s won the Indy 500. But more than that, he’s found something, someone, who makes all of it mean so much more.

And as he looks down at you, standing there with that bright, beautiful smile, Logan knows that he’s not just a champion. He’s the luckiest guy in the world.

***

The soft hum of the office fills the silence as Logan sits across from Mario, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. The past year has been a whirlwind — plenty of IndyCar wins, that unforgettable victory at the Indy 500, and the life he’s built with you by his side. It’s been everything he didn’t know he needed, but now, as he sits in Mario’s office, there’s an air of something significant, something life-altering in the way Mario looks at him.

Mario clears his throat, leaning forward on his desk, hands clasped. “Logan,” he begins, voice steady, serious. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking — planning, actually — and I need to talk to you about something important.”

Logan’s heart skips a beat, the weight of Mario’s words sinking in. He nods, leaning forward slightly, feeling the anticipation coil tight in his chest. “What is it?” He asks, voice steady despite the flurry of nerves.

Mario takes a deep breath, then looks Logan squarely in the eye. “We’re buying Haas F1 Team. The deal’s already in motion, and we’ll be restructuring everything from the ground up to make our entrance into Formula 1 in 2026.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Logan’s breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he’s not sure if he’s heard Mario correctly. “Formula 1?” He echoes, almost disbelieving. His mind races, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. “You’re serious?”

“As serious as it gets,” Mario replies, his expression unwavering. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Logan. And now, with everything coming together, it’s finally happening. But here’s the thing-” he pauses, his gaze locking onto Logan’s with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt, “I can’t think of anyone better suited to lead this team as our driver than you.”

The words hit Logan like a freight train. He stares at Mario, unable to speak, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. Formula 1 has always been the dream, the pinnacle of everything he’s worked for. The chance he thought he’d lost — twice, if he counts the strange twist of fate that had brought him here in the first place.

“Logan, I know this is a lot to take in,” Mario continues, his tone softer now, understanding. “But I believe in you. You’ve proven yourself time and time again, in F2, in IndyCar — hell, you won the Indy 500 in your first season. And I know you still have that fire for F1. This is your shot, kid. And I want you to take it.”

Logan feels the lump in his throat as Mario’s words sink in. The room seems to close in around him, the gravity of the moment pressing down like a physical weight. He’s had a lot of success in IndyCar, more than he ever imagined, and it brought him you — his reason to smile, his anchor in the storm. But Formula 1? That’s the dream he’s never fully let go of, even when he tried to convince himself otherwise.

He swallows hard, forcing the words out past the emotion threatening to choke him. “I-I don’t know what to say,” he admits, his voice thick. “I mean, this is … I didn’t think I’d ever get another chance like this.”

Mario smiles, the kind of smile that’s equal parts pride and encouragement. “I know it’s a lot, Logan. And it’s not an easy decision, especially considering everything you’ve built here in IndyCar. But I have no doubt in my mind that you’re the right person for this. You’ve got what it takes to succeed in F1, and I’m not just talking about talent. You’ve got heart, determination, and the ability to learn from your mistakes. That’s what makes a champion.”

Logan’s mind races, the possibilities spinning out in front of him. He thinks about everything he’s worked for, everything he’s achieved. And then he thinks about you — how you’ve been there with him through it all, supporting him, believing in him even when he doubted himself.

He takes a deep breath, his decision already forming in his mind, solidifying with each passing second. “Okay,” he says, meeting Mario’s gaze head-on. “I’ll do it. I want this, Mario. I want to prove to myself that I can do it right this time.”

Mario’s grin widens, and he stands up, offering Logan his hand. “Welcome to Andretti F1 Team. We’re going to do great things together.”

Logan shakes his hand, the reality of it all starting to settle in. He’s going to be a Formula 1 driver again. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, everything he’s ever wanted all over again. As he stands there, absorbing the magnitude of what’s just happened, he feels a strange mix of emotions — elation, fear, anticipation, and something else that he can’t quite name.

Mario walks him to the door, still talking about the next steps, the plans they have for the team, but Logan’s mind is half-focused on something else, someone else. As the door swings open, the conversation comes to a halt. The sight that greets them both brings a grin to Mario’s face and a burst of laughter from Logan.

You’re standing there, your ear pressed to the door, looking guilty as hell when you realize you’ve been caught. You straighten up quickly, trying to play it off, but the blush spreading across your cheeks gives you away.

“Eavesdropping, huh?” Logan teases, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. There’s a lightness in his voice that wasn’t there moments ago, the news already settling into a place of excitement rather than apprehension.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile, but failing miserably. “I, um … I might have been curious,” you admit, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

Mario chuckles, shaking his head. “Looks like we’ve got a new team spy, Logan. Better watch out.”

Logan can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. He steps out of the office, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “You know, you didn’t have to spy,” he says, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “I would’ve told you everything.”

You look up at him, your smile fading slightly as something more serious takes its place in your eyes. “I just … I wanted to know if it was good news,” you say quietly. “I know how much F1 means to you.”

Logan feels his heart clench at your words, at the sincerity in your voice. You’ve always understood him, always known what drives him, what keeps him going. He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “It’s great news,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m getting a second shot at F1, and I’m not going to mess it up this time.”

Your smile returns, bright and full of the same determination he feels. “I know you won’t,” you say confidently. “You’re going to do amazing things, Logie. And I’ll be right there with you.”

Logan’s chest tightens with emotion, the intensity of the moment overwhelming him. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Good thing you won’t have to find out,” you reply, your tone teasing but laced with affection.

Logan’s heart swells, and before he can stop himself, he lifts you off your feet, spinning you around in a circle. You yelp in surprise, then burst into laughter, the sound filling the hallway.

He sets you down gently, your laughter fading into a soft smile as you look up at him. There’s a moment of quiet, the world around you fading away as the reality of what’s happening sinks in. Logan leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and passionate, a promise of what’s to come.

When you finally pull back, breathless and smiling, Logan feels a sense of calm settle over him. Everything is falling into place, and for the first time in a long while, he feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

With you by his side, he knows he can face whatever comes next.

“Ready to take on the world?” You ask, your voice light but your eyes serious.

Logan grins, squeezing your hand. “As long as I’ve got you, I’m ready for anything.”

And with that, he leads you down the hallway, the future stretching out before him, bright and full of promise.

***

The sun is barely up, casting long shadows across the Albert Park Circuit, but the air is already alive with anticipation. It’s the first day of preseason testing for the 2026 Formula 1 season, and the paddock is buzzing with the usual mix of excitement and nerves.

Teams are unpacking crates, engineers are huddled over laptops, and the unmistakable scent of burning rubber is already in the air. But for Logan, walking through the paddock with you on his arm, it feels like stepping into a dream — one he’s worked too damn hard to make a reality.

He adjusts the collar of his Andretti jacket, the weight of the moment not lost on him. This is it. His second chance — though, thanks to the bizarre twist of fate, no one else knows it’s his second. Everyone around him sees a rookie, an American hopeful making his debut with Andretti’s new F1 team. But Logan knows better. He’s here with experience that no one can fathom, and he’s determined not to waste it.

As you walk beside him, your hand resting lightly on his arm, he can’t help but steal a glance at you. There’s a brightness in your eyes, a mix of pride and excitement that mirrors his own. “You okay?” He asks, squeezing your hand gently.

You look up at him and smile, the kind of smile that makes his heart do a little flip. “I’m more than okay,” you reply. “I’m with you, and we’re about to watch you live your dream. What could be better than that?”

Logan grins, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. You’ve been his rock through everything — the highs, the lows, the strange, unexplainable journey that brought him back here. He’s never been more certain that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

As you make your way through the paddock, heads turn. It’s not just because Logan is here with the legendary Andretti team, but because of the woman at his side. He catches a few curious glances, some surprised, others appreciative, and he can’t blame them. You’re a sight to behold, and he’s proud to be walking in with you.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, Logan spots a familiar face. Oscar Piastri, decked out in McLaren colors, is standing near the entrance to the pit lane, chatting with a few team members. It’s been years since they last spoke properly — back when they were both climbing the ranks in the junior series, fighting tooth and nail for every inch of track.

They were close once, but life pulled them in different directions — Oscar to McLaren, Logan to IndyCar. And now, here they are, both in Formula 1, albeit on different paths.

Logan feels a wave of nostalgia, and before he can overthink it, he’s steering you in Oscar’s direction. As you approach, Oscar looks up, and for a split second, there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes before it melts into a wide, genuine smile.

“Logan Sargeant,” Oscar says, his Australian accent as thick as ever. He steps forward, hand outstretched, and Logan takes it, shaking firmly. “I’ll be damned. You actually made it.”

Logan chuckles, the sound more relaxed than he feels. “Yeah, I guess I did. It’s been a long road, but here I am.”

Oscar’s smile widens, his grip on Logan’s hand lingering for just a moment longer. “It’s good to see you, mate. I was wondering when you’d show up in F1. Figured you were having too much fun in IndyCar to come back.”

“There was a lot to love about IndyCar,” Logan admits, glancing at you with a fond smile. “But F1 was always the dream, you know? Couldn’t pass up a chance like this.”

Oscar nods, understanding clear in his expression. “I get it. And with Andretti, no less. That’s a hell of a team to start with. You’re going to shake things up around here, I can tell.”

Logan shrugs, trying to play it cool even as his heart pounds with the reality of it all. “That’s the plan. But enough about me. How’s life at McLaren? You guys ready to give us a run for our money?”

Oscar laughs, the sound light and easy. “Always. McLaren’s been working their asses off, and I’m feeling good about this season. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because we’re old friends.”

Logan grins, feeling the competitive spark that’s always driven him reignite. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve gone wheel-to-wheel. I’m looking forward to it.”

Oscar’s gaze shifts to you, his curiosity evident. “And who’s this?” He asks, his tone polite but genuinely interested.

Logan’s grin softens as he looks at you. “This is my better half,” he says, his voice filled with affection. “She’s the one who keeps me sane.”

You smile at Oscar, offering your hand. “It’s great to finally meet you, Oscar. Logan’s told me a lot about you.”

Oscar shakes your hand, his smile warm and welcoming. “All good things, I hope.”

“Mostly,” you tease, throwing Logan a playful glance.

Logan laughs, feeling a lightness in his chest he hasn’t felt in a while. It’s good to be here, good to be surrounded by the familiar banter and camaraderie that he’s missed. He knows the road ahead is going to be tough — F1 is nothing if not ruthless — but with you by his side and old friends welcoming him back, he feels more ready than ever to face whatever comes his way.

Oscar steps back, his gaze shifting between the two of you. “Well, I’d better let you guys get settled in. But hey, we should catch up properly later. Maybe grab a drink after testing?”

Logan nods, appreciating the offer. “Definitely. It’s been too long.”

As Oscar walks away, Logan watches him for a moment, the memories of their shared past mingling with the excitement of the present. It’s surreal, being here again, but this time with the weight of everything he’s learned, everything he’s fought for.

You tug gently on his arm, pulling him out of his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?” You ask, your voice soft and curious.

Logan smiles down at you, squeezing your hand. “Just how different things are now,” he admits. “But in a good way. I’ve got a second shot at this, and I’m not going to waste it.”

You nod, your eyes shining with the same determination he feels. “And I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way.”

Logan feels a swell of emotion, gratitude, and love that he can’t quite put into words. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The two of you continue walking, the sounds of the paddock fading into the background as you focus on each other. The day ahead is full of unknowns — testing, strategy meetings, the inevitable pressure of proving himself — but with you by his side, Logan feels ready for anything.

As you make your way to the Andretti garage, the team members greet Logan with nods and smiles, and he can see the mix of curiosity and expectation in their eyes. They’re all in this together, building something new, something that has the potential to be great. And Logan is determined to be the driver they need, the one who can lead them to success.

You squeeze his hand, drawing his attention back to you. “You’re going to do amazing, Logan. I can feel it.”

He smiles, the confidence in your voice bolstering his own. “Thanks. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

“Always,” you reply, your gaze unwavering.

As the day progresses, Logan finds himself falling into the rhythm of the paddock. The familiar sounds of engines roaring to life, the chatter of engineers discussing data, the focused intensity that permeates every corner — it’s like he never left. But this time, there’s a new layer to it all, a sense of belonging that he didn’t fully grasp the first time around.

He exchanges nods and brief conversations with other drivers as they pass by, some offering congratulations, others sizing him up as the new competition. It’s all part of the game, the unspoken dance of respect and rivalry that defines the sport. But through it all, Logan keeps you close, your presence grounding him in the midst of the chaos.

As the day draws to a close, Logan finds himself back in the garage, the car stripped down and the team poring over the data from the day’s sessions. He’s tired, the kind of exhaustion that comes from both physical exertion and mental focus, but it’s the good kind of tired — the kind that tells him he’s exactly where he needs to be.

You’re standing nearby, chatting with one of the engineers, your laughter mingling with the sounds of the garage. Logan watches you for a moment, a smile tugging at his lips. You’ve always had a way of fitting in, of making everyone around you feel at ease, and he’s grateful for that — for you.

As if sensing his gaze, you look over at him and smile, that familiar warmth in your eyes. You make your way over to him, and when you reach him, Logan pulls you into his arms, holding you close. The noise of the garage fades into the background, leaving just the two of you in this moment.

“You did great today,” you say.

Logan holds you a little tighter, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of pride and affection. “You’re the one out there driving, Logan. But I’m glad I can be here for you.”

He smiles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “It means everything to me that you are,” he whispers.

For a moment, the chaos of the garage and the world outside fades, leaving just the two of you standing together, ready to face whatever comes next. Logan knows the road ahead won’t be easy, but with you by his side, he’s more than ready to take on the challenge.

***

The media room is buzzing with the usual pre-race energy, a mix of nerves and excitement crackling in the air as the drivers settle in behind the table. Logan’s seated between Oscar and Charles, the bright lights overhead casting sharp shadows across their faces. The backdrop behind them, plastered with sponsor logos and the official F1 emblem, feels almost like a stage, the press in front of them the audience waiting for their performance.

Logan shifts in his seat, glancing down at the bottled water in front of him. The press conference has been the usual mix of questions so far — how the cars are handling, expectations for the season, the general camaraderie between the drivers. But there’s an undercurrent, a sense that something more pointed is coming.

A journalist from the back finally stands, her voice clear and direct as she catches Logan’s attention. “Logan,” she begins, holding her recorder up, “there’s been some observation that every time you see James Vowles, your expression seems to … change. Almost like you’re not too thrilled to be around him. Any comment on that?”

There’s a moment of silence in the room, a collective breath held. Logan feels the gaze of every person on him, including the drivers beside him. He lets out a quiet laugh, trying to play it cool, but he can’t help the way his mind flashes back to the last time he’d faced Vowles, the man’s condescending tone, the cold dismissal that had sent him spiraling.

Oscar shifts beside him, giving him a sideways glance, probably wondering where this is going. Logan catches the edge of his own reflection in the shiny surface of the table and forces his expression into something neutral, even though the old bitterness is clawing its way up from the pit of his stomach.

“Bad vibes,” Logan says finally, his voice carrying just enough humor to keep it light, though there’s an unmistakable edge to it. “That’s what my girlfriend would say. He just … gives off bad vibes.”

There’s a ripple of laughter through the room, the tension breaking slightly. But the journalist isn’t done yet. “Bad vibes? Care to elaborate on that?”

Logan shrugs, trying to brush it off with a casualness he doesn’t quite feel. “You know, it’s one of those things. Sometimes you just don’t click with someone, right? It’s nothing serious.”

Charles, on his other side, leans into his mic, flashing a grin. “You’re not going to make us all paranoid about our vibes now, are you?”

The room laughs again, and Logan takes the opportunity to sip his water, hoping the moment will pass. But he can feel the weight of the past pressing against him, the memories of how it all went down before he’d found himself in this second chance. He knows better than anyone that this sport is a game of perceptions, of how you carry yourself, and he can’t afford to let the past taint his future.

Another journalist jumps in, steering the conversation toward safer waters — questions about the new car, how he’s adjusting to the Andretti team. Logan answers on autopilot, the usual lines about feeling confident, about how the team has been amazing. But in the back of his mind, he’s still thinking about that flash of disgust he couldn’t hide, the way his skin prickled when he saw Vowles earlier that day.

When the press conference finally wraps up, and the drivers are ushered out of the room, Oscar hangs back, falling into step beside Logan as they head toward the paddock. “So,” Oscar starts, keeping his voice low, “bad vibes, huh?”

Logan lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You know how it is,” he says, trying to keep it light, though he knows Oscar can see right through him.

Oscar just nods, not pushing any further, and Logan’s grateful for that. They walk in silence for a moment, the din of the paddock growing louder as they approach, engineers and team members bustling around them.

“Honestly, mate,” Oscar says after a beat, “if anyone’s going to bring some good vibes into F1, it’s you. I’m glad you’re here.”

Logan glances over, and there’s sincerity in Oscar’s expression that makes Logan’s chest tighten, the weight of everything he’s carried with him lightening just a bit. “Thanks, Oscar. That means a lot.”

They reach the Andretti motorhome, where you’re waiting for Logan, your eyes lighting up the moment you spot him. He feels a warmth spread through him at the sight, a reminder of what really matters.

You push off the wall you’d been leaning against, falling into step beside him. “So, how’d it go in there?”

Logan smirks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as they walk. “Let’s just say my reputation for honesty might have gotten a bit more solidified.”

You tilt your head up at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “That bad, huh?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not bad, just … honest.”

You glance at Oscar, who’s still walking beside you, and give him a knowing look. “He always has to make things interesting, doesn’t he?”

Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. “Never a dull moment with this one.”

As you make your way back into the motorhome, Logan feels the tension of the day starting to ebb away. The familiar scent of coffee and fuel, the low hum of conversations around him, and the comforting presence of you by his side — it all feels right. Despite everything, he knows this is where he belongs.

Once inside, the motorhome offers a brief respite from the chaotic energy outside. The team is prepping for final checks, and Logan knows he should be focusing on the task ahead, but there’s something nagging at him, a need to explain himself, to make sure you understand.

You catch the way his brows furrow slightly, the way his grip on your shoulder tightens for a moment before he lets go. “What’s up?”

He hesitates, running a hand through his hair, looking for the right words. “I just … I don’t want to come off like I’m carrying a grudge or anything. That comment about Vowles — it probably sounded harsher than I meant it.”

You step closer, your hand finding his, grounding him. “Logan, it’s okay. Everyone has people they don’t vibe with. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.”

He nods, the tightness in his chest loosening as he looks into your eyes, seeing the unwavering support there. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “It’s a gift. Plus, you make it easy.”

Oscar clears his throat, and both of you look over to see him trying not to grin. “I’m going to leave you two to it. Just don’t forget we have a race to focus on.”

Logan laughs, shaking his head as Oscar heads out. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be right out.”

When Oscar’s gone, Logan turns back to you, his expression softening. “Thanks for being here. Really.”

You lean up, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Always.”

As you both make your way out to the garage, the sounds of the team preparing for the weekend reach your ears, and Logan feels that familiar rush of adrenaline, the anticipation of what’s to come. The memory of the press conference, of Vowles, fades into the background. What matters now is the race ahead, the chance to prove himself once again, and the knowledge that whatever happens, you’re right there with him.

He glances over at you as they approach the car, and you catch him staring, raising an eyebrow in question. “What?”

Logan just smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

You roll your eyes, though there’s a smile playing on your lips. “You better believe it, Sargeant. Now, go out there and show them what you’ve got.”

He nods, feeling more centered than he has all day. With a final squeeze of your hand, he steps into the garage, ready to take on whatever comes next, knowing that no matter what happens on the track, he’s already won in the ways that truly matter.

***

The roar of the engines reverberates through the paddock, a constant hum that thrums in Logan’s chest as he steps into the Andretti garage. It’s yet another race weekend, and the energy is electric, a mix of anticipation and nerves hanging in the air.

The team is buzzing around him, mechanics fine-tuning the car, engineers buried in data, but Logan’s focus is on the familiar figure leaning casually against the back wall, arms crossed, watching the hustle with an almost serene smile.

Logan stops in his tracks, eyebrows raising in surprise. It’s not that Mario isn’t around — he’s a constant presence in the team, always keeping an eye on things — but he usually doesn’t show up this early in the weekend, and certainly not with that look on his face.

It’s a smile Logan recognizes all too well, a mix of pride and mischief that means only one thing: Mario knows something that everyone else doesn’t, and it’s going to shake things up.

Logan weaves his way through the garage, sidestepping the organized chaos until he’s standing in front of Mario. “You look like you’re up to something,” Logan says, crossing his arms to mirror the older man’s posture. “What’s going on?”

Mario’s smile widens just a fraction, his eyes glinting with a secret. “Now, what makes you think I’m up to anything, kid?”

Logan chuckles, shaking his head. “Because I know that look. You’ve got news.”

Mario doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he pushes off the wall and motions for Logan to follow him to a quieter corner of the garage, away from the prying eyes and ears of the rest of the team. Logan follows, his curiosity piqued. Whatever Mario’s about to tell him, it’s big.

When they’re sufficiently out of earshot, Mario leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You remember how I told you a while back that we were working on something big for the team?”

Logan nods, his interest fully captured. “Yeah. What’s up?”

Mario’s smile turns almost wicked. “Well, it seems that James Vowles and Williams think they’re going to secure Adrian Newey for next season.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly. Newey is a legend in the sport, the kind of designer who can turn a good team into a championship-winning one. If Williams were to get him, it would be a game-changer. “Wait, you said they think they’re going to get him?”

“Exactly.” Mario’s grin is practically gleeful now. “What they don’t know is that Adrian’s already in talks with us. In fact, we’re just about ready to sign the deal.”

Logan lets out a low whistle, the magnitude of the news sinking in. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. By this time next week, Adrian Newey will be working for Andretti.”

Logan can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face. This is huge, a move that will send shockwaves through the paddock. With Newey on board, Andretti’s chances of becoming a front-runner in F1 just skyrocketed. “I can’t believe it,” Logan says, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s going to change everything.”

Mario nods, satisfaction evident in his expression. “It’s a big deal, no doubt about it. But we’ve still got work to do. We can’t get complacent, not with what’s at stake. But this … this is a big step in the right direction.”

Logan’s mind is already racing ahead, thinking about what this means for the team, for his own career. The idea of driving a car designed by Newey is almost surreal. “When are you going to announce it?”

“Not until everything’s signed and sealed,” Mario replies. “But once it’s done, we’ll make sure the whole world knows. And Williams … well, they’re in for a nasty surprise.”

Logan laughs, the sound coming out more exhilarated than he intended. The idea of one-upping Vowles, especially after everything that’s happened between them, is deeply satisfying. “I can’t wait to see the look on Vowles’ face when he finds out.”

Mario pats Logan on the shoulder, the gesture filled with a camaraderie that Logan has come to cherish. “Neither can I, kid. Neither can I.”

As they walk back towards the main part of the garage, Logan’s mind is still reeling from the news. He’s been focused on the present, on making sure he performs at his best every time he’s out on the track, but this … this opens up a whole new realm of possibilities. With Newey on board, there’s no telling what they can achieve.

When you spot him from across the garage, the look on his face must give away that something’s up because you immediately make your way over, your expression curious. “What’s going on?” You ask as soon as you’re close enough.

Logan glances around, making sure no one is within earshot, and then leans in, his voice low. “Mario just dropped a bombshell. Andretti’s about to sign Adrian Newey.”

Your eyes widen in shock, and Logan watches as a grin spreads across your face, mirroring his own excitement. “No way. That’s … huge!”

“I know,” Logan says, still barely able to believe it himself. “This changes everything.”

You reach out, placing a hand on his arm, your voice filled with pride. “You’re going to be driving a car designed by Newey. Do you realize how amazing that is?”

Logan nods, the reality of it finally sinking in. “Yeah, I do. It’s … I can’t even put it into words.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You don’t have to. I can see it on your face.”

For a moment, Logan just stands there, soaking it all in. The garage is still bustling around them, the team oblivious to the monumental news that’s just been dropped in their laps. But Logan knows that soon enough, everything is going to change. This is the kind of move that can define a career, that can take a team from being contenders to being champions.

But more than that, it’s a chance for redemption. A chance to prove to everyone — including himself — that he belongs here, that he’s capable of more than anyone ever gave him credit for. The past is behind him now, and with you by his side, and Newey in the garage, the future looks brighter than ever.

Logan glances over at you, seeing the pride and excitement in your eyes, and feels a surge of gratitude. For the second chance he’s been given, for the team that believes in him, and for you, the person who’s been there through it all.

“We’re going to do something amazing, you know that?” Logan says, his voice filled with conviction.

You nod, your smile soft but full of certainty. “I know. And I can’t wait to see it.”

Neither can Logan.

***

Logan’s heart is still pounding from the rush of the race as he stands on the podium, feeling the weight of the Miami sun on his shoulders. The crowd roars below him, a sea of red, white, and blue as far as the eye can see, their energy pulsing through his veins. He can hardly believe it. A podium at his home race, in front of a crowd that feels like family, is something he’d dreamed about since he was a kid.

He turns, looking out over the crowd, his eyes scanning for you. You’re there, as you always are, standing with the Andretti team, your smile brighter than the sun. The mechanics are cheering, patting each other on the back, but Logan only has eyes for you. It’s like everything else falls away — the noise, the cameras, the pressure of the season — all of it fades into the background. All that matters is the way you’re looking at him, like he’s your entire world.

He takes a deep breath, the realization of what he’s about to do washing over him. His hands shake, just slightly, as he reaches up and touches the chain around his neck, feeling the weight of the ring that’s been hidden there for weeks, waiting for this moment.

Without another thought, he drops to one knee, right there on the podium. The world seems to stop as he looks up at you, the crowd going silent in his mind. He hears the sharp intake of breath from the Andretti crew, sees the shock on your face as you register what’s happening.

“Hey,” he says, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. “I … I don’t know if I can put into words what you mean to me. You’ve been with me through everything — the wins, the losses, the crazy twists and turns. And I can’t imagine going through any of it without you by my side.” He pauses, the weight of the moment sinking in. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is … will you marry me?”

Your eyes widen, and for a second, you’re frozen in place, staring at him in disbelief. Then, as if breaking free from a spell, you laugh, a sound that’s pure joy, and nod vigorously. The next thing Logan knows, you’re being lifted onto the podium by the mechanics, tears of happiness streaming down your face as you launch yourself into his arms.

“Yes,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion. “Yes, of course, I will!”

The crowd erupts into cheers, the noise deafening as Logan slides the ring onto your finger. He pulls you close, his lips finding yours in a kiss that tastes like victory, love, and everything good in the world. The mechanics are going wild, chanting your names, and someone — Logan thinks it might be Mario — pops open a bottle of champagne, spraying it over everyone.

It’s chaotic, it’s perfect, and it’s a moment that Logan knows he’ll remember for the rest of his life. As he holds you close, feeling the warmth of your body against his, he realizes that this — right here, with you in his arms, and his home crowd cheering around him — is the true victory. The rest is just a bonus.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. “You know,” he says, his voice low so only you can hear, “I always knew I was lucky. But this … this is something else entirely.”

You smile, the kind of smile that makes his heart skip a beat, and lean in to kiss him again. “We’re both lucky, Logan,” you whisper against his lips. “And this is just the beginning.”

***

The paddock is buzzing with activity, the hum of engines and the chatter of mechanics creating a familiar symphony that Logan finds oddly comforting. It’s the start of another race weekend, but this one feels different. There’s an undercurrent of excitement in the air, a mix of nerves and anticipation that has nothing to do with the cars or the track.

Logan slips away from the Andretti garage, his eyes scanning the bustling paddock as he makes his way toward the Williams garage. He’s done his best to stay clear of them ever since re-entering Formula 1, but today is different. Today, he has a reason to be there — a reason that brings a small, almost mischievous smile to his lips.

The Williams garage is a flurry of motion, mechanics and engineers huddled over laptops, surrounded by toolboxes and tires. The sight brings a wave of nostalgia crashing over Logan, but he quickly pushes it aside. He isn’t here for a trip down memory lane.

Spotting Alex Albon near the back, Logan weaves through the chaos, his steps light and easy despite the tension he can feel crawling up his spine. Alex is engrossed in a conversation with his race engineer, but when Logan steps up, he looks up in surprise.

“Logan!” Alex greets, his face splitting into a wide grin. “What are you doing here? Slumming it with the backmarkers?”

“Something like that,” Logan replies, his tone light as he pulls a small, cream-colored envelope from his jacket pocket. He hands it to Alex, who takes it with a curious tilt of his head. “Figured I should deliver this in person.”

Alex flips the envelope over, his eyes widening slightly as he reads the names printed in elegant script on the front — his and Lily’s. He breaks into a grin, already understanding what it is before he even opens it.

“No way,” Alex says, pulling out the invitation and quickly scanning the details. “You’re really doing it, huh? Getting hitched?”

Logan chuckles, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the thought. “Yeah, we are. And we’d love for you and Lily to be there.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Alex replies, his grin softening into something more sincere. “Congrats, man. You two are great together.”

Logan nods, grateful for the genuine well-wishes. He’s about to say something else when a flicker of movement catches his eye. Glancing up, he sees James Vowles standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable as he watches the exchange between Logan and Alex.

For a brief moment, the past rushes back — the frustration, the disappointment, the sense of being discarded like a broken part. Logan feels a familiar pang of bitterness, but he quickly tamps it down. He isn’t that person anymore. He’s moved on, and he’s got better things — better people — in his life now.

Still, he can’t help himself.

He meets James’ gaze head-on, his smile shifting into something a bit more pointed, more deliberate. “Oh, James?” He says, his voice carrying just enough to be heard over the noise of the garage. “Seems like your invitation must’ve gotten lost in the mail. Real shame.”

James’ eyes narrow slightly, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t respond. The tension between them is almost tangible, thickening the air around them. Logan holds his gaze for a moment longer, then shrugs exaggeratingly before turning his attention back to Alex.

“Anyway, hope to see you there,” Logan says, clapping Alex on the shoulder before stepping back. “Tell Lily we’re looking forward to it.”

“Will do,” Alex replies, still smiling but with a touch of unease as he glances between Logan and James.

Logan doesn’t linger. He turns on his heel and strides back through the garage, the small, satisfied grin still tugging at his lips. He can feel James’ eyes boring into his back, but he doesn’t care. Let him stew, Logan thinks. He’s got more important things on his mind.

As he exits the garage and steps back into the sun-drenched paddock, Logan takes a deep breath, feeling lighter, freer. The thought of the wedding, of you waiting for him back in the Andretti garage, fills him with a sense of contentment that he never thought he’d find in the world of Formula 1.

He spots you before you see him, standing with Mario and a few other Andretti team members, animatedly talking about something. Your laughter rings out over the noise of the paddock, and Logan feels his heart swell with affection.

It’s funny how things work out, he thinks. How life has a way of surprising you, of turning things around when you least expect it. He’s come a long way from that lost, angry kid who thought he’d never get a second chance. And now, here he is, standing on the cusp of a future that’s brighter than anything he could have imagined.

He picks up his pace, eager to get back to you, to tell you about the exchange with Alex and the little jab he couldn’t resist throwing at James. But as he draws closer, you turn and catch sight of him, your face lighting up in a way that makes his breath catch in his throat.

“Hey, you,” you call out, stepping away from the group to meet him halfway. “Did you get it done?”

Logan nods, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I did. Alex and Lily are in.”

“And Vowles?” You ask, a knowing glint in your eyes.

Logan chuckles, slipping an arm around your waist as he leans in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Let’s just say … he didn’t make the cut.”

You laugh, the sound pure and full of joy, and it’s the best thing Logan’s heard all day. “Good. You don’t need that kind of negativity at our wedding.”

“No, I don’t,” Logan agrees, feeling a rush of relief that you’re by his side, making even the most awkward encounters bearable. “And anyway, we’ve got more than enough people who actually care about us.”

You nod, your expression softening as you look up at him. “Yeah, we do. And I can’t wait to celebrate with them — with you.”

Logan feels a warmth spread through him, the same warmth he’s felt ever since the day he realized just how much you meant to him. It’s a feeling that never gets old, no matter how many podiums or victories he racks up. Because at the end of the day, it’s moments like this — simple, shared moments with you — that matter the most.

As the two of you head back toward the Andretti garage, Logan can’t help but think about how far he’s come. From the chaos of that first season in Formula 1, the heartbreak of being dropped, to the wild success of his time in IndyCar, and now, back in the sport he loves, with you by his side.

He knows there will be more challenges ahead — there always are in this world. But for now, he’s content to focus on the here and now, on the love he’s found and the life he’s building with you.

And as you walk together through the paddock, the sun casting long shadows on the ground, Logan can’t help but feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Not because of the cars, or the fame, or even the victories, but because of you — because you’re the one thing in his life that makes all the twists and turns worth it.

And he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening, a wall of sound that crashes against Logan as he stands on top of the podium. His hands grip the trophy tightly, the cold metal grounding him as the reality of it all sinks in. He’s done it. Logan Sargeant, the kid from Florida who almost lost everything, is now the World Drivers’ Champion.

The first American to do so since Mario Andretti himself.

He’s fought hard for this moment, clawed his way back from the brink of obscurity, and now here he is, at the pinnacle of motorsport. The champagne sprays around him, but all Logan can focus on is the sight of you, beaming up at him from the edge of the podium. You’re standing beside Mario, who’s wearing a grin as wide as Logan’s ever seen. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands clasped together, eyes sparkling with a mix of pride and joy.

He barely registers the other drivers beside him, the interviews, or the flashes of cameras. Everything narrows to you and the overwhelming sense of accomplishment swelling in his chest. You’ve been there through it all, from the moment he took that leap of faith into IndyCar, to the sleepless nights before his first season back in Formula 1. Every high and every low has led to this, and you’ve never wavered.

Logan can’t help the way his gaze shifts slightly to the left, where James Vowles stands at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. There’s a tightness to his expression, a bitterness that Logan recognizes all too well.

But as much as he’d love to revel in that small victory, he finds that he doesn’t care. Not really. The vindication is sweet, sure, but it pales in comparison to the sight of you and the emotions radiating from you like the warmest of suns.

You notice him looking at you, and you blow him a kiss, laughing when he pretends to catch it, holding it to his chest. There’s no place he’d rather be than right here, right now, with you by his side.

The ceremony starts to wrap up, and as the photographers move in closer for shots, Logan can see Mario nudging you forward. You’re waving your hands at your grandfather, as if to say no, you’re fine where you are, but Mario’s having none of it. The mechanics and team members part to let you through, and Logan watches with an ever-growing smile as you finally make your way up onto the podium.

When you reach him, Logan pulls you into his arms without hesitation, lifting you off your feet as the crowd goes wild. He spins you around, feeling the way you cling to him, your laughter ringing out in his ear.

“You did it,” you say when he finally sets you down, your voice thick with emotion.

“No,” Logan corrects, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “We did it.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s no hiding the way your eyes glisten. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me for it,” Logan teases, leaning in to press his forehead against yours.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I really do.”

The moment is interrupted by Mario clearing his throat, and Logan turns to see him holding a bottle of champagne, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Now, are we celebrating or what?”

Logan laughs, grabbing the bottle and popping the cork, spraying the contents over you and Mario, who both shout in surprise. The rest of the team quickly follows suit, and soon, the podium is a chaotic mess of laughter, champagne, and pure, unfiltered joy.

As the celebrations continue around him, Logan takes a step back, watching the scene unfold. His heart swells with a sense of contentment he’s never felt before. He’s always been driven, always had his eyes set on the next goal, the next race, the next win. But standing here, with you by his side, he realizes that he’s found something even more important than all of that.

He’s found a home.

A family.

And he’s never letting go.

The night carries on in a blur of congratulatory hugs, media obligations, and team celebrations. But as the crowd starts to thin and the energy begins to mellow, Logan finds himself sitting on the edge of the podium, his legs dangling off the side. The cool night air brushes against his skin, the sounds of the city in the distance providing a soft backdrop to the dwindling celebrations.

You find him there, sitting in silence, and without a word, you join him. You lean into his side, and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

“It’s still sinking in,” Logan admits after a while. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this feeling.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes filled with warmth. “You’ve earned it, Logan. Every single bit of it. Don’t ever doubt that.”

He nods, resting his chin on top of your head. “It just feels … surreal. Like I’m living in a dream.”

“Well, if this is a dream,” you say, a mischievous smile playing on your lips, “then it’s one I never want to wake up from.”

Logan chuckles softly, his heart swelling with affection. “You and me both.”

The two of you sit there in comfortable silence, watching as the final remnants of the celebration begin to fade. The stadium lights dim, and the night sky takes over, a blanket of stars twinkling above you. It’s peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos of the day, and Logan can’t help but feel grateful for this quiet moment with you.

“I used to think winning was everything,” Logan says after a while, his voice barely above a whisper. “That nothing else mattered as long as I crossed the finish line first.”

“And now?” You ask, your tone gentle, inviting him to continue.

“Now I know that it’s not just about the win,” Logan replies, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s about the journey. The people who stand by you, who lift you up when you’re down, who make the victories sweeter and the losses bearable. It’s about finding something worth fighting for, and never letting go of it.”

You smile, your fingers intertwining with his. “Sounds like you’ve learned a lot.”

Logan nods, turning his head to look at you. “I have. And it’s all because of you.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

“Not at all,” Logan says, his voice firm. “You’ve been my rock, my anchor. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

You look at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “Logan …”

“I mean it,” he says, his voice gentle yet unwavering. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You don’t respond with words; instead, you lean in, capturing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s a kiss filled with promises, with unspoken words, and with a love that has grown stronger with every challenge, every victory, every moment shared.

When you finally pull away, Logan rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his heart full. “I love you,” he whispers, the words carrying the weight of all he feels.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice just as soft, just as full of emotion.

The world fades away as the two of you sit there, wrapped up in each other. Logan knows that there will be more challenges ahead, more races to win, more obstacles to overcome. But as long as he has you by his side, he knows that he can face anything.

Because, in the end, it’s not just about the racing. It’s about the people who make it all worthwhile.

And for Logan Sargeant, that person is you.

As the night deepens and the city quiets, Logan realizes that this is just the beginning. The beginning of a new chapter, a new journey, with you right beside him. And whatever the future holds, he knows one thing for certain:

He’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

And with you, he’s already won.

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palms-upturned · 8 months

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Nothing feels transgressive or even important anymore. Everything feels so hollow. So much of queer and disabled theory and labor activism is about bodily autonomy but what autonomy do we truly have? What kind of autonomy do the tens of thousands of newly disabled people in Gaza have? Those who were already disabled and died because they couldn’t access care? What kind of autonomy do queer people in Gaza have when their occupiers are flying pride flags over stolen homes? What kind of autonomy do laborers have here when collective actions that don’t directly pertain to their contracts aren’t legally protected? What does anything we’ve ever fought for and won here even mean if we can’t be bothered to fight alongside our colonized siblings? I think about Rachel Corrie and I wonder how can even we in the imperial core ever claim body autonomy if our bodies and lives are forfeit the moment we put them between a bulldozer and someone’s home? But it simply doesn’t matter to most people because so few of us would ever put ourselves in that position. We don’t care about liberation beyond the point where it directly affects our comfort. How can we ever call anything we do revolutionary or transgressive? Isn’t the point of pushing boundaries and crossing lines to push until all of us are together safely on the same side? I saw footage today of a Gazan man crawling on his belly to retrieve the body of someone who’d been shot and killed by a sniper at the gate of a hospital. Anything short of that is nothing to me now. We have to be willing to cross that line out of safety before I’ll call anything radical.

#meg talks #idk.

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anantaru · 1 year

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GENSHIN + FONTAINE NEEDS IT BAD

— ꒰ including ꒱ — neuvillette, wriothesley, lyney, clorinde x fem! reader

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, fem! reader, rough, teasing owowow, cockwarming, oral (fem! receiving) + oral! (male! receiving), prone bone

— ꒰ NEUVILLETTE ꒱ + cockwarming

neuvillette was a versatile individual, so .. lets assume— you wanted to try out new things? perhaps, let him dominate you until you're writhing in your sheets, stuffed to the hilt with his cock?

or maybe— just maybe, you craved to cockwarm him while he's occupied with numerous, important work tasks, yet best believe he will take it one hundred percent serious, his fingers gripping against the flesh of your ass until they're turning white because of the pure strength put behind them.

essentially, when you say something, he does it, point. blank.

but be convinced that he will give it his all, just for you, just so he can see your pretty face while you're not moving an inch on top of him, because that’s it— now, neuvillette has to edge himself on to not cum inside, well, how fucking hilarious that he doesn't even need to run his cock inside your sore walls to near an orgasm, he can just have it buried deep in your soft pussy, bright lust coursing through his veins, sweat dripping from his forehead in doltish globules, arousal from your ruined cunt dirtying his slacks, but it's so worth it, and it's so wet and soft when you frantically throb around his erection, if only he could actually concentrate on his work load now.

— ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱ + prone bone

wriothesley was taunting you, his breath hot against your trembling shoulders, and he was fiercely alluring in his ethereal mannerism—but even a strong, well-built man such as him melts immediately whenever the moments of intimacy were delicate beneath the contour of his body, materialized in a light assemblage of lust.

he connects your bodies quickly, his large hands falling down against your back as you're perking your ass up, feeling how your juices were slowly soaking his cock— a reaction he should have gotten used by now but if he was being honest with himself, he could never get used to it, not even a little.

unrestrictedly intoxicating on how fucking good and tight it felt whenever you clench your cunt on him, not to mention in a position like that, you're all the more tighter and sore, and he feels you better as he becomes more sensitive himself.

you squish your face against the pillow now, saliva pooling down the splits of your lips as you moan wetly over each sharp thrust of his, desperately panting when you clench down again at him, giving it your all, and he's so big, it's crazy, you're shaking all over as your toes curl inwards at the impact of his skin contracts and smacks on your own, wrapping your arms around the tear-soaked pillow to brace yourself and receive his tasty blows.

— ꒰ LYNEY ꒱ + blowjob

there’s not a single doubt that hearing your handsome boyfriend lyney moan your name in a transparent reaction of what you did to him, was mouth watering— because of how you're letting him roll his hips into your mouth till he's hitting your throat, it's quite surreal, indescribable.

"mmh, you feel so good", lyney litters his hands over your head to guide you, smirking brightly, barely parting from your honeyed mouth, burning desire trickling into his blood at a dangerous instance when you plant one palm against his shaft, drawing him out of your mouth almost entirely but keeping the tip in as you fist his length while hollowing your cheeks at the tip.

he really wants it so badly right now, his day had mostly been utterly strenuous and demanding, and with that being said— let alone fucking you was making him throb in your mouth, fantasizing about the warmth he would taste later—the little tightness of your pussy swallowing him and gushing of his cum.

archons, lyney believes he's cumming already, and you only just had started pushing him back into your mouth, lips stretching over his pink tip as your sneaky tongue rolls over his dick, spreading the wetness while he's humping your mouth faster, closer to his climax, rolling his hips until he simply cannot take it anymore, it's futile and he was aware of that, throwing his head back as you bring him to a mind-numbing orgasm.

— ꒰ CLORINDE ꒱ + face sitting

every whimper that bubbles wetly from clorinde's pretty lips, in combination with her eyes rolling in the back of her head— you can feel it on your cunt as you're riding her tongue without a single edge of going slow, because speaking frankly— she needs you to be rough with her.

clorinde wouldn't pull you away to even breathe a little either, she keeps you strongly peeled on her famished, craving mouth, and it's utterly mesmerizing to see her that way, especially with her kitty licking flicks on your clit, the roughened rounds of her tongue on your addictive little core that she clearly cannot get enough of, even if she tried.

you're so tasty, and it hurts, yes, it aches when you aren't riding her face properly.

just to feel your hips twitch under her palms, she would do anything, keeping you drawn to her mouth as you're holding onto the wooden headboard, throwing your head back as you're wiggling your hips, writhing and licking your parted lips when you're holding her by her silken hair, practically grinding her face over your wet pussy and receiving her guttural moans like rough blows on your core.

you're cantering down your hips to meet the thrust of her sloppy tongue in and out of you as she's precisely targetting your dripping hole, swallowing down your gooey slick as it wraps around the tip of her wet muscle like a vice, barely parting from your sweetened taste— continuing to languidly stroke your insides and pressing up against the sore, bubbling spots where the last destination was harboring, one before you're releasing all on her face.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #neuvillette x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #neuvillette smut #lyney x reader #lyney smut #clorinde x reader #clorinde smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons

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soupywoof · 3 months

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[maintenance] - a gabv1el oneshot

i sit here exposed, pieces of my body never meant to be seen lie out in open air. someone else’s blood, dried, not unlike the rust on my metal, at one point escaped through loose piping, tangled wires, damaged circuitry. you see the signs of my obsolescence.

you stare into my chassis, your face unchanged.

i can feel you, your eyes, your focus, tracing over my internals. your gentle hands disappear inside me for your fingers to follow suit, and they return cradling damaged parts, long forgotten, weathered by use and time as they gathered dust, oil, blood – the likes of which untouched by self-repair.

and, whether by your careful touch or my layered wear, your work goes unnoticed, and yet it doesn’t. i feel you, though i don’t, not as i understand it, not as i have ever felt. the presence of your hand – each muscle and tendon, contracting, extending, manipulating wrist, fingers, joints, yours - its softness, its care. your presence inside of me, i feel it ever deepen, incomprehensibly so. and thus i feel you work. softly, you tear me into pieces.

but i don’t understand the attention you give to each piece of my decommissioned body. you run each wire gently between your fingertips and with care you repair me, reconnect me anew, clip each rusted, rotting part from my chassis and replace it, pristine. you untangle my twisted internals and in return they twist around you, your delicate touch, intricately working, now interwoven, pulled into me. you hold each piece of me as though it could shatter. you treat me so softly. i am a machine designed and created for war: sturdy, persistent, self-sustaining.

and yet, here you kneel, holding my heart with careful hands, gently, dearly, nursing me to life.

and yet, as your hands leave my hollow core each time, i ache.

you wipe away old grease between the seams of my plating, and i can feel you get carried away, slowly, softly, tracing the lines of my body. every angle, every corner, every curve. every part of me. my rust. my breaks. it feels as though not an inch goes untouched, untended. why do you take care of me so?

divine, yet you use your light on me. not even mortal, an afterthought, created by the free will that damned them, of steel, of sin. and still, despite such objectionable existence, here you kneel. why?

why do you care and why do i let you?

why do i sit here, my heart exposed, letting you see into me, each detail of my making, of my being, the routing of each cable into each socket, the pipes fueling my hydraulics, my inner-workings, and why do i let you rearrange me, poke around my delicate circuitry, why do i let you in? i wasn’t made for this. i wasn’t made for you. i don’t know if i care.

as you gently press the last piece of me into place, it clicks, and through the quiet air i can hear you breathe. your scarred chest rises, falls, and rises once more as you stare expectantly into my core. i feel your hand linger inside. you feel different, vivid. like your heart is my own i feel it beat, blood racing through your body. and i twitch. my fans whirr at nothing, my pumps spur to life, and i feel warm. warmer than ever before, with your hand in my chest, against me, inside me, a part of me.

i look down at you, the glow of my visor lights up your face, the low thrum of my body fills the silence.

you look up at me, at me.

i don’t want you to let go. i grab your wrist with both hands, holding it in place against my beating, ticking heart, and this newfound warmth continues to grow. what did you do to me?

please don’t let go.

you avert your gaze and i pain, my grip tightening on you. my whole body tightening in on itself. but you don’t let go. your hand remains still against my body, my chest, my heart, heating, heating up with every moment you stay.

you look back into me, your finished work, your palm against, and mine.

time pauses.

i don’t know what you think.

but in the stillness i feel your grace, your presence, gently against my metal, held onto your flesh. you place your empty hand on mine.

you don’t look back up into my visor, but i feel your warmth course through me and my body relax, my fear subside.

we sit there, in emptiness, accompanied only by the quiet, constant sounds of our bodies.

incredible accompanying animatic made by the amazing oshasno linked here: WATCH IT PLEASE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[INSPIRED LOTS BY THIS AS THEY WORKED ON IT !!!!!!!!!!!!!]

#writing #prose #oneshot #ultrakill #ultrakill writing #ultrakill prose #ultrakill oneshot #gabv1el #v1 ultrakill #ultrakill v1 #gabriel ultrakill #ultrakill gabriel #objectum

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ddejavvu · 1 month

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Deadpool talks you through it, sort of

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Deadpool likes to talk to you while you're sucking him off, purely for the fact that you can't answer him. He'll look down at you, watch the way your cheeks hollow while you bob on his dick, and he'll ask you what you want for dinner.

"I'm feeling Italian," He muses, clicking his tongue like he's thinking, "Or Indonesian, maybe? What about you, honey?"

You make a strangled noise, cut off and muffled by the way you're gagged with his cock.

"Was that a 'Chinese'? I think I definitely heard 'Chinese'." He nods, shifting briefly in his seat so that his cock is driven into the back of your throat. You gag, and your throat contracts around him.

He'll grab the back of your head, keeping his cock firmly buried in your mouth, "Say something coherent if you don't want to order fast food. Aw, no?" He asks, ignoring the way you struggle against him for a breath of air and an unobstructed tongue. All that escapes is jibberish, blabbering around his thick cock that can't be made out.

"Nope, got nothin' from that. Wings, then? Or pizza, a really big greasy one that I'll eat most of and you can have, like, two slices from. Maybe one and a half? Or just everything. Wings, pizza, and that cookie pie for dessert. Yeah?"

You want to shake your head no, because you've told Wade you really need to cut back on your calorie intake, but he's got you pinned, and it's a hopeless case.

"Perfect, just what I was hoping for," He grins, you can hear it in his voice, "I'm so glad we're on the same page. Great minds think alike, huh babe?"

Your only answer is a strangled gag.

"So how was your day?"

You glare at Wade where he's staring down at you, and he lets out an indignant scoff, "No need to be rude. I asked you a simple, conversational question. How was your day?"

You say something, certainly something around his heavy cock on your tongue, but the words are incomprehensible.

"Oh. I don't know what that means. Try again?" He offers, though he adjusts his hips to jam his cock further down your throat.

This next attempt of yours is worse, and he shakes his head, tutting lightly.

"Wow. Incredible. Absolute nonsense. I should get you checked, honey. I think you're losing it. One last try?"

You spit a fuck you around his cock, but if he recognizes the curt phrase, he doesn't say anything. He only smirks, thumbing your cheekbone.

"You're crazy." He decides, "You're completely nonsensical. You're lucky that mouth is good at sucking dick, 'cause it's hopeless at talking."

#deadpool x reader #deadpool smut #deadpool fanfiction #deadpool imagine #deadpool x you #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson smut #wade wilson fanfiction #wade wilson imagine #wade wilson x you

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hannieween · 1 month

Text

red lights | lights out series

The plan was fair and simple, but one that you could not take from zero to one hundred. Struggling with feelings of insecurity, hurt feelings and other concerns, you soon came to realize that it was not so simple. Nor fair.

✮pairings: joshua hong x female reader x yoon jeonghan ✮ genre: angst, fluff, smut [18+] ✮ aus: rockstar joshua, theatre director jeonghan, boyfriend joshua, best friend jeonghan, polyamorous relationship ✮word count: 22.2k

→ season one — season two — read more

› smut warnings under the cut

✮ warnings: smut with plot, polyamorous relationship, threesomes, joshua is into cucking, talks of bisexuality and consent, light homo-erotic themes ?, possessiveness, jealousy, dom and sub dynamics, (joshua, jeonghan and bunny are kinda switchy in this chapter) multiple unprotected sex scenes, anal and vaginal penetration, double penetration, fingering, pussy eating, nipple teasing. exhibitionsim kink: sex in public spaces, groping. brat taming: spanking, overstimming, edging. pet names: baby, beautiful, brat, bunny, filthy girl, good girl, princess (hers) handsome, babe, baby, baby boy, altar boy (joshua's) baby (jeonghan) ✮ author's note: heyooooo. this note is to explain that the instances where Bunny with capital letter is mentioned, it is a placeholder for "Y/N", oke oke, bye ( • ω • )🩵 ✮ additional note: this is not proofread, as always. so if you spot silly mistakes, no you didn't. bye 🤘🏻 ✮ disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

part iii

The light rain pattering against the windows had created a pleasant lullaby that accompanied you in your dreams, though made fragile by the constant noise, you welcomed it.

Your boyfriend's arms hugged you languidly but close to him, so close in fact that you were breathing on his skin, your face kept snuggled against his chest.

It was three nights before he was scheduled to go on tour. So, every single night and day, Joshua made sure he spent it like this: close to you, searching for you to kiss your face, to hold your hand, to hug you.

However, this night was different.

Joshua was an incredibly good sleeper. He fell asleep with such ease made you feel envious sometimes, he never budged, never woke up with any noise, unlike you.

So, when the sky rumbled, announcing a heavier rain for the following moments, you woke up. Shortly then, you knew that it would take a while for you to fall asleep again.

Defeated, you sighed softly against your boyfriend's skin, snuggling close so your face was almost pressed between the crook between his well-defined pecs.

Initially, his limbs seemed to twitch uncontrollably, making a something flash through your mind, thinking that he might have woken up too by the loud sounding of the sky.

But no, Joshua did it again in his sleep, his body tensing in a snap, his shoulders contracting and chest bumping against your face. The sound escaping from his lips was broken, and hollow—a groan that was cut short by him waking up abruptly.

“Joshua?” you called when he flinched violently and sat up in quick succession.

You felt a heavy hand palm the bedcovers, searching for something beside him frantically until he felt your knee, your calf and let out a sigh.

You saw his back rising and falling rapidly and quickly sat up beside him. “Babe?” you asked, voice full of worry. “What's wrong?”

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” he gasped crestfallen, his back to you still, rising and falling erratically. His hand circled your ankle above the covers, almost as if he needed to anchor himself to any part of your body he could find.

“Joshua, look at me,” you insisted, unsure that he had woken up completely, feeling his body shake slightly on the bed.

Your heart crushed upon seeing his furrowed brow, his eyelashes clumped by the tears that were brimming in his eyes.

“I'm okay, baby, I'm fine,” he whispered shakily, sniffling with some shyness, and bringing up his other hand to wipe his own tears.

“No, you're not,” you breathed and cupped his cheek wet with tears, commanding him to look at you. “Baby, what's wrong? Talk to me, what happened?”

His mouth parted, your heart broke a bit more when his lip quivered, and he gave you an anguished look. “I don't know,” he whispered, as he drew in a breath, a ragged sound came out from him. “I don't know.”

But his next actions said otherwise, he took your hand from his cheek and threw your arm over his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, clumsily hugging you.

“I'm okay, I'm okay,” he repeated, over and over, making you think that he was telling that to himself instead of you. “I'm sorry, Bunny. I didn't mean to scare you.”

“It's okay, don't apologize,” you muttered against his chest, gasping softly when Joshua brought your body back down on the bed. “I'm only worried about you.”

Joshua muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but you could not make out what he said exactly. His arms tightened around your body, and he sighed out with a hum. “Mn,” his chest deflated and soon, he fell asleep again.

Now you were unsure whether what had happened was in Joshua's complete clarity. But you waited, fully alarmed and awake, you did not dare to move a limb, even your breathing was cautious.

Joshua did not wake up again. In fact, you are not sure for how long you waited until you fell asleep as well, holding onto him just as he held onto you.

The following morning, his side of the bed was cold and empty when you came to your senses, stretching one arm beneath the covers and opened your eyes.

You slowly rose from the bed, adjusting the oversized t-shirt you wore to sleep and climbed off bed, deciding to head directly to the bathroom after hearing some noises coming from the kitchen.

After rinsing, and making yourself look a bit more presentable, you came out of the bathroom. The first thing that piqued your interest was the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen, being so that Joshua was committed with taking you out for breakfast these days.

You stopped upon crossing the kitchen's door, feeling like being slapped with wild reality.

“Morning, princess.”

“Jeonghan,” you blurted and crossed your arms over your chest, meekly covering yourself over your boyfriend's t-shirt. “G-good morning.”

Jeonghan was busy with whisking a heavy bowl of eggs, so he just followed you with his sweet brown eyes when you approached him shyly.

His movements slowed down when you stood beside him, standing on your tiptoes to give him a small peck on his cheek. Jeonghan blinked and sent you a look that you were not able to read, but then he smiled at you just as sheepish.

“Did you sleep alright, baby?” he muttered, his eyes reading yours, then looking at your lips.

Something fluttered deep inside you, and you could see that your reaction was involuntarily made visible on the features of your face because his lips curved slightly.

You had not seen Jeonghan since the day after you agreed to Joshua's proposition, which allowed you to be with Jeonghan freely—not as friends, but as lovers. But being alone with him like this, without your boyfriend around somehow felt off to you.

“Uh, yeah, um,” you blinked and looked around aimlessly. “Where is Joshua?”

Jeonghan resumed whisking the big bowl of eggs. “Your boyfriend is in a meeting with his band and the tour manager,” he nodded to his phone left unlocked on the countertop. “He's supposed to be coming back any time now.”

“He didn't tell me about this,” you mumbled glumly and stopped yourself. It felt odd to talk about your relationship now that Jeonghan was technically your partner too.

But he seemed impassive to it, he just nodded and sucked in a breath slowly, thinking of what to say. “Yeah, it appears to be a thing that came out of nowhere. I ran into him on the elevator,” he pressed his palms on the edge of the countertop.

“So... did he tell you to come here?” you asked and looked at the bowl of eggs. “To make breakfast?”

“No,” he frowned and turned to the stove setting up the frying pan and turned the fire to a medium. “I came here to see you, but you were still asleep. I grew bored. And hungry.”

“Oh,” you huffed a smile. “And here I thought you were making me breakfast.”

Jeonghan looked over to show you a sly smile. “Don't think too highly of yourself, princess.”

“Why not, since you call me princess all the time, I should be treated as such,” you replied in a matter-of-factly way.

Jeonghan stood frozen for a second. “Tsk,” he snorted. “Brat.”

At some point, you had referred to Yoon Jeonghan as your best friend. From the moment you met him, he quickly became someone you trusted, someone you searched for company. It was only until you realized that you had grown feelings for him that everything changed.

It did not seem odd to you that he would still try to tease you in some way, in fact, you welcomed it. It gave you a sense of familiarity with him, that your relationship had not changed in its entirety.

But still, something felt a bit nerve wracking.

You grabbed two cups to pour some coffee in. “Just milk, right?”

“Just milk,” he nodded, focused on cooking the scrambled eggs without browning them. “Thank you.”

“Don't mention it,” you whispered. “D'you want toast, too?”

“I bought croissants,” he nudged you with his elbow, pointing with his beautiful nose to the paper bag sitting on the countertop.

“Oh, nice,” you smiled stiffly, opening the bag to get the fresh smell of butter and bread. The bag had three pieces. “Thank you, Jeongjeong.”

“Don't mention it,” he replied in kind, but he looked you up and down for a second before he busied himself with serving three plates of scrambled eggs with bacon.

“What?” you asked after a long minute of silence, watching Jeonghan methodically finish cooking breakfast.

He set the frying pan aside and turned the stove off. “Nothing,” he hummed, shaking his black-haired head twice. He turned to you, in the enclosed space between the kitchen counters and you took a step back as he tried to approach you.

“What's up with you, princess?” he asked softly, taking another step, you took one back, then another until you bumped with the fridge.

“You make me nervous,” you confessed with a shaky tone, looking straight to his eyes as he read you in his expert way. You tried to suppress a smile, but when you saw his lips curve in a side smirk, you failed. “Joshua isn't here.”

“So?” he arched one eyebrow, then he blinked, seemingly finding out what you meant. “Do you think this is wrong?”

You eased into your stance a little by loosening the tension in your shoulders. “No. I just don't—this is just so new to me still,” you pointed to your body and his with one finger swiftly.

“Oh,” he paused and then: “I get it,” Jeonghan shrugged, and turned to grab two plates setting them on the table and returned to get the other one.

Completely bewildered, you watched him come and go. You wondered, why now as he turned his back to you that you wanted to grab him and regain his attention. But there you were, back still pressed against the fridge, the thing snapping you to full clarity was the noise coming from the front door.

“Ah, you're back,” you heard Jeonghan say in his own content manner. “Made a plate for you too.”

“Hey, man. Thanks,” your boyfriend sighed, there was some ruffling of fabric, and you assumed it was him removing his denim jacket, proving yourself right when you came out of the kitchen. “Where—oh, there you are.”

You smiled meekly at him, his eyes scanning your frame, noticing that you were still in your sleepwear, which was his oversized t-shirt. Joshua extended an arm as he approached you, a hand sliding on your waist. “Hi, beautiful,” he muttered after pressing a tender kiss on your lips.

“Hi, handsome,” you replied quietly, giving him a shy smile when you saw his eyes. “How was work?”

“It was fine,” he said flatly, and you could tell that it was a subject that he would prefer to not talk about just yet.

“Are you okay?” you whispered softly, reading his eyes to catch every single reaction written on his face.

“Yeah,” he nodded dismissively and then: “Did you just wake up?” Joshua realized, backing away slightly, but keeping a hand on your waist as he read the features of your face.

“Yeah,” you giggled when he shot you a mildly shocked look. “I didn't get much sleep last night,” you explained, occupying a seat on the round table next to Jeonghan, who huffed loudly.

“Ah, Joshuji, you need to let princess sleep sometimes,” he teased with a cheeky smile.

A hot wave of embarrassment washed over your face. But Joshua giggled joyfully, throwing his head back slightly. “Well, I'm not the culprit this time.”

You cocked your head to one side, making both men pause. Jeonghan darted a look at your boyfriend and suppressed a smile. “Josh, you don't remember last night?” you asked with some caution.

Joshua slowed down on his movements, leaving his fork hanging between his fingers as he chewed almost mechanically. “What do you mean?” he frowned.

“Tsk,” Jeonghan seemed to be preparing to shoot a joke, but upon reading your face, he stopped.

“Wait, are you serious?” you asked him, stretching a hand on the table to grab his. “You don't remember anything?”

Joshua lowered his fork completely, his gaze falling out of focus as if he were conjuring the memory of what you meant. He shook his head slightly. “Baby, I don't think I know what you mean,” he looked beside him at his best friend and smiled awkwardly. “Did I do something?”

“You were dreaming,” you explained carefully. “And then you woke up crying.”

Joshua blinked, giving you a bewildered expression. “I don't remember anything,” his frown deepened, then he squeezed your hand. “I'm sorry that I kept you up, baby.”

“No, don't be,” you muttered, retreating your hand from his to grab your fork and started eating from your plate, though the food had already gone cold.

Jeonghan sat down on the couch, releasing a heavy sigh. His bright eyes found you as you sat next to him. Joshua had taken the task to do the dishes after convincing you by saying that I was only fair since Jeonghan cooked breakfast.

“What's up, princess,” Jeonghan mumbled, making you set your phone aside when he slid one hand on your thigh.

The motion of his hand inching up your thigh send a chill through your body. You tried to brush it off. “I'm just worried,” you replied with a hushed tone.

His eyes darted to the kitchen, buzzing with the sounds of dishes clanking together, water running and Joshua's voice, singing one of his songs.

“Why?” Jeonghan knew right away what you meant without needing to explain more. “We just have to trust him. If he says he's okay, then let him show you that he is.”

“But last night...” you whispered, then choked up upon remembering and shook your head in resignation.

“Baby, he has been making an effort to keep his promise,” Jeonghan muttered, darting another look, and shifting on his seat, thighs wide apart. “He has been communicating, he's present, and we're here.”

You nodded. Ever since Joshua confessed that he wanted you to work things out with Jeonghan too, he has been lively, much as if a weight had been lifted from his heart. Now, as he figured things out and sorted his opinions on the matter, he would voice them out with you and Jeonghan.

“That's another thing that worries me,” you whispered nervously, feeling like the opportunity to speak about this with Jeonghan would run up soon. “I don't know how an open relationship works; I don't know what to expect.”

Jeonghan moved his head on the headrest, a question written in his beautiful eyes. “What do you mean, princess?” he asked, reading your features.

“Yeah, I don't know how I'll feel when he starts dating someone new,” you blurted out hurriedly, whispering to the point that you need to take a big gulp of air afterwards.

Jeonghan smiled with a slow realization and blinked for a long second. “Baby, this is not an open relationship,” he said. “Did you really think that this arrangement allowed for him to date other people?”

You nodded meekly.

“What's going on?” your boyfriend asked, his gentle tone coming so abruptly made you nearly jump off the couch. Seeing your reaction, he paused: “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, not at all,” you gulped and looked at your lover sitting beside you. “We-we were just talking about a book that–,”

“Princess thought that we're in an open relationship,” Jeonghan stated flatly.

Your heartbeat faltered. “Jeonghan,” you reproached with a sunken tone.

“You need to lie better,” Jeonghan retorted.

“There was no way I would've believed that,” Joshua concurred in a nonchalant way. But then, he moved on quickly with a, “What made you think that bunny?”

“I–I don't know, I was just saying that I d-don't really know what to expect when you go away and,” you inhaled deeply, and exhaled: “We haven't talked about what happens when you go away, not extensively.”

Joshua smiled; it was not a condescending smile but one of relief as he understood where the root of your insecurities was.

“Because this isn't an open relationship,” Joshua explained gently and sat down on the empty space beside you. “That would mean that all three of us can see other people, right?”

You nodded.

Joshua continued. “But this isn't that, it's just between us three,” he gestured with a hand to Jeonghan, then you and him. “An open relationship would mean that you can have sex with multiple people but staying with me in a committed way.”

“This is a poly. I won't see or date other people, neither will Joshua,” Jeonghan explained too after you looked at him and he saw your confused face. “And well, do you want to see more people, baby?” he smirked.

Joshua smiled too when you made a scandalized expression with your face. “No!” you shook your head.

“I'm okay with you and Jeonghan dating, he is okay with us being together,” he finished explaining with a satisfied expression on his face. “Questions?”

“So, you won't see other people, not even when you go away,” it was not a question, it was more like you were reaffirming it and thus putting your concerns at rest.

“No, bunny, not even when I go away,” he smiled gently at you, probably finding your worry endearing.

“Is it not a bit unfair that you can't see other people?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat over the heaviness of the question.

“But I don't want that,” he frowned slightly. “I just want you.”

Jeonghan leaned his head against his fist, propping his elbow on the armrest. He smiled softly when you sent him a look and nodded, agreeing with your boyfriend.

You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts. “And following your logic, you two could be with each other, yes?” you cocked your head to the side.

Joshua tilted his head back, letting out a sweet giggle, making your stomach flutter.

“Yes, princess, in theory,” Jeonghan answered and squeezed your bare thigh with his hand, making your tummy flutter erratically.

“Okay,” you sighed contently with the new information, paused, and thought for a long second. “I think I'd be okay with that.”

With a sigh, you simply lied down on the couch you were sitting with the two men, leaning your head down on Jeonghan's lap and outstretching your legs to Joshua.

You realized upon looking up at Jeonghan's face that you did not give both men the opportunity to reply to your admittance, the obfuscated look flashing on his eyes told you that much.

“Mn,” you hummed happily, stretching your limbs, and exhaled looking up at your lover, who was expertly shaking off the bewilderment.

“You have a long day ahead, right Joshuji?” he asked, placing a hand on your tummy, and you noticed the pause he took before doing so, much as if he were not sure where to place his hand, but deciding that was where it belonged.

Joshua took one look at the hand placed flatly over his t-shirt that you wore. “Yeah,” he croaked. “I should probably be getting ready. Got a press thing in some hours,” he announced.

“I'm taking princess to help me shop for something to wear for tonight,” Jeonghan mentioned offhandedly, you drew in a breath, and he felt it, making his eyes search your face.

“So, see you there, then?” Joshua asked, gently adjusting your feet back so he could rise from the couch. Then, his large hands grabbed his black wife-beater by the hem, stripping it off his torso.

“We'll be there,” you whispered, trapping your lower lip behind your teeth.

Joshua noticed your eyes on him, his naked torso and smiled. “You can join me if you want,” he muttered, turning away and as you saw the well-defined muscle in his back, something sparked in your mind.

Jeonghan had his eyes set on your boyfriend too, his facial expression hard to read. You heard the bathroom door close, and his eyes dropped to your face. “What?”

“Did I overstep with my questions?” you asked shyly.

“You did no such thing,” he muttered softly, removing his hand from your tummy to pinch your chin. “He knows.”

“About you being bi?” you incited.

“Of course,” he shrugged slightly. “You know I don't have secrets.”

“Do you think I made him uncomfortable?” you asked although you already suspected the answer.

“Probably not, or at least I don't think so,” he chuckled lightly. “Relax, you did nothing wrong, baby. Your questions are valid.”

“Did you tell him?” you asked with genuine curiosity. “I'm sorry but I'm kind of curious as to how you guys met.”

“He still hasn't told you that story?” he huffed, his hand returned to your tummy, where he patted gently. “Yeah, I told him. Just like I told you. But with Joshua it was different, since we've had threesomes before, we discussed what we're comfortable with, so.”

“Oh, that makes a lot of sense,” you frowned.

He smiled cutely at you. “Are you more at ease now?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you muttered. “I'm just curious.”

“I'm an open book, princess,” he giggled softly. “Go ahead.”

Your eyelids fluttered briefly when his hand traveled down to your lower tummy, then back up, as if caressing you over your sleepwear. “When did it started?”

“The threesomes?” he pushed his eyebrows up, then raised his head, brow furrowed now as he tried to remember. “Huh. Maybe some four... five months after I met him.”

“Really?” your voice shot up.

“You've never asked him stuff like this?” he asked in an unpatronizing way, it was genuine curiosity.

“Well, yeah but I've never asked him for details about his past experiences with you,” you tilted your head to one side. “Or at least, he's never mentioned it.”

“It's just what it was, fun consensual sex,” he rolled his eyes, slightly unpleased with his own answer. “We've only done it a few times, at least some four times before you.”

“So, six now,” you added dumbly.

He nodded. “Any more questions, beautiful?”

“Mmn, no, I don't think so,” you smiled softly at him. “I'm just curious, since most of my... more daring sexual experiences have been with him, and you. I wanted to know a bit further from the experiences that involved me.”

“That's fair,” he conceded. “But it's a good idea that you ask him too, right?”

“Right,” you aloofly.

“Now that I think about it,” Jeonghan drew in a breath through his teeth, his frown deepening softly.

“What?” you egged him on.

“Was Joshua your first sexual partner?” he asked cautiously, aware of the heaviness of the topic of conversation. But he understood that you were open to talk about it, since your questions were revolving around sex.

“No,” you replied flatly. “But he has been the first in many things,” you giggled shamefully when you realized how it sounded. “I was mostly inexperienced in many things when we met.”

“Oh, yes, I remember that now,” he pointed, referring to your very chaotic deal with Joshua to be your sexual partner so you could write sexually explicit scenes for your book.

“Yeah,” you nodded, lost in the distant memory. “I've explored many things with him. And now with you too.”

Jeonghan smiled at you, it was the kind of smile he did when he pressed his lips together in a flat line, making tiny dimples appear on his chin.

“Do you want to go get ready, baby?” Jeonghan patted your tummy, noticing your distant eyes. “Go.”

You sat up but sat on your knees next to him to bring a hand to the crook of his beautiful neck, making his eyes snap open in surprise, which was quickly replaced by something else.

You landed a small peck on his lips. “Wanna come with me?” you mumbled shakily, batting your eyelashes at him awkwardly.

“So, you're not worried about this anymore?” he asked with some gruffness in his tone, a hand encircling your wrist, and the other cupping your nape to kiss you again.

“A little bit, but,” you drew in a breath, and he took the opportunity to press his lips against yours with a soft smacking sound. “You need a shower. You're stinky.”

“No, I'm not,” he giggled, but caught your misdirect with a nod of his head. “Let's go.”

You stood up from the couch, taking his hand in yours as you dragged him towards the bathroom. You heard him release a short grunt when you pulled him from the couch and fell into step with you.

The bathroom door was left parted and inviting you in, you delivered a soft knock before pushing it open and sneaked a look inside.

“Hi there,” he smiled softly, he had discarded his dark grey jeans, and stood before the shower wearing only his boxers. “Are you joining me?”

“Yup,” you sighed, turning to Jeonghan standing behind you as your boyfriend approached. “Come here,” you grabbed the black-haired man by his clothes, dragging him to you and immediately took his t-shirt off, then the beanie on his head and dropped them on the floor.

“Slow down, princess,” he giggled sweetly, but letting you rid him of his clothes since he was the one wearing most.

“Let her have fun,” your boyfriend said behind you, his large hands slipping beneath the large t-shirt you wore, finding your waist as he planted a kiss on your cheek.

“What do you want, baby?” Jeonghan asked, looking at you with avid eyes as your boyfriend's hands slid upwards, hiking the t-shirt up and uncovering your thighs.

“I want both of you,” you replied, though your voice sounded breathless, laughing shakenly as your boyfriend caressed the sides of your breasts with his fingers. He finished removing the t-shirt off, now moving his face to press his lips on your naked shoulder.

“We're going to make Joshuji late,” he smirked when your eyelids fluttered wildly when you felt a wet kiss on your shoulder blade.

“I can be late,” he muttered at once, his voice muffled in the crook of your neck. His large hands moving back to your waist, then down to find the band of your boy-short panties, pushing them down your legs.

You busied yourself with the casing of his sweatpants, undoing it with a jab. “Do you want to do this, Hannie?” you coaxed at him, stripping him off his sweats and boxers in one go.

“Course I do,” he whispered, closing the space between your lips and his own with a featherlight kiss. “I always want you.”

“Mmn,” Joshua hummed, using his hands on you to flip you around with no effort, so now you stood face to face with him.

“Be nice,” you smirked, noticing his darkened gaze on the features of your face. Your hands traveled down, from his chest to the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down slowly, his hard cock springing out, making your mouth water upon feeling him with your hand.

Joshua clicked his tongue, but then ended up smiling guiltily at you. “Fine. I'll be nice,” he whispered reluctantly, and then pulled the shower tap on, testing the water briefly before taking your hand and bringing you under the shower stream.

What happened next was something that only happened in your craziest, wildest fantasies. Both men had switched to the same mindset already, taking turns with teasing you with kisses, touching you, determined to make you feel good.

The shower head was directly above you, getting your hair and skin soaked within seconds, but the warmth in your skin was not only due to the water washing over you.

Both men had you pressed against their bodies, one look at Joshua's face told you just how eager he was already. The spark in his eyes, biting his lower lip before he leaned his head to capture your lips in a chaste kiss.

Jeonghan slid his hands to grab you by the waist, pressing tender kisses on your shoulder, making a trail to the crook of your neck. You tilted your head for him, allowing his kisses to reach spots that had your breath hitching, moaning softly.

Your hands held onto your boyfriend's strong shoulders, fingers digging into his muscle when you felt Jeonghan's delicate hands travel from your waist up.

“Hannie,” you mewled out when his hands cupped your breasts. Realizing that he had never touched you this way before, you opened your eyes to see him run the pads of his pointer fingers around your areola, exploring your body.

Joshua leaned his head forward once again, trapping your lips between his with a raspy moan from his part, slipping his tongue inside your mouth, wrapping perfectly on yours.

Then a large hand parked on your tummy, sliding slowly down to your lower tummy, a finger finding the mount between your thighs. You let out a needy moan, parting your legs and pushing your hips forward.

But your knees buckled, making you push a hand on his shoulder, stopping him before his finger dipped between your pussy lips. “Joshua,” you breathed nervously.

“Mn?” he responded, pressing small kisses on the corner of your lips, a fingertip sliding between your pussy lips, finding your sopping core with a satisfied sigh.

“Please,” you mewled out, pulling your head back and rested it on Jeonghan's shoulder.

“Please, what?” he whispered, planting a kiss on your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine, making you arch your back.

Your mouth hanged open when Joshua dipped a finger inside your pussy, his doe eyes zeroed on your face riddled by the pleasure of feeling his finger massaging your walls, another finger joining after a couple of thrusts.

“Oh my god,” you sighed and closed your eyes, letting yourself be engrossed by the blissful pleasure coursing through you. Both Joshua and Jeonghan were pleasuring you, touching your bare skin freely, kissing you, responding to the sounds you made with their own.

You would soon be covered in soapy bubbles, dripping from head to toe but you could not care about that, or about how you were the only one being showered by the warm stream of water. Joshua’s hands were pleasuring you, his lips kissing you. A large hand searched for your hip, grabbing your thigh, and hoisting it up his waist, holding you steady.

Your arms circled his neck, squealing in his mouth when you nearly lose your balance, but he kept you firmly wrapped around his body. His fingers curled inside you, teasing a glorious spot in your walls, making you muffle a high-pitch moan in his mouth.

“Stop, stop,” you choked out.

Both men paused at the same time, one man lifting his head from your shoulder, the other pulling back from your lips, hand leaving the needy mount between your thighs.

“Yes, baby?” Joshua asked, reading your face.

“C-can we continue this on the bed?” you stammered slightly embarrassed.

“Yeah, sure,” he smiled at you.

“Come on, princess,” Jeonghan took the lead right away, being so that he was not as soaked as your boyfriend was and pulled you out of the shower.

You giggled nervously when your back hit the mattress, Jeonghan crawled on top of you, pressing a kiss in your lips before diving in for a deeper kiss, his tongue swiping a line on your lower lip.

“We're soaking the covers,” you hummed in between rushed kisses.

Jeonghan let out a chuckle into your mouth, probably thinking some perverse retort. His nose wrinkled slightly but he just shook his head, drops of water joining the ones on your chest when he leaned down.

You arched your back slightly when his tongue swirled around one of your nipples, you felt the underside of his tongue teasing your nipple, getting it hard. A hand snapped to find his black hair to tangle your fingers in.

“God, Hannie,” you gasped, but were swiftly distracted by Joshua pressing a knee on the edge of the bed, his hand tossing a bottle of lube and a condom on the empty space beside you.

You frowned and looked up at him, formulating a question silently with your mouth agape.

“It's for me,” he explained, noticing your face. He crawled to lie beside you. “We're gonna have to do this quick,” he reiterated with a more commanding tone, his hand cupping your cheek before leaning his face to meet your lips.

You tried to nod your head yes, but his hand slid on the back, his fingers sinking in your wet hair as he kissed you deeper, his wet tongue swiftly meeting yours.

Then you understood Joshua did not say that to you precisely. Jeonghan lowered his body on you, leaving a wet kiss next to your belly button, making you squirm slightly.

Suddenly you felt your hand being removed from the long and wet black hair of your lover. His lithe fingers came between yours and placed your locked hands on the covers, beside your hip.

You knew it was coming before you could have a chance to see it. Your body tensed up too, bracing yourself for the first contact of Jeonghan's mouth on your mound, kissing you openly.

Joshua stopped kissing you, moving his hand from your nape to your chin to hold your gaze. “Look at me,” he whispered, just as Jeonghan's tongue gave a broad stroke to your pussy lips.

You flinched, making your breath hitch embarrassingly. “Hannie,” you squeezed his hand, and he responded with a groan, his tongue dipping between your folds.

Joshua held your gaze intently, his dark eyes outlining each of your features. “Don't look at him,” he muttered with a low, raspy tone.

You tried to suppress a moan, eyebrows knitting by reflex when Jeonghan started making out with your pussy, his mouth pressed tightly on your folds, licking, and tasting you fully.

But it was your boyfriend that held your gaze, his fingers threading your hair lovingly, caressing your cheek as you moaned and squirmed on the bed. “Joshua,” you moaned, calling out his name purely by instinct.

A dark smile appeared on his face. “Yes, baby?” he whispered. He leaned his head ever so slightly to one side. “How does that feel?”

“Good,” you breathed, closing your eyes briefly to focus on your lover pleasuring you, on his tongue pressed on your clit, swirling it around. “God,” you swallowed hard, trying to hold to the pleasure sizzling on your skin. “Just like that, Hannie.”

“Mn,” your boyfriend's lips pressed on yours once. “Eyes on me, bunny,” he commanded.

When you did, you tried to get a look at the man between your legs, but Joshua's large hand came to cup your chin, making you look at him.

“Make her come,” he muttered looking straight into your eyes. It was a challenge, you saw it written in his dark eyes, in the smirk that curved his beautiful lips.

And it was a challenge that Jeonghan took at once, his hand gripping your thigh moved to your lower tummy, pressing down slightly right before diving in you with his mouth on your cunt.

“Fuck,” you squeezed your eyes shut.

You wondered when Jeonghan was going to give up—but probably the question lied in if he were giving up. His mouth was unrelenting on you, his tongue flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves in your cunt.

The sounds he made on you were of delight, basically telling you he loved being there, between your legs, eliciting raw moans from you with his tongue on your clit.

“P-please,” you sighed, finding your boyfriend's face with your free hand.

“Please, what?” he hummed. The mewl you let out as a response made him smile at you. “You're close, baby?”

You nodded; you were very close.

“Go ahead, baby,” Joshua purred as he trailed a line with the tip of his finger from the middle part of your collarbone, down your chest, to your sternum. “Come on his mouth.”

You hated that it was his voice, his command that almost tipped you over. But you resisted with everything in your will from it, pushing your hips towards Jeonghan's face slightly, making him groan in protest.

You found his nape with the hand that was not clasped in his, pushing your hips to his face once again. In a couple of thrusts, you were practically fucking his face, swaying your hips, sliding your pussy on his mouth.

With a strangled sigh, you closed your eyes, savoring your release as Jeonghan quickly understood what you were doing. And without skipping a second, he went along with it, relaxing his tongue onto your throbbing clit.

You held in a big gulp of air, squeezing your eyelids as you reached your second climax, whining and squeezing Jeonghan's fingers. He responded with a groan of his own, his hand pressing lower on your tummy, helping you through your high.

“Mn,” you heard your boyfriend sound unimpressed, but still leaned in to kiss your whiny moans, capturing your lips gently. “Filthy girl,” he hummed a smile on his face as he kept kissing you until you stopped thrashing and moaning.

Heaving, you released Jeonghan's hand and hair opening your eyes feeling nearly disoriented.

The first thing you saw was your boyfriend’s hands opening a condom. “Turn over, bunny,” Joshua patted your side lightly.

“No, not yet,” you protested rebelliously, just when Jeonghan rose from between your legs, crawling on top of your body, claiming your lips with a hot, passionate kiss.

You could taste yourself in his lips, feel your slick dripping down his lower lip as he hummed and kissed you fervently. Your hands found his shoulders and pushed, motioning him to lie back on the bed.

That he did, quite obediently. And as he laid his head on the pillows, his bright eyes found your face, very eagerly telling you without a word that he was enjoying you step on a slightly more commanding role.

You got to your knees, taking in the view of the two men you loved, lying naked on your bed. They were both damp on their skin, their hair. Rock hard for you. You leaned over, propping your body with one hand on the pillows to kiss Jeonghan on the lips, blindly running a hand down Joshua's abdomen.

You could feel his gaze on you as you rolled your tongue past Jeonghan's lips, making him moan into your mouth. The tips of your fingers felt your boyfriend's belly button, so you just inched to the side, grabbing his hard cock with one hand, pumping it languidly.

“Tsk,” you heard your boyfriend clicking his tongue. Then his large hands circled your waist, pulling you down forcefully, detaching you from your lover's lips.

A small yelp left your mouth, your body hitting the mattress. You sent him a look. “Joshua!” you protested.

But then he brought down his large hand on your ass, the slap resounding across the bedroom. “Brat.”

“Mnf,” you squeezed your eyelids at the hot pain searing on your skin. You heard someone sigh, making you open one eye to see Jeonghan smiling at you, as if he found you cute.

“Behave,” Joshua conditioned, caressing the sore area of your skin with care. “Or should I get the cuffs?”

“I can behave,” you muttered, meekly settling in between both men. “No cuffs.”

“Good,” he breathed, getting the condom out of the packet and rolled it down his cock to his hilt. “Lie sideways with your back to me.”

You knew what his plan was at once, and did what he told you, lying on your side with your back to him. And then you knew that both had communicated wordlessly once again. Jeonghan slid a hand on your hip, grabbing a handful of your glute to keep you spread to your boyfriend.

“Breathe in, baby,” Joshua whispered behind you, his fingers caressing your hole softly, sighing when he felt it clench instinctively, right before he started to push on your hole, smearing you with cold lube slowly.

Joshua’s hand slid between your thighs, lifting one up to spread your legs open. Then you felt Jeonghan’s hand on your mound, making you look at his fingers right before he started teasing your swollen clit again, the pads of his fingers mimicking the same movements he made with his tongue, softly teasing your clit, moving his fingers side to side.

You moaned helplessly against him, receiving one consoling kiss as Joshua’s lubed fingers pushed inside you, slowly, pushing in and out slightly, testing you at first. “God,” you squirmed.

“Alright?” Joshua breathed behind you, and you turned to look at him over your shoulder nodding your head. “Can I give you more?”

“Yeah,” you gave him a reassuring nod.

“Okay,” he breathed, locking eyes with you as his fingers scissored inside you slightly, looking at your mouth as you let out another moan.

You turned your head again receiving another soft kiss on your shoulder blade. You heard him pump more lube onto his hands, and his fingers returned to spread you open.

He pushed another inch in, and you shivered uncontrollably, closing your eyes, and swallowing hard. “Josh,” you mewled. “Please, hurry.”

“Just a little more,” he mumbled and pressed a loving kiss on your shoulder blade. “Can you arch your back for me? There, baby, that's it.”

A hand crawled on Jeonghan's slender shoulder, finding the crook of his neck, and held on him for support as you practically thrashed on the bed, in between both Jeonghan and Joshua.

“Please,” you begged, biting your lower lip to muffle a moan when his fingers spread inside you.

“Almost there,” he replied cautiously. “Breathe out.”

It was then that you finally felt the lubed tip of his cock push in your hole, tortuously slow.

“Oh god,” you squeezed your eyes shut, fingers curling on Jeonghan's wet dark hair.

“Fuck,” Joshua exhaled, leaning his forehead on your exposed nape. “Baby.”

“Please,” you whined, loving the feeling spreading on your limbs, tingling from under your skin. “More.”

Joshua grunted, complying without a word, pushing his cock inside you a bit further, but just about enough to make you cry out loudly, and so very lewdly.

“That's it, baby,” he muttered softly, planting another soothing kiss on your nape. “You're taking me so well.”

Then he released a puffy air on your nape that sent shivers down your spine. He retreated his hips, then pushed them to you, burying his cock further into you with a small groan.

“God,” he sighed, repeatedly with each shallow thrust.

“Joshua,” you cried, receiving small kisses on your shoulder blade.

You opened your eyes upon feeling Jeonghan's cold hand squeeze your skin gently, as if telling you wordlessly to look at him.

“Can you take me now, princess?” he asked, his eyes outlining the features of your face.

You nodded, gulping hard.

A large hand moved to your hip, brushing with Jeonghan's as they exchanged tasks, Joshua cupping your thigh and keeping your leg angled to both.

Jeonghan bit his lower lip as he adjusted his hips, aligning them with yours. He sent you a quick glance as his hand grabbed his pretty cock, guiding its leaking tip to your pussy. And with no pause, no teasing, he eased himself inside you slowly, cautiously.

A raw moan escaped your mouth as he pushed his cock inside your walls, the feeling so deliriously good you saw stars when you closed your teary eyes.

Joshua moaned too, probably savoring the feeling of your walls being stuffed full. “Fuck,” he muttered through gritted teeth, breathing hard on the curve of your neck.

You could not utter a single word. Everything had gone blank in a second. All you could focus on was the pleasure you got from the two men you loved inside you. All that occupied your brain was them, their skin plastered to yours, them moaning with you. One kissing your nape, your hair. The other kissing your face.

“Hannie... Hannie,” you breathed out in his mouth, and you could feel the effect your voice had in him, his hips buckled for a split second, eliciting a moan from you and from Joshua at the same time.

But both kept their seamless synchronicity, pushing in and out of you at the same time, their bodies pressed to yours, so warm, so full.

“I know, baby,” he responded with a low tone. “I feel it too,” he whispered, probably referring to the overwhelming pleasure you felt, the joy and love from being so close to both of your partners.

You turned your head over your shoulder to see the face of your boyfriend, whose lips stretched in a faint smile. “Do you like that?” he rasped, noticing the fucked out look in your eyes.

“Yeah,” you breathed, looking at his lips then back to his eyes.

His smile grew, knowingly leaning his face to yours to brush his lips with yours. “I know,” he whispered, his lips caressing yours. “You feel so good.”

You received a kiss on your neck, bringing out a moan that was muffled in Joshua's mouth as you leaned closer to kiss him deeply.

“So good,” Jeonghan sighed on your throat, his breath caressing your skin before he pressed more kisses.

You clumsily turned your head to kiss Jeonghan, he moved his face at the same time you did, finding your lips with a tender kiss, which you reciprocated with a whiny moan.

“Faster,” you muttered, sliding a hand on top of Jeonghan's, which was still parked on your hip. “Please, faster.”

Jeonghan nodded, complying at once. Joshua kissed your nape once more, also pushing inside you at a faster pace, falling in sync with Jeonghan in a second. Both started moaning more, their sweet and raw sounds flooding the room, pushing you closer and closer.

“Please,” you mewled heedlessly, losing yourself into a pool of pleasure, feeling so close to your sweet release. “Please, please, more.”

Joshua pressed his forehead to your exposed nape, muffling a raw moan against your skin, his lips giving you open kisses. His breathing had begun to catch, sounding shaky in your ear. “Baby,” he rasped, letting you know he was close too.

“You're close, baby?” Jeonghan muttered sweetly, learning to discern the sound of your voice when you were close to your orgasm, the faces you made.

You nodded your head in affirmation, unable to bring yourself to do more. Your body was firmly pressed to both, your clammy skin plastered together, you felt them breathe harder, heard them moan in near unison.

It drove you crazy. You loved it more and more: to be theirs, to feel them as close as humanly possible. They kept their thrusts fast and steady, always in sync, as if they shared one mind when they were with you.

Your hand circled Jeonghan's wrist, bracing yourself for the pleasure consuming you fast with a fiery wave, making you shut your eyes and cry out lewdly over and over. Both men responded with their own raw sounds, holding you tightly as they both succumbed with you helplessly.

“Fuck,” Joshua gritted, his face flush against in your hair, drowning raw moans. His fingers sunk in the plush of your thigh, gripping you tightly as he pushed his hips sloppily against your ass.

Jeonghan captured your lips in a hard kiss, his thrusts faltering too as he came, breathing and moaning faintly in your mouth, his hand squeezing you. “God, princess,” he groaned, keeping his mouth close to yours, nudging the tip of his nose with yours.

The thrusts stopped languidly. Joshua lowered your leg with great care, his large hand sliding to your waist, brushing with Jeonghan's. They both breathed hard, but kept their bodies pressed to yours.

“You're shaking,” Joshua giggled lazily. “Are you okay, baby?” he asked, moving his hand to pull your hair sticking to your cheek.

“Yeah,” you hummed, turning to see him. “Amazing.”

The smile he gave you made your heart twist. “You did so well,” his eyes read your face, his hand cupping your chin. “You're so perfect for us.”

The feeling fluttering from your tummy shocked you so hard you were unable to say a word. You smiled at him, the features of your face controlled by tiredness, he read it easily.

“Rest up, bunny,” he mumbled, the corners of his lips rising ever so slightly. “I'm going to clean up. I have to go to work.”

“Okay,” you breathed, giving him a reassuring look.

He nodded at you, okay, he mouthed. A large hand cupped your hip, holding you in place so he could pull out of you with a gentle motion, but it made you shiver, nonetheless.

You watched him over your shoulder as he walked out of the bedroom and turned to Jeonghan. His eyes were following you, as it was part of his habit: to observe you.

“Are you okay?” you asked with caution.

“I'm fine, baby,” he pressed his lips in a tiny smile, his eyes turning to half moons. “I'm just looking at you.”

You fought not to smile in utter embarrassment. “What, why?” you blurted.

A sheepish smile curved his lips. “I think your beautiful,” he said, and his tone faded in nervousness.

“Hannie,” you brought a hand to his shoulder, pushing him slightly in a playful way.

“What, I mean it!” he laughed, sliding his arm between the crook of your neck and the pillow, hugging your head. “Shut up,” he mumbled when you laughed with him.

“Ah, Jeonghan!” you yelped in protest when he pressed hard, punishing kisses on the crown of your head, but you broke in laughter, pushing him off. “Stop it!”

“Come back here,” he rasped, motioning you to cuddle up to him, opening his arms to you.

Your heart twisted inside your chest. However, you crossed the short space between you, putting your head on his shoulder and throwing a leg over his as he wrapped you in his arms.

There have been very few times that you had this kind of intimacy with Jeonghan. Since you began the agreement of being with both men at the same time, you had not found the chance to be this close to Jeonghan.

You welcomed it: his warmth, the smell on his skin, the little sounds he made. Some seconds passed, turning to minutes. He started to trace shapeless figures on your shoulder blade with the tips of his fingers.

“Are you falling asleep, princess?” he asked softly after a while.

“No,” you hummed, quite clearly telling a lie. The only sounds that filled your brain was Jeonghan's quiet breathing, and in the distance, the sounds Joshua would create as he got ready for work.

“Sleep, baby,” he suggested. “I can wake you up later.”

“I need to say goodbye to Josh,” you explained, your voice muffled by the crook of his neck, which you were nuzzling your face comfortably in.

“Okay,” he whispered, continuing to draw waves on your shoulder blade, making it harder for you to stay awake.

Some minutes later, you heard faint stirring noises around you, footsteps and someone say something. What woke you up was feeling the mattress dipping beside you.

“Bunny,” Joshua whispered. He was sitting on the bed beside you, a soft smile adorning his beautiful face. “I'll see you later, okay?”

You nodded. “Okay,” you hummed, turning from Jeonghan's warm embrace to face Joshua.

Joshua leaned down, grabbing your chin with his thumb and pointer finger. “Jeonghan's going to take care of you,” he muttered after pressing a loving kiss on your lips. “Be good, yeah?”

You loved whenever he talked sweetly at you, just like this. You nodded once again, showing him a waning smile. “Yeah,” you echoed, receiving another kiss. “Always.”

Joshua smirked ever so slightly. “I love you,” he said quietly, and part of you felt like he did not intend Jeonghan to be witness to the soft moment between you.

“I love you,” you replied just as meekly.

Joshua rose from the bed, turning to the door. “See you later, Jeonghannie,” he said, leaving the room.

“Later, Joshuji,” he replied, welcoming you back to his arms when you nuzzled him again.

And at that, you fell into a quick nap.

Then, you woke up before Jeonghan did you the favor of waking you up, you suspected at first but quickly found out that Jeonghan had fallen asleep with you. His soft snores, you realized, were the reason you were pulled out of your nap.

But despite that, you felt well rested. In the warmth of his arms, bundled up in the bedcovers, you could not find the purpose of getting out of bed.

However, you did not want to be late for the party. Knowingly, you lifted your head from Jeonghan's shoulder, snapping him awake easily.

“Morning,” you cooed with a smirk.

“Morning, baby,” he replied, bringing a hand to rub his eyes to then take a glance at his watch, he smiled. “We overslept.”

“You were supposed to wake me up,” you quipped.

“It's not my fault,” he giggled, cupping the back of your head with his hand to bring you back to his chest. “Your nap was highly contagious.”

“Oh, so it's my fault then.”

“Yes, everything is your fault,” he mumbled, his chest deflating beneath you.

“Don't fall asleep again,” you cautioned, but you could feel yourself slipping back into slumber.

“You first,” he replied, but then you felt him stifle a chuckle.

“Jeonghan,” you pressed.

“Give me a good reason.”

“We're going to be late for Joshua's party,” you replied with obviousness.

“We can be late for a couple of minutes,” he said, stirring on the bed sheets, pressing his arms around you, much as if he were getting ready for another long nap.

“Didn't you say you wanted to go to shop for something?”

“Mn yeah but I can wear somethin' else,” he muttered dismissively.

“Jeonghan,” you insisted. “Let's get dressed up.”

Jeonghan let out a giggle, the kind that would let you know whenever he was trying to tease you. “Alright, alright,” he clicked his tongue and sighed as he moved on the bed to get out of the bundles of covers.

You closed the car door with a small, laboured sigh.

“Mn, granny is tired already,” Jeonghan murmured with a low tone, his eyes set on the back-up camera of the car as he drove out of the parking spot with one hand.

“Shut up,” you bit back, enjoying the sound of his chuckle. “You’re older than me. And I am tired.”

Jeonghan drew a breath through his teeth pensively. “I know baby, but the day is far from over,” he muttered in a serious tone now. A hand slid on your thigh, his fingers pressing softly over the fabric of your jeans. “Relax. Let me take care of you today, yeah?”

“Mn, yeah, I’m going to need lots of pampering from you,” you smiled at him, grabbing his hand from your thigh.

His eyes remained on the road ahead, but you felt his movements stilling slightly right before he laced his fingers with yours. “You got it, princess,” he smirked.

“I want milk tea,” you giggled. “And a Danish pastry. Or two,” you held your two fingers in front of you.

Jeonghan looked at you through the corner of his eye and coughed up a laugh. “You call that pampering?” he teased. “That is like a normal Friday for you.”

“Well yeah, it’s a treat for me,” you explained, shrugging slightly.

“Okay, yes, a treat, not pampering,” he emphasized, glancing at you repeatedly.

“I indulge in other things too,” you pouted cutely at him. “I like shopping for books every now and then, music…”

“I know that but,” he rolled his eyes, going straight to the point: “What do you like to do for yourself? Not to serve others, to serve only you.”

You arched an eyebrow, opening your mouth to speak.

“You can’t mention sex,” he said, realizing what you were about to say right away.

“Hey,” you frowned, and he laughed in victory. “I don’t know. Well… I find work therapeutic sometimes.”

“But that's what it is, work,” he muttered, the car came to a stop. He used this as an opportunity to bring your laced hands to nib at your knuckles with his lips. “Have you been taking breaks?”

Your heart warmed at the question.

Jeonghan and you had taken some distance after the first threesome happened. After you realized that you withheld feelings for him very deep in your heart, you could no longer continue with your friendship with him.

So, for nearly a month, you went low contact, holding out for him to look for you to talk again and to be friends again. Though it was futile, since you knew how he felt about you, and you could not ignore how you felt about him.

You missed him. And it had been so long since you spoke with him like this, it felt good.

“Umn,” you paused, pretending to gather your answer.

“So, no breaks,” he shook his head lightly.

“Listen, the deadline for the second book draft is closer and closer and I am nowhere near done like I was for the first,” you tried to make up an excuse. But an exasperated sigh won over you. “I just want to get it done as soon as possible, but lately no words come out.”

“All the more reason for you to take a break,” he said, his lips still close to the back of your hand.

“You know I only take breaks whenever I finish a draft,” you countered.

He rolled his eyes. “But that draft will never come to be if you keep overworking yourself,” he chastised, now completely serious.

“Alright, I’ll take a break, then,” you conceded, but it was obvious for the both of you that you were not being completely truthful. You nodded to the road ahead. “Green light. Drive, old man.”

Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “Say goodbye to your pampering,” he muttered in a low tone.

You smiled, pleased. “I will take a break, soon,” you promised, now taking your laced hands to place a small peck on the back of his.

That did the trick, his gaze instantly softened. “Good.”

He turned the car off, clicking his belt off just as you were undoing yours. When you came out of the car, he was already going around it to walk up to you, taking your hand when you thoughtlessly reached out to hold his and walk together towards the mall.

Jeonghan paused for the fraction of a second, looking at your linked hands without skipping a step. “Hmph.”

“What?” you inquired, but he just raised his gaze and fixed the beanie on his head with his free hand.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, turning his head to look in your eyes. “Help me choose a shirt?”

You nodded eagerly. “Do you have something in mind?”

“Just something that looks cool,” he shrugged.

“Oh, we can match outfits,” you suggested, looking at his sweet brown eyes. “Or at least match in color of outfits.”

The shadow of a smile appeared on his face, keeping his eyes on you as you walked together on the vast mall. “Whatever you want, baby, just say it,” he replied with a tone of endearment.

“Nice,” you whispered, and he showed you a satisfied grin. “But first, you’re getting me that milk tea.”

His head tipped back, as a chuckle came out of his mouth. “Okay, princess. Let’s get you your tea.”

Jeonghan sighed impatiently, his eyes rolling back on his head. His hand, which was holding a hanger with a shirt changed sides, now showing you the other shirt, you selected.

“Mmn,” you hummed pensively, taking the straw into your mouth, sipping milk tea earnestly.

“They’re identical,” he whined, changing his hand once again.

“Trust me they’re not,” you retorted, pointing at the one on his right side. “This one is silky and shows your waist on the sides because it’s meshy,” you informed him, then switch to his left. “This one is denim and doesn’t accentuate your figure.”

“They’re both black,” he punctuated, sending you an annoyed look.

“That’s the only thing they have in common,” you countered, ignoring the cold look he was trying to give you. “Can you try them on?”

“Only if you come with me,” he muttered with a cheeky grin.

“Jeonghan, you know I can’t do that,” you said and as the words flew out of your mouth, you understood that he was not being completely serious.

“You could, but you don’t want to,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes. “Try this one first,” you pointed to the silk shirt.

“Fine,” he muttered.

You waited outside of the changing room, sipping milk tea to completion until Jeonghan came out, his hair ruffled by the changing of clothes, a reason why he took his black beanie off. But he shyly lifted his arms, showing you the shirt on his body. You could get a glimpse of his skin on the sides of his torso through the mesh material.

“Get that one,” you said upon laying eyes on him.

“But you haven’t seen the other one,” he said, looking a little perplexed.

“I think this one is definitive,” you explained. “You never wear things like this. You’re always wearing baggy clothes lately. Not that I’m complaining, but this shirt is different. Looks good on you.”

Jeonghan pouted. “I like baggy clothes,” he mumbled. “They’re comfy.”

Your guts twisted with so much endearment that you were sure that it showed on your face. “I know, Jeongjeong,” you muttered, a cute giggle coming out of you.

Jeonghan looked down, pinching at the fabric on the neck of the shirt. “I like this one,” he said softly. “It’s shiny.”

“Mn, I don’t have anything to match it with,” you realized. “Maybe I could pick something too.”

“Please. I’d like to get out of here,” he sighed, unbuttoning the shirt with fast fingers. “And I much rather watch you try on things for me.”

Jeonghan stayed close to you as you browsed the long hallway of tall racks of clothes that displayed nice dresses, tops, and everything you would never wear on a regular basis. You had your fair share of party clothes. But what your fingers were sorting through would be a new look on you.

“I like that one,” he muttered, leaning his head to one side as you hovered a dress over your body, stretching the material over your frame to imagine what it would look like on you.

“I do too,” you hummed aloofly, looking at the tiny black silk dress. “Don’t you think it’s too showy?”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he shrugged and sent you a dark look. “Or are you worried about what your boyfriend might think of it?”

Your tummy fluttered at the way his voice sounded, it was dark and raspy. He stood over you, thankfully flanked by the racks of clothes so you were both out of sight. “Maybe,” you replied, trying to sound unaffected. “Though he won’t be paying much attention to me tonight. You know he doesn’t want the media to notice me as his girlfriend.”

Jeonghan frowned slightly in question. “Are you okay with that?” he asked, his head was still leaning over one side, his eyes reading your face expertly.

“I’m think I’m okay with keeping our relationship private,” you sighed, putting the pretty dress back on the rack. “I don’t want Josh to be even more stressed about the media’s snooping on his life.”

“Mmn,” he hummed, nodding his head once. He looked at the dress, hanging abandoned on the rack. “Try it on.”

“No,” you replied shortly, turning to continue strolling down the hall.

You heard an annoyed sigh coming from the man, so you turned to look at him, reaching for the dress to hand it to you.

“Try it on,” he repeated, but this time firmly.

You rolled your eyes with equal annoyance. “Jeonghan, the dress is pretty, but it’s too expensive,” you sighed.

“I want to see how it looks on you.”

You raised your eyes to his face, preparing a rebellious retort but were cut off abruptly by the lady tending the store: “Can I help you, miss?”

You tore your eyes from his and looked at the woman, who gave you a polite smile. “Yeah, I would like to try this on,” you replied, returning the polite smile. You turned to the rack next to you and grabbed two more dresses. “And these too.”

Jeonghan grinned but making sure that you were the only witness to his small victory.

You followed the retail lady to the changing room, feeling Jeonghan looming on your back, you could almost feel his eyes on your frame as you made it to the hall of changing rooms, separated by walls and doors.

“You can wait here, sir,” the lady informed Jeonghan.

He stopped, but you could see the cunning in his eyes clearly, though it was something you thought only you could notice, since the lady just resumed with her work.

As you took a step towards one door, you felt the man move behind you. “Jeonghan,” you started.

“Fine,” he huffed, and leaned back against the wall of the hall, deciding to wait outside the door of the changing room you slipped in.

You giggled at his face when you closed the door. “You’re such a baby,” you said, taking the advantage that he could not take any retaliation at your teasing.

He did not respond verbally, but you could listen to his tongue clicking.

You quickly changed into one dress, purposefully choosing a different one and not the dress he wanted to see you try on. You opened the door, enjoying the way his face lit up when he saw you in the skintight leather dress.

“D’you like it?” you sighed, trying to hide that changing clothes that quickly made you ran out of breath. You slid your hands over your tummy, smoothing the faux leather over your skin.

“No, I don’t,” he replied, quickly telling on your intentions. But his eyes could not lie to you: they were glued to your body, shaped by the pretty dress. It accentuated every curve, though it was hard to move in it.

“Mmn, that’s too bad,” you purred, turning so that he could look at your exposed back, and your ass. “I reeeeally like this one.”

“Tsk,” he closed his eyes slowly, letting his smile show. “Try on the other one, the one that you actually liked.”

You smiled but turned around, closing the door behind you, and stripped off the black dress. The bite of the chilly air made your nipples harden, and you sucked in a breath through your teeth and hurried to put the other dress on.

Jeonghan raised his gaze from the screen of his phone to see you, his facial features changing in a second. He pocketed his phone, now focusing on you fully.

You leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, enjoying his gaze on you. “What do you think?” you asked in a sugared tone. Looking down, you smoothed the silk on you, bringing the tips of your fingers to your chest. “I should probably get boob tape if I get this one.”

“Bo-boob tape?” he asked, raising his eyes to see your face.

“Yeah, to cover up,” you smiled cheekily, swirling the tips of your fingers around your pebbled nipples. “I don’t want to be flashing everyone on Josh’s party.”

You expected the man to laugh, or to smile. But no, his gaze remained trained on you, on your fingers tracing circles around your nipples. He gulped hard and cleared his throat.

“What, you don’t like it?” you asked innocently, twirling on your feet so he could see how the skirt of the dress sat on your ass.

Jeonghan had gone deadly silent, and you did not like that. It meant that his brain was occupied scheming a plan, you stopped showing him the dress, and saw that his gaze had darkened.

“Maybe I should just try the other one on,” you said, adding a gasp to appear resigned. “And if you don’t like it, then maybe I should just wear one of my old dresses,” you pouted, very evidently knowing that your attitude would press his buttons.

“Yeah, you do that,” he muttered, but he was not playing your game, no.

And that was worrying.

“Maybe you could come in, and watch me?” you muttered, knowing that he would be able to hear you despite the music playing on the speakers of the store.

Jeonghan shook his head no but sent his dark eyes to survey at the surroundings. “Get inside,” he nodded at you sharply.

You took it as, stop playing with me. So you just went back inside, with a rejected look on your face that he definitely got to see right before you closed the door and started removing the pretty dress off your body.

Suddenly, you heard a soft click and through the mirror, Jeonghan was entering the changing room, closing the door with one hand beside him.

“Jeong–,” you started, but he brought a finger to his lips, motioning you to be quiet.

You had instinctively brought the shirt closer to your chest, covering your naked breasts. Warmth crept onto your cheeks, realizing that he could see the back of your body through the reflection on the mirror.

“Be quiet,” he cautioned, grabbing the dress from your hands and tossed it on the stool. A hand came to cup your jaw, commanding your eyes to his. “You're going to do as I say.”

Your heart had started beating rapidly in your chest, you could feel your own pulse in your neck. But you nodded, intrigued as to how far he would go.

“I didn't think you'd come,” you breathed, taking a step back as he approached you, pinning you to the wall.

“That's because you're used to your boyfriend,” the ghost of a smirk appeared on his face. “He's all bark, no bite.”

Your breath hitched, forcing yourself to close your mouth. Jeonghan enjoyed your reaction, that much you could see from the way his eyes, darkened by lust, outlined your face. He stopped cupping your jaw, his hand delicately traveling down, a finger tracing an invisible line on one of your breasts, finding your nipple to pinch it with his pointer finger and thumb.

You looked from his fingers teasing your nipple to his face. Jeonghan trapped his lower lip with his teeth, catching your gaze on him, the corners of his lips curved in a smile.

“You like teasing me,” he whispered, his hand continued traveling down, tracing a line on the center of your tummy. “I guess I should return the gesture.”

“Hannie,” you squirmed when his fingertip stopped at the band of your panties, you pressed your back against the wall.

“What?” he muttered, his voice raising to a lower one.

You sent him an alarmed look, but his face remained impassive, his dark eyes on you.

“Shh,” he pressed his body against yours, effectively pinning you tightly against the wall. He leaned his forehead against yours, nose nudging against yours, wordlessly telling you to raise your head for him to find your lips.

His lips grazed yours, inviting at first, but pulling back when you tried to inch closer to his mouth. He showed you a grin, and you could almost hear him say, “Eager, are we?”

His finger slipped beneath the band of your panties, his eyes widening with awe when he found out how wet you got just by teasing him. His lips pressed a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth when you squirmed against him, trying to get his fingers on you to satisfy the need you felt for him.

“Please,” you hissed.

“There are your manners,” he whispered, you felt him smiling in your mouth, his finger dipped inside your core, pumping in and out slowly.

But the feeling of being exposed, hearing the movement and commotion outside the changing room made your body come alive with excitement and arousal.

You sent him a pleading look, breathing out a tiny moan when he introduced another finger inside you. Your hand snapped to palm the tent in his pants, trying to get his zipper down.

The following movements happened fast. He pulled his fingers out of you, grabbing your panties and pulling them aside. You instinctively pushed your hips forward to him, angling yourself as you pulled his hardened cock out of his pants.

You noticed his other hand fishing out something from his pocket, pulling out his phone, opening his camera and pressing the record button.

“Hold this,” he whispered, handing the phone to you. His hand grabbed your leg to wrap it around his hip, just as you guided his cock to your throbbing pussy, letting him sheathe himself in one go.

You let out an airy moan, Jeonghan's free hand clamping your mouth shut as he started thrusting tortuously slow, making you feel every inch of his pretty cock inside you, stuffing you full.

You saw yourself through the video feed of the phone, you were nearly naked, a fucked-out look in your eyes as Jeonghan dipped his head to kiss your neck. Your eyes widened as he started sucking a lovebite on the curve of your neck, making your skin tingle when he detached his lips, breathing on the marked area.

“Fuck,” you heard him breathe.

The noises outside, though unrelenting, made your pulse quicken, anxious butterflies swarming inside your tummy. A world happening outside while you were in a changing room, being fucked against a wall by your lover.

You sent him a warning look, the squelching noises of your pussy becoming increasingly prominent.

“I know,” he nodded, smirking at you. “You're being so good, princess,” he breathed. “Such a good girl for me.”

His hand slid down from your mouth, but found the curve of your neck, pressing his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes, letting the world be drowned out by the sweet sound of his breathing.

“Fuck princess,” he whispered on your mouth. “You drive me crazy,” he said, his thrusts becoming more demanding, pushing against you rapidly.

“Hannie,” you said, beginning to shake, but you kept the phone up, camera angled to your bodies. “Come inside me,” you whispered. “Please?”

“Not yet,” he whispered, a taunting smile playing on his lips. “You're gonna come first.”

“I can't,” you refused, shaking your head lightly.

Jeonghan locked eyes with you, before scanning your face, your blazing hot cheeks, your lips glossy with his spit. “Yes, you can,” he countered, spotting your lie effortlessly.

“I don't wanna get caught,” you said, but aimlessly, since the squelching noises resounding inside the small changing room became even more louder to your ears.

“Where's the fun in that,” he retorted, a smirk showing on his beautiful lips.

“Hannie,” you tried to chastise him.

“Princess,” his smile widened, shooting a wave of arousal through you. He fucks you with a smile on his face. You stifled a moan, but the throbbing in your walls was impossible to control.

His thrusts slowed down, you saw his Adam's apple bob and his eyelids fluttered close. You knew instantly, it was taking him everything in him to not give in to his full impulse to just fuck you to his heart's content.

You saw your retaliation.

Your hand stopped clutching at the shoulder of his jacket, sliding it down his abdomen, reaching the area where your bodies connected. His eyes shot open in realization when your fingers began toying with your clit.

“Baby,” he whispered, though his voice sounded shaky, making his warning wane.

Your mouth parted, letting out a silent gasp. You saw his eyes following the movements of your fingers briefly, the way you worked on yourself to get to your orgasm faster. He raised his head, getting a glimpse of your facial features going slack in sweet pleasure. Your eyebrows knitted, and his did too, mimicking you automatically.

His thrust changed speed, becoming more demanding as your walls clenched around him. “Fuck,” he gritted.

Laughter boomed around you from a group of girls chattering inside the store. Jeonghan's grip on your thigh tightened harshly. You saw fascination cross the features of his face, he clearly enjoyed this: being exposed, having you at his mercy in a public space.

And to be honest, you understood why.

It was exciting.

It was easy to let yourself be swept away by the pleasure overtaking the features of his face. That just made it easier to sink into the waves of pleasure coursing inside your body, making your pussy wet. The sounds it made every time Jeonghan pushed his pretty cock in and out of your throbbing walls.

The tension inside you snapped. You threw your head back, succumbing to the sweet pleasure rippling through you. You sunk your teeth on your lower lip, commanding yourself to keep the phone up. You angled the camera so that it clearly captured you and Jeonghan, the way he pushed your body against the wall with this thrusts.

He kept his eyes trained on you all the time, as if he did not want to lose a second of you coming silently, shaking between him and the wall he was fucking you into. But his eyes went lazy, his breath ragged, his body weakened against you and that is how you knew he was coming with you.

Shaking, he drowned his grunts by crushing his mouth on yours, pushing his hips against you sloppily, emptying himself inside your walls to the last drop.

You stopped recording, slipping his phone back inside the pocket of his black jacket.

He dropped his forehead against yours. “You play dirty,” he rasped, still breathing raggedly.

“You almost had me in the beginning,” you muttered with a cheeky smile.

“Fuck you,” he chuckled airily.

You chuckled too, a retort sitting on the tip of your tongue.

A loud and repeated knock came to the door, startling you and Jeonghan with a jolt from you both. “Is everything alright, do you need help, miss?” the voice from the lady came from the other side, sounding completely unbeknownst to the situation inside the changing room.

“Oh, shit, you scared me,” you replied, bringing your best acting voice you could muster, though the reality of the situation helped. “Maybe I'll try the dress in red too, please?”

Jeonghan smiled deviously, shaking his head ever so slightly but did not make a sound.

“Coming up,” the reply came, and you were so still that you heard her walk away.

“You, miss, are learning fast at coming up with lies,” Jeonghan observed, pulling away from you, though begrudgingly. He tucked himself swiftly, watching your fingers fix your panties back in place.

“I have the best instructor,” you quipped, showing him a grin through your tiredness.

A weird look shot across his face; his heavy-lidded eyes scanned you. “Mn,” he hummed briefly.

“Here it is, miss,” the lady handed the dress in red over the door.

“Thank you,” you said as Jeonghan grabbed the dress from the lady's hand and passed it to you.

“No problem!” she said, still ignorant to the man standing at the other side of the door.

Jeonghan saw his opportunity, creaking the door open. “Gotta run,” he muttered.

But he was surprised when you quickly grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him to your lips with a quick kiss. “I'll be there. Go,” you whispered.

He returned the feathery kiss, though in his eyes you saw something you could not quite place. “Hurry up,” he whispered. “I'll buy you anything you want, let's just get the fuck out of here.”

And with that, Jeonghan slipped out of the changing room, leaving you with a deep desire for something that sex would not satiate. But you still weren't sure exactly what that desire was. Or rather, how you wanted to satiate it.

“Well?”

His sweet brown eyes looked at your face. He nodded. “You look beautiful.”

You laughed. “The dress, Hannie. How does it look?”

You stood in the living room, a pair of high heels hanging on your fingers. Jeonghan effectively, bought everything that you so much showed an interest in at the stores you visited with him. So now you had a new pair of shoes, a new handbag, and a new dress.

“Spectacular,” he smiled softly, rising from the couch, and stood before you.

Jeonghan looked good in everything he wore. But he looked ridiculously good whenever he was dressed in all black. From head to toe, his boots, the tight denim jeans, the shirt you picked, and the jacket he wore were all black. And on top of that, he had lost the beanie, so his lush black hair was partly humid from the recent shower.

“You look good,” you said, finding yourself hoarse for some reason.

“You think so, princess?” he smirked softly, placing a finger beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb brushing your lower lip ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” you whispered, closing your eyes when his lips pressed a kiss on your upper, to then capture the lower and kiss you deeply.

A hand slipped on your lower back, bringing you closer to his frame. You gasped in his mouth, and he responded with a groan when you pressed your chest to his.

“Let’s get out of here before I lose my fucking mind,” Jeonghan muttered, letting out an airy chuckle. “C’mon.”

You and Jeonghan arrived at a club, one that you had never been before, granted. But Jeonghan did, apparently, taking your hand and lacing his fingers with yours as he led you through a crowd of people, all the way to the front door, where he exchanged a couple of words with the bouncer, who let him and you in right after.

The club was what you had expected. Dark, hot, packed with people and loud. But instead of just going right in, Jeonghan kept walking, crossing the place and to a more secluded area. There, a pair of dark elevator doors stood, and he pushed the button with his lithe fingers.

He shot you a brief look, and you knew that there was something heavy in his mind. You nodded your chin at him, prompting him but he just shook his head no, pulling you to the elevator when the doors parted.

But he seemed to be getting ready for something, he sent his gaze to the ceiling, sucking in a breath through his teeth.

“Are you really sure you’re okay with Joshua keeping your relationship a secret?” he finally asked when you were both standing in front of the doors, the reflection showing him beside you.

He looked dark. And strangely alluring.

“Yeah,” you nodded, turning your head to look at him. You had gained some inches, thanks to your high heels.

But the man still towered over you. “Okay,” he whispered, content with the certainty he saw in you. “Though tonight, I don’t think we will be surrounded by a lot of press people. That was mostly in his conference from earlier.”

You paid attention to him. “Still, I don’t think I can… go to him as his girlfriend, you know?” you cocked your head to one side. “There will be a lot of people, from what I gather.”

Jeonghan shrugged lightly. “You could,” he countered with ease. “Once everyone is on alcohol and other substances, no one will care. And even if they noticed, they would most like take it as him kissing his best friend’s girl.”

You were not sure if you were completely okay with how he phrased it. And it was not his words that upset you entirely, it was also that he was playing a part in all of this.

“You don’t like this, do you?” you realized.

“I don’t like that he’s using me to keep you in the dark.”

Your instinct was to say no. Joshua would not do that to his best friend. But you bit your tongue, instantly deflated by the thought of Joshua agreeing to the polyamorous relationship to keep you happy. And a secret from the media and his fans.

“Well, then maybe we have to trust him, like you said,” you finalized.

Jeonghan stilled. “Yeah, you’re right,” he muttered.

“Let’s enjoy tonight?” you offered sweetly, turning so that you were facing him. “Let’s be there for Josh.”

His gaze softened, convinced by your request. “Okay,” he said, using the proximity between you to plant a kiss on your forehead.

The doors of the elevator parted, loud, revealing a place just as packed, rock music poured into your ears. But evidently this part of the club was private. It even looked poshed, compared to the dark interior from before. This one was colorful, though lit in red neon lights on the walls, and blue beams shooting across the space.

Jeonghan tugged your hand, pulling you even closer to his body as you both entered the place, and dived into the crowd. You noticed that he had an intent of crossing through the small sea of people and knew where Joshua would be found.

The first thing you noticed about your boyfriend upon laying eyes on him was that he had changed his hair. It was still brown, but not the golden brown that shines almost to a blond tone when he stands under the sunlight. This was a chocolate brown, the shade so dark it could pass as black in the dark interior of the club.

Like Jeonghan, he was dressed in concert black. Black suit, black tie. The only things that were not as dark were the chains adorning the flaps of his jacket. You knew it was not his decision to wear this, nor the way his hair was styled so that there was a single strand of hair hanging on his forehead, the rest pushed back.

Another thing of note was the hazy look in his eyes.

He was drunk. Surrounded by people and by the looks of it, he was having enjoying himself. He was talking to some people, none of whom you recognized.

Your grip on Jeonghan’s hand tightened. This was the first time that you saw him at his job since his band’s skyrocketing towards nation-wide fame. From meeting him as the lead singer of a local band, to now being one of the most popular singers in the rock music scene.

And without question, Joshua fit into what a rockstar would look and act like.

You watched as he stood back, side hugging the person he was talking to and someone raised a camera and snapped a series of photographs, the bright flashes illuminating his gorgeous face. The way he posed, looking directly at the camera with a neutral expression on his face, only added to the dark mood with which he was holding himself.

But that was swiftly changed when his beautiful eyes fell on you. His mouth parted slightly, and his eyes changed from what neutrality he was commanding himself with, a glimmer appeared in them.

Jeonghan returned the tight squeeze in your hand, as if telling you to get ready.

You saw Joshua tearing his eyes from you to face his best friend, to whom he greeted with a warm hug, using it too as an opportunity to look over his shoulder to look at your face again.

Your mind reeled over and over again as to how you were going to play this. But you just pressed your lips together in a tight smile, waving at him eagerly with your free hand.

You saw it on his face that he was not content with your short and distant greeting, so he made a move towards you, but was quickly blocked by someone coming up to him to ask for a photograph. Joshua stopped abruptly, removing his eyes from you, and accepted to take the photo, though reluctantly.

“Do you want a drink?” Jeonghan asked, leaning towards you to speak in your ear.

You nodded, being pulled away from the crowd surrounding Midnight Haze. As you left to go to the bar with Jeonghan, you could feel your boyfriend’s eyes on the back of your head.

“Can’t get drunk tonight,” you said, or practically shouted over the loud music to Jeonghan.

“Live a little, princess,” Jeonghan shouted back, pointing at a bottle of tequila sitting at top of the shelves of expensive bottles and signaled a two towards the bartender. “Besides, I wouldn’t blame you if you get drunk, you need to let loose.”

You looked over your shoulder, effortlessly spotting your boyfriend in the middle of the crowd, still chatting up to the people who came to him asking for autographs and photos. He swiftly sent a glance over to the bar, as if he had felt your eyes on him too.

“Yeah, got a point,” you said to Jeonghan, turning over to him and raised your shot glass at the same time he did.

“I’ll take care of you,” he said, making you giggle.

“Oh no, that’s scary,” you recalled the drunken nights with Jeonghan, when he was still someone you considered just a friend.

“Ah, come on, trust me,” he clinked your glass with his own, motioning over to you to link arms with him, and you did, pouring the shot of tequila down your throat at the same time as him.

He made a ridiculous face, and you laughed at him harder. “Cute,” you pointed. “You can’t drink tequila, and it shows.”

“Oh, it’s on,” he arched one eyebrow, turning to the bartender and ordered two more shots.

“This is how you get wasted,” but you raised the shot glass at him anyway, linking arms again to drink with him.

“I know,” he chuckled, wiping a drop of tequila from the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb. “But, since you’re the expert in tequila, I want to test you.”

“Shut up,” you said, pushing his shoulder playfully.

Jeonghan leaned over the counter, asking for something that you could not hear. He would soon get two slices of lime served in a nice ramekin. And two more shots.

“Wait,” you exclaimed, but he had a devious grin on his face.

“Nuh-uh, princess. Drink,” he challenged.

You rolled your eyes, but quickly took on his challenge. You did not wait for him this time, downing the shot of tequila straight away, setting the glass on the counter. “Your turn,” you said pointedly.

Jeonghan looked at you with a glint in his eye, a smile creeping on his face slowly when you placed the slice of lime between your teeth, waiting for him. He took the shot glass to his mouth, tipping his head back and you saw his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Setting the glass aside, he brought a hand to cup your cheek, leaning towards you to capture the slice of lime from your mouth.

His lips brushed yours, making your body come alight, he sucked on the lime once, discarding it to dive in for a kiss, and that he did slowly at first, delicately. You tasted the lime in his lips. You felt drunk already, but you knew that the intoxication was not from the alcohol alone.

You felt a new wave of arousal rushing inside your body, you held his face with your hands, letting him kiss you deeper, more demanding.

“Stop,” you brought a hand to his chest, feeling his breath fanning over your face.

He leaned his forehead on yours. “Sorry,” he exhaled softly. “I got carried away.”

“Me too,” you confessed with a small giggle. “Let’s stop drinking before we get reckless.”

Jeonghan laughed at that, the sound sending a powerful shiver down your spine. “Oh, baby, I think it’s too late for that,” he said, a pleased look on his face. “Come on. This thing is starting soon.”

“Oh, what is?” you asked dumbly. Following him back to where you saw Joshua.

The music suddenly came to a stop, the sound of a microphone being plugged in boomed through the speakers. Making you look across the room to find Midnight Haze standing on a small stage, the microphone was passed to Jihoon, who looked at it for a second and passed it to Joshua.

Midnight Haze’s lead singer took the microphone and brought it to his face, camera flashes lit up his face, making him blink repeatedly. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen, we’re Midnight Haze and we’re here to present our first studio album,” he explained expertly, a grin appearing on his face as he enunciated the following words: “And here to explain more about the album, we have Lee Jihoon, the drummer, producer, and leader of this band,” he returned the microphone to Jihoon, who smiled with a mixture of shyness and awkwardness.

Jihoon started to give out a speech that consisted of him just explaining where you could stream the album and when, followed by a short word of gratitude. When he finished, he passed the microphone back to Joshua, who just gave it up to Vernon.

Laughter resounded around the room from all the party attendants.

“Thank you for coming,” he said briefly and returned the microphone to Joshua.

“Thank you,” he concluded.

And Midnight Haze started sounding on the speakers. You recognized the song from the first second because of how often you heard Joshua rehearsing it on his guitar or singing it aloofly all over the apartment. The song was catchy, the guitar riff alluring, aptly named Euphoria, the lyrics were enticing, and about you.

You felt Jeonghan’s fingers slipping on your wrist before he laced his hand with yours, taking you with him through the sea of people. You felt eager to see Joshua again, to be able to have a moment with him.

But you knew that you would have to wait for some time before that happened. Joshua was still busy talking to fans, and friends, and all the people who would come up to him and strike small conversation. Some would ask for photographs, others for autographs, most people both.

It felt nice to see him accomplish one of his dreams, though you could not deny that it felt slightly heart crushing to be watching from the distance.

So, you had to look for an opportunity. You turned to Jeonghan. “Cover me?” you asked him. He frowned at first, but leaned over so you could explain further. “I want to talk with Josh.”

Jeonghan nodded, wasting no time he just grabbed your hand catching Joshua’s gaze as he pulled you away from the crowd, leading you down a corridor that ended in an emergency exit. That apparently did the trick, since Jeonghan and Joshua had somehow formed a wordless language between them.

Because your boyfriend had followed you. A minute after you had slipped down the lonely and dimly lit corridor, Joshua appeared, nodding at his best friend in something akin to gratitude.

“Be quick,” Jeonghan warned. “And don’t be sloppy,” he added, sending you a meaningful look before walking away.

But Joshua did not reply, instead, he was instantly wrapping you in a hug as though he had missed you. He lifted you from the floor in his strong arms for a second, returning you so that he could cup your face in his hands.

“You look beautiful,” was the first thing he said to you, right before capturing your lips in a hurried kiss. You tasted whisky in his mouth, when his tongue outlined your lower lip and touched yours.

“Thank you, baby,” you replied, sensing the alcohol start to numb your senses.

“Let me see you,” he requested, stepping back so that he could see the pretty dress Jeonghan bought for you. But his eyes swivelled back up to see your face, but inevitably spotting the red mark sitting on the crook of your neck.

Your stomach dropped, and you brought a hand to brush your hair, covering the spot that Jeonghan marked.

But your boyfriend was quicker, he sent a look at his sides and back before carrying out his plan.

He pushed your back against the wall, the shadow of a smile appearing on his face when a soft gasp left your mouth. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he muttered darkly in your ear, his voice sounded hoarse.

You pushed your body away from the cold wall, your front brushing with his. You were squirming, trying to get him to back away and let you calm your nerves.

But no, his eyes read the features of your face. “You like this,” he realized, the corners of his lips rising slightly. “Oh, you cruel thing. Do you like to get me jealous?”

You nodded with your head, smiling at him when you could not take the heaviness of his darkened gaze on you.

“Is it fun to kiss Hannie while knowing I’ll be watching, baby?” he purred, moving his mouth to press a soft kiss below your earlobe. “Do you like to know it turns me on?”

“Joshua,” you mewled out when his lips reached a particular sensitive spot on your neck, where Jeonghan had left a noticeably big hickey. Then it dawned on you.

“Answer me,” he muttered, his large hands gripping your waist tighter.

Granted, you did have a recollection of Joshua saying he liked seeing you with Jeonghan. You also remembered the times you saw him pleasure himself to the view of you being fucked by Jeonghan. But to hear him say it, flat out, made a hot wave of arousal course through you.

You nodded, closing your eyes, and letting out an embarrassingly loud moan when his mouth placed an open kiss on the sensitive spot, making you squirm a little more.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighed. “You sound so sweet,” he mumbled languidly, and you could tell just from the sound of his voice, sweet and moany, he was aroused too.

“Joshua,” you called, and he moved his face to capture your lips with his own, swallowing your moans when he rolled his tongue inside your mouth. “We need to stop,” you said, pulling your head back.

“Right,” he frowned. “Shit, you’re right,” he realized, as if he had forgotten for a split second that you were not completely alone.

He peeled his body off yours, straightening his jacket and fixing his hair. That made him look to one side, his features hardening at once.

A tall man, of dark hair and similar attire to your boyfriend’s was walking from the fire exit to you and Joshua. He did not seem impressed with your very public display of affection since he very evidently did not know you.

“Hey man,” Joshua greeted amicably. “Enjoying the party?”

“Yeah, though not as much as you,” he replied with a slurry tone, his lazy eyes swiftly looking at you and then back at your boyfriend. “The album is a hit, dude, a number one.”

Joshua smiled, letting his guard down for a second. “Thanks, Tae,” he said, nodding when the man patted his back, continuing to walk back to where the party was.

“We should get back,” you told him.

“Yeah,” he agreed, but he leaned over to get a swift, featherlight kiss from you. “I want to get out of here already.”

You giggled. “Just a couple of hours then we can leave,” you told him.

“One hour,” he said, glancing at his watch. “And we get out of here, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied and begun heading back to Jeonghan, but not before Joshua slapped your ass.

You yelped, sending him a look. Joshua masked his grin by biting his lower lip but could not resist when you just rolled your eyes at him and smiled broader at you.

You quickly found Jeonghan, whose eyes quickly read your face, your entire demeanor and smiled.

“I suppose it went well?” he teased, leaning over to press a kiss on the side of your head as he slid a hand on the small of your back.

“Shut up,” you muttered, but he obviously did not hear you.

“Baby, I’d like you to meet, Taehyung,” he said, showing you to the person he was clearly having a conversation with moments before you arrived, though you were too distracted to notice.

Taehyung had a question written all over his face, but he still nodded at you. “Nice to meet you,” he smiled charmingly at you.

You sent Jeonghan a look before returning the polite nod. “Nice to meet you too,” you said.

The man cocked his head, the confusion in his face clearer now, the lines between his eyebrows showing when he frowned.

“Taehyung is the singer of Green Nocturne,” Jeonghan interjected, noting that the exchange between you and the man was growing more awkward by the second.

Whatever Jeonghan might have seen in your face, it told him everything he needed to know. So his distraction worked, your mouth fell open in both surprise and embarrassment.

“Oh, really?!” you squealed, blaming the alcohol for sounding so high-pitched. “Oh my god! This is so cool. Forgive me, but I am the biggest fan of your music,” you giggled uncontrollably.

Taehyung dropped the confusion from his face at once upon hearing your drunken giggles. “Thank you,” he replied, almost as shy as you were now.

“Let me tell you, I was one of the many people that never believed you were a one-man band,” you blurted, feeling hot on the cheeks, and forgetting the awkward exchange completely. “But I think that it’s so cool that you do nearly everything…”

You were swiftly submerged in conversation with Taehyung, who also seemed to be wrapped in your crazy stammering and excited descriptions of how much you loved his music. So you never realized when Jeonghan slipped from the conversation, and away from you and your new friend.

Jeonghan tried to turn the lighter on, spinning the wheel once, twice, until he got to the third and the flame came up. He brought it close to the end of the cigarette, hearing the paper burn, igniting the end with a long draw.

The cold air brushed his cheeks, cooling his lips as he exhaled the smoke, his eyes lost on the vast city below him. He leaned forward, leaning his elbows on the banister of the balcony, ignoring the loud music inside the party.

He took another drag from the cigarette he stole, it seemed funny to him that he still had some of the gimmicks when he used to smoke tobacco. He narrowed his eyes, one closed more than the other, parting his lips slightly to let the ghost of the smoke slip, to then draw it back in, an exhale it through his nose.

“I thought you had quit smoking that.”

Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “Can't get a moment by myself,” he tutted, not needing to turn to know who was behind him on the balcony, closing the sliding door to the party.

“In fairness, I came here to have a moment alone,” Joshua admitted, leaning so that he matched Jeonghan's position to perfection, all to the exception of the cigarette resting in between Jeonghan's lithe fingers.

“Why?” Jeonghan asked in a low, raspy tone, which he corrected with a cough.

Joshua shrugged beside him, licking his lips and drew in a breath through his teeth. “I used to think that I was just tired of touring, but now I realize that I'm overwhelmed,” he shook his head slightly.

“I thought you wanted this,” Jeonghan commented, frowning to his best friend.

By this, he referred to touring. Making music, the fame, the acclamation, the money.

He shook his head once again, but now firmly. “It's consuming,” he whispered, raising his gaze skyward.

“Welcome to the life,” Jeonghan said with a nod. “Success isn't easy.”

“I want to stay,” Joshua confessed, twiddling his fingers slowly, but in an anxious way.

Jeonghan did not need Joshua to explain more. He knew why he wanted to stay. He took another deep drag from the cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the night sky.

“Where did you get that though?” Joshua read his friend's face expertly, knowing that it had been a while since Jeonghan smoked his last cigarette. And this was a brand he would never buy from.

“Taehyung's pocket.”

“Jeonghan,” he exhaled in resignation and Jeonghan chuckled at his reaction. “Please don't steal from my friends. And stop smoking.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes and made no comment.

“What's wrong with you?” Joshua asked.

“Nothing,” he muttered, feeling his brain swim under the effects of the nicotine, and alcohol. He should not have mix alcohol and nicotine. “Why are you doing this, Joshua?”

“Doing what?” he asked softly, pausing to look at his friend.

“This, with Bunny. Agreeing to a poly,” Jeonghan exhaled, the anxiousness constricting his heart. Damn the nicotine.

Joshua looked at him agape for a second. He had not expected the blunt question, but he supposed that a moment such as this was merited. The doe eyes returned to map the city skyline, searching for an answer.

“I want this,” he shrugged uneasily.

“Tsk,” Jeonghan exhaled. “Ay, don't tell me this is out of the goodness of your heart, Shuji. I know you. You could've swept this under the rug, continue a monogamous relationship with Bunny. Why drag me into this again?”

“Because you also want this,” Joshua retorted, expecting his best friend to laugh. But not even a smile appeared on the crestfallen man. Joshua exhaled too, but out of shame he still felt about the topic of conversation. “I hurt you both.”

“But this is damned to fail if you just want to make everyone happy,” Jeonghan darted a look at the man beside him. “Just because you regret hurting her and giving me the middle finger doesn't mean that we can be all in a poly now.”

Joshua winced, and he could see it in the face of the man, his words offended him. “I want this,” he emphasized with a pained look. “I want this to work for all three of us.”

“Why?” Jeonghan pressed now, raising his gaze to meet the dark doe eyes.

“I don't know,” he whispered, but Jeonghan could tell when his best friend lied. It was the tone in his voice, the bristling look in his eyes when he could not continue with the eye contact. “I want to see how this works out.”

“So, you're... experimenting?” Jeonghan frowned. “Exploring? What happens if you decide you don't like it?”

“But I do,” both men met gazes again. “I do like it. I just don't know why.”

“From being the most jealous person I know, you switched to sharing your partner with me,” Jeonghan clicked his tongue, taking the cigarette between his lips. “It's just confusing to me.”

“It's confusing to me too,” he replied tiredly, as though he had repeated that same statement many times before.

Jeonghan twisted the cigarette bud in his fingers, deep in thought.

“You know I never apologized, at least not sincerely,” Jeonghan muttered, watching the cigarette consume itself between his fingers. He raised his head, looking at the stars. “I'm sorry for what I did, for not telling you how I felt about her sooner.”

Joshua nodded, his eyes lingering on the face of his best friend. “You didn't need to tell me, Jeonghan,” he commented. “I knew it the moment you bought her tickets to come see me in the opening show.”

Jeonghan huffed, a guilty smile showing on his face. “You're lying,” his eyes beamed in a mixture of shame and joy. “I can be nice sometimes.”

Joshua shook his head, a smile curving his lips too. “No, you can be nice, but this just told me that you wanted to keep her far away from you.”

“Tsk,” Jeonghan exhaled sharply. “Am I that transparent?”

“Just to me.”

The moment slowed down when both men stared at the city lights in the night, both deep in thought, but at the same time, sharing the same feeling.

“I want her to be happy,” Joshua repeated, his heartbeat stammering under the feeling of being vulnerable.

“I want that too,” Jeonghan conceded with a softness lacing his tone. “But that's not all there is, right? You need to know what you're facing, Shuji. If you agree to this, you're agreeing to me dating her fully. Not just having sex.”

“I know, I know,” he rolled his eyes. “I will try not to be jealous.”

“Have you heard of going to therapy?” Jeonghan quipped, receiving a slap on his shoulder, eliciting a low chuckle from him. “I've heard it does wonders.”

“Shut up,” Joshua exhaled, but there was a smile on his face too. “I'm not as jealous as I used to be.”

“I know,” Jeonghan agreed with a nod of his head. “Do you accept my apology?”

Joshua snorted. “You don't need to apologize,” he said. “But I'll take it.”

“Nice,” Jeonghan exhaled, palming the banister once and stood up straight, readying the cigarette bud on his fingers to discard it.

“Don't,” Joshua cautioned, clearly understanding the intentions of his friend.

Jeonghan flicked the cigarette bud from his fingers, tossing it into the void.

“Ah, you little shit,�� Joshua huffed, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Go get it if you care that much, altar boy,” Jeonghan nodded his head to the city below them, letting out a characteristic low chuckle.

“Fuck off,” Joshua laughed, slapping Jeonghan's shoulder.

But he was quicker, returning a slap on the back of Joshua's head that resounded with a smacking noise. “Gotcha,” his giggles became high pitched.

Joshua grabbed the man by the back of the neck, quickly wrapping his arms in a headlock, enjoying the way Jeonghan struggled, laughing, and grunting as he tried to set himself free.

“Let me go, you idiot,” Jeonghan laughed, groans escaping his mouth as he tried to slip off the bigger man's grip.

“Stop being a pain in my ass,” Joshua retorted.

Both men stopped in dead in their fight when you slid the door open, a perplexed look on your face as you stepped out and into the balcony.

“H-help,” Jeonghan rasped, arms flailing at his side. “Help me baby, he's gone insane—gah!” got cut off by the man keeping him still in a head locked.

“What's going on?” you asked carefully, wide eyed.

“Nothing, baby,” Joshua exhaled with a pleased smile on his face. “Me and Jeonghannie are just having a heart-to-heart, right?”

A set of fingers poked at his ribs sharply. Jeonghan nodded rapidly, stifling a laugh. “Ah—fuck, it tickles, stop!”

Joshua released him with a breathy laugh, straightening his denim shirt he looked at you, still standing frozen by the door. “What's up, baby?”

“I was wondering where you two had gone,” you shrugged, reading them both with great curiosity.

“I wanted some fresh air, turns out he was having a smoke,” Joshua stifled a giggle when his friend shot him a cold look.

“Ah, you–,”

“Jeonghan, please stop smoking,” you chastised, and the man clicked his tongue and groaned when you crossed your arms.

“I wasn't smoking, baby, I promise,” he raised the palms of his hands to you in a gesture of innocence.

But you could tell he was lying, his widened eyes, the way he tried to hold a rein to the muscles of his face, fighting his smile. You rolled your eyes.

“Let's go home?” Joshua asked, taking a glance at his watch.

“Sure,” you mumbled sweetly, reaching out to grab Jeonghan's hand, slipping your fingers beneath his palm. “Let's go.”

“Me too?” he asked, sending a look to your boyfriend.

“Well, yeah, obviously, you dummy. We arrived together, we leave together,” you punctuated with a confident smile.

“But-,”

“Come on, the car is already waiting for us,” Joshua muttered, looking at his phone.

Jeonghan grabbed your hand, slipping his fingers between yours. He pulled you back to the party, where your boyfriend stopped to say goodbye to his friends as you waved at them exiting the large and heavily crowded room.

All three of you stepped in the elevator, facing the reflection showing on the closed doors. Joshua stood on your left side, casually placing a hand on your lower back as he scrolled on his phone. Jeonghan stood on your right side, still locking hands with you.

He noticed you looking at the reflection and held your gaze as he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on your head. “What are you thinking about, princess?”

“I had fun tonight,” you said, looking at both men flanking you. Joshua pocketed his phone when he heard you, turned to see you, and then at the reflection.

“Did you like Joshua's friends?” he asked in that sweet tone that sent butterflies through your body.

“I did, they're nice,” you nodded, turning to your boyfriend. “I'd like to meet them again.”

“Maybe we can arrange something,” he muttered. “When I come back.”

You nodded with your head ever so slightly, giving him a chance to press a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

You hissed loudly as you slid on the backseat of the car, rubbing your hands together before blowing on them to bring some warmth to your face.

Joshua laughed softly. “Let me,” he said, capturing your hands in his, pulling them away from your face. He wrapped them in his large and warm hands, rubbing them together, rapidly warming them up.

“I liked your dress,” your boyfriend muttered, his lips caressing the back of your hand. He pushed his eyebrows up, looking at you. “Is it new?”

“Hannie got it for me,” you muttered sheepishly, just as the man slid a hand on your bare thigh, sending a cold shiver down your spine.

“Did you thank him for that baby?” Joshua muttered, kissing your knuckles tenderly, slowly.

“I did,” you nodded, looking at his pouted lips pressing on your knuckle.

“Mn, that reminds me,” Jeonghan muttered beside you, looking at the screen of his phone. “Check your phone, Shuji.”

Your stomach twisted; anticipation flashed through your body. You instantly knew what this was about, just as your boyfriend pulled his phone out of the pocket of his black jacket.

“On silent preferably, or else this ride will get more awkward,” Jeonghan mumbled, eyeing at the driver inconspicuously.

Joshua paused and you froze, sitting between both men. Your boyfriend exhaled through his nose slowly, his face staying impassive as the brightness of his screen flashed on his face.

You peeked at the screen, guts twisting when you caught a glimpse of Jeonghan passing the phone to you, making you record him as he fucked you against the wall of the changing room.

The screen went black.

Joshua locked his phone, placing an elbow on the car windowsill, his forehead pressed against this fist. “Fuck.”

Jeonghan laughed silently, palming the plush of your thigh gently.

“So, you two have started to have fun,” he said, his voice low and raspy.

“Just a little present. For the road,” Jeonghan quipped, pressing his lips together in a sweet smile.

Back to your bedroom, you got ready for bed, brushing your teeth facing the mirror, where you saw Joshua come to hug you from behind. He placed one of his hands on your tummy, leaning to leave a kiss on your cheek.

You beamed at him.

“What?” he asked.

“You're being clingy,” you muttered after rinsing your mouth.

“What if I am?” he retorted, pressing another kiss on your temple.

“I like it,” you admitted, turning around so you could face him, cupping his face before giving him a sweet kiss on his lips. “Let's go to bed.”

“I'll be there in a minute,” he nodded, patting your ass gently.

There in the bed, Jeonghan lied with one arm tucked under his head, looking at his phone until his eyes caught sight of you. He left his phone aside, watching you crawl on the bed to lie next to him.

“I'm starting to really like this,” you muttered, bringing a hand to gently rub his tummy up and down.

“To like what, princess?” he asked with a soft tone, his hand caught yours to play with your fingers.

“Sleeping with both of you at the same time,” you admitted with a sheepish grin.

“Oh, so you didn't like it before?” he chuckled, his nose wrinkling at little.

Joshua came to the bedroom, lying next to you so now you were sandwiched by both.

“I did, I'm just saying that I can get used to this. I like it,” you shrugged, feeling the warmth from both bodies. Joshua cuddled up behind you encircling your body in his arms.

Jeonghan looked at your lips, then your eyes with a sweet smile on his face. “That's good to hear, princess,” he commented, leaning over to plant a kiss on your forehead.

You turned over. Joshua captured your lips in a tender kiss, conveying without words what he wanted to say, but was too tired to bring himself to vocalize it.

“I know, me too,” you whispered sweetly, cuddling up to both before falling asleep in their warmth.

It was one day exactly before Joshua had to leave for tour.

His suitcase sat on the chair in the corner of the bedroom. It was half made, an act you attributed to his reluctance to leave again.

He left earlier in the morning to rehearse with his band, and to get some other things in order before they kickstarted the tour. In his anticipating of these things, he told you he would not take long and when he came back, you could have the afternoon to spend together.

So, you saw it as an opportunity to prepare for a nice time together before he left.

Admittedly, you were not as anxious about him leaving as before somethings you could talk them out with him, but there was still a very particular thing living in your mind.

But you shrugged it off. For now.

You had some hours before Joshua returned home, so you had to make every minute count. You left to the market to buy some groceries, and to buy some other things needed for your impromptu plan.

By sundown, you had successfully cooked dinner, tidied the entire apartment, making the table look nice and pretty, adorned with candles and a nice set of cutleries and a bottle of wine. And lastly, you made yourself look pretty. Prettier.

You stomach dropped to the sound of the door being shut, and you practically ran to see your boyfriend entering the apartment, looking at the table with a question written in his face.

In his hand he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

“You’re back!” you chirped, welcoming him in a warm hug that always seemed to leave him speechless.

“Hi beautiful,” he giggled joyfully. “What’s this?”

“Hi handsome,” you replied, equally as joyous. “I thought of surprising you.”

Joshua showed you a wide smile that robbed you of air. “I was thinking of surprising you,” he said, his eyes wrinkling around the corners. “You beat me to it.”

He handed you the bouquet of flowers, which was strikingly beautiful. It was chosen carefully and abundant with pink, blue and white flowers.

“Oh, Josh, thank you so much,” you beamed at him, taking the bouquet from his hand, and instinctively brought the first flower to your nose. “They're beautiful. Let me get them in a vase.”

Joshua watched you as you came back with the flower vase and place it on the table. He was still standing in the same spot, as if he had frozen with surprise upon seeing you all dressed up, minus your shoes.

“Come here,” he caught your hand, pulling you closer to him with a tug. “What is the surprise for?”

“Well, I wanted to spend a nice evening with you, silly,” you replied with an obvious tone, but you were unable to hold your shy grin. “I want tonight to be just the two of us…”

Joshua smiled, his hand had already parked at the small of your back, the other quickly finding your face to cup your chin, planting a gentle kiss on your lips. “Thank you, baby,” he whispered, holding you closer when you tried to pull away.

“Wait, I also got you something,” you giggled when he looked offended at you when you pulled away and turned to the kitchen counter, where you had left a small box.

You sneaked a look at his face, meekly handing him the present you had prepared for him with anticipation for this day.

Joshua took the box, returning the glance at you but his denoted intrigue. He uncovered the box, revealing the guitar strap you had personalized only for him. It matched his in-ear pieces, and it held a secret message that only him would be able to find.

But he lowered the box, a soft look overpowering the features of his face. “Thank you, bunny,” he whispered, cupping your cheek to kiss your forehead. “I love it.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the good company of music playing in the background, food that was carefully prepared and of course, his presence. Somehow you both ended up sitting on the couch, soft touches and tender kisses inevitably led to a heavy make out session.

Joshua grabbed you by the waist, letting out a heavy grunt as he dragged you to sit on his lap, making you straddle him. “Clingy,” you whispered, teasing him.

“I remember you said you like it,” he retorted, his studded eyebrow jumping up slightly.

“I do,” you ran the back of your pointer finger down his cheek, outlining his beautiful jaw, stopping to hold his chin. “It's as if you can't get enough of me.”

Joshua laughed, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes, the chirping sound warming your heart. “What can I say,” he muttered, bringing a hand from the back of your knee to your hip. “I have a nasty addiction to you,” he grabbed the hand from his chin, planting a gentle kiss on the inner side of your wrist. “I'm afraid you've made me insatiable.”

You returned the smile, though shadowed by the fact that you were overcome by the urgent need to feel his body, to melt into him. He raised his glinting eyes to you, noticing the change in your eyes.

“I'm going to miss you,” you said, conquered by the feeling coiling in your throat.

Joshua paused; his gaze softened. “Me too, baby,” he whispered too, the grip of his hands on you tightened softly.

“Yeah?” you breathed, egging him on.

“Every minute,” he responded, swallowing hard. “You know I'd take you with me everywhere I go, given my way,” he said, his gaze trained on you as you straddled him, lowering yourself on top of him.

“Would you?” you questioned again, enjoying the way his eyes were on you, reading the features of your face as though he wanted to memorize them again.

“Do you want to visit me sometimes?” he muttered, his eyes following your lips as you leaned down to capture his pretty lips with your own.

“Yeah,” you breathed, his large hands slid from the plush of your thighs, gripping your waist, his fingers pressing over the fabric of your pretty dress. “I could visit you.”

“Please do,” he muttered into your mouth, his breath hitching audibly when your fingers slipped on his hair, your fingertips raking his scalp as you kissed him deeply.

“Okay,” you replied faintly, swept away by the beauty of the man below you, looking at you with glimmery eyes.

“Will you?” now he questioned, he bit his lower lip as his hands on your waist grabbed you to press you down on his hard body, making you feel his warmth.

You nodded your head yes. “Yeah,” you echoed, diving for another long kiss, rolling your tongue in his mouth expertly. He moaned into your mouth, his hand leaving the curve of your waist to cup your cheek.

“Mn,” he hummed in delight when you thread his dark brown hair between your fingers. “Baby.”

“Yes?” you paused, breaking away from him to look in his eyes.

His hands, one parked in the curve of your waist and the other flatly pressed on the small of your back exchanged positions. Joshua licked his lips slowly, appearing to be gathering his words.

“Thank you for tonight,” he muttered, tiny dimples appearing above the corners of his mouth when he swallowed hard. “You make me so happy, feel so loved.”

Your heart stammered at the sound of his words, the way his eyes brightened up, looking at you with so much love. “You don't have to thank me for that, Mr. Hong. I do it gladly,” you whispered with a sheepish smile, pushing his hair away from his face with your fingertips. “I wanted tonight to be about you,” you said, putting weight on the last word.

“I love the sound of that,” he admitted, a small smile appearing on his face. “Come here, Ms. Hong,” he muttered, bringing a hand to cup your cheek, just as you closed the space between his lips and your own, sealing them with a tender, slow kiss.

The question remained. Now that you were with two people, how would it work between all three of you? What was the finish line? Was there even one?

When this little deal was prompted initially, you had your doubts. You still did. The deal was fair and simple, but it was a one that you could not take from zero to one hundred. You soon had to face insecurities, hurt feelings and other concerns, you soon came to realize that it was not so simple.

“Hey,” you hummed, pulling away from his kiss once again. “Where are we going with this?” you whispered shakily. A hand caressed his cheek, threading his long hair back.

“With Jeonghan?” he asked, easily knowing what you were referring to. You nodded. “Where do you want it to go?”

You stayed quiet, at complete loss of words. You never came to a conclusion in your mind, and never thought that Joshua would relinquish the decision over to you.

“Don't you think it's a little early to decide that?” he asked, noticing that your answer was incomplete.

“B-but,” you exhaled through your nose, irritated that you were not as ready to have this conversation as you initially thought to be. “I need us to be in the same page when you leave. I want you to be sure of this.”

“I'm sure of this,” he nodded slightly, his tone had dropped, but it still sounded so sweet, and so reassuring. “Are you having second thoughts about Jeonghan?”

“No, no,” you mumbled. “I'm just thinking—I'm having a hard time with the logistics of the whole relationship.”

Joshua showed you a smile that made your tummy flutter. “I know. I've noticed,” he giggled sweetly, but soon his features took on a more serious look. “How about this, let's just roll with it, yeah? Don't stress about it now.”

“Okay,” you whispered, however in your mind you did not put the matter to rest.

“Yeah?” he mumbled, lifting his eyebrows. “I what you want to know is that I won't doubt you, I don't. I trust you, and I want this to work.”

Something burst inside your chest. Relief, excitement. The feeling made you breathe erratically. “Yes, but how will it work?” you countered. “Are there any rules? Do you have any limits you don't want me to cross?”

His gaze softened, much as if he understood what the root of your worries was. “There are no rules,” he smiled, planting a small kiss on your forehead. “Just the ones that we mentioned. We don't date other people.”

“Is that the only rule?” you pressed, reading the features of his face but he stayed looking at you fondly.

“Do you want to set some rules?” he inquired, blinking rapidly when your hand slid from his nape and started toying with the small rings adorning his earlobe.

You shook your head. “I'm just saying, since you say that everything is okay with me and Jeonghan dating but,” you sighed out some nervousness. “What will happen when Jeonghan and I actually start dating?”

“What do you mean?” he asked with a soft tone.

In anxiousness you pinched his earlobe softly, the corners of his lips curved up. “I don't want you to feel bad,” you finally blurted, a sunken feeling slumping on your shoulders.

Joshua took a pause, the smile weakened a little, but his eyes did not seem to lose the glimmer when he looked at you. “I'm happy if you're happy,” he mumbled.

“Babe,” you leaned your head to one side. “I find that endearing but I don't believe that you won't feel jealous,” you stammered through the words. “You can be honest with me. I want you to.”

Joshua seemed lost for a second. “I'm not lying,” he said carefully, but you detected a slight hint of apprehension. “I can't say that I won't feel jealous—I am jealous that I won't be here with you and he will,” he read your face intently. “But I want you to be happy. And I want you to explore this with me and Jeonghan.”

“That's the thing I am skeptical about,” you smiled because he did first, and you pushed his shoulder. “Stop it.”

“Why do you feel skeptical?” he emphasized the word, teasing you a little. His smile faltered and he took on a more serious tone. “Mn? Tell me.”

“I think that the fact that you no longer feel possessive makes me a bit incredulous that you actually want this,” you confessed, fearful that your words strike a chord in a wrong way.

“Oh,” his mouth dropped slightly and nodded. “Well, I've told you this before, baby,” he explained, he was not condescending with you, and you silently thanked him for that. “With everything that we went through, I made the decision to change,” he paused, and you noticed that the conversation was starting to affect him, but he held your gaze, even though you saw that his eyes had started to take a glint of sadness: “I thought I would lose you. All because of my stupid jealousy and possessiveness, and I almost did.”

The remorse you felt gripped your heart so vehemently that it robbed the air from your lungs. Joshua noticed the change in your eyes, and he moved his arms to encircle your torso and pulled you to his body.

“Listen,” he started, bringing your gaze to his. “Let's take this easy, yeah? Don't worry about how I'll feel, I'm exploring this too,” he suggested, his tone softened again. “Learn about what you like, what you don't like. As long as we're talking this through, I think we'll be fine.”

The challenge presented itself to you. You thought about how hard was for you just to talk your thoughts out. You thought about how you will grapple with being with two people at once, despite one of them being away.

But you wanted this to work out too. You wanted to explore this, with him, with Jeonghan. And for once, you liked that you were the one in control.

“Mn?” he pushed his eyebrows up. “Will you tell me if things get complicated?”

You nodded with your head in affirmation. “Will you?” you whispered.

His gaze softened. “Of course,” he nodded slightly too. “I promise.”

You finally felt the weight lift from your shoulders, you smiled at him. “I promise too,” you whispered.

He responded with a smile of his own. “Better?” he asked with a tiny whisper.

“Better,” you confirmed.

Joshua brought a hand to cup your cheek as you leaned your head to find his lips to clasp them with your own. “I love you,” he murmured with a raspy tone.

You returned the kiss, just as passionate. “I love you, Joshua.”

✮ author's note: hi hello hi hi

so, let me overshare a little bit here: i'm bi. writing some bits from this chapter were a bit exciting for me because i want everything to be v clear, but at the same time i don't want to make it so extensive that it becomes the theme of the whole chapter, so, yeah. hannie is bi in this universe hehe (●'◡'●)

this fic is a wild ride for me. i love writing it so so much. and that is the whole idea of writing fic for me. i get enjoyment out of writing it and sharing it with you. idc if i lost readers when i turned this fic into a polyamorous fic, i'm happy with the readers that stayed.

✮ special credits to my beautiful @thatgirlfromwindsor, who provided me with prompts for our joshie, namely him having nightmares about losing bunny, him being so fucking in love in a rave/party setting, the indoor dates (i'll use more prompts baby, i think i'll use every single one you sent because my heart aches for more josh scenes like these) i love you 😙🩵

✮ additional note: i just started using a word processor to write (i used the tumblr desktop app to write yes, i'm insane), so there is a change in the quotes the i used for this chapter (i.e.: curved quotes) so if you're freaky w details like that like me, i am sorry hahahaskfkdjgh

anyway,

✮ STAY TUNED FOR PART FOUR!! ✮

toodles!

JOIN MY TAGLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTERS | BUY ME A COFFEE? (●'◡'●)

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harryspet · 1 month

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homestead [5] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rafe cameron x pregnant!mom!reader, farmer!rafe, pogue!reader, jj maybank x reader, kidnapping, dominant!rafe, dad!rafe, descriptions of birth, NONCON, little editing,READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 3.1k

In which you settle into a new routine on the farm and your new life takes shape around you.

homestead masterlist

Your ring finally fit again, the swelling in your hands having gone down. It was beautiful, you realized again, and a reminder that you were more than Rafe’s captive. The paperwork didn’t matter to him, and the formalities were meaningless in his eyes.

His connection with you was primal, bound by something more profound than vows. He would love you in sickness and health and vowed to provide for you and your baby, no matter the cost.

Two months have passed since you gave birth to a healthy baby boy. You had longed to meet him, but your pregnancy had been filled with anxiety. Despite your hopes, you couldn’t shake the fear that something would go wrong during your home birth. And in the end, you had no control over the most important day of your life. Rafe had promised to be open-minded, but you soon realized his words were hollow.

He hired a midwife, an older, experienced nurse named Mabel, whom you had met twice before the big day. When your water broke, she was at your home within thirty minutes, a testament to her dedication. Despite the fear and anxiety you felt, Mabel was a steady presence. She guided you through each contraction, her hands firm yet gentle, her voice calm and reassuring.

She held your hand throughout the process and praised you when you felt you were at the end of your rope. Hunched over the edge of the master bathtub, warm water caressing the naked bottom half of your body, you faced a raging storm inside you. The pain was indescribable, but you felt a responsibility to your unborn child. The least you could do for him was try your hardest.

You screamed loud enough you thought you might lose your voice entirely. You expected Rafe to falter, to show signs of fear, but his resolve didn’t falter. He hadn’t lied before about his confidence in you, about how deeply he believed you’d be a good mother. You could see in his eyes that he was the most proud of you that he’d ever been.

“She’s an old lady, but she’s got grandkids. Three boys and two girls. I’m sure they want to see her again. If you say anything out of line, I’ll make sure she doesn’t ever leave here,” He’d warned you earlier, and his threat lingered in the air. You focused on the baby just as you had since you arrived here.

You cried even more after your final push when your son’s cries filled the room. They echoed, the most beautiful sounds you could hear in that moment, and you were happy to be able to hold him immediately.

In that moment, the house you associated with being controlled turned into a home. You’d endured here and brought life into the world despite everything.

You had braced yourself for the sight of JJ, but instead, your baby looked like any other newborn—red-faced, furrowed brow, and already expressing his displeasure at the world. Fragile and tiny, he was a perfect, delicate being. Surprisingly, you managed to walk to the bedroom that night. Mabel and Rafe helped you through your exhaustion beyond anything you’d ever known. The constant cries of your baby kept you alert, preventing you from drifting off.

Kai, your baby boy, was carefully assessed by Mabel. She was the one to cut the umbilical cord, a request you’d made to her during your last meeting. She wrapped a warm towel around his body and checked his heart rate, made sure he was able to breathe correctly by suctioning his airways and placed him back on your chest when she felt he didn’t need any immediate care. You couldn’t remember exactly, but you could’ve sworn she complimented you. You were a natural, and at that moment, you believed her.

Never in your life had you done something so natural, so innate, and now the heart in your chest was open in a way you didn’t realize it was capable of being. Open for Kai. You loved him instantly, in a way you’d never felt towards anyone – not even JJ.

You cried the entire time. Your cheeks were wet with tears, but your body moved the way it needed to.

Throughout it all, you cried. Your cheeks were damp with tears, but you moved as needed. You cradled Kai while Mabel tended to your injuries, checking for hemorrhaging and monitoring your vitals. She continued to guide you, and though you knew the real challenge was just beginning, you were grateful for her support. This wasn’t how you envisioned it, but dwelling on it wouldn’t change anything.

Despite how close you were to falling asleep, this was the time you had to learn because Mabel wouldn’t be here forever. You wished you’d read more books about parenting like Rafe had suggested when learning to breastfeed. You were clumsy with that part of things, unsure of the positioning, and you battled with the fear that you wouldn’t be able to produce enough.

Now, two months later, you worried for the time that Kai wouldn’t need you. He was so tiny, to little to think about at that time, but you hated to admit how much you enjoyed the feeling of being needed. You felt it with Rafe now that he relied on you to keep the house together and the more intimate ways that he needed your attention.

It seemed he’d had the time frame of four to six weeks embedded in his mind. Four to six weeks without sex to allow for proper healing. During that time, he had kept his distance, allowing you to heal. But once your body began to return to normal, and you could swap the adult diapers for regular underwear, you noticed a change in him. There was a raw, almost animalistic instinct in him that recognized when your body was ready again. The shift was subtle but undeniable, and you were drawn back into his orbit.

Rafe had started growing out his facial hair, which you had playfully dubbed a “dad stache.” That nickname once led to a playful tackle and laughter-filled tickle fight that filled you with joy. You had expected to see less of him with the baby as an excuse to keep you apart, but instead, he adapted. He worked from home more often, bringing Kai with him and letting him nap in a bassinet beside his desk.

You thought you’d be weary of them being alone together as you were still getting used to this new Rafe. To you, he was still the guy who did lines of cocaine at high school parties and perfectly drove a yacht when his blood alcohol was way over the legal limit. There were still lots of moments where he needed your help, but he seemed to take pride in being able to handle Kai on his own.

Now and then, you’d get an eerie feeling, realizing you’d settled into a routine. You’d spend weeks happy, not crying or thinking of JJ and Pope. It hit you like a ton of bricks when you remembered, and you’d often go quiet. It was a pit of sadness that was hard to pull yourself out of.

As you looked down at your beautiful ring, you marveled at how normal it felt to wear it. Keeping it in its box seemed like a waste, especially since the ring wasn’t to blame for past wrongs. It could symbolize whatever you choose to make of it. When you glanced up, Rafe was walking through the front door. Molly greeted him with enthusiastic barks until he quieted her with a gentle shush and a pat behind her ears. He correctly assumed Kai was sleeping.

You folded your hands behind your back, watching the smile that pulled at his lips. He flipped his ball cap so the brim was facing behind him, undoubtedly to keep his locks from his face. Your eyes trailed down to his t-shirt and then his arms, seemingly having grown even more prominent when you’d been reunited with him. The way he looked in work clothes certainly wasn’t fair. He looked even more like himself, better than ever than he had in a blazer and tie.

“Hey,” His crystal eyes found yours, “How’s it going?”

The whisper in his voice, this new tone the two of you now spoke in because of the baby, was the icing on top. You squeezed your thighs together, grateful for the long smock dress you were wearing, officially signaled to you how out of whack your hormones were.

“Lunch is ready,” you said quickly, pointing to the neat plate of caprese sandwiches you’d made.

“Looks great, Honey. I’m starved.”

He walked by you, towards the the sink to wash his hands, but you were looking away. You grabbed two plates and two glasses, setting them down in front of the kitchen island’s bar stools. You started making your plate before you poured both of your glasses of pink lemonade.

“This a recipe from the book?” He asked before immediately chugging down half of his glass.

“No, I kind of just threw together what we had in the fridge,” You answered, grabbing ahold of your sandwich. Rafe was already taking a massive bite out of his, “How is it?”

“Fucking delicious. Is that pesto?” He responded, his mouth a little too full.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, taking a bite of yours. “Pesto, tomato, mozzarella, and spinach. And that ciabatta bread you get from the market. It’s so good.” You recited the ingredients, deciding that you were quite impressed with your work.

“Reminds me, I need to go down there soon. Make a list of everything you need, will you?”

You nodded, “I will.”

The thought of going with him crossed your mind. Being inside for so long was starting to make you slightly agoraphobic. Now that you have Kai, you understand that you need to protect him and keep him from the dangers of the outside world.

After lunch, Rafe pitched in to help with the kitchen clean up while you prepped ingredients for dinner. Tasks you’d never learned in foster care, like defrosting meat properly or dicing vegetables, were becoming more familiar.

You stole glances at Rafe, of his muscular back that you could see clearly when he bent over the sink and his long fingers splayed out over a cloth as he dried dishes. To gain some space, you took the baby monitor from the counter and quietly moved down the small hallways near the kitchen, deciding to catch up on some laundry. With Kai, there was even less time in the day to get things done, so you’d begin cramming your chores into his nap time.

You were listening to the rhythmic, mechanical hum of the washing machine, folding towels on the counter space near the window. Hands-on your hips jolted you from the escape your mind had reached, completing such a monotonous activity.

There was no point in saying his name; you knew it was him, and you froze, letting the unfolded towel you were holding crumple beneath you. He pressed into you, pinning your front to the counter. The height of the counter, right at your waist, allowed him to wrap his arm around your front and bend you over.

“I’m doing something!” You yelped when he pushed he pushed your front back down after you tried to straighten yourself. He pressed his face into your neck, chuckling, seemingly amused at your defiance.

“You know what you do to me, don’t you?” He grunted, and your eyes widened as you felt him hiking up your dress. He made sure you felt exactly what you did to him, hard and pressing against your bottom, “You feel how hard you make me?”

“I’m serious,” The warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine, and deep down, you were grateful for the friction. It had been so long since you’d been touched the way you needed. This isn’t how you wanted it to happen and it certainly was a stark contrast to how he’d treated you when you were further along in your pregnancy. There was no passionate makeout or a gentle massage. It reminded you of what you already knew he was capable of, “Rafe, please–”

He kicked open your legs, pressing into you harder, one hand firmly on your back as he pressed you into the counter, “You don’t need to fight it. You’re mine, remember? I take care of you.”

“Yes, just please–” His palm slammed hard down on your bottom, and you gripped the towels in front of you tightly. Whatever view he was getting of you was pleasing. He brought his hands down several times, surely leaving bruises and making your legs tremble as you tried to escape the pain, “Rafe, stop! That hurts!”

He shushed you, “Stop fucking moving then,” He continued his assault, only stopping when you gained enough strength to still your legs. You kept them still as you could despite how the skin of your bottom burned. He stepped backward. You didn’t dare move again, and you heard the clinking of his belt and the undoing of his zipper, “Atta girl, stay bent over, but reach back and pull your panties down.”

“Rafe, please don’t be so rough,” Your voice was low as you tried to settle down your racing thoughts.

“Honey,” His voice was raw, slightly pleading, “I need you like this. Pull your panties down.”

You felt the same hunger, needed to quench the same thirst, but demons haunted him. He could be gentle when he wanted but this is what he truly desired. You cringed when you heard him spit, assuming it was into his hand because you were scared to look back at him. His hand was now lubricated; you heard him pumping at his length.

Slowly, you reached behind to pull down your panties, revealing more of the bottom he’d just bruised, “Fuck,” He cursed, “Touch yourself, Honey.”

You did as he said, knowing the feeling would be more soothing than him spanking you again. Mostly, you were hesitant, knowing that you were revealing how wet you already were, how just looking at him earlier left stickiness on your thighs.

“You like when I tell you what to do, don’t you?”

“Rafe,” You pleaded, and he knew what that meant.

“You need someone like me. Tell you what to do. No thoughts in your pretty little head,” You felt him come closer as you continued to rub slow circles, “Yeah? Tell me, Honey.”

“I … I like it,” You needed him inside you and for the process to hurry itself up. Your mind was emptying; all you knew was that every word and every inch he came closer made you feel like you were on fire.

“What do you like, Honey?”

“I like … w-when you tell me what to do.”

“You need me, don’t you?”

“Yes, Rafe,” You moaned, “Just … fuck, please Rafe–”

“Tell me,” A hard spank made you yelp. You watched as he placed the same hand against the counter, right by your face. You kept circling.

“Please, can you put it inside?” You begged softly.

“So polite,” He praised, and you felt him at your entrance. You expected him to enter you slowly, to torture you, but Rafe slid inside you in one swift motion. You cried out as his other hand roughly grabbed your waist as he drove into you harshly.

It was painful before it was pleasurable. He grabbed your arm so you were no longer touching yourself before pinning both your wrists behind you. You watched the baby monitor in front of you fall over at the rough motion.

The counter’s edge dug into your hips, his length nudged against your cervix, your ass was throbbing from the spanking, but you hung onto that feeling of finally feeling filled. His grunts filled the small room, along with the steady thrum of the washing machine and the soft static of the monitor.

There was nowhere to go, and his wrists only tightened, “I’m gonna put another baby in you,” Almost against your will, your climax came faster than you realized, and it tore through you hard and fast. Rafe took it as a sign that your body wanted this. This was the first time he could get you pregnant, and you were naive to think he would want to take things slowly.

“Rafe, I can’t.”

“You will; you’re doing so good for me,” He spoke huskily, ignoring you, his pace still relentless. Tears of pleasure and pain filled your eyes and escaped down your cheeks, “I’ll show you … Fuck, I’m so lucky.”

His body tensed as he spilled into you with a final and forceful thrust. As he let go of your wrists, his hands trailed over your hips, his grip starting to soften. You stayed there, frozen, as he kissed the side of your neck and then your temple.

In the aftermath, a softness emerged in his tone, “You okay?”

When you didn’t answer, his arms tightened around you, lifting you off your feet. Numb and strangely satisfied, you wrestled with a creeping regret. Part of you questioned whether you should have fought harder, but another part wondered if this was simply how things were meant to be—if this was what you deserved.

With panties still loose around your thighs, Rafe brought you upstairs to the shared bedroom. He placed you on your feed inside the bathroom before helping you out. You folded your hands in your lap, looking down at your ring. “Relax,” he said, “Clean yourself up.”

“But Kai-”

“I’ll check on him,” Rafe assured you.

“He’ll need a feeding soon.”

“Clean up first, lay in the bed, and I’ll bring him to you.”

“Okay,” You agreed.

There was no apology from him—only an acceptance of his own nature and an expectation for you to do the same

You showered like he’d instructed, but that didn't take away the feeling of him being deep inside of you. Your bottom stung worse under the warm water, but you accepted the small amount of refreshment it offered. You dressed in a soft, white robe before you climbed into the bed. The rest of the afternoon was quiet.

Rafe sat beside you as you fed Kai, his gaze steady and watchful. Thirty minutes later, the three of you settled into a peaceful mid-afternoon nap: Kai nestled in his bassinet by your side of the bed, and you resting in the secure embrace of Rafe’s arms.

You don’t forget your old life because you choose to, but because your heart needs to make space—space for Kai and the future Rafe is determined to build within you. There was no room left for pain.

I hope you enjoyed it! I'm not sure if I want to add anything else, I feel like this could be considered a good conclusion. Let me know your thoughts!

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #dark fic #rafe obx #rafe cameron x black!reader #outer banks smut #black!reader #obx fic

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vampiricgf · 2 months

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— v. lycaon | BRAND NEW CHERRY FLAVOR

warnings : fem reader, ignore that we don't know his age exactly im guessing, ruts, knotting for the first time, rina is mentioned but only because she's meddling, fingering, masturbation, begging, reader is smaller than him, reader has a tramp stamp, virgin lycaon, cervix fucking, biting/marking, blood/blood licking, creampie, crying, sorry if I missed anything

wc : 2.5k+

this is so long im sorry im too obsessed with the idea of him being a virgin lmao >.< also sorry if there's mistakes it's not edited so

He thought upon hiring you on with Victoria Housekeeping things would largely remain the same, the only difference being having one more person with whom to split the existing workload of clientele contracts and commissions. An easy choice thinking of himself and Rina, the primary adults within the company.

It had been difficult as of late, he could acknowledge that, balancing taking on the bulk of the work while the companies other two employees attended their schooling and other engagements that typically keep younger people occupied. And truly he didn't mind it, it was the duty of those older to pick up the slack, allow youth it's time to blossom and explore.

That was not the issue, though. The issue was you.

Not your work performance, no that was impeccable. You had impressed him enough during your interviews but in practical work you went even beyond that, showing an exemplary aptitude for even the most banal tasks. The picture of a perfectly competent maid and (occasional) hollow raider. Even able to both meet and exceed his own impossibly high standards per all the glowing reviews he receives from clients, truly you were a fantastic addition to the company.

The problem arose months ago, when you two had been tasked with a more unconventional commission involving a hollow. Of course danger was always ever present in those ether soaked spaces, both from the impending malformed creatures that called them home and from the levels of ether itself. The risk of warping and twisting the body into a cruel mockery of what once was, imbibing it with sickness.

It was the first time you'd actually worked side by side, he'd asked you to come with him as a sort of test not because he thought he really needed the backup. See how you'd been progressing, what you were like on the job, that sort of thing. A completely normal request for a boss to make, all things considered.

What had not been normal was allowing himself to be caught on the back foot, surprised. You were... painfully distracting to him. A major shortcoming on his part, it was nothing you were doing overtly to draw his attention in such a laser focused way it just seemed like he had a bizarre inclination to keep his attention on you. The way you walked, that delicious sway of your hips. That thing you did when you were thinking, running your thumb across your bottom lip. The smell of shampoo clinging to your hair and wafting over him every time you so much as turned your head. Sugary, faintly floral. Horribly distracting.

Giving some stray hati a prime opportunity to pounce. Neither of you had noticed them creeping up on your perimeter, stalking you both as you picked through the skeletons of abandoned, crumbling homes and businesses. You too busy nervously chattering away and him too busy thinking about how much he enjoyed the sound of your voice.

One moment there had been nothing and in another there was everything happening all at once. Their predatory howls, the initiation of combat. The ring of your weapon as it hit against their stone manes, the crunch of his ice against newly exposed flesh. His eyes frantically trying to keep you in his line of sight at all times, take advantage of the path you left in your wake to give the finishing blow, giving yet another perfect opening for one of the creatures to tackle him full force, the brute strength of it slamming against his side and laying him out shamefully against cracked concrete, knocking the air from his lungs in a painful squeeze.

But there you had been, like some kind of avenging angel from artworks of the old civilization. Your features were highlighted by the look of sheer anger as you mercilessly dug the weapon in your hands into the creatures back, ripping away its advantage and successfully dispatching it within seconds. He could feel how wide his own eyes were, but felt too much acute discomfort to bother trying to mask his own awe.

Not since he was a pup had he needed rescuing.

Not since he was once so pathetically, terribly young had he felt so immediately endeared to someone else.

You were on your knees beside him, fussing over him, eyes sweeping around for any signs of injury or blood. He knew there was none, would have smelled it immediately, but nevertheless he allowed himself to enjoy your ministrations. The way your hands so carefully hovered over him, trying to be mindful of thiren preferences for touch while also trying to be caring, attentive. It was sickeningly sweet of you, made him swear for a second he could taste it in the air, feel granuals of sugar grinding within his teeth. He wondered if your lips tasted even half as sweetly.

"Are you hurt anywhere, should we leave the hollow? An emergency exit is understandable, right? If you're hurt?" Your eyes met him, practically welling over with concern.

He had wanted to hold your face in his hands, soothe you. Almost immediately he'd been gripped by the horror of his own impropriety.

Clearing his throat he took the hand you offered as leverage to get back on his feet, taking note of your warmth, the surprisingly strong grip of your fingers, before you withdrew. Soft, yet capable. Beautiful.

"There's no need. We can continue on with the commission." It took a monstrous effort to keep his voice neutral, act as if nothing of note was running rampant inside his head.

From the on the feelings he had towards you only grew, like a beast growing fat off plentiful prey. Every glance from you, every accidental touch of hands, every moment of conspiratorial laughter shared between you at something silly one of the others had done. Months and months of feeling his heart rate grow increasingly erratic every time your lovely voice would sound out in the mornings, always a perfectly cheerful greeting towards him and the others before you began your work.

And so here he is, mid rut and miserable. Thrusting into his own hand, as he's done so many times before, feeling the sweltering heat in his bedroom and bubbling frustration in his head at the feeling of tangled sheets and the distinct lack of any partner to be thrusting up into.

He'd called into work, voice twinged with embarrassment because how on earth had he forgotten about his incoming rut? Well, he knew how. Because you consumed almost every moment of his waking inner thoughts, distracted him to such an insane degree he failed to fill his suppressant prescription in time. Thankfully Rina hadn't needed details, always too clever by half, but it didn't stop him from feeling intense shame rolling through him even just knowing someone else knew what exactly was going on with him.

Sickness, uh huh. Try so horny and hard he could crack a brick wall in half. The thought made him feel so erratic he couldn't help but grab a nearby pillow, pressing it to his face, feeling his now neglected cock throbbing as he bit the soft down surface so hard he could feel his teeth punching right through the material.

You, you, you, you, you.

All he wants is to lap at what he's sure is the sweetest taste in the world nestled between your legs, feel your body stretching and accommodating his size, tell you how he's going to give you his knot and watch your pretty eyes glaze over and your breasts bounce in time with his thrusts, dig his teeth into your neck, your chest, make you squeal and squirm so he can pin you down-

A few distant, tentative raps against wood.

Did he imagine that?

Tap, tap, tap.

No, no he didn't. Who would be knocking in the middle of the day? Oh god, what if it was a neglected client that had tracked down his address? Someone angry one of the girls had forgotten or completely ignored their commission? His breathing was strained, nearly wheezing as he rushed to make himself somewhat presentable, cringing as he struggled to slide trousers over his impossibly obvious erection. No time to brush down his severely disarrayed fur. How humiliating.

As he scrambles for the front door, flinging it open so hard it nearly crashes against the wall, he freezes.

Why the hell are you here? How do you even know where he lives?

Your eyes go impossibly wide as you take him in, the awkward silence ballooning in the space between you and he's acutely aware of how crazed he must look as his claws dig into the metal of the door handle.

"I'm... I'm sorry for dropping in it's just that- well, Miss Rina told me you were sick and I kind of... begged for your address so I could come check on you, I'm sorry-"

You cut yourself off from rambling, picking at your nails as your eyes flit around nervously.

Of course Rina would give you his address, mischievous as she is. She knew exactly what was going on with his little juvenile crush, his rut. Calling in probably gave her the idea.

But all that was far from his most pressing concern at the moment. You couldn't be here, absolutely not. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore that familiar shampoo scent, trying to ignore the way you look especially lovely, how easy it would be to yank you inside and just-

"I appreciate your concern, but I'll be perfectly fine. I just need to rest." Blunt enough to make him feel bad for rejecting your kindness but the boundary needs to be in place before he does something highly inappropriate. You're coworkers, not casual friends. Every thought he has about you is crossing a line.

A snide inner voice comes out of the blue and he can't focus on what you're saying, too consumed by shame.

As if you'd even know what to do with her anyway.

It must show on his face, although you misunderstand it, because you give him a look of naked concern and he's snapped back into focus. "Do you need me to call a doctor for you? I have my car, I can take you to White Waves if you need to go Lycaon it's no problem-"

"No, no it's nothing that serious." He's losing control of the situation, needs to get you out of here.

"Well, at least let me make you tea or something to eat, please. You look like you haven't eaten all day." Your worried tone makes his pathetic resolve crumble easily, like it was made of sand.

Against his better judgement he relents, awkwardly stepping to the side to let you in the door and a part of him preens at the way your scent immediately compliments his own, mingling in the space as if you inherently belong there. If he had the energy to feel it he'd be embarrassed about the state of his apartment, in disarray as it is. But you don't pay any attention, immediately finding your way to his kitchen and digging through his cabinets like you've done it a thousand times.

Watching you makes him even harder, throbbing and aching so acutely in his pants that his vision momentarily goes fuzzy at the edges. You look so domestic, so relaxed. A bolt of jealousy fires off in his brain, white hot, at the fact that numerous clients have gotten to see you in a similar way before him. Your casual clothes aren't helping him keep control of himself either.

Jeans that accentuate the swell of your ass, the shape of your hips. A tank top that's ridden up slightly, exposing a bit of your stomach as you stretch up to reach the higher spots in a cabinet. He wants to run his tongue over your belly, lick his way up to your chest, leave little love bites across your throat. As you turn to the counter beside the stove he catches a glimpse of a tattoo on your lower back and his jaw flexes so tightly he's shocked his teeth don't shatter in his mouth. He never knew you had one, but it certainly suits you. He wants to know if you have any more, in any hidden places.

"You should lay down, I can bring this to you when its finished," you say it so gently but he can't bring himself to move away, to risk missing a single glimpse of you.

He says nothing and you don't try to press him, to your credit. But when you can't quite reach the top of another cabinet, where hes kept tea tucked away neatly, his instincts to help take over before he can register that his body has moved beside you, hand going over top of yours to easily grab the box. But the way your forearms brush on the way back down makes him drop the box, a shockingly loud clatter that causes a dozen deep fissures to spread in his mind.

He's got ahold of your wrist before you can react, keeping you so physically close to himself that if he took a half step forward you'd be chest to chest. He can smell sugar on your breath, see the red twinge on your tongue from candy you must've had on the way over.

It doesn't even register that his eyes are closed, that your mouth is on his, that his tongue is lapping up the secondhand taste of cherries as it slides across yours and your fingers grasp the rumpled fabric of his shirt. It's like a moment suspended in cut crystal, refracted in a thousand different ways to the outside observer, a million different angles of this one frozen scene, and he wants to hold it forever in his hands.

Hold you forever.

But you pull away and his first instinct is to follow after you, body bending even further to chase your lips as you struggle to catch your breath. Your bodies remain impossibly close as you speak, his eyes never leaving your lips, memorizing the curve of them.

"I don't- I didn't mean-" you're struggling and he can't bear it, can't bear the thought that this one beautiful moment is tainted by the nature of your overall relationship as employees, even worse is that he truly doesn't care. It should scandalize him, shame him in some way, but it doesn't. That fact feels extremely far removed from his current reality and the feeling of even more blood rushing to his lower body.

He cuts you off bluntly. "How much do you know about beast thirens?"

You gape, having been cut off with what is to your view an extremely out of place question but he's hoping you'll follow the thread. "What?"

"How much do you know? Because Rina wasn't exactly... truthful with you." His eyes skirt away from your face but hes committed to telling you what's going on. "I'm not ill, not in the way you're thinking. I'm, well, going through what's called a rut." There's a heavy pause. "The need to... mate."

He cringes internally on the final word, finally meeting your eyes and watching you put it all together. Your own eyes are adorably wide, but you don't pull away from him and that takes him by surprise. He'd figured the second you knew you'd be in a rush to leave, probably drop a resignation call to Victoria Housekeeping on your way home.

But you don't do any of those things, merely taking it in and continuing to let your eyes travel over his unkempt appearance and he's even more aware, if that's possible, of how needy he feels. Any longer without relief and he just might need to take himself to White Waves Hospital. But that's not your problem.

"I mean... That's just a natural thing for you, right? It's not like you're some perv," you laugh nervously, "and maybe- maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you had a little... help?"

His brain feels like a damaged, glitching bangboo. Are you seriously offering this?

"What I'm trying to say is that I- I like you, and I don't care that we kissed. Well, I care but I'm not upset by it. And I'm not upset that you're, like this right now," you gesture with your chin, "and if you need someone then... I can help you with it. If you want." You finish in a rush, clearly embarrassed and something rears its head deep in his stomach.

There's no more room for coherent though as he finds your lips again, nipping at the bottom one before taking advantage of your little gasp to slide his tongue back in your mouth. He turns you slightly, so your back meets the edge of the countertop with his hands massaging at your hips, groping obscenely at your ass. The barrier of your clothes is frustrating, making him growl low in his throat before he's deftly unbuttoning and unzipping them, fingers trembling at you help push them and your underwear down to puddle at your ankles.

You squeal as he lifts you easily to set you atop the counter spreading your legs in his firm grip while your own fingers curl around the marble edge of the counter, gasping as he kisses and sucks against the flesh of your inner thighs as he makes his way towards your pussy. He can smell how aroused you are and it spurs his instincts on, despite the sliver of anxiety working against his lust.

He's marveling at you, sliding two fingers through your wetness, spreading you to see the way you glisten with the slick liquid and he can feel your eyes on him.

"I've, I'm sorry, I've just never been with anyone." The last half of the sentence is heavy on his tongue, one crimson eye shyly avoiding your own before you reach down to cup his face in one hand.

The small smile on your face is sweet, purely gentle and it eases the nerves gnawing at his stomach.

"Never?" He shakes his head and you tilt your head to the side, "Then just watch for a second."

And it's mesmerizing, the way your fingers delicately dip down into your own wetness, dragging up to your clit before your fingers start slowly circling. He watches intently, watching the way your pace slowly builds, your hips twitching ever so slightly at the stimulation before you move back down and slide those two fingers inside yourself.

And the sight is like something religious to him, totally enraptured at the way your pussy swallows the two digits, the way your head tips back and your lips part in a silent sigh. It's not long before the soft squelching sound of your fingers scissoring against your walls reaches his ears, making them flick as he zeros in on it.

With a breathy laugh you pull your hand away but before it gets out of reach he grabs it, bringing your soaked fingers to his mouth before locking eyes with you, tongue tasting every bit of yourself that lingers against the skin.

He thinks your demonstration was a good enough starting point, no longer too nervous as his tongue starts licking long stripes up your pussy and you let out a high pitched sound at the contact. It makes him eager to please, focusing all his attention on licking and sucking at your clit while his fingers find your entrance.

The stretch of you is better than anything his imagination could've conjured up, feeling your walls part around his digits as he gives a few experimental curls and strokes. He can hear you nearly choking on your own noises above him and it sends satisfaction oozing through his body, washing over him like thick drops of syrup.

But he's impatient, whining against your cunt and you seem to know what he needs without him even voicing it. Just another reason to be so enamored with you.

You drag him up to stand, hands urging him to strip and he does so gladly, nearly jumping out of his own skin he's so flush with excitement at having you soaking wet and ready to take him, right there in the middle of his kitchen.

It makes his head spin as his cock springs free, groaning as he feels the air against his overly sensitive girth. Your mouth opens slightly as you take in the sight of him and that earlier shyness returns with a vengeance, but before he can speak your hand wraps around him, barely able to grasp all of him. The surge of pride is something he's entirely unfamiliar with but he relishes in it all the same, desperately wants to please you.

"Just try to start slow, okay?" You say, breath hitching in your throat as you guide the head of his cock through your folds before positioning him at your entrance.

And he takes the lead flawlessly, one hand against the counter to anchor himself and the other gripping your thighs, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers as he pushes in. It's torturous, the howling need to just slam right into you as he feels his head sitting heavy and thick inside you, your breathing already ragged and your eyes fluttering closed.

But he knows this requires patience, for the moment. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, hurt the trust you've placed in him, so his hips move barely an inch at a time and the feeling of your body reshaping itself around his cock is one hundred times more incredible than just his fingers.

What a pathetic comparison his hand ever was, the real thing will never be beaten out. Your whimpers increase in frequency as the head of him kisses your cervix, his swollen knot nestled tightly between his own body and your slick pussy. As he looks down at your connected bodies he can't help but wonder if you'll even have the ability to take it, but he doesn't get to give it much more thought because you start slowly wiggling your hips, encouraging him to move.

And once again he follows your lead like it was the only role he was meant for, pulling out with agonizing gentleness before pushing himself back inside you and he can't help the way his mouth drops open, the way his eyes screw shut. Does it feel like this for everyone, like they've died on the spot and been given an express ticket to heaven?

He doesn't have the wherewithall to feel any embarrassment at the way he's panting, nearly drooling on you, the way he's keening and growling like some fledgling but you don't seem to mind it. Not with your fingers digging into his fur, your legs loosely locked around his hips, the way you say his name in a half gasp.

His fingers slide down between your bodies as you pull him closer, into a heated kiss made of teeth clacking together and tongues pushing against one another. He swallows your every noise as he starts playing with your clit, just the way he watched you do it earlier. Rubbing sticky little hearts against it and nipping at your lips as your legs jerking, the muscles straining and flexing beneath the skin.

His canines scrape a path from your mouth to your jaw to your throat as his hips pick up speed, jostling your body with so much force your cries take on a higher pitch and your fingers pull at his fur sharply, only adding to the overall sensory delight. He tests your tolerance with his teeth, shallow bites in between sucking on the skin of your throat, groaning as he feels your hand slide up to cup the back of his head, feels the flesh pull taut as you let your head tilt even further to the side.

Giving him permission. His mind is swimming through a black sea of pure instinct, running his tongue over the flesh in silent apology for the pain you'll experience but he won't pass up the opportunity. You're allowing him to indulge, playing to his base instincts. How could he not gobble up the bait? And with that loose thought his canines dig into you, the fine points of them puncturing the skin and a trickle of iron washes over his tongue.

You cry out, pussy immediately squeezing him in a stranglehold at the same time your fingers yank at his scruff but it's not to stop him, it's like the string of a bow being pulled all the way back. Your toes curl in midair, practically sobbing as your hips buck wildly and he thinks this must be it, this must be what a human is like when they cum.

Later he'll examine the fact that you came at exactly the moment he inflicted that little bit of pain on you but for now he's lost in it, hips moving in no particular rhythm anymore as he fucks you through your orgasm, fuck you through the impossible tightness of your cunt, and he can feel it like a second heartbeat fluttering in between your legs as his tongue slides against the blood threatening to drip down to your breast.

And all too soon he feels his balls tightening up, his knot throbbing in time with the pulsing of your cunt and his movements are cruel now, all fueled by pure instinct as he grinds and fucks into you with shameless desperation. His knot needs to be inside you before he cums, he can't spill anywhere but inside you.

And his clumsy, less than elegant method works when he feels that tight ring of muscle at your entrance stretch to its limits and the almost too snug pop of all of himself finally sliding inside. You hiccup on a particularly loud sob as it does, legs snapping against his hips with such finality he doesn't move against your hold, remains standing as his body shakes, his cock twitching as sticky spurts of cum flood your pussy, whining at the way your walls practically suck it all deeper inside, milking him so much it's overwhelming.

It goes on for so much longer than he ever thought possible, the sheer amount of cum making him feel dizzy, like he's lost blood and is teetering on the edge of passing out. But he can't focus on the feeling, instead guiltily kissing every part of your face he can, trying to wipe away the saltwater tracks and then cradling your head against his chest as you bury your face in his fur, feeling the way you're trying to even out your breathing.

You speak before he can, his tongue like a wad of wet cotton in his mouth.

"How- how long are we stuck together?" You manage to force the words out unsteadily, pulling back to meet his gaze before nuzzling your face against his jaw.

His heads still spinning as he answers. "I don't really know," he breathes in harshly, "I'm sorry if its uncomfortable."

He can feel you shake your head. "It's not," your voice becomes shy, still thick with the aftermath of your orgasm, "I like the feeling of you inside me."

He can't help the dopey smile that crosses his face, fingers stroking down your back as he ignores the way his legs shake, the way his knot pulses. When you're no longer tied together he'll need to lay down before he collapses on the spot.

Already that thought invites visions of clutching you to his chest while you straddle his hips, cock thrusting in and out of you at a volatile pace all over again. He'll make it up to you once the fog of lust is lifted, but you most likely won't be leaving this apartment in the coming days.

He'll have to remember to call in for you tomorrow, sure to hear Rinas smug voice on the other end of the line.

#txt ☆ˎˊ˗#von lycaon smut #von lycaon x reader #zzz smut #zzz x reader #zenless zone zero smut #von lycaon #zenless zone zero x reader

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katsukikitten · 10 months

Text

Izuku doesn't have many vices, mostly because he doesn't allow himself to indulge in any. Thinking them more as nasty habits or stains on his perfect PR record than anything else. Like headaches he'd rather avoid or didn't seem worth the bashing he'd receive from fans and haters online.

But that didn't mean he never indulged.

Especially with the weight of being the number one hero pressing down onto his broad shoulders, pushing him further into his sulking as he drapes himself over the smooth bar top. Half finished handle of liquor under his scarred palm, swirling the last dredges of the clear liquid inside as he thinks about ordering another.

Izuku was only here at this tiny lively bar in the small forgotten prefecture of Tokyo because Kaminari dragged him here. The electric blonde wasn't sure if Izuku had a girlfriend or not, he knew his occasional hero partner to be secretive about his love life which was the opposite of Kaminari who often advertised just how single he was. Denki dragged the hulking hero because Izuku needed to “live a little” and it was “cuffing season.”

Izuku didn't know what that meant.

Googling it is how he finds himself on the brink of a spiral with his perfectly white teeth sinking into the inside of his lip before his tongue laps at the metallic tang that floods his mouth.

It doesn't stop his teeth from sinking into tender flesh, it doesn't stop him from swallowing down more burning booze or sighing loudly.

He just can't stomach the thought of having to face his mother without a date during the holidays again this year. Don't mistake this concern for self pity nor vanity. Izuku is not the type of man who thinks he deserves to have people fawning at his feet, hell the man often grappled with feeling deserving of his given quirk on a daily basis more often than not.

But the way his mother looks when she opens the door, how her big smile drops the slightest when Izuku shows up and no one is there under his arm or holding his hand. Or awkwardly smiling as they meet his mom and Yagi-san for the first time even though they'd been dating for a good long while.

Izuku is just too busy, he doesn't mean to be, tried to board his PTO to take a long hiatus or two from work so he could dote on his partner.

But nothing was ever good enough.

He couldn't face that look of worry or concern from his mother, not again.

It wasn't for lack of trying on Izuku's part either, blind dates arranged by his mother or friends, even the agency! Dating app after dating app leading to dead ends or lack of intimacy leaving Izuku to feel hollow, desperate, enough to seek out other lonely heroes that wanted nothing more than sex.

Still he took everything seriously, maybe too seriously, and things just never worked out.

Yet the hopeless romantic in him never wavered and he thought he had one last shot at love when the hero agency set up an arrangement for a PR girlfriend to keep his ratings high. Izuku did everything in his power to make it work, to try to fall genuinely and deeply in love with the pretty woman who he shared his apartment with. Taking her on dates to places like the movies or to see the Sakura. Fucking her on his couch, in his car, over his dining room table after pushing away the dinner she made.

But each action only made him feel empty, more so than before. There was no spark between them, at least not on his end and Izuku couldn't stomach the idea of leading her on. Especially not when Izuku saw hearts forming in her eyes from more than just sex.

It ended in a mess when she confessed she loved him while straddling his lap and he went soft inside her. Fat tears threatening to fall that he blinks away before she gets up to slap him, he doesn't feel anything.

She breaks her fingers.

Breeching her contract that Izuku buys out when the agency threatens to sue her, the only time the commission head ever saw Izuku's bright emerald eyes narrow and darken.

He doesn't understand why he can't keep anyone around, he begins to think he is the problem.

That maybe his expectations were too high? Maybe he didn't devote enough time? Or maybe he really truly didn't feel anything when he was with any of the men and women he dated in the past save for one.

He expected love to be like the movies and of course Kaachan called him a dumb ass for it. That romantic sappy shit, movies that Izuku and Katsuki had watched curled together on Izuku's couch, “weren't fucking real.”

Only for the blonde traitor to move in with a woman he knew for less than six months when Katsuki kept telling Izuku it was too soon to move in with him despite them secretly fucking for a year and knowing each other all their lives.

Izuku finished the second half of his bottle.

His phone demands attention, chirping from the pocket of his jeans as Kamianri’s laugh echoes over the confined space. Izuku reads the banner on the illuminated glass, the text is from his mother.

Is it just you this year, honey?

Before a second one comes through.

Yagi is asking so we know to put the leaf in. We don't mind when you bring extra company. Kaachan and his girlfriend were a pleasant surprise last year.

But I'll be more than happy to just see my son.

Guilt floods his system, heavy in his chest that it forces a groan from his throat. Idle hand coming to clampe and squeeze harshly at the nape of his neck. Finger shaped bruises forming under thick digits in the hairline of his undercut, his emerald curls doing little to hide it. As the pain ebbs pleasantly down his spine he thinks to pat down his jeans seeking out the familiar rectangular outline before he slides off of the wobbling stool.

Pushing open the heavy door to the secluded alley with ease, mind sharp and feet steady as he looks around. Alcohol never had much effect on him due to his large stature and even larger metabolism leaving him to drink an obscene amount of booze before he felt a pleasant buzz. Tonight he hadn't had nearly enough to ease his shattered heart.

Jagged emerald eyes cut through the alley before he lets the tension in his shoulders release but not enough he'd be off guard. He remembers Stain and his legacy, he knows society still remembers the hero killer too. Knows that most heroes don't necessarily die in action but when they're most vulnerable. Throats slit while they were asleep, fucking, or stepping out into a dark alley in the middle of the night for a smoke.

The thought does little to soothe the aching need in his throat, to feel the burn that could dissolve the lump that sits uncomfortably behind his Adam's apple. Pulling out the half crushed pack of cigarettes and placing one between his lips. Dark orange lighter flickering to life as he rolls over the steel and flint before he takes a deep breath.

Only to instantly regret it.

Stale smoke clots his lungs and coats his tongue, still the acrid taste doesn't stop him from pulling another drag. Mind wandering far beyond where he stood, willing the smoke to smother his hopeless heart.

“Didn't you have a campaign ad against those?” You purr, watching the bulky man tense as his head snaps up to face you.

Izuku hadn't seen anything and his danger sense didn't go off when he surveyed the alley but it does now. A tingling in the soles of his feet as he looks up at you shrouded in the shadow of the neighboring building on the fire escape a foot or so next to his head. You jump down with ease and lean against the rough brick wall next to him. Close enough your elbows touch.

Watching the giant of a man fumble over the stick in his mouth making a cruel smile form on your own.

“Number one hero smoking, tsk tsk, what if I'm an impressionable young lady?” You giggle and it clings to Izuku's skin more than the stale smoke, he scoffs.

“You act as if you don't have a vice.” He glances down at you from the corner of his eye before tilting his head up to blow the smoke away from you.

“Everyone has a vice Mr Deku.” Brandishing your cherry tootsie pop you seemingly pull from thin air. Making a grand show of pocketing the bright red wrapper before popping it past glossy lips, eyes glued to the hero hiding outside the alley of the no name bar.

You imagined he'd be in uptown places, where the silverware was gold plated and a shot of patron was twenty dollars. Not here with the ripped leather seats held together with faded duct tape and cloudy glasses.

But here he stands in black jeans, a gray graphic tee with black sleeves from an undershirt rolled up past his thick forearms, smoking no less. The only expensive thing on him is his watch, it makes your fingers twitch.

You roll the sucker around in your mouth, letting it clink your teeth as you watch him, a harsh line for a mouth that smiled so brightly on the news this morning.

Did all heroes do this? Look pathetic in dark alleyways smoking overly stale cigarettes hoping no one sees them? He looks down at you with a calculated, cold gaze, if you were any other woman it would send a shiver down your spine. Especially from how it contrasts to his normally bright gemstone eyes now they looked clouded, jaded with unspoken emotion.

You think it serves him right, yet still your clawed hands bring out a pack of unopened cigarettes from the pocket of your oversized jacket tilting them towards the hero.

“Take these. Those have gotta be at least a year old. They don't make the packaging with the small warnings anymore.” You crinkle your nose at him, his normally doe like eyes narrow as they rove over you harshly before he quirks his brow.

It's kinda cute how bitchy he looks. You swat away the thought and he thinks he's bothering you with his smoke.

“I thought you didn't smoke.” He moves the stick further away from you.

“I don't. I lifted them off the electric blonde you came with. He's a terrible flirt you know.” Cat smile forming around the lollipop sick in your mouth, watching Izuku's eyes flash in warning, it makes you giggle, “Gonna arrest me?”

“Stealing is wrong.” He stubs out his half smoked cigarette, it disintegrates against the brick from its age and not the pressure he applies.

“So’s lyin.” A smiling retort as you shake the fresh pack at him, “I'll even pick your lucky.”

He looks down at his old ragged emergency pack with only the lucky looking back up at him. Bent and half broken from the argument he had with Katsuki almost a year ago about how Izuku couldn't stomach just sex anymore.

Looking up at you but before he can accept the offer you're already gently patting the pack against your palm, pulling the golden plastic that acts as a guide to take off the wrap from the box. Picking his lucky at random and flipping it upside down before you pass the pack to him. He sighs and takes the box, looks down at the fresh pack and looks back up at you. Sees your smug smile.

“Thanks. Going to black mail me now?” He decides he should have another since his first one was so awful. Pulling the dark orange lighter from his pocket to start a good ember.

“No, I think I've got enough collateral.” Flaunting his expensive, classy watch on your wrist. Well about mid forearm for you, “Secrets safe with me.”

Instinctually his broad palms slaps his wrist where his watch should be, as if he doesn't believe his eyes. Glancing back up at you again wholly expecting you to be already at the mouth of the alley but you stay close to him. Well within arms reach and step closer to him still.

He blows the smoke up into the sky again, keeps the cigarette on the opposite side of you.

“I've got more expensive ones in my apartment.” He comments it almost comes off flirty until you see how sad his emerald eyes look. Izuku wants to ‘be a man', wants to take you home and fuck the brains out of your pretty head but his heart swells in agony, he sighs out more smoke.

“Is this you trying to take me home? Ooo so heroes do have one night stands!” A teasing nudge to his ribs, he doesn't even budge, just moves the burning stick up higher so the smoke won't stick to you.

“I don't do one night stands.”

“Then why invite me to see your expensive watch collection hmm? Tryin to get me to steal your heart instead?”

“Maybe I am.” His gaze flickers to you again, holding your eyes as his lids are at half mast.

Did anyone even know the number one hero could give fuck me eyes?

“Steal my heart, be my girlfriend.” He looks down at you, sees what he registers as panic, “Just through the holidays.”

You blink up at him for a moment as he studies you. Drinks in how those black skinny jeans cling to your thick legs, how the fishnets do little to keep his thoughts pure and that little lingerie you wore as a top had his dick twitching. Left fist clenching when his eyes look over a man's leather jacket on your broad shoulders.

He thought about all the jackets he owned so he could replace the well worn garment on your shoulders with his own.

“I'll pay you.” Taking a long drag, feeling desperation claw up his throat competing with the burn of nicotine, “Pay you a lot more than what that watch is worth.”

The idea of it makes you laugh loudly, the pretty sound echoing around the alley as you grip onto his forearm for stability. He had to be fucking drunk, there was no way he was asking a theif to be his fake girlfriend, what was this a shojo manga?

But when you look up at him and see his freckled cheeks flush with embarrassment you swallow down the rest of your mirth.

��Oh you're serious.” Pulling the cherry sucker from your mouth, letting your lips pop around it lewdly, Izuku watches with close emerald eyes his mind wandering down places it shouldn't, especially not with a woman he's just met. Still thick digits twitch as he tries not to palm himself roughly.

“What the number one hero can't get a girlfriend?” You deadpan and this time it's his turn to laugh except there isn't any joy in it.

“Ha. No. Haven't you heard? I'm too much of a ‘fucking nerd.’ Guess Kaachan was right.” He stubs out his cigarette before pocketing the butt since there was no tray in the back alley.

His admission gives you pause, pressing the cherry confection back on your tongue roughly before you pull it into your mouth taking it from manicured nails. Pushing the sucker to poke out your cheek making Izuku's long lashes flutter.

“Kaachan?’ You giggle, looking up as you move the sucker from one side of your mouth to the other with your tongue. Hard candy clacking against your teeth, “You mean Katsuki? That's Dynamight’s given name right?”

Shit shit shit! He hadn't meant to call him that! How did you figure it out so quickly!

“Oh! Oh please don't say anything!” He looks mortified and you watch his cheeks turn as red as your tongue.

“Don't worry Zuzu. Your secret is safe with me.” Crunching down on the last thin layer before the taste of chocolate coats your tongue swallowing the Tootsie roll and Izuku watches your Adam's apple bob while his mind swirls with dirty thoughts.

Thoughts so dirty he almost misses you add,

“Gonna need bigger pay to keep quiet.” Nails tapping his watch, “Sides can't say I'll be a good girlfriend. I hate everything after Halloween. My birthday included.”

“What? Everyone loves the holidays!” He's shocked you've said that and you shake your head.

“No, everyone with good or whole families love the holidays.” You correct and he looks down at you with a frown. Already you pick up on a habit of his, teeth worrying the inside of his lip as he thinks, “I currently have neither.”

“Oh I'm-”

“Don't. I don't need the mighty hero’s pity.” You scoff, sounding a little jaded before you fix your face, turning to a joke as another smile pulls at your pretty lips, “Not when I can take his money instead.”

“Cute.” He scoffs sarcastically, still he can't deny the flutter in his stomach.

“You're kinda bitchy ya know that?” You smile, “The media makes you out to be Prince Charming.”

“I don't look like Prince Charming?” He gestures to himself and you laugh loudly again. He can't help the heat that creeps up his throat.

“Bet you fuck like Prince Charming too. All vanilla and boring.” Struggling to stifle yet another giggle.

“If you accept the offer to be my girlfriend you can find out if that's true or not.” Quickly his demeanor changes, emerald eyes darkening as they slowly drag up and down your body with a sinful gaze. The sight of him looking down his nose at you makes your stomach clench. You shouldn't be considering his offer now from one intense gaze. A hero and a morally gray person never worked out and it was only a matter of time before your thievery caught up with. You really shouldn't but you know what they say.

Curiosity killed the cat

“Fine. I'll be your little girlfriend til new years. When do we start?”

“Tonight.” He leans close letting his large hand slide down your forearm to your wrist til his fingers are lacing with yours, “It's so late, I really should get you home, shouldn't I baby?”

Emerald eyes sparkling with promise that he planned to devour you whole the second the two of you stepped foot into his penthouse apartment.

“Yes, you should. It is so very late."

“Oh my god IZUKUUUUU fuck fuck fuck!” You scream as you grind onto his handsome face, cumming on his skilled tongue for the umpteenth time in the half an hour you've been in his apartment. Mauve nails around his throat as you choke him slightly, shamelessly riding his face to prolong your high, not that he would dare interrupt it. Groaning loudly under you as he slowly yanks at his fat long cock that leaks with pre. Hungry eyes watching him as you let out another breathy moan.

“Fuck and you've never had a girlfriend before?” he laughs in your cunt at your question. Strong hands coming to lift you off his face with ease so you can hear him better.

“I know I said I was a nerd but I never said I was a virgin.” Before he roughly adjusts you back on his cute freckled face, slurping your clit roughly as mock punishment for interrupting him. Your eyes cross and your thighs squeeze his head.

“Fuck.” You whine and he's rewarded with more of your slick as you cum again, Izuku already decided that he loves how you whine curses for him. Feels you start to slump from the pleasure as your body melts, offering you his hand to support you better as you grind into his face before you can't anymore.

Before this insatiable man lifts you with ease, flipping you onto your back when the needle of the record player hits the center of the vinyl. Pressing you into the dark couch with his pelvis as he wets his cock by grinding into your sticky folds, making you gasp out like he wants before he's gently cradling your throat, slipping his tongue into your open mouth as he groans.

“We taste so good together.” He growls, the sound makes you see stars, especially as his fat cock head nudges against your abused clit. Catching your fluttering entrance and it makes you both shudder before he angles himself properly. Slowly sinking in and watching your face for any signs of pain or displeasure. Watching your eyes roll with each passing moment before he rested against you. Giving slow, rough thrusts that grind down into your clit that have your hands shaking at his back as claws struggle to find purchase in his skin.

“And you're telling me these girls didn't stay for the dick either? Fuck Izuku!!!!” Arching your back, if you weren't careful you'd become addicted to him, your question makes him hide his face into your throat.

“Guess sex isn't enough.” He mumbles against your tacky skin.

“That or you're not telling me something.” You gasp at the end, when he keeps hitting that spot and makes you cum each time. Makes a deep tension in you dissipate until you feel as if you're floating, you wouldn't be able to speak much longer.

He thinks you'll pull away but instead you thread your fingers into his sweaty curls to bring his face to yours. To look deep into his eyes even if you struggle before you seal your lips with his. Letting your tongue slide over his until you moan his name into his mouth.

“Oh fuck Izuku, you have to cum in me now. Fuck fuck you're throbbing.” Your cunt clamps down on him at the thought of his warm seed spilling into your milking cunt. He pants over you, still keeping that steady slow roll of his hips but how you squeeze him makes him insane. Makes his hips finally speed up before his pace turns sloppy.

His moans turning into loud grunts as he fucks you with enough vigor the legs of the couch scrape against the expensive hardwoods until he's cupping your throat again but never squeezes. Looking down at you and you don't dare look away as you watch his long lashes flutter, the sight makes the coil in your stomach snap again. Feel him paint your cunt in pearly strings of white before he slowly lowers himself on shaking arms, giving your throat a tender squeeze before he rests his head in the crook of your throat, he hadn't intended for the two of you to fuck already. Hell he didn't even mean to rip off your jeans and set you on his face so he could show you that he really wasn't boring.

And he sure as fuck didn't meant to fill up your pretty cunt with his spend.

“What are you doing to me?” He pants playfully, kissing at your thudding pulse point.

“Stealing your heart, remember?” A breathless giggle as the two of you lie like that until his cock begins to soften. He sighs, slowly gets to his feet before he's lifting you into his arms, it makes your cheeks warm, especially when you look down at the soaked fabric of the sofa.

“I think we ruined your couch.” He laughs at your joke.

“Ts fine, the covers are machine washable.” He nudges his nose into your cheek and you giggle before he's setting you on the edge of the tub as he starts the shower for you.

“Here's how to adjust the water temp if you need it hotter. Most women love it scalding.” He takes a step back, moving to grab for a fresh towel for you. You try not to let your heart sink when you realize he isn't going to join you.

“Oh a real casanova huh?” He rolls his eyes at your playful jab before he steps into his bedroom to give you privacy for the time being. Fishing out a T-shirt and clean boxers for both himself and you to sleep in. Laying yours out on the bed as he smells his body wash float from under the snowy glass door. It makes him smile as he thinks of how you'll smell like him until he takes you to gather your things from your place tomorrow, that or he'll buy you whatever you want or need.

For now he'll relish the idea that you, his fake girlfriend, gets to smell like him, your fake boyfriend.

After awhile you come into the room, clean and pristine, movement catching Izuku's eye of course. When you meet his eyes you smile, give a little twirl.

“It's Chanel.” Letting your fingers adjust the hem of the regular cotton towel and Izuku laughs.

“Is it? Lemme see.” He rises, holds your hand to twirl you again as he looks down at you with a smile, “Perfect fit.”

“Thank you.” You giggle again, feeling shy for the first time under his heavy gaze. Watching the corner of his lips tilt upward before he points out the clothes he left out for you and slips into the bathroom. Surprisingly you don't hear the lock click to the door, Izuku was either far too trusting or he truly did not see you as a threat to his life.

Quick to change into the oversized, old shirt and boxers before you take this opportunity to explore his penthouse now that the six foot four man wasn't pressing himself up against you.

Tiptoeing out of his room even if you knew you didn't need to, whetting your curiosity first with the living room that was adorned with ceiling to floor windows to the left when you first came in. Your breath fogging the window as you look over the cityscape. A snaking inky black cuts through the bright lights, the wide river bed reflecting the lights back in swirling currents giving the scene the stars the sky lacks.

Even this late at night the prefecture is teaming with life, you wonder if it's exhausting for him. To sonder over the lives that carry out beneath his feet. If he wonders if he can save them all.

If he knows he can't.

The needle of the record player bumps against the middle of the vinyl again pulling you from your thoughts.

“Oh.” You squeak, tiptoeing to the old thing and gently lifting the arm. Finding the album cover and slipping the vinyl in with ease before shutting off the player. Eyes quick to find the empty spot on the wall to where the album goes.

Not on the shelves under the player, no those were jam-packed with composition notebooks unlabeled making your curious fingers twitch. The album belongs up on the wall with the rest of them that he organized beautifully. Each piece placed perfectly to compliment each piece of art so that it could be viewed individually or if you stood back you could see it as something whole.

Standing on tiptoes to return its album art facing forward. Taking a step or two back to appreciate it before the notebooks whisper to you.

Slipping one from the shelves, it's filled margin to margin with text about the albums. The notations were meticulously detailed reminding you of placards at museums or art exhibits. Finding the corresponding piece, staring up at the art before your eyes flicker down to the notes.

…when the music swells it squeezes my heart, the lyrics were chosen carefully bringing tears to my eyes. It's haunting how relatable it is to wonder if I'll get a perfect love and if I do that I'm deserving….

You swallow thickly, know you'll get swallowed up by this notebook that you didn't have the time to dissect, especially not with the limited amount of time you had. It felt akin to a diary, something you shouldn't be reading. Normally that wouldn't discourage you, wouldn't have your fingers slowly shutting the book. Normally you'd devour as much as you could with an excuse on why you weren't where you were supposed to be on the tip of your tongue.

For now you return it to the shelf.

Feet carrying you across the cool hardwood to the open concept kitchen that over looks the living room with the album art, expensive couch and the TV. The large waterfall island made of marble, clean and smooth save for a few scattered pieces of Izuku's life he hadn't yet tidied away like the rest of the apartment.

Another notebook, a theme it seems, lying open. A sketch of a hero on the left with text surrounding them before paragraphs of text and few bullet points to the page on the right again in Izuku's slightly messy handwriting. As if his hand cannot keep up with his brain.

Snow Fall - similar to Shouto’s ice quirk…

“Beloved?” Izuku's voice calls gently from down the hall, you tear your eyes away from the notebook and quickly open a few cabinets before you find a glass and fill it from the tap.

“M coming! Just needed water.” Heading back to huge bedroom, smiling devilishly when you find Izuku.

Seeing his body better in the light of the bedroom. Scarred, thick with muscle and soft freckles kissing almost every inch of his skin. The tan spots giving extra attention to his Adonis belt that leads to his fat cock. It makes your cunt throb.

You set the AllMight collectable glass down onto the bedside table, not noticing the fanboy item until you see his flushed cheeks, following his eyes to the PLUS ULTRA cup. The source of his embarrassment makes you giggle again.

“It's cute.” You reassure, jumping on top of the deep viridian duvet, cocking your hand on your hip and pulling your shirt up to show a little skin.

“When's the last time you fucked on this great big bed?” He doesn't answer you right away, basil eyes looking at you before they begin to look through you.

A burning ember gaze sears his memory, he closes his eyes as if that would stop the images from demanding every last shred of his attention..

“Been awhile.” He finally admits, dropping his towel unashamed as he steps into his black boxer briefs. They cup his sac and softened cock nicely, clinging to his thick thighs that have you salivating. The way he ate pussy and fucked was almost good enough to replace the cold hard cash he promised to pay, almost.

That distant look in his eyes made you wonder if there was someone else that held him back from his romantic endeavors.

“Shall we christen this great big bed too then?” A playful tease as you pull up the fabric of his shirt to expose your breasts. He loved the sight, loved how you looked in his clothes, in his bed, underneath him as his emerald pendant swings in your face.

His cock twitches, a tick in his jaw before he's clasping his hands in restraint. Wringing his fingers as he thinks of the last time he fucked in that bed.

He feels the ghost of sharp canines at the nape of his neck, his hand automatically moves to brush over the area. His curls fall over his eyes and he sighs deeply.

“No. I think you should sleep.” He smiles softly, it doesn't reach his eyes and you don't push, “We've got a big day tomorrow. Got to get your stuff and -”

“I don't have a lot of stuff. My outfit was the most of it.”

“You don't have any other clothes?”

“Maybe another pair of pants, some underwear for sure but this is mostly it. So we have time.” You purr, crawling down the bed before you flop onto your stomach. Arching your back purposefully, out stretching your fingers to play with his.

“Then it will be even longer. We'll have to get you an outfit for the party.” He threads his fingers with yours before you let go when his words register. Sitting straight up.

“Party?”

“Yes, baby doll, party. We've got several to go to. Maybe a gala too. Then there's the agency Christmas party oh and…” He bites at his lip as he rest his chin on scarred digits beginning to go off on a tangent as he thinks of all the invitations stuffed in the top desk drawer of his office.

“A gala?!” Oh fuck oh fuck this was a bad idea. When he said girlfriend through the holidays you thought fucking and a private date or two. Not being surrounded by pro heroes you ran from on the daily, identity concealed with a mask.

Not only would you be in the literal lion’s den but you really weren't the most classy type of bitch. You've never really been invited to any big event let alone one that was fucking televised. At least not events you didn't crash to slide priceless paintings off the walls or expensive jewelry off the wrists of the one percent. At least then you'd have your mask to hide behind, the ability to blend into the crowd but now you'd be hanging off the arm of the number one hero.

You'd have to act like a proper lady who definitely didn't crash in vacation homes or half lived in apartments of the rich and the famous while they stayed in their main mansions until they got tired of the same old four walls.

Each gig you promised that this would be your last and each time you found yourself with a new piece of jewelry made from dazzling gems of deconstructed designer pieces hungry for the next heist.

Art and jewelry weren't the only things you've stolen, information and secrets often sold for a lot more but Izuku, pro hero Deku, didn't need to know you had a stash house, more like stash attic, in some rundown home in Kamakura you'd gotten for a steal.

His thighs bump up against the edge of the bed, cupping your cheeks for a moment, “You look…worried.”

“I am worried. Some of these events are televised. Are you sure you want me? I'm not exactly Yaoyorozu or Kendo."

“I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't.” He comes down to press his lips to your forehead. It makes your stomach flutter, it shouldn't, “Besides those will be the easiest ones. The hard ones are the more personal settings.”

He leans back, takes his hands from your face as he heads towards the lights, “I won't let anything happen to you.”

He flicks off the lights, stands by the door for a moment before he goes to shut it.

“You're really going to sleep on the couch? I thought we had to make this realistic.” A final attempt to get him to at least come and enjoy his luxury bed. It was big enough that you doubted the two of you would even touch by accident in the middle of the night. If he was so afraid of intimacy, which was odd, he seemed more the time to fall in love if he fucked. Especially when he did romantic shit like fuck you to music and whisper some of the lyrics in your ear.

You pat his side with sharp clawed fingers, “Come on boyfriend.”

He can't remember the last time he slept in his bed, changing and washing the sheets more out of habit than necessity and as he tries to recall he thinks it's been over a year.

He looks at you for a long, long time, you curled up in his expensive sheets and comforter as you pat the spot beside you patiently but he sighs.

“Maybe another time. Good night sugar.”

“Good night Zuzu bear.”

#izuku x reader #izuku midoryia x reader #midoryia izuku x reader #deku x reader #bnha x reader #kitten writes izuku 🖤🐈‍⬛ 🖋️

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ckret2 · 3 months

Text

Chapter 55 of human Bill Cipher finally having a little fun for the first time in over a month of captivity in the Mystery Shack:

Bill does his level best to teach Mabel everything he knows about everything as fast as possible (while Ford eavesdrops). In the process, he finally reveals something about his home dimension!

But not everything about his dimension.

"Did you have rainbows in Flatworld?" Mabel had started drawing her shapesona again at the bottom of a fresh piece of paper. The heart was holding out one hand with several strips of glue shooting in a beam out from the palm; Mabel started shaking glitter onto the glue strips to make them rainbow.

"Not natural ones."

"Awww!"

"We could make them with flashlights and prisms, though."

"That's something." Still, it wasn't as cool as a real rainbow. She started carefully drawing Bill floating above her shapesona. (She probably should have drawn him before she put down glitter. She had to push up her sleeve and lift her wrist to avoid smearing the glue.) "When's the first time you saw a real rainbow?"

Bill didn't answer.

Mabel glanced at him. He had a hard look in his eyes. "Bill?"

####

For the first time in his life, the triangle was up—up but not north—in space, in the third dimension, looking down but not south at the plane where he'd spent his entire existence. It shuddered and rippled and cracked, contracting, as the entire universe crunched together around him.

Great walls of pale blue flame half a googol light years wide erupted into third dimensional space, where stars were caught and crushed between the quickly collapsing cosmic tectonic plates. He hadn't known his flat universe had stars of its own.

His home world shattered and crumbled, shrapnel and rubble spraying out, stone instantly pulverized into dust. Distant oceans rode the waves of the convulsing universe, flinging billions of gallons of water into space in a fine thin spray, glittering in the sunlight.

As the triangle watched, a great flickering rainbow ring formed in front of the ejected ocean, like the hollow eye of a hostile god staring at him in judgment.

He stared back.

And he felt himself fill with more and more and more power.

####

"Bill?"

"Sorry, I was trying to remember!" Bill sat back, laced his hands behind his head, and shrugged, "It's not coming to me. But I'm sure it was after I took charge of Dimension Zero. From time to time planets with weather systems would fall in through a wormhole, I must've seen a rainbow on one of them!"

"Oh." The answer disappointed her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why. She puzzled over it as she drew a fireball shape around Bill's hands in glue and shook on pale blue glitter.

Bill nodded at the page, "So what are we up to?"

"Fighting evil! With rainbow lasers and... whatever that magic fire thing you do is!"

"Hey, superheroes! Sounds fun. Who are we killing?"

"Superheroes don't kill people!"

"Fine. Who are we sending to the hospital with third degree burns?"

"I don't know, I haven't made up a villain yet." She almost asked Bill what kind of monsters existed in his world; but the question died in her throat. That might be too depressing a question. She added a heart-shaped glue outline around her shapesona and shook on a glitter rainbow, and set the picture aside to dry. She grabbed a fresh paper and tried to imagine what a two-dimensional butterfly would look like. Would it just have flat little stick wings since that was more aerodynamic? That sounded boring. She started drawing a two-dimensional squid instead.

Bill studied Mabel's latest finished work—the glitter-outlined heart, the glitter rainbow laser, the glitter fire, and the plain him. After a moment, he casually mentioned, "I used to wear body glitter."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Earlier you asked me about glitter in my dimension," Bill said. "Body paint was makeup to us. I wore it when I went dancing."

"WHAT!"

"And I'd cut open glow sticks to paint my arms and legs!"

"What color glitter did you wear?!"

"Usually gold."

"What?! Bill!" Mabel laughed. "You're already yellow!"

"But I didn't glitter. That's important!"

"You're boring."

"Shut up! I was gorgeous and I knew it! Why mess with perfection?!" He gestured down at himself, perfection, as though he'd momentarily forgotten what body he was in. "Listen, club fashion gets repetitive. If you've seen one equilateral in cutesy primary color gradients, you've see 'em all. There's beauty in simplicity—not a lot of shapes can pull off a solid color with a little light highlighting and still look flashy!" He'd sat up straighter, chest puffed out proudly, as he talked about how pretty he thought he'd been. "Buuut sure, sometimes I highlighted my points for fun. And to keep from stabbing people—it's hard for other people to judge distances with strobe lights on."

"What colors."

"Usually red, blue, or purple. You know—nice contrasts with gold."

Mabel grabbed another paper and started drawing Bill dancing. He leaned closer, elbows on the table, watching with more interest now. Mabel asked, "You had clubs with strobe lights?"

"Of course we did, we aren't barbarians." Bill picked up yellow and black markers out of Mabel's supplies, leaned over to her drawing in progress, and started adding a decorative border around the nearest edge of the paper in dots and dashes.

"What kind of music did you listen to?"

"It was... It's closest to the music in— You've never been to that dimension. Well, it kind of sounds like... I'll never hit those notes with human vocal cords." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Hold on. Let me get Questiony's piano."

####

It turned out that Flatworld club music sounded kind of like a broken tornado siren.

"It doesn't sound very good on a human piano," Bill said, giving the electric piano balanced on his knees a disapproving look. "The intervals between notes are tuned wrong, it's about four octaves short, and it's missing that tympanic membrane shredding tremolo when the treble jumps."

Mabel regarded the piano with some dismay. "Do you know how to play anything else?"

Bill sighed.

He played "Don't Start Un-Believing" for her. He even did that cool thing where you drag a finger up half the keyboard at once.

####

By now, Bill seemed a lot happier to answer Mabel's questions about his world; but she quickly worked out which ones he'd actually give a direct answer. He was the most free with science-y questions, hit or miss on the fun cultural questions, and instantly evasive when asked about his own life or uncomfortable political issues.

When she asked if shapes and their houses just kinda floated unattached to anything because they didn't have a home planet, Bill said they did have a home planet—hundreds of miles below, marking south by its gravitational pull—and they lived in the sky in between their planet and its rings. When she asked what kind of clothing they wore, Bill said they usually didn't wear anything, unless it was for practical purposes (gloves for gardening; goggles for chemistry; elbow-, knee-, and corner-pads for spelunking), and when she asked about his top hat he said slyly, "You mean my telescope?" and gleefully refused to explain further.

But when she asked if it was true that equilateral triangles were the lowest rung you could stand on before getting knocked off the social ladder altogether, Bill said that was a pretty rude question to ask a triangle. And then he said his world didn't have ladders.

When he casually let slip that he'd been able to see the third dimension when nobody else could, she asked how that was possible. He'd paused, looked up from his seventh completely incomprehensible drawing of an animal (she'd asked him whether Flatworlders had pets), and, with an eager gleam in his eye, he asked, "How much time do you have?"

####

Ford heard Bill's voice the moment he opened the door—"All right, star girl, pop quiz, let's see how much of that you kept in your noggin."

"Oh, I'm so ready!"

Baffled, Ford leaned in the living room doorway. The room was absolutely plastered in crayon-covered papers—illustrations, lists, mathematical and scientific diagrams—stars, cells, planets, vehicles. At the moment Bill was pointing at six papers taped together with a diagram on them that Ford thought was a Punnett square that had been expanded into a four-dimensional tessaract. "A polygon's sides are determined by...?"

"Genetic inheritance!" Mabel announced, the proud student who knew all the answers. "You have however many sides your parents have genes for!"

"And the idea that polygons increase by one side each generation...?"

"Is propaganda! Because if everybody hides their kids without enough sides, and they only talk about the kids that did go up a side, it makes everyone think that's what always happens and their family is the only one that's failing!"

"Perfect! And the highest natural amount of sides a shape can have?"

"Twelve! Decadoggins!"

"Close enough, dodecagons! But this isn't Greek class, I'll give you full points. So, any shapes with more sides than that got them through—?"

"Random mutation!"

"Correctamundo! Meaning the only way to get shapes with hundreds of sides is..."

"Crazy bonkers inbreeding! Because the same rich families just keep marrying each other!"

"With consequences including—?"

"Um..." Mabel puffed out her cheeks as she thought. "Skeletons getting all crackly, having a hard time making babies, and high—uh—infant morality!"

"Mortality."

"Lots of dead babies."

"Yes! And remember: when a mutation makes a body produce so much more of something than it needs that it starts harming the body, that's called...?"

"Cancer!"

"Meaning circles are...?"

"Tumors!"

"And what do we do with tumors?"

"EXECUTE THEM!"

"YES!" Bill ripped the Punnett tesseract off the wall. Behind it was a piece of paper that read, in blood red crayon, ANTI-MONARCHIST ANARCISM. "You're ready to man the guillotines! A+, star girl! Give yourself another sticker!"

"Yes!" Mabel peeled a sparkly purple star off a sticker sheet and stuck it on her cheek. Her face had over twenty star stickers.

Ford leaned against the living room doorframe, watching the scene inside with wonder. He was more than a little iffy about the political lesson—he, personally, was incredibly opposed to the idea that it was morally imperative to execute anybody with extra body parts, nobility or not—but the presentation of it was certainly captivating. It had been a long time since Ford had seen Bill like this. (It had been a long time since Ford would have trusted any lesson out of Bill's mouth.)

"Now let's get back to biangles." Bill picked up a fake crystal ball that he'd drawn various lines and shapes on with a marker.

"Awww, again?!"

"Hey. Listen," he said firmly. "I believe in you. You'll get it this time, I know it."

Ford looked around the room, taking in the scene more fully. The floor was scattered with drawings of aliens. A few of them were various polygons—regular and irregular, with the irregularities further broken down by whether they otherwise showed radial or lateral symmetry—each with thin limbs and an eye on a corner. Most were fantastical alien animals, a few that Ford had seen or been warned about on other worlds. Some had been scribbled out and redrawn when Bill's limited artistic capabilities didn't live up to his unknown standards; a few were in Mabel's art style, meaning Bill must have described them to her while she drew.

Twenty pieces of paper had been taped together on the wall behind the TV, with a drawing of a planet surrounded by a circular ring of small blobs—a planetary ring?—and a moon further out. The empty atmosphere between the planet and the ring was filled with squares and rectangles, which were grouped together in red blobby circles that were each labeled by letter: "Country △," "Country B," "Country C," "Country D (communists)," etc. A badly-drawn sea serpent slithered along the outside of the ring with the words "Here There Be Monsters" written over it.

A tall column of taped together papers was covered in examples of alien writing systems—some of them Ford recognized from his travels through other dimensions. From the ones he understood, it looked like the words were demonstrations of Mabel's name in dozens of alien writing systems. Sometimes Bill spelled her name Maybell or Mabelle.

And there were so many papers scattered around the room with little graphs and symbols and arrows Ford couldn't make sense of. And in the center of it all, Bill, alive, energetic, his full attention enthusiastically focused on his student.

Bill had to be up to something; but Ford couldn't imagine what, based on the bizarre assemblage of information in front of him. What nefarious purpose could be behind showing Mabel how to spell her name in alien languages? Unless his goal was to so enchant her with tales of other worlds that he could persuade her to help him open a new portal...? No, even for Bill that felt like a stretch.

He looked at the wall again. Surely, that wasn't Bill's homeworld. Ford had spent years of his life trying to find the world Bill was from; surely Bill hadn't just drawn it in the middle of Ford's living room. Had he?

"Okay, let's start with spherical geometry from the top," Bill said, polishing the crystal ball on his leggings to rub off the marker lines. "Don't tell anyone I can do this." He held up the ball, tapped it twice on the bottom, and it hovered in place when he let it go, freeing up both his hands to hold a ruler and marker. (How long had he been able to do that? Had he even noticed Ford was standing right outside?) He drew a line across the surface of the ball, "Pretend it's a planet. If you draw a line on a sphere, it's obviously curved, right?"

"Right," Mabel said.

"But now pretend you're on the planet. The surface of the world is a flat plane to you. From your perspective, you can walk in a straight line from point A to point B."

"But it's actually a curve. From space."

"Now you're catching on. That's what makes spherical geometry a little weird: when you're on the sphere you treat everything around you like it's 2D even though when you're off the sphere you can see it's 3D." Why in the world was Bill teaching Mabel about spherical geometry?

Bill drew two more lines to connect to the first. "So! You can draw a triangle on a sphere, no problem, right?"

"Right."

"And something you can only do in spherical geometry... is... pretend this is the North Pole and the South Pole..." Bill carefully rotated the ball under his marker as he drew a straight line from one "pole" to the other, and then drew a second straight line from pole to pole next to it. "Ta-da! If a tri-angle has three angles, a bi-angle has two angles. You've got yourself a two-sided polygon. Right?"

Mabel hesitated. "Right."

"You with me so far, Shooting Star?"

"So far," she said, with a tone that suggested she expected that to change very soon.

"But if you try to transfer that shape from spherical geometry to Euclidean geometry—" Bill turned to an expanse of still partially-uncovered white papers taped to the wall like a makeshift whiteboard, drew two points, and drew two straight lines, red and blue, between the points, "—it just doesn't work. You can't see a biangle in a flat world."

And now Mabel was squinting suspiciously at him.

Bill said, "I lost you."

"But where does it go!"

Bill shrugged. "You lost it when you lost the third dimension."

"But you said when you're on the sphere it's two dimensional!"

"From your perspective it's two dimensional, but there's still a third dimension enabling the sphere to exist."

"Then from my perspective when I'm on the planet shouldn't a biangle look like that?" Mabel pointed at the two straight lines on the piece of paper. "Since everything looks all 2D to me? But it doesn't! It's like flying from the North Pole to the South Pole through America and then flying back through China! China and America don't just squish together into the same place just because you're going in a straight line on a sphere!"

"I'd kill to hear you give a geography lesson to a Flat Earther convention."

Mabel gave him her best angry scowl.

"It was a compliment! I think you'd inspire some hilarious arguments, that's all!" Bill put two dots on the paper and offered Mabel the marker. "Look, try it for yourself! Draw a biangle."

Mabel took the marker and, after a moment of thought, drew two curved lines between the points, making a football shape.

"Those aren't straight lines, kid."

"Argh!" Mabel pulled the paper off the wallpaper, bent it into a curve, and shakily drew a straight line between the two points; but no matter how else she twisted or bent the paper, she couldn't find a path that would let her draw a second straight line between the points without overlapping the first line she'd drawn. She crumpled the paper, tossed it on the floor, and whispered, "It's witchcraft, Bill."

He burst out laughing. "I could name a few horror writers that felt the same way about non-Euclidean geometry."

"But whyyy does the biangle disappear when it goes from a sphere to normal flat paper."

"Because..." Bill groped for an explanation he hadn't already tried. He crossed an arm across his chest and tapped a knuckle just under the bow tied in his hoodie's draw strings the way some humans might tap a hand to their chin, his eyes narrowed in thought. How many times had Ford seen him make that exact same face in his true triangular form, whenever Ford was struggling to understand a lesson on portal physics and Bill was struggling to find a way to translate it into concepts Ford had encountered in his human education? "Let's try this another way."

The scene made Ford ache.

Look past the paper and the crayons, and the graph- and figure- and writing-covered walls looked so much like the advanced physics lessons and blueprints that Bill had coated Ford's starry blue dreamscape in during his sleep. Look past the flesh and bone, and Bill moved and gestured and spoke the way he had when he was teaching Ford how to build a bridge between worlds.

It was the first time since Bill's death that Ford had seen 100% of his personality shining—unhindered by grief, secrets, or a disdainful human audience. It was the first time in decades that Ford had seen Bill at his best.

In that moment, for a split second, Ford forgot how to hate Bill. He couldn't see Bill the traitor, Bill the invader, Bill the homicidal party animal. The only person in that room with Mabel was Bill Cipher the Teacher, Mentor, and Muse that Ford used to know so long ago. Like an ancient god who'd chosen to spend a day roleplaying as a giddy professor—Bill was holding back a tsunami's worth of vast, ancient, unintelligible alien knowledge so that he could drip out revelations at a faucet's pace, slow enough for his student to catch each drop in her hands.

Over thirty years ago, there had been moments when this Bill peeked out behind the above-it-all façade—and that had been the Bill that Ford was happiest to see, the Bill that Ford had thought of as a friend rather than a mere teacher... but each time, it hadn't been long before Bill seemly caught himself and turned off the faucet for the night.

Because he couldn't let Ford learn too much, or he would have seen through Bill's ruse.

Hatred tiredly crept back in.

"I've got it!" Mabel triumphantly flung her hands in the air. "It's like orange slices!"

"Orange slices?" Bill repeated.

"Be right back!" Mabel zoomed to the kitchen, shouting, "Hi Grunkle Ford!" as she passed.

Ford watched her go, then looked back at Bill; Bill had glanced at him for the first time. But all he did was frown and mutter, "I don't remember inviting you to audit this course."

Before Ford could decide whether to retort, Mabel charged back into the living room with an orange and a sharp knife. "Okay! If you draw a triangle on the orange," Mabel said, doing so with a marker, before cutting into it with the knife, "and then you—you cut it out all the way to the center..."

"Be careful with that," Ford said. Mabel was holding the orange in one palm and stabbing into it from the opposite side.

Bill said, "Lay off, Six Fingers. I'm keeping my eye on her, she's not gonna hurt herself."

"I'm being careful!" Mabel was struggling to get an even wedge cut all the way to the center of the orange; she eventually gave up and dug into the orange with her fingertips to tug out a messy mangled handful of fruit, attached to a roughly equilateral patch of orange peel about two inches to each side. She shook orange juice off her fingers. "Pretend I cut that out better."

"I dunno what you're talking about," Bill said. "It looks flawless."

She pointed at each corner of the peel triangle. "Okay so, these are the three corners of the spherical triangle, right?"

"Right."

"And if you want to make a regular flat triangle, you can... try to cut a straight line between the corners, like..." She squeezed the rest of the orange between her knees, held the edges of the triangular peel with her fingertips, and sawed off the orange pulp underneath, trying to cut a flat level plane as near to the triangle's corners as she could. Ford almost warned Mabel about the knife again, but glanced at Bill's face and his expression of unworried, keen curiosity, and kept quiet. Bill reached out and caught the sawed-off chunk of orange pulp before it hit the ground.

Mabel held out the peel slice. "There! Right? Spherical triangle on top and flat triangle on the bottom!"

Bill considered that, one hand on his hip. He popped the orange chunk in his mouth. "All right. So far so good."

"But if you make a biangle..." Mabel drew two lines between the top and bottom of the remaining orange, and cut a wedge free. "There isn't anything extra to cut off to let you make a flat shape. There's just a straight line between the two points!"

"Ha! Okay, all right, that works! Brilliant! What do you need me for? You just taught yourself the whole lesson!" Bill ruffled her hair so enthusiastically that he knocked her headband askew.

She shoved him away, laughing, and straightened out her headband. "Bill!"

"What did I say! Didn't I tell you you'd get it?" Bill was beaming at her, impressed, delighted, proud. "Congratulations, you've just mastered college-level geometry."

"Wh—What? Are you serious? This is college stuff?" She shook her head. "No way, you're lying."

Bill pointed at Ford without looking at him. "Tell her."

He felt a little like a dog being commanded to bark; but he said, "He's right. I didn't start studying spherical geometry until my second semester in college." He was sure he could have studied it sooner, if his high school had offered it; and he doubted Mabel had absorbed an entire semester's worth of spherical geometry; but he didn't see any reason to point any of that out when Mabel's face lit up in excitement.

Bill said, "There you have it! Way to go, star girl! Two big stickers."

"YES!" Mabel peeled off two jumbo-sized star stickers with smiley faces and stuck them onto her earrings. "So does that make a biangle a girl or a boy?"

And Ford was immediately lost again.

"No," Bill said.

Mabel sighed loudly and tried again. "Does that make a biangle a line or a polygon?"

"Still no, but for a different reason. Externally, they look like lines to anyone who isn't psychic. Internally, their anatomy usually functions like a polygon's. But socially, you've gotta ask. Some of 'em consider themselves lines, some polygons, some claim biangularity is neither linear nor polygonal. Personally, I say they're whatever they say they are. Because," he said grandly, "I'm just that open-minded and accepting."

Ford stifled a derisive snort. But Bill's self-aggrandizing aside, Ford's mind was reeling trying to keep up—spherical geometry, the (gendered?) socialization of shapes, Flatworlder anatomy—what did psychics have to do with anything? Ford's fingers itched for a pen. He wished he had his journal with him.

Bill grabbed several papers off the floor and the floating crystal ball and climbed on top of the wooden TV cabinet. He left the ball hovering behind him seven feet up in the air, tossed aside several papers he'd already used both sides of to let them flutter back to the floor, and taped the rest to the wall with their blank backsides turned out. "Now back to remote viewing." He drew a grid in blue lines on the papers, said, "Toss me that triangle wedge," used a marker to draw an eye on the triangular orange peel, tapped it twice like he had the crystal ball, and stuck it against the grid, where it sat unmoving.

And the entire time, Ford watched with his arms crossed tightly.

Almost a month ago, Bill had given Ford his manipulative trap of a birthday gift, a miniature grimoire, five pieces of paper, margins filled, two rows of text per line, packed with as diverse an array of magical spells and occult knowledge as Bill could fit. It wasn't a gift, it was a boast and a taunt: look at everything I know that you don't; look at what I could teach you if you let me live.

It was something Bill could have given him all along—effortlessly, with no cost to himself—but didn't, until Bill wanted something from him.

On his birthday, Ford had wondered, furiously: when this was what Bill could have been—gift-giver, wish-granter, teacher, guide, friend—why did he choose not to be?! It was an internal scream of rage, the howl of a wounded victim at the condemned criminal as he was marched to the gallows: you monster, you monster, you monster, when it would have been so easy for you to be something better, why instead are you a liar, manipulator, torturer, murderer, life-ruiner, world-ender? Answer for yourself: why are you this instead of someone better? How dare you?

It had made Ford want him dead even more.

This was the exact opposite of the grimoire.

The question in Ford's head wasn't a scream of rage anymore. It was grief. It was a plea. It was one last desperate attempt to understand:

Instead of being who he was, why couldn't Bill have been this person? This charismatic, energetic, ecstatic muse who ruled like a king over a classroom he'd constructed himself, eager to share a trillion years of collected wisdom with a fragile mortal mind, lighting up with joy whenever she grasped something that was trivially simple to him? This guide to the vast wonders beyond Earth, competent and encouraging and funny, delighting in the weirdness of the wide wide universe? The Bill that Ford had once liked so much—the Bill that he'd called his friend?

"Okay," Bill said, all sunshine and excitement, "Back to how to view the third dimension from the second dimension—"

Mabel said, "Can you view the fourth dimension from the third?"

Bill hesitated a split second, but said, "Sure! You can view any dimension from any dimension! You've just gotta bend your eye the right way to see higher ones!"

"What does the fourth dimension look like?"

"Well—hm. Imagine the way that the third dimension looks different from the second, and that's the way the fourth dimension looks different from the third."

Mabel stared at Bill.

"Eddie wrote an entire book about a square meeting a sphere because that was the closest he could get to telling other humans what seeing the fourth dimension is like! If I could still visit dreams, I could just show you, but..."

"Isn't the fourth dimension time? Blendo showed us the time stream! Is that what it looks like?"

"Nnn—close! You're close. The fourth dimension isn't time, but time is in the fourth dimension."

"How's that different."

Bill pointed at the floor. "If the carpet's the second dimension and the lamp's shining on it, the third dimension isn't light, but light is in the third dimension."

"Ohhh." Mabel gasped. "That's why you called some weird thing flying around in a higher dimension an eclipse! Because eclipses were in a higher dimension in Flatworld!"

Bill's face lit up in surprised delight. "All right, skip three lessons ahead, why don't you! In a week's time you'll be teaching people how my dimension works." He turned back to his papers and started drawing a branching river. "So! That time stream you saw isn't time itself! It's a visual metaphor being generated so humans can see time too—sort of a hologram projecting from the fourth dimension into the third—have I explained that the universe is a hologram yet—"

Why weren't you this person, Ford wondered. Why did you choose not to be this person? When it was so easy for you to be this? When this made you happy, too?

Why couldn't you have been this person?

Why are you only like this now, when you're about to die?

####

(Hope y'all enjoyed Infodump: The Chapter. This is one of those chapters with something hidden in it that'll unravel the whole fic if you happen to find it, so have fun searching for that. Let me know what you thought of this week's chapter! And get excited—we've got Big Things coming up... soon.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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pucksandpower · 2 months

Text

Pinky Promise

Logan Sargeant x Vowles!Reader x Carlos Sainz

Summary: you had it all planned out — do whatever you can to make Carlos Sainz regret the day he signed a contract to replace your best friend — falling in love with both of them wasn’t in your plans, but when has love ever been predictable?

The soft hum of the air conditioning fills the hotel room as you and Logan lie side by side on top of the crisp white sheets. Your heads are close together, almost touching, as you both stare up at the ceiling. The silence between you is comfortable, but heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Logan’s voice breaks through, barely above a whisper. “I still can’t believe it.”

You turn your head slightly, studying his profile. “I know. It doesn’t feel real.”

He lets out a long sigh. “I mean, I knew it was a possibility, but ... I thought I’d have more time, you know?”

“You deserved more time,” you say firmly. “Dad should have-”

Logan cuts you off gently. “Hey, no. Don’t put this on your dad. He’s doing what’s best for the team.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a frown. “But you’re what’s best for the team.”

A small, sad smile tugs at Logan’s lips. “That’s sweet of you to say, but we both know that’s not true. Not anymore, at least.”

“Logan ...”

He shakes his head, still staring at the ceiling. “It’s okay. Really. I’m... I’m grateful for the opportunity I had. Not everyone gets to live their dream, even if it’s just for a little while.”

You flop back down onto the bed with a huff. “Your dream isn’t over. This is just ... a detour.”

Logan chuckles, but it sounds hollow. “A detour to where, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “But somewhere amazing. You’re too talented for this to be the end.”

There’s a long pause before Logan speaks again. “They’re saying Sainz is going to replace me.”

You stiffen at the name. “Carlos? Are you sure?”

“Nothing’s official yet, but ... yeah. Pretty sure.”

You sit up abruptly, a fire in your eyes. “Well, that settles it then.”

Logan looks at you warily. “Settles what?”

“I’m going to make his life absolutely miserable next season.”

Logan’s eyes widen. “Y/N, no. You can’t-”

“Oh, I absolutely can,” you say with a mischievous grin. “And I will.”

Logan sits up too, shaking his head. “Come on, you know that’s not fair. It’s not Carlos’ fault.”

“Maybe not,” you concede. “But he’s benefiting from this injustice, so he’s fair game.”

“Your dad will kill you,” Logan points out.

You shrug. “Worth it.”

“Y/N, I’m serious. You can’t do this.”

“Watch me,” you challenge, holding out your pinky finger. “I’ll even make it official.”

Logan eyes your outstretched finger like it might bite him. “I’m not letting you promise me that.”

“C’mon Logie, live a little,” you tease, wiggling your pinky enticingly.

He groans. “I’m going to get fired for conspiracy or something.”

“Well, they already fired you once,” you point out. “Can’t do it again. So let me just make this promise to you.”

Logan hesitates for a long moment before finally relenting. He hooks his pinky around yours with a resigned sigh.

“I, Y/N Vowles, pinky promise to make Carlos Way Too Many Names Sainz wish he was dead-”

“Y/N,” Logan warns.

You roll your eyes. “Okay! I solemnly swear to make his life a living hell! Better?”

“Marginally,” Logan mutters. Then, with a hint of a smile, he adds, “Okay, and I, Logan Sargeant, pinky promise to win whatever the hell I end up going to next … this is ridiculous.”

“Logan!” You gasp in mock outrage. “Don’t say that. We’re doing a ritual here.”

You tug your joined hands towards your mouth, lightly kissing Logan’s finger where it’s wrapped around yours. He mirrors the action, and you both pretend not to notice the dusting of pink on each other’s cheeks.

“Now what?” Logan asks softly as you lower your hands.

“Now we wait for the future,” you reply with a small smile, slowly detangling your pinkies.

Logan flops back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “The future. Right. No pressure or anything.”

You lie back down next to him, your shoulders just barely touching. “Hey, no pressure. Remember? We’ve got pinky promises on our side now.”

Logan snorts. “Oh yeah, because those are legally binding.”

“More binding than any contract,” you insist solemnly. “Break a pinky promise and you lose the finger. It’s the law.”

“Is that so?” Logan asks, amusement coloring his voice.

You nod sagely. “Absolutely. It’s in the Constitution and everything.”

“Which Constitution would that be?”

“The International Pinky Promise Constitution. Obviously.”

Logan finally cracks, letting out a genuine laugh that makes your heart feel a little lighter. “Oh, obviously. How could I forget about that very real document?”

You grin, turning on your side to face him. “See? I knew you’d come around to the seriousness of our pact.”

Logan mirrors your position, his expression sobering slightly. “Y/N, you know you don’t actually have to do anything, right? I appreciate the thought, but I don’t want you jeopardizing your relationship with your dad or ... or doing anything you might regret.”

You reach out, gently squeezing his arm. “Hey. I know. And I’m not going to do anything truly terrible, I promise. But a little harmless mischief to make Carlos’ life interesting? That’s fair game.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Define ‘harmless mischief.’”

You grin wickedly. “Oh, you know. The classics. Whoopee cushions. Plastic wrap on doorways. Maybe I’ll learn to play the kazoo and practice outside his hotel room at 3 AM.”

“You wouldn’t,” Logan gasps in mock horror.

“Try me, Sargeant,” you challenge.

Logan shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “But you love me anyway.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged. Logan’s eyes widen slightly, and you find yourself holding your breath.

“Yeah,” he says softly after what feels like an eternity. “I guess I do.”

Your heart does a little flip in your chest, but before you can respond, Logan clears his throat and sits up.

“We should probably get some sleep,” he says, not quite meeting your eyes. “Early start tomorrow.”

You nod, trying to ignore the slight sting of disappointment. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

As you both stand up from the bed, an awkward tension settles over the room. You hover uncertainly by the door, not quite ready to leave.

“Logan?” You say softly.

He looks up at you, his expression unreadable. “Yeah?”

You take a deep breath. “No matter what happens next ... I’m always going to be in your corner. You know that, right?”

Logan’s face softens, and he crosses the room to pull you into a tight hug. “I know,” he murmurs into your hair. “Thank you.”

You close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his embrace. “Anytime. That’s what best friends are for, right?”

Logan pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on your shoulders. For a moment, you think he might say something more, but then he just smiles and nods.

“Right,” he agrees. “Best friends.”

As you leave his room and head back to your own, you can’t help but wonder if there might be something more simmering beneath the surface of your friendship. But for now, you push those thoughts aside. Logan needs you as his friend right now, and that’s exactly what you’ll be.

Besides, you have a season of mischief to plan.

***

Carlos steps into the Williams headquarters with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. It’s his first day as an official driver for the team, and he’s determined to make a good impression. As he’s led through the facility, he can’t help but notice the curious glances and whispered conversations that follow in his wake.

“And here’s our main break room,” his tour guide announces, pushing open a set of double doors.

Carlos’ attention is immediately drawn to a figure standing by a table laden with what appears to be refreshments. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight before him.

You’re wearing a pale blue apron over a simple sundress, your hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. There’s a smudge of what looks like flour on your cheek, and your eyes are sparkling with barely contained mischief. To Carlos, you look like you’ve stepped straight out of a 1950s magazine, and he’s instantly smitten.

“Ah, Carlos!” You exclaim, your voice warm and inviting. “I’m so glad you’re here. I made something special to welcome you to the team.”

Carlos approaches, unable to take his eyes off you. “That’s very kind of you, señorita ...”

“Oh, where are my manners?” You giggle, extending a hand. “I’m Y/N Vowles. James’ daughter.”

Carlos takes your hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard wonderful things about you from your father.”

You blush prettily, and Carlos feels his heart skip a beat. “All lies, I’m sure,” you tease. “But come, you must try the cake I made. It’s a special recipe.”

Carlos allows himself to be led to the table, where a beautiful cake sits proudly on a stand. It’s frosted in a vibrant red, with delicate swirls of orange and yellow that make it look almost like flames.

“It looks incredible,” Carlos says, genuinely impressed. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”

You wave off his words with a bright smile. “Nonsense! It’s not every day we get such an esteemed driver joining our team. I wanted to make something that would really ... leave an impression.”

There’s something in the way you say those last words that makes Carlos pause, but he brushes it off as nerves. After all, what could be wrong with a simple cake?

“Well, then,” Carlos grins, “I’d be honored to have the first slice.”

You clap your hands together excitedly. “Wonderful! Let me just grab a knife.”

As you bustle around, cutting a generous slice and placing it on a plate, Carlos can’t help but admire the way you move. There’s a grace to your actions, but also a hint of barely contained energy, like you’re holding back laughter.

“Here you are,” you say, presenting him with the cake and a fork. “I do hope you enjoy it.”

Carlos takes the plate, noticing how several other team members have gathered around, watching with interest. He supposes it’s natural for them to be curious about the new driver.

“Gracias, hermosa,” he says, flashing you his most charming smile. He takes a bite, savoring the sweet flavor for a moment before ...

Fire erupts in his mouth.

Carlos’ eyes widen in shock as the heat hits him full force. It’s like someone has poured molten lava directly onto his tongue. He coughs, struggling to catch his breath as tears spring to his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” You ask innocently, though there’s a glint in your eye that suggests you know exactly what’s happening.

Carlos tries to speak, but all that comes out is a choked gasp. He reaches for the nearest glass of water, downing it in one go, but it does little to quell the inferno in his mouth.

Through the haze of tears, he sees you watching him, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. And despite the agony he’s in, Carlos can’t help but think you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Hermosa,” he finally manages to croak out between coughs, “I’m touched you tried to make a cake in honor of my nickname, but I got it because I don’t like chili.”

You tilt your head to the side, the picture of innocence. “Oh? I had no idea. How terribly unfortunate.”

Carlos isn’t sure, but he thinks he detects a note of satisfaction in your voice. He wipes at his streaming eyes, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“What ... what kind of pepper did you use?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

You tap a finger against your chin, as if deep in thought. “Oh, you know, just a little of this, a little of that. I believe there might have been some Carolina Reaper in there. And maybe a touch of Ghost Pepper. Or was it Trinidad Scorpion? It’s so hard to keep track.”

Carlos’ jaw drops. “You ... you put the world’s hottest peppers in a cake?”

You shrug, your eyes dancing with barely concealed glee. “I wanted it to have a real kick. After all, you’re going to need all the fire you can get to keep up with our team, aren’t you?”

There’s something in your tone that makes Carlos wonder if there’s more to this than a simple baking mishap. But surely, he reasons, no one would go to such lengths just to make him uncomfortable on his first day. Would they?

“I ... appreciate the thought,” Carlos says, trying to be diplomatic despite the fact that his entire mouth feels like it’s been scrubbed with sandpaper. “But perhaps next time, a simple vanilla cake would suffice?”

You laugh, the sound like tinkling bells. “Oh, Carlos. Where’s the fun in that?”

Carlos finds himself chuckling despite the lingering burn. There’s something about you that he finds utterly captivating, even if you did just try to melt his taste buds.

“You know,” you say, leaning in conspiratorially, “I’ve heard that milk can help with the heat. Would you like some?”

Carlos nods eagerly. “Sí, por favor. That would be wonderful.”

You disappear for a moment, returning with a tall glass of milk. Carlos takes it gratefully, downing half of it in one go. It’s only after he’s swallowed that he realizes something is ... off.

The milk tastes sour, curdled. Carlos gags, barely managing to keep from spitting it out in front of everyone.

“Oh dear,” you say, your eyes wide with feigned concern. “Is the milk not to your liking either? How terribly clumsy of me. I must have grabbed the wrong carton.”

Carlos looks at you, really looks at you, and suddenly he’s sure that none of this is an accident. But why? What has he done to deserve such treatment?

Before he can voice any of these thoughts, you’re already backing away, that mischievous smile still playing on your lips.

“Well, I should really get going,” you announce. “Lots to do, you know how it is. Welcome to the team, Carlos. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

With that, you turn on your heel, giving your hair a little flip as you saunter towards the door. Just before you exit, you glance back over your shoulder, meeting Carlos’ bewildered gaze.

“Oh, and Carlos?” You say sweetly. “Do try to stay cool out there on the track, won’t you?”

And with a final giggle, you’re gone, leaving Carlos standing there with a burning mouth, sour milk, and more questions than answers.

As the other team members rush to get him water and apologize for the “mix-up,” Carlos finds his thoughts drifting back to you. Despite everything, he can’t deny the spark of intrigue you’ve ignited in him. You’re a puzzle, one he’s suddenly very eager to solve.

“Are you alright, mate?” One of the mechanics asks, looking concerned.

Carlos nods, a slow smile spreading across his face despite the lingering burn. “Sí, I’m fine. Just ... adjusting to the Williams welcome, I suppose.”

As he’s led away to continue his tour, Carlos can’t shake the feeling that his time at Williams is going to be far more interesting than he’d anticipated. And somehow, he’s looking forward to every moment of it.

Because if there’s one thing Carlos loves, it’s a challenge. And you, with your sweet smile and fiery surprises, might just be the biggest challenge he’s ever faced.

Game on, he thinks to himself. Game on.

***

The bell above the door chimes as you step into the local Boots pharmacy, a mischievous glint in your eye. You scan the aisles, searching for your target: the hair care section. As you approach, a friendly-looking employee notices your slightly lost expression and approaches.

“Can I help you find anything?” She asks with a smile.

You put on your most innocent face. “Oh, yes, please. I’m looking for some hair products, but I’m not sure where to start. What would you say are the absolute worst ones you carry?”

The employee’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry, did you say worst?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Yes, exactly. The ones you’d never recommend to anyone. The cheapest, most damaging products you have.”

“Well,” the employee says hesitantly, “we don’t really carry anything I’d consider ‘damaging,’ but there are certainly some budget options that aren’t as high-quality as others.”

“Perfect!” You exclaim. “Those are exactly what I’m looking for. Could you show me?”

Still looking confused, the employee leads you down the aisle. “May I ask why you’re interested in these particular products?”

You think quickly. “Oh, it’s for a ... science experiment. I’m testing the effects of different hair products on ... um ... synthetic hair fibers.”

The employee doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she shrugs and starts pointing out various items. “Well, if you’re looking for the least effective products, I’d say stay away from these. This shampoo tends to leave a residue, this conditioner is known for making hair feel greasy, and this styling gel can make hair crunchy and flaky.”

You nod along, grabbing each item as she mentions it. “Excellent, excellent. Any others?”

By the time you’re done, your basket is overflowing with an assortment of the cheapest, least recommended hair products in the store. The employee eyes your haul with concern.

“Are you sure you want all of these?” She asks.

You flash her a bright smile. “Absolutely! The more data points for my experiment, the better. Thank you so much for your help!”

As you make your way to the checkout, you can’t help but giggle to yourself. Phase two of Operation Humble Carlos is officially underway.

Later that evening, you find yourself outside a sleek apartment building in the heart of Grove. Your heart races with a mixture of excitement and nervousness as you fish a key out of your pocket — a key you had “borrowed” from your father’s desk drawer earlier that day.

“Sorry, Dad,” you mutter under your breath as you slip into the building. “But desperate times call for desperate measures.”

You make your way up to the fifth floor, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Pausing outside apartment 5C, you take a deep breath and slide the key into the lock. It turns smoothly, and you’re in.

Carlos’ temporary apartment is immaculate, with minimalist furniture and a few personal touches here and there. You spot a framed photo of him with his family on a side table and feel a twinge of guilt. But then you remember Logan’s devastated face when he learned he was being replaced, and your resolve hardens.

“Right,” you say to yourself, setting down your bag of drugstore products. “Let’s get to work.”

You head straight for the bathroom, knowing you don’t have much time before Carlos returns from his evening training session. The bathroom is just as pristine as the rest of the apartment, with a array of expensive-looking products lined up neatly on the counter.

You pick up one of the bottles, whistling low under your breath as you read the label. “Oribe? Fancy.” You turn the bottle over, eyes widening at the price tag still stuck to the bottom. “Holy... that’s more than my entire hair care budget for a year!”

Shaking your head, you get to work. One by one, you empty out Carlos’ high-end products, replacing them with the cheap alternatives you bought. You’re careful to match shampoo for shampoo, conditioner for conditioner, making sure the consistencies are as close as possible.

As you work, you can’t help but imagine Carlos’ reaction tomorrow morning. Will his precious locks turn into a frizzy mess? Will his signature style fall flat? The thought makes you giggle.

“This is for Logan,” you remind yourself as you squeeze the last of a particularly goopy gel into its fancy counterpart’s bottle.

Just as you’re putting the finishing touches on your handiwork, you hear a key in the lock. Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Mierda,” you hear Carlos mutter from the other side of the door. “Where did I put that ...”

You freeze, panic setting in. You hadn’t planned on him coming back so soon. Thinking quickly, you gather up all the evidence of your presence – empty drugstore bottles, discarded packaging – and shove it into your bag.

The front door opens just as you’re zipping up your bag. You can hear Carlos humming to himself as he moves around the apartment. Holding your breath, you ease the bathroom door open a crack, peering out into the hallway.

Carlos is in the kitchen, his back to you as he rummages through the fridge. This is your chance. You slip out of the bathroom, tiptoeing towards the front door with the stealth of a cat burglar.

Just as your hand touches the doorknob, Carlos speaks. “Hello? Is someone there?”

You freeze, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he must be able to hear it. You hear his footsteps approaching and, in a moment of panic, you duck behind the coat rack by the door.

Carlos appears in the hallway, looking confused. “Huh, could have sworn I heard something.”

He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne — a spicy, woodsy scent that makes your head spin a little. You hold your breath, praying he doesn’t look too closely at the coat rack.

After what feels like an eternity, Carlos shrugs and turns back towards the kitchen. “Must be imagining things. Maybe I need an early night.”

As soon as he’s out of sight, you make your move. In one fluid motion, you slip out from behind the coat rack and out the front door, closing it as quietly as possible behind you.

You don’t stop running until you’re out of the building and halfway down the block. Only then do you allow yourself to breathe, leaning against a lamppost as you try to calm your racing heart.

“That,” you gasp between breaths, “was way too close.”

But as the adrenaline starts to fade, a giddy excitement takes its place. You did it. Operation Humble Carlos, phase two, is complete. Now all that’s left is to wait and see the results.

As you make your way home, you can’t help but wonder what tomorrow will bring. Will Carlos notice the difference in his hair? Will the promotional photos be a disaster? The possibilities are endless, and you find yourself grinning at the thought.

“Sweet dreams, Carlos,” you murmur as you unlock your own front door. “Tomorrow’s going to be a bad hair day.”

***

Carlos arrives at the Williams factory, his stomach in knots. He’s been dreading this moment since he woke up this morning to find his usually luscious locks in a state of utter disarray. No amount of styling or product seemed to help — if anything, each attempt only made things worse.

As he walks into the building, cap pulled low over his eyes, he can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong. His hair has never betrayed him like this before, not even on the most humid race days.

“Carlos! There you are,” James greets him with a warm smile. “We were starting to worry you’d gotten lost.”

Carlos forces a laugh, trying to appear at ease. “Lo siento, just a bit of traffic. You know how it is.”

James nods sympathetically. “Of course, of course. Well, the photography team is all set up in the main conference room. Shall we?”

As they walk, Carlos can’t help but scan the hallways, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Despite the cake incident and his current hair crisis, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to you. There’s something about your mischievous smile that both intrigues and unnerves him.

The conference room is a hive of activity when they enter. Lights are being adjusted, backdrops shifted, and various team personnel mill about in their crisp uniforms. In the center of it all stands the photographer, a petite woman with a no-nonsense air about her.

“Ah, there’s our star!” She exclaims upon seeing Carlos. “I’m Lisa, I’ll be shooting you today. Let’s get you to hair and makeup, shall we?”

Carlos feels a wave of panic. “Ah, actually, I was thinking ... perhaps we could do some shots with the cap? You know, for a more casual look?”

Lisa frowns. “That wasn’t in the brief. We need clean, professional shots for the team profiles.”

“I know, I know,” Carlos says quickly. “But maybe just a few? For social media or something?”

Before Lisa can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the room. “Oh, come now, Carlos. You can’t hide that famous hair of yours.”

Carlos turns to see you sauntering towards him, a playful smirk on your lips. His heart does a little flip, even as alarm bells ring in his head.

“Y/N,” he greets you, trying to keep his voice steady. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You shrug, your eyes twinkling with barely contained mischief. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I’m quite interested in seeing how you ... present yourself to the team.”

There’s something in your tone that makes Carlos wonder, not for the first time, if you might have something to do with his current predicament. But surely not. How could you possibly have tampered with his hair products?

“Well,” Lisa interjects, clearly growing impatient, “cap or no cap, we need to get started. Carlos, if you could please take a seat in the makeup chair?”

Carlos hesitates, his hand unconsciously moving to adjust his cap. “I ... I’m not sure that’s necessary. I did my own styling this morning.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you now? Well, don’t keep us in suspense, Smooth Operator. Let’s see this expert styling of yours.”

The room has gone quiet, all eyes on Carlos. He can feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he weighs his options. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he slowly removes his cap.

There’s a collective gasp from the room. Carlos squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to see the looks of horror he’s sure are on everyone’s faces.

“Oh my,” he hears Lisa mutter.

“Carlos,” James says gently, “is everything alright?”

Carlos opens his eyes, forcing himself to face the room. “I ... I don’t know what happened. I used my usual products this morning, but ...”

His voice trails off as he catches sight of his reflection in a nearby mirror. His normally sleek, perfectly coiffed hair is a disaster. It’s frizzy and dull, sticking out at odd angles and looking more like a bird’s nest than anything resembling a hairstyle.

“Well,” you say, barely containing your laughter, “I suppose this gives new meaning to bed head, doesn’t it?”

Carlos turns to you, a mix of embarrassment and suspicion coloring his cheeks. “This isn’t funny, Y/N. I look ridiculous.”

You put on an exaggerated pout. “Aw, come now, Carlos. I think it’s rather ... charming. Very avant-garde. You could start a new trend.”

Despite his predicament, Carlos finds himself fighting back a smile. There’s something about your teasing that he can’t help but find endearing, even if he’s fairly certain you’re somehow behind this catastrophe.

“Right,” Lisa says, clapping her hands together. “Well, we can work with this. Margie, bring out the heavy-duty products. We’ve got some ... taming to do.”

As the makeup artist approaches with an array of styling tools, Carlos braces himself for what’s sure to be an uncomfortable experience. To his surprise, you pull up a chair next to him.

“Mind if I stay and watch the transformation?” You ask innocently. “I’m always fascinated by the magic of Hollywood-style makeovers.”

Carlos narrows his eyes at you. “Why do I get the feeling you’re enjoying this a little too much?”

You gasp dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “Me? Enjoy your discomfort? I would never.”

Despite everything, Carlos finds himself chuckling. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” you reply with a wink.

As Margie gets to work on Carlos’ hair, applying what seems like gallons of product and wielding a comb like a weapon, you keep up a steady stream of chatter. You ask about his move to England, his first impressions of the team, his hopes for the upcoming season. Despite his initial wariness, Carlos finds himself relaxing, drawn into easy conversation with you.

“You know,” he says during a brief lull while Margie fetches more hairspray, “for someone who seems intent on making my life difficult, you’re surprisingly easy to talk to.”

You tilt your head, a small smile playing at your lips. “Who says I’m trying to make your life difficult?”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “The cake? This hair situation? I may be new here, but I’m not stupid.”

You lean in close, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Maybe I just like seeing you a little ... ruffled.”

Carlos’ breath catches in his throat at your proximity. He’s suddenly very aware of the subtle floral scent of your perfume, the way your eyes seem to sparkle with hidden laughter.

“There!” Margie announces triumphantly, breaking the moment. “I think we’ve salvaged it.”

Carlos turns to the mirror, bracing himself. To his immense relief, his hair looks ... well, not perfect, but certainly presentable. It’s styled in a slightly messier way than he usually wears it, but it works.

“What do you think?” He asks, turning to you.

You study him for a moment, your expression unreadable. Then, to his surprise, you reach out and gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“Not bad,” you say softly. “But I think I preferred the bird’s nest.”

With that, you stand up and saunter away, leaving Carlos staring after you with a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

“Alright,” Lisa calls. “Let’s get you in front of the camera.”

As Carlos takes his place in front of the backdrop, his mind is racing. He’s still not sure what game you’re playing, but he’s becoming increasingly certain that he wants to be a part of it. There’s something about you that draws him in, despite (or perhaps because of) your apparent determination to keep him on his toes.

“Smile!” Lisa instructs, and Carlos obliges, flashing his most charming grin at the camera.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots you watching from the sidelines, that ever-present mischievous smirk on your face. As the camera flashes, Carlos makes a silent vow to himself. He’s going to figure you out, Y/N Vowles, no matter what it takes.

***

The Australian sun beats down mercilessly on the Albert Park Circuit as Carlos leans against the wall of the Williams garage, his eyes fixed on the screens displaying telemetry data from Alex’s current lap. It’s the first day of preseason testing, and while Carlos is eager to get behind the wheel himself, he knows his turn won’t come until the afternoon session.

A familiar voice cuts through his thoughts. “Well, well, if it isn’t our resident Spaniard. Enjoying the view?”

Carlos turns to see you approaching, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. Despite his best efforts to remain wary after the hair incident, he can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Y/N,” he greets you, trying to keep his tone neutral. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You shrug, coming to stand beside him. “Oh, you know me. I like to keep an eye on things. Make sure everything’s running smoothly.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “Is that so? And here I thought you might be here to cause more mischief.”

You gasp in mock offense. “Mischief? Me? I’m wounded, Carlos. Truly wounded.”

He can’t help but chuckle. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe after the cake incident. And the hair fiasco.”

“Pure coincidence,” you say airily, waving a hand. “I can’t be held responsible for your sensitive taste buds or your apparent allergic reaction to ... whatever hair products you used that day.”

Carlos narrows his eyes, studying your face for any sign of guilt. But your expression remains innocently neutral, save for that ever-present glint of mischief in your eyes.

“Right,” he says slowly. “Coincidence. Of course.”

You lean in closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “You know, Carlos, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were becoming a bit paranoid. Seeing sabotage around every corner. That can’t be healthy.”

Carlos feels his pulse quicken at your proximity. Despite his suspicions, he can’t deny the effect you have on him. “Perhaps I have good reason to be cautious, no?”

You pull back, laughing. “Oh, lighten up, Chili. I’m just trying to keep things interesting around here. You wouldn’t want to be bored during your first season with us, would you?”

Before Carlos can respond, a cheer goes up from the garage as Alex completes another fast lap. You both turn to watch the screens, momentarily distracted by the flurry of activity.

“He’s doing well,” Carlos comments, genuinely impressed by the times he’s seeing.

You nod, a hint of pride in your voice. “Alex is a fantastic driver. You’ve got some big shoes to fill, you know.”

There’s an edge to your words that makes Carlos wonder, not for the first time, about your relationship with the team’s previous driver. He’s heard rumors about your close friendship with Logan Sargeant, the man he replaced.

“I intend to do my best,” Carlos says carefully. “For the team, and for myself.”

You turn to face him, your expression unreadable. “I’m sure you will. Just remember, Carlos, this isn’t just any team. It’s a family. And family ... well, family looks out for each other.”

There’s a weight to your words that Carlos can’t quite decipher. Are you warning him? Threatening him? Or simply stating a fact?

Before he can ponder it further, you abruptly change the subject. “Oh, did you happen to see that article I was reading earlier? Fascinating stuff.”

Carlos blinks at the sudden shift. “Article? What article?”

You pull out your phone, scrolling through it with a look of concentration. “It was about recent medical findings. Quite eye-opening, really. Did you know that having your appendix removed has been shown to shorten your life expectancy?”

Carlos feels a chill run down his spine. “What? That ... that can’t be right.”

You nod solemnly. “Oh yes, it’s all here in black and white. Apparently, the appendix plays a more crucial role in our overall health than previously thought. Something about gut bacteria and immune system function. People who’ve had appendectomies are at higher risk for all sorts of health issues later in life.”

Carlos’ mind is racing. He had his appendix removed just last year after a sudden, severe case of appendicitis. At the time, he’d been told it was a routine procedure with no long-term consequences.

“Can I ... can I see that article?” He asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

You look up from your phone, a look of concern crossing your face. “Oh, Carlos, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot about your surgery last year. How insensitive of me to bring this up.”

Carlos shakes his head, reaching for the phone. “No, it’s fine. I just want to read it for myself.”

But you’ve already tucked the phone away. “You know what? Let’s not dwell on it. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. These studies are always changing, right? One day something’s bad for you, the next it’s a superfood.”

Carlos frowns, a nagging suspicion growing in the back of his mind. “Y/N, why did you really bring this up?”

You blink innocently. “Bring what up? Oh, the article? Like I said, I just found it interesting. No ulterior motive, I assure you.”

But there’s a glint in your eye that tells Carlos otherwise. He takes a step closer, his voice low. “Is this another one of your games? Are you trying to get in my head before the testing session?”

You hold his gaze, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “Now why would I do something like that? I’m just making conversation. Keeping you company during what must be a very boring morning for you.”

Carlos runs a hand through his hair, frustration and confusion warring within him. “I don’t understand you. One moment you’re friendly, the next you’re ... what? Trying to sabotage me? Scare me? What’s your endgame here?”

Your expression softens slightly. “Oh, Carlos. Not everything has to have an endgame. Sometimes life is just ... interesting. Don’t you think?”

Before he can respond, a commotion from the pit lane draws both of your attention. Alex’s car is being wheeled back into the garage, signaling the end of his morning session.

“Well,” you say brightly, “looks like it’s almost your turn. Better get ready, Chili. Wouldn’t want any ... distractions affecting your performance, would we?”

With that, you turn on your heel and saunter away, leaving Carlos staring after you with a mixture of frustration and intrigue.

As he watches you disappear into the crowd of team personnel, Carlos can’t shake the feeling that he’s just been played. Again. But instead of anger, he feels a strange sense of ... excitement? Challenge?

“Two can play at this game, Y/N,” he mutters to himself as he heads towards the locker room to change into his racing suit. “Two can play at this game.”

As he prepares for his testing session, Carlos finds his mind drifting back to your conversation. He knows he should be focused on the task at hand, on the data he needs to gather for the team. But he can’t help but wonder what your next move will be. And, more importantly, how he’ll respond.

For the first time since joining Williams, Carlos feels truly alive. The racing, the competition, it all pales in comparison to the intricate dance he seems to be engaged in with you. It’s dangerous, he knows. You’re a distraction he can’t afford. And yet ...

As he climbs into the cockpit of his car, helmet in hand, Carlos makes a decision. He’s going to solve the puzzle that is Y/N Vowles. He’s going to figure out your game, your motivations, your secrets. And when he does ...

Well, that’s when the real fun will begin.

With a grin hidden behind his visor, Carlos starts the engine. The roar drowns out all other thoughts, leaving only the track ahead and the challenge that awaits. Both on the circuit and off.

***

Carlos strolls down the plush carpeted hallway of the hotel, his mind still buzzing from the day’s testing session. The scent of leather and polished wood fills the air, a stark contrast to the oil and rubber smells he’s grown accustomed to at the track. As he approaches his room, a familiar voice catches his attention.

He pauses, realizing the sound is coming from your room, just a few doors down from his own. Carlos hesitates, knowing he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but curiosity gets the better of him. He takes a few quiet steps closer, straining to make out the words.

“... miss you too, Logie,” he hears you say, your voice muffled but unmistakable. “It’s not the same around here without you.”

Carlos’ eyebrows shoot up. Logie? As in Logan Sargeant? Intrigued, he moves closer, pressing his ear gently against the door.

A male voice responds, tinny and distant — likely on speakerphone. “I know, Y/N. But hey, at least you’re keeping busy, right? How’s Operation Torment Carlos going?”

Carlos feels his pulse quicken. So he was right — you have been deliberately messing with him.

He hears you laugh, a sound that sends an involuntary shiver down his spine despite the circumstances. “Oh, it’s going splendidly. You should have seen his face when he took off that cap at the photoshoot. Priceless!”

“Y/N,” Logan’s voice carries a note of concern. “Don’t you think maybe you’re taking this a bit too far? I mean, it’s not really Carlos’ fault that Williams decided to-”

“Shh,” you interrupt. “We don’t say that name around here, remember? And besides, I made a promise. A pinky promise, Logan. Those are sacred.”

Carlos leans in closer, his ear practically glued to the door now. A promise? What kind of promise?

Logan sighs audibly. “I know, I know. But seriously, Y/N, you need to be careful. If your dad finds out-”

“He won’t,” you say confidently. “Trust me, I’ve got this under control. Carlos doesn’t suspect a thing.”

Carlos has to stifle a snort at that. If only you knew.

“Speaking of control,” Logan’s voice turns playful, “when are you going to get that under control and come visit me? It’s not the same without my number one fan cheering me on.”

There’s a pause, and Carlos can almost picture the soft smile he imagines is on your face. “Soon, I promise. Things are just ... complicated right now. With Dad, and the team, and ... everything.”

“Y/N,” Logan’s voice softens. “You know you don’t have to stay there for me, right? I’m okay. Really.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to. For you, for the team ... for myself.”

Carlos feels a pang in his chest at the emotion in your voice. He’s starting to realize there’s a lot more going on here than he initially thought.

“Well,” Logan says after a moment, “whenever you’re ready, there’s always a place for you here. The house is all set up, and I know a great little taco place that-”

“Logan Sargeant,” you interrupt with a laugh. “Are you trying to bribe me with tacos?”

“Is it working?”

“... maybe a little.”

Carlos finds himself smiling despite the situation. The easy banter between you and Logan reminds him of conversations with his own close friends.

“Seriously though,” Logan continues, “how are you holding up? Really?”

There’s a long pause before you answer. “I’m ... okay. It’s strange, you know? Everything’s the same, but different. The garage doesn’t feel right without you there.”

“Y/N ...”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I just ... I miss my best friend.”

The raw honesty in your voice makes Carlos feel like he’s intruding on something deeply personal. He knows he should walk away, but he can’t seem to make his feet move.

Logan clears his throat. “I miss you too. More than you know. But hey, we’re making it work, right? Long-distance at its finest.”

You laugh, but it sounds a bit watery to Carlos’ ears. “Right. Absolutely killing it.”

“Speaking of killing it,” Logan says, his tone turning serious. “Y/N, about this whole revenge thing ...”

“Logan, don’t start-”

“No, listen to me. I get it, okay? I do. You’re angry and hurt, and you want someone to blame. But Carlos ... he’s just doing his job. He didn’t ask for any of this.”

Carlos finds himself holding his breath, waiting for your response.

“I know that,” you say softly. “Logically, I know that. But when I see him in the garage, in your driver’s room, talking to your engineers ... it just hurts. And I don’t know how else to deal with it.”

“By talking to me,” Logan says gently. “By letting yourself feel it instead of bottling it up and taking it out on some poor, unsuspecting Spaniard.”

You snort. “Poor? Have you seen him? Nothing poor about that man.”

“Y/N,” Logan’s voice carries a warning tone, but there’s amusement there too. “Focus.”

“Right, right. No objectifying the enemy. Got it.”

Carlos feels his cheeks heat up at your words. He shakes his head, trying to refocus on the conversation.

“Look,” Logan continues, “all I’m saying is ... maybe give the guy a chance? Who knows, you might even like him if you stop trying to make his life miserable.”

There’s a long pause, and Carlos finds himself leaning even closer to the door, desperate to hear your response.

“I ... I’ll think about it,” you finally say. “But no promises. Well, except the pinky one. That still stands.”

Logan groans. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm,” you reply cheekily.

As the conversation drifts to lighter topics, Carlos slowly backs away from the door, his mind reeling from everything he’s heard. He makes his way back to his own room in a daze, collapsing onto the bed as soon as he’s inside.

Carlos stares up at the ceiling, trying to process it all. You’re not just messing with him for fun — this is about loyalty, about friendship, about dealing with a loss. He thinks back to all your interactions, seeing them in a new light now.

Part of him wants to be angry. After all, you’ve been deliberately sabotaging him, making his transition to the team more difficult than it needed to be. But another part ... another part understands. He thinks about how he felt when he was in Logan’s position, when he had been dropped from his dream team and replaced. Wouldn’t he have wanted a friend like you in his corner?

Carlos sits up, running a hand through his hair as he comes to a decision. He can’t pretend he didn’t hear what he heard. But he also can’t confront you directly — that would only make things worse. No, he needs to be smarter about this.

A slow smile spreads across his face as an idea forms. If you want to play games, he’ll play. But he’ll play by his own rules.

As he starts to plan, Carlos can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in his stomach. This season is shaping up to be far more interesting than he ever could have imagined. And if he’s being honest with himself, he’s looking forward to every moment of it.

***

Carlos strides into the Williams motorhome, a determined gleam in his eye. It’s been two weeks since he overheard your conversation with Logan, and he’s been on a mission ever since. Operation Charm Y/N is in full swing, and Carlos is pulling out all the stops.

As he enters the main area, he spots you chatting with one of the engineers. Your eyes flick towards him, and he flashes his most dazzling smile.

“Buenos días, Y/N!” He calls out cheerfully. “You’re looking radiant as always. Is that a new hairstyle?”

You blink, clearly caught off guard by his enthusiasm. “Uh, no? It’s the same as always.”

He chuckles, stepping closer. “Well, it must be the lighting then. It makes your eyes sparkle beautifully.”

A faint blush creeps across your cheeks, and Carlos feels a surge of triumph. Progress.

“Right,” you say slowly. “Thanks, I guess. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your interviews?”

Carlos waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, there’s always time for a chat with my favorite team member. How are you finding the track so far? I’d love to hear your thoughts.”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Since when do you care about my thoughts on the track?”

“Since always!” Carlos exclaims, feigning hurt. “Your insights are invaluable, Y/N. I hang on your every word.”

You snort, but Carlos doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth twitch upwards. “Now I know you’re full of it, Sainz. What’s your game here?”

Carlos puts on his most innocent expression. “Game? There’s no game. Can’t a guy just appreciate his talented and beautiful colleague?”

Your eyes widen slightly at the compliment, and for a moment, Carlos thinks he might have pushed too far. But then you shake your head, a reluctant smile forming.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat in your words.

As you turn to walk away, Carlos notices your gaze lingering on the water bottle in his hand. It’s just for a split second, but it’s enough to raise his suspicions. He glances down at the bottle, wondering if you’ve tampered with it somehow.

Determined not to let on that he’s onto you, Carlos keeps up his charm offensive throughout the day. During interviews, he makes sure to mention how wonderful the entire Williams team is, singling you out for special praise whenever he can.

“Oh yes, Y/N Vowles is an absolute gem,” he tells one reporter with a wink. “The heart and soul of Williams, if you ask me. We’re lucky to have her.”

From across the room, he sees you stiffen at his words, a mix of confusion and guilt flashing across your face.

As the day wears on, Carlos notices you becoming increasingly agitated. Your eyes keep darting to his water bottle, and you seem to flinch every time he reaches for it. He makes a show of almost drinking from it several times, watching your reaction carefully.

Finally, during a brief break between interviews, Carlos decides to force the issue. He picks up the bottle, slowly bringing the straw to his lips while maintaining eye contact with you.

Your eyes widen in panic. “Carlos, wait!”

Before he can react, you’re across the room, knocking the bottle out of his hands. It clatters to the floor, spilling water everywhere.

“I ... I’m so sorry,” you stammer, your face flushed with embarrassment. “I just ... I saw a bee! It was about to land on your bottle. Wouldn’t want you to get stung, you know? Allergies and all that.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “A bee? Inside the motorhome?”

“Yes!” You exclaim, a bit too enthusiastically. “Must have snuck in somehow. Crafty little things, bees. Anyway, I should go ... get a mop. For the water. Sorry again!”

With that, you turn and practically run from the room, leaving Carlos staring after you in bemusement.

“Well,” he murmurs to himself, “that was certainly interesting.”

As the day winds down, Carlos finds himself lost in thought. Your reaction to the water bottle incident was telling, but he can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. He had hoped his charm offensive might have started to break through your defenses.

Sighing, he gathers his things and heads for the exit. As he approaches the door, he hears a rustling sound coming from around the corner. Curiosity piqued, he peeks around the edge of the motorhome.

There you are, glancing furtively around as you try to shove something into a nearby trash can. Carlos squints, just barely making out the label on the package you’re attempting to dispose of.

Laxatives.

He has to stifle a laugh. So that was your plan. It’s juvenile, sure, but he has to admire your commitment to the bit.

Deciding to seize the moment, Carlos steps out from his hiding spot. “Fancy meeting you here. Doing a bit of spring cleaning?”

You jump, nearly dropping the package. “Carlos! I ... this isn’t what it looks like.”

He steps closer, his voice gentle. “No? Because it looks like you’re trying to get rid of evidence.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. “I ... I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid and childish and-”

“And exactly the kind of thing I would have done in your position,” Carlos interrupts, surprising both you and himself with his honesty.

You look up at him, confusion written across your face. “What?”

Carlos sighs, leaning against the wall of the motorhome. “Look, Y/N. I know about the promise you made to Logan. I ... may have overheard a conversation you had with him a couple of weeks ago.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “You ... you were eavesdropping?”

“Not intentionally,” he says quickly. “But yes, I heard enough to understand why you’ve been ... let’s say, less than welcoming.”

You cross your arms, a defensive posture. “So what, you’ve been playing nice to try and manipulate me? To get me to stop?”

Carlos shakes his head. “No, not manipulate. I just ... I wanted to show you that I’m not the enemy here. That maybe we could be friends, or at least friendly colleagues.”

There’s a long pause as you process his words. Finally, you speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do that, Carlos. Logan, he’s ... he’s my best friend. And seeing you here, in his place ...”

“I understand,” Carlos says softly. “Really, I do. But Y/N, don’t you think Logan would want you to be happy? To enjoy your work, to make new friends?”

You bite your lip, considering. “Maybe. But the promise ...”

Carlos can’t help but chuckle. “Ah yes, the sacred pinky promise. Well, how about this — instead of making my life a living hell, why don’t you promise to make it ... interesting?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“Challenge me,” Carlos suggests, warming to the idea. “Push me to be better, on and off the track. Keep me on my toes. But maybe without the laxatives, sí?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “I suppose that could work. But don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you, Sainz.”

Carlos grins, holding out his hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Vowles. Do we have a deal?”

You eye his hand warily for a moment before reaching out to shake it. “Deal. But I’m warning you, I can be a real pain in the ass when I want to be.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Carlos laughs. “Now, what do you say we get rid of this evidence properly and grab a coffee? I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about.”

As you both head towards the nearest café, Carlos can’t help but feel a sense of excitement. He may have won this battle, but he has a feeling the war is far from over. And honestly? He wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

Carlos pushes open the door of the quaint coffee shop, holding it for you as you follow him inside. The rich aroma of freshly ground beans fills the air, and the soft chatter of other patrons creates a cozy atmosphere.

As you both approach the counter, Carlos gestures towards the menu board. “Order whatever you like. It’s on me.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of your usual mischief returning to your eyes. “Oh? And what makes you think I can’t pay for my own coffee?”

Carlos grins, enjoying this glimpse of your feisty side. “Consider it a peace offering. Or reparations for all the grey hairs you’ve given me these past few months.”

You snort, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Fine. But don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Carlos chuckles.

After placing your orders — a latte for you and an americano for Carlos — you both find a secluded table near the back of the shop. As you settle into your seats, an awkward silence falls between you.

Carlos takes a sip of his coffee, studying you over the rim of his cup. Now that he’s finally got you alone, without the pretenses and the pranks, he’s not quite sure where to start.

You break the silence first, your voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “So ... you said you overheard my conversation with Logan?”

Carlos nods, setting his cup down. “Sí. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but ... well, I heard enough to understand why you’ve been, shall we say, less than welcoming.”

You wince slightly. “Yeah, about that ... I may have gone a bit overboard.”

“A bit?” Carlos raises an eyebrow, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Y/N, you tried to give me laxatives.”

You have the grace to look embarrassed, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. “Okay, more than a bit. I’m sorry, Carlos. Really.”

He waves off your apology. “Water under the bridge. Or should I say, laxatives down the drain?”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” Carlos grins. Then, his expression softens. “But in all seriousness, Y/N ... I get it. I do. Logan is your friend, and seeing me here instead of him ... it can’t be easy.”

You look up, meeting his gaze. There’s a vulnerability in your eyes that Carlos hasn’t seen before. “It’s not just that. I mean, yes, I miss Logan terribly. But it’s also ... this team, it’s like family to me. And seeing someone new come in, someone who didn’t grow up with all of us ... I guess I felt threatened.”

Carlos leans forward, his elbows on the table. “Can I ask you something?”

You nod, wrapping your hands around your coffee cup as if seeking comfort from its warmth.

“Why the elaborate schemes?” Carlos asks. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, they were ... creative. But why not just tell me how you felt?”

You let out a long sigh, your fingers tracing patterns on the side of your cup. “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. I guess ... growing up in this world, you learn to play games. To never show your true feelings because they might be used against you.”

Carlos tilts his head, intrigued. “What do you mean, growing up in this world?”

A wry smile crosses your face. “Carlos, my dad is James Vowles. I practically grew up in the Mercedes garage during the Brocedes era. You think I didn’t pick up a few things watching Lewis and Nico go at it?”

Carlos’ eyes widen in realization. “The mind games.”

You nod. “Exactly. I saw firsthand how effective they could be. How a well-placed comment or a seemingly innocent action could throw someone completely off their game. I guess ... I guess part of me thought that if I could do the same to you, maybe ...”

“Maybe I’d leave?” Carlos finishes softly.

You look down, guilt written across your face. “Maybe. Or at least ... I don’t know. Maybe I thought if I could prove you weren’t up to the challenge, Dad would reconsider his decision.”

Carlos reaches across the table, gently placing his hand over yours. “Y/N, look at me.”

Reluctantly, you raise your eyes to meet his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says firmly. “Not unless the team decides I’m not good enough. And if that happens, it’ll be because of my performance on the track, not because of any mind games.”

You nod slowly, a small smile forming. “I know that now. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad. You’re ... you’re good for the team. I can see that now.”

Carlos feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

You pull your hand away, but the smile remains. “Don’t let it go to your head, Sainz. I still think Logan’s better.”

“You know,” Carlos draws out, “I’m glad we did this. Cleared the air.”

You nod, your expression turning serious. “Me too. And Carlos ... I really am sorry for all the trouble I caused. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Carlos shrugs. “Like I said, water under the bridge. Or should I say, hair products in the bin?”

Your jaw drops. “How did you know about that?”

He winks. “I didn’t. But thanks for confirming my suspicions.”

You groan, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I’ve created a monster, haven’t I?”

“Oh, hermosa,” Carlos grins, “you have no idea.”

***

Carlos stands in front of your hotel room door, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. In one hand, he clutches a bouquet of flowers so large it partially obscures his vision. In the other, he holds the key card you had given him just a few days ago, a symbol of the trust that has grown between you.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he’s about to do. Over the past few months, your relationship has evolved from antagonistic to friendly to ... something more. Carlos can no longer deny the feelings that have been growing inside him. Tonight, he’s finally gathered the courage to ask you out on a proper date.

With one final steadying breath, he raises his hand and knocks on the door. “Y/N? Are you there?”

Silence greets him. He waits a moment, then knocks again, louder this time. “Y/N? It’s Carlos. I was hoping we could talk.”

Still no answer. Carlos frowns, a tendril of worry creeping into his mind. It’s not like you to ignore him, especially not after the closeness you’ve developed.

“Maybe she’s in the shower,” he mutters to himself, trying to quell his rising anxiety.

He debates waiting, but something urges him to check on you. After all, you did give him the key card for emergencies. This isn’t exactly an emergency, but ...

Before he can talk himself out of it, Carlos swipes the card and pushes the door open. “Y/N? I’m sorry for barging in, but I was worried when you didn’t ...”

His voice trails off as he takes in the scene before him. The flowers fall from his suddenly numb fingers, scattering across the floor.

There you are, on the bed, but you’re not alone. Carlos’ predecessor at Williams is there with you. The two of you are tangled together in a way that leaves little doubt about the nature of your relationship.

For a moment, time seems to stand still. Carlos blinks rapidly, his brain struggling to process what he’s seeing. You and Logan stare back at him, equally frozen in shock.

Logan recovers first, quickly pulling away from you and tugging a sheet over himself. “Carlos! What the hell, man?”

You sit up, clutching a pillow to your chest, your face a mix of embarrassment and guilt. “Carlos, I ... we can explain.”

Carlos opens his mouth, then closes it again. A thousand thoughts race through his mind, but the one that finally makes it to his lips surprises even him.

“Can I join?”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implications. Carlos immediately wants to take them back, to pretend he never said them. But a small part of him, the part that’s been drawn to both you and Logan in ways he’s never fully understood, holds its breath in anticipation.

Your eyes widen in shock. “What?”

Logan looks between you and Carlos, his expression unreadable. “Dude, are you serious?”

Carlos runs a hand through his hair, his cheeks burning. “I ... I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, I came here to ask Y/N out, but seeing you both ... I can’t deny there’s something there.”

You exchange a look with Logan, having one of those silent conversations that only people who know each other intimately can have. After a moment, you turn back to Carlos.

“Carlos,” you say gently, “I think we all need to take a step back and talk about this. Properly. When we’re all ... dressed.”

Carlos nods, feeling slightly dazed. “Right. Yes. Of course. I’ll just ... I’ll wait outside.”

He turns to leave, but Logan’s voice stops him. “Wait. Carlos, man ... I’m sorry. We should have told you.”

Carlos looks back, meeting Logan’s gaze. There’s genuine regret in the American’s eyes, and Carlos feels some of his hurt and confusion start to dissipate.

“It’s okay,” he says, surprised to find he means it. “We all have our secrets, no?”

You slide off the bed, wrapping yourself in the hotel robe. “Carlos, please don’t go. Stay. We should talk about this.”

Carlos hesitates, his hand on the doorknob. Part of him wants to run, to pretend this never happened. But a larger part, the part that’s grown to care deeply for both you and Logan, makes him turn back.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Let’s talk.”

You gesture to the small sitting area in the corner of the room. “Why don’t you sit down? Logan and I will get dressed, and then we can figure this out together.”

Carlos nods, moving to the armchair as you and Logan disappear into the bathroom. He sits there, staring at the scattered flowers on the floor, trying to make sense of his swirling emotions.

A few minutes later, you both emerge, fully dressed but with an air of awkwardness that wasn’t there before. Logan takes a seat on the small sofa, while you perch on the arm, creating a triangle between the three of you.

“So,” you begin, your voice tentative. “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

Carlos nods, his eyes moving between you and Logan. “How long has this been going on?”

Logan clears his throat. “A while. Since right before I left Williams, actually. We just ... we didn’t know how to tell anyone.”

“I see,” Carlos says, a hint of hurt creeping into his voice. “And all those times you were talking about missing each other ...”

You reach out, as if to touch Carlos’ hand, but stop yourself. “That was real. We do miss each other. But it’s ... complicated.”

“Complicated,” Carlos repeats. “Is that why you were so hostile towards me at first? Because I was taking Logan’s place in more ways than one?”

You wince at his words. “Partly, yes. But Carlos, you have to understand, it wasn’t just about that. I really did feel protective of the team, of Logan’s place there.”

Logan puts a hand on your arm, a gesture of support. “Y/N, it’s okay. He deserves the truth.”

You take a deep breath, looking Carlos directly in the eye. “The truth is, Carlos, I started developing feelings for you too. And that ... that scared me. I felt guilty, like I was betraying Logan. So I lashed out.”

Carlos’ breath catches in his throat. “You have feelings for me?”

You nod, a small smile playing at your lips. “Why do you think I gave you that key card?”

Logan chuckles softly. “I told her she was being too subtle. Should have just asked you out like a normal person.”

Carlos looks at Logan, curiosity overriding his confusion. “And you’re ... okay with this?”

Logan shrugs, a wry smile on his face. “Honestly? I don’t know. But I know how Y/N feels about you, and ... well, I can’t say I haven’t noticed you myself.”

Carlos feels his cheeks heat up at Logan’s words. “I ... I don’t know what to say.”

You slide off the arm of the sofa, kneeling in front of Carlos. “You don’t have to say anything right now. We sprung this on you, and it’s a lot to process. But Carlos, I want you to know that what I feel for you is real. And if you’re open to it ... maybe we can figure this out. All of us.”

Carlos looks between you and Logan, his mind racing. This isn’t at all how he expected this evening to go, but he can’t deny the thrill that runs through him at the possibility.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that I’d like that. To figure it out together, I mean.”

Logan grins, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Well, in that case, maybe we should start with dinner? I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving.”

You laugh, the sound breaking the remaining tension in the room. “Trust you to think with your stomach.”

Carlos finds himself smiling too. “Dinner sounds good. But maybe ... maybe we could stay in? Order room service?”

You and Logan exchange a look, then nod in unison. “Sounds perfect,” you say, squeezing Carlos’ hand.

As Logan reaches for the room service menu, and you start picking up the scattered flowers, arranging them in a water glass, Carlos feels a sense of rightness settle over him. This isn’t at all what he had planned, but somehow, it feels like exactly where he’s meant to be.

“Hey,” he says, catching both your attention. “Whatever happens ... I’m glad we’re figuring this out together.”

You and Logan smile back at him, and in that moment, Carlos knows that no matter how complicated things might get, you’re going to be okay. More than okay, actually. You’re going to be amazing.

***

The Williams garage buzzes with pre-race energy, mechanics scurrying about and engineers huddled over last-minute data. In their own bubble despite the controlled chaos, three figures stand slightly apart, heads bent close in hushed conversation.

Carlos glances around before leaning in closer to you and Logan. “Are we sure about this? It’s not too late to change our minds.”

You bite your lip, uncertainty clouding your features. “I don’t know. Maybe we should stick to the original plan. Logan’s just here as a friend, nothing more.”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed. “It feels wrong, though. Hiding. Like we’re ashamed or something.”

“We’re not ashamed,” Carlos says quickly, his hand finding Logan’s and squeezing it reassuringly. “It’s just ... complicated.”

You nod, your eyes darting to where your father stands across the garage. “Dad’s going to freak out. And that’s putting it mildly.”

Logan follows your gaze, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “To be fair, I think he’d freak out no matter how we told him. Finding out your daughter is dating not one, but two drivers? That’s a lot for any father to handle.”

Carlos chuckles softly. “Not to mention one of those drivers is his current employee and the other is his former one. It’s like a telenovela.”

You swat his arm playfully. “This isn’t funny. We need to decide what we’re doing. The race starts in less than an hour.”

Logan takes a deep breath, his expression turning serious. “Look, whatever we decide, we’re in this together, right? All of us?”

You and Carlos nod in unison, and for a moment, the three of you just look at each other, drawing strength from your connection.

The moment is broken by the sharp voice of Carlos’ race engineer. “Carlos! We need you for final checks. Now!”

Carlos sighs, reluctantly pulling away from you and Logan. “I guess decision time is here, whether we’re ready or not.”

You reach out, straightening his race suit collar. “Just focus on the race, okay? We can figure everything else out later.”

Logan nods in agreement. “Yeah. Go out there and show them what you’ve got. We’ll be right here cheering you on.”

Carlos looks between the two of you, his eyes softening with emotion. “What did I do to deserve you both?”

Before you or Logan can respond, Carlos makes a split-second decision. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he pulls you close and kisses you deeply, right there in the middle of the garage.

You gasp against his lips, too shocked to pull away. Around you, the activity of the garage comes to a sudden halt, all eyes turning to witness the unexpected display.

But Carlos isn’t done. As he pulls back from you, he immediately turns to Logan, cupping the American’s face in his hands and kissing him with equal passion.

The garage, already silent, seems to hold its collective breath. You can practically hear the gears turning in everyone’s minds as they try to process what they’re seeing.

As Carlos finally steps back, a satisfied smirk on his face, the spell of silence is broken by a loud thud. All heads turn to see their team principal sprawled on the floor in a dead faint.

“Dad!” You cry out, rushing to his side.

Logan and Carlos exchange a panicked look before following you. As you kneel beside your unconscious father, the rest of the team seems to unfreeze, a flurry of whispers and movement erupting around you.

“Someone get the medic!” A voice calls out.

“Did ... did I just see what I think I saw?” Another mechanic mutters.

Logan kneels down next to you, concern etched on his face. “Is he okay?”

You nod, relief washing over you as your father starts to stir. “I think so. Just shocked, I guess.”

Carlos hovers nearby, looking both guilty and defiant. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause such a scene. I just ... I couldn’t stand the thought of hiding anymore.”

As James’ eyes flutter open, his gaze immediately locks onto the three of you. “Y/N? Logan? Carlos? What ... what’s going on?”

You take a deep breath, helping your father sit up. “We need to talk. But maybe not right here in the middle of the garage floor?”

James nods weakly, allowing Logan and Carlos to help him to his feet. As they guide him to a nearby chair, you can’t help but notice the mixture of confusion, shock, and curiosity on the faces of your coworkers.

Once your father is settled, he looks between the three of you, his expression a mix of bewilderment and dawning comprehension. “So, when you said Logan was coming to visit for the weekend ...”

You nod, taking both Carlos and Logan’s hands in your own. “It wasn’t just as a friend. The three of us ... we’re together. All of us.”

James blinks rapidly, as if trying to clear his vision. “Together? As in ...”

“As in dating,” Logan says, his voice steady despite the nervousness evident in his posture. “All three of us. We’ve been in a relationship for a few months now.”

Carlos nods, squeezing your hand. “We didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I got ... carried away. But we’re not ashamed of our relationship, and we don’t want to hide it anymore.”

James leans back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “I ... I don’t even know where to begin. Y/N, honey, are you sure about this?”

You meet your father’s gaze, your voice firm. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, Dad. I love them both. And they love me ... and each other.”

The garage around you is still unnaturally quiet, everyone straining to hear the conversation. You can practically feel the weight of their stares, but in this moment, all that matters is your father’s reaction.

James takes a deep breath, his eyes moving between the three of you. “This is ... a lot to process. But Y/N, if you’re happy ...”

You nod, a smile breaking across your face. “I am. We all are.”

James sighs, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Well, I suppose I should be grateful. At least I don’t have to worry about you dating some playboy from another team.”

Logan chuckles softly. “No, just an IndyCar driver and your star employee.”

The tension in the air starts to dissipate as James shakes his head, a reluctant smile forming. “I have a feeling my life just got a whole lot more complicated.”

You lean down to hug your father tightly. “Thank you for understanding.”

As you straighten up, Carlos’ race engineer clears his throat loudly. “I hate to break up this ... touching moment, but we have a race to drive. Carlos, car. Now.”

Reality comes crashing back as you realize the race is mere minutes from starting. Carlos looks torn, clearly not wanting to leave in the middle of this pivotal moment.

You give him a gentle push towards his car. “Go. We’ll be right here when you finish.”

Logan nods in agreement. “Yeah, babe. Go show them what you’ve got.”

Carlos hesitates for just a moment before a determined look settles over his features. He leans in, placing a quick kiss on your cheek and another on Logan’s before turning to your father.

“James,” he says seriously. “I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make Y/N happy and to make this team proud.”

James nods, still looking slightly dazed. “Just ... just drive safe out there.”

As Carlos jogs towards his car, the garage seems to come back to life. Mechanics resume their tasks, albeit with frequent glances and whispers in your direction. You, Logan, and your father are left in a small bubble of calm amid the renewed chaos.

Logan clears his throat. “So ... I guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

You can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting you. “You could say that. I think we just gave the entire paddock enough gossip to last the rest of the season.”

James shakes his head, a mix of exasperation and amusement on his face. “You three certainly know how to make an announcement. I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t decide to share the news during a press conference.”

As the sound of engines roaring to life fills the air, you find yourself filled with a sense of lightness. The secret’s out, for better or worse, and now you can face whatever comes next together.

Logan puts an arm around your shoulders, and you lean into him, watching as Carlos’ car pulls out of the garage. “Well,” Logan says with a grin, “I guess there’s only one thing left to do now.”

You look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He winks, guiding you towards the spectator area. “Cheer our boy on, of course.”

***

Four Years Later

The late afternoon sun streams through the windows of the spacious living room, warming over the three occupants. You’re nestled comfortably on the couch, your hands resting on your swollen belly, a contented smile playing on your lips as you watch your two partners bicker good-naturedly.

Carlos paces back and forth, running his hands through his hair in mock distress. “I just can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. Our child, our beautiful baby, will be one-third American!”

Logan, sprawled in an armchair, grins widely. “And what’s wrong with that? Afraid our kid might actually develop some taste?”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Boys, please. The baby can hear you, you know.”

Carlos stops his pacing, turning to you with wide eyes. “Exactly! We need to counteract this American influence immediately. Quick, where’s that Spanish lullaby CD my mother sent?”

Logan snorts. “Oh please, like that’ll do any good against the power of apple pie and freedom.”

“Apple pie?” Carlos scoffs. “Please. Our child will have a sophisticated palate. Paella, gazpacho, tortilla española-”

“Burgers, hot dogs, s’mores,” Logan counters, ticking off on his fingers.

You can’t help but laugh at their antics. “You do realize the baby will be more British than anything else, right? Given that I’m the one actually carrying it?”

Both men turn to look at you, identical expressions of horror on their faces.

“Dios mío,” Carlos whispers. “I didn’t even think of that.”

Logan nods solemnly. “We’re doomed. Our child is going to have terrible teeth and an unhealthy obsession with beans on toast.”

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches easily, laughing. “Watch it, Sargeant. This Brit is the mother of your child.”

Carlos flops down on the couch next to you, placing a gentle hand on your belly. “Don’t worry, mi amor. We’ll make sure our little one has the best of all worlds. The passion of Spain, the ... whatever it is Americans have-”

“Awesomeness,” Logan interjects.

“-and the ... charm of Britain,” Carlos finishes, winking at you.

You lean in to kiss him softly. “Nice save.”

Logan gets up from his chair, moving to sit on your other side. He places his hand next to Carlos’ on your belly. “Hey, little one. Don’t listen to your papa. He’s just jealous because he knows you’re going to prefer peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to croquetas.”

Carlos gasps in mock outrage. “Take that back!”

You groan, leaning back against the couch. “Oh god, is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of our lives?”

Both men turn to you with identical grins. “Absolutely,” they say in unison.

Despite your exasperated tone, you can’t help but smile. This is your family, quirks and all, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Suddenly, you feel a strong kick under your partners’ hands. Their eyes widen in surprise and delight.

“Did you feel that?” Logan asks excitedly.

Carlos nods, his eyes shining. “Sí, it was so strong! Our little footballer in the making.”

“You mean soccer player,” Logan adds with a smirk.

Carlos groans. “Por favor, not this again. It’s football, Logan. The rest of the world calls it football.”

“Yeah, well, the rest of the world is wrong,” Logan retorts, sticking out his tongue.

You shake your head, amused. “I swear, sometimes it’s like I have two children already.”

Both men have the grace to look slightly sheepish, but their hands remain on your belly, waiting for another kick.

“You know,” you say thoughtfully, “we still haven’t decided on a name.”

Carlos perks up. “I’ve been thinking about that! What about Carlos III for a boy?”

Logan wrinkles his nose. “Because the current two of you aren’t enough? What about something cool, like Maverick?”

“Maverick?” Carlos repeats incredulously. “What is this, Top Gun?”

“Hey, Top Gun is a classic!” Logan defends.

You clear your throat. “Gentlemen, might I remind you that I get veto power on all names?”

They both turn to you, curious. “What did you have in mind, babe?” Logan asks.

You smile mysteriously. “Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m not sharing until you two can agree on at least one name together.”

Carlos and Logan exchange a look, a silent challenge passing between them.

“Fine,” Carlos says. “How about ... James? It’s a name that works in all our cultures, and it would be a nice nod to your father, Y/N.”

Logan nods slowly. “James ... I like it. Simple, classic. And we could call him Jamie for short.”

You feel a warmth spread through your chest. “James is perfect. Dad will be over the moon.”

“James it is then,” Carlos says with a soft smile. “For a boy, at least. What if it’s a girl?”

Logan’s eyes light up. “Oh! What about Liberty? You know, because-”

“Absolutely not,” you and Carlos say in unison.

Logan pouts. “You guys are no fun.”

Carlos chuckles, reaching across you to ruffle Logan’s hair. “Come on, querido. Surely you can think of something better than that.”

Logan leans into the touch, a thoughtful expression on his face. “How about ... Sophia? It’s pretty, and it works in all our languages.”

You nod approvingly. “Sophia is lovely. What do you think, Carlos?”

Carlos smiles. “Sophia is beautiful. Sophia Sainz-Sargeant-Vowles. It has a nice ring to it, no?”

“It’s a mouthful is what it is,” Logan chuckles. “But I love it.”

You feel another kick, stronger this time. “I think the baby approves too.”

Carlos leans down to speak directly to your belly. “Hello there, little one. Are you a James or a Sophia?”

Logan joins in, his voice taking on an exaggerated American accent. “Now listen here, kiddo. Whatever you are, just remember: you’ve got red, white, and blue running through your veins. USA! USA!”

Carlos groans, burying his face in your shoulder. “Dios mío, what have I gotten myself into?”

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “A lifetime of this, darling.”

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the room, you find yourself filled with an overwhelming sense of love and contentment. This unconventional family of yours, with its mix of cultures and personalities, is everything you never knew you needed.

“Hey,” you say softly, drawing both men’s attention. “I love you both. So much. And this baby is going to be so loved, no matter what nationality they end up identifying with.”

Carlos and Logan’s faces soften, all traces of their playful argument disappearing.

“We love you too,” Carlos murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Logan nods, squeezing your hand. “More than anything. All three of you.”

As you sit there, sandwiched between the two men you love, their hands protectively cradling your unborn child, you know that whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them together. Spanish passion, American spirit, and British charm — your child will have the best of all worlds, and a family full of love to support them every step of the way.

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